The Centurion

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Lionel was looking down at the dying pair, still terrified but now greatly confused. He looked at Lance.

  “They… they tried to kill me,” he breathed as Lance peeled the bloodied dagger from his hand. “The woman… she was screaming at me. She tried to kill me. Morley tried to help her. Why would he help her, Lance? What has happened?”

  He sounded pathetic, confused. Jess bent over Morley, feeling for a pulse, before checking Antonia just as the woman took her last breath. He looked up at Lance, shaking his head grimly. Lance got the message.

  “They can no longer harm you, Great Caesar,” Lance said calmly, taking Lionel gently by the arms and moving him away from the bloody mess. “You were defending yourself. You did what you had to do.”

  Lionel’s panic faded and a bewildering confusion had taken its place. “Why did she scream at me?” he asked. “Who is that woman?”

  Lance felt sorry for the old man. He had no idea what had happened but he was fairly certain that Morley hadn’t tried to kill him. Morley was devoted to Lionel. Catching sight of the startled servants in the shadows, he spoke to them.

  “What in the hell happened?” he demanded quietly. “What did Morley and that woman do?”

  One man, his voice quivering, spoke. “The woman shouted at Great Caesar, my lord,” he said. “She yanked a quill from his hand and shouted at him. Great Caesar thought he was being attacked and when Morley tried to intervene, Great Caesar stabbed him. And then you came in, my lord. It happened so fast!”

  Lance grunted with remorse at what had happened. A brittle, unstable old man and a strange, demanding lady was a recipe for disaster, with Morley caught in the middle of it. After a moment, he nodded.

  “Very well,” he said. “Get those bodies out of here and clean the floor. I want no trace. Sir Jess will go with you. He will tell you where to put the dead.”

  The servants began to move as Jess quietly issued commands. Between the three of them, they dragged the bodies from the solar, leaving a trail of blood, but Lance kept his focus on Lionel, who seemed close to cracking.

  He had to calm the old man down.

  “They are gone, Great Caesar,” he said steadily. “They will trouble you no more. Would you like to return to your chamber? Mayhap you should rest.”

  Lionel was holding on to Lance with a death grip as the big knight blocked his view of the door and the bodies that had been moved out. But he looked around the man, trying to catch a glimpse of his table.

  “Nay,” he said weakly. “My table. I want to go back to my table. I am planning an attack, you know. We must attack tonight.”

  Lance’s brow furrowed in confusion as he followed the old man back to his cluttered table with the smeared blood. Lionel sat down and collected another quill, pointing to his map as he did so.

  “Do you see, Lance?” he said. “These are my battle plans. You and Torston shall lead my armies to victory against Douglas Kerr.”

  Lance didn’t even know what to say. Truth be told, he was still reeling, too. He’d walked in on a murder and, now, the murderer was back at his table as if nothing had happened.

  The privileges of a madman.

  When next Lance saw Torston, he had quite a story of his own to tell the man.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Makendon Castle

  Makendon Castle gleamed weakly in the pre-dawn sky, her white walls emerging pristine and bright from among the greenery of the trees.

  Torston, haggard and unshaven, shifted a sleeping Ryston in his arms as he came upon the welcome sight. Having no intention of returning his son to the madness of The Lyceum, he would have to rely on the kindness of Alyx’s household.

  His warhorse plodded along, the animal weary as they approached the raised drawbridge. Torston brought the steed to a halt, shouting his name to the sentries. The massive bridge lowered, slamming into the earth with a roaring thud and the warhorse lurched forward, clip-clopping across the wooden planks, and emerged into the protected bailey beyond.

  There were several soldiers to greet him, but no one from the keep that he recognized. Very shortly, however, Lady Lygia Brockenhurst and her daughter, Charlotte, emerged from the keep and hastened toward him. Relieved, Torston dismounted his horse with Ryston still in his arms.

  Lady Lygia curtsied so swiftly that Torston had trouble keeping up with the speed of her movements. “My Lord Centurion,” she said. “We are honored by your presence.”

  Torston shifted the boy, who was beginning to rouse. “I apologize for my unexpected appearance, my lady, but I must ask a favor.”

  Lygia eyed the young, blond-haired lad curiously. “Anything, my lord. We are your humble servants.”

  Charlotte was smiling up at Torston, eager and bright-eyed even at this hour of the morning. As exhausted as he was, he was nonetheless greatly bolstered by the fact that he would be leaving Ryston in very safe hands. He knew that Charlotte and her mother would go out of their way to take care of the child.

  “This,” Torston looked down at the boy, “is my son, Master Ryston de Royans. I would ask that you care for him until my return.”

  Lygia reacted exactly as Torston knew she would; no questions, no probing demands as to why the lad was to be left in her care and not returned to The Lyceum. She certainly mentioned nothing about the apparent illegitimate nature of the boy. Instead, she gazed fondly at the child.

  “He resembles you a great deal, Torston,” she said softly. “It would be an honor to care for him.”

  Torston drew in a deep, thankful breath. “Thank you.”

  Ryston’s head suddenly came up, his sleepy eyes blinking in the sunlight. “Are we home yet?”

  Torston smiled wearily at the boy. “Not yet, lad. But soon.” He tipped his head in Lygia’s direction. “This is the Lady Lygia. She and her daughter are going to take good care of you while I am away.”

  Ryston blinked, looking between the wimpled woman and her frail, pale daughter. They were strangers and he’d had enough upheaval recently.

  He was timid.

  “But… but why do I have to stay here?” he asked.

  “Because there is something I must do,” Torston said patiently. “There is a lady who needs help and I must go to her aid. While I do, you will remain here. I promise these ladies will be very, very kind to you.”

  Ryston rubbed his sleepy eyes, turning to look at his father. “I cannot go with you?”

  Torston shook his head sadly. “No, lad.”

  “But I can help. I can watch out for trouble while you save her.”

  Torston smiled. “A noble offer, Ryston, but I again must decline. I would rather see you here, watching over Lady Lygia and Lady Charlotte while they stuff you full of sweets and affection. I’ll return soon enough.”

  “Promise?”

  “I do.”

  Torston smiled at the boy encouragingly and tried to hand the boy to Lygia. Unaware of Ryston’s condition, she took his hand and encouraged him to stand. Discreetly, Torston shook his head.

  “He cannot stand, Lygia,” he said quietly. “His legs are crippled.”

  After a split second of shock, Lygia recovered admirably. After all, her Charlotte had always been less than healthy and there was nothing unusual about a less-than-perfect child. The world was full of them. She took the boy in her arms, cradling him sweetly.

  “Master Ryston, it looks as if you will have a full day,” she said, turning briskly for the keep. “First, it appears as if you could use a bath. And then, your hair must be cut. And then…”

  “But I don’t want a bath!” Ryston wailed.

  Lygia was already halfway to the keep. “Nonsense,” she said. “You don’t want people thinking you’re unclean, do you? A bath, at least once every few months, is necessary.”

  Ryston wailed again and Torston grinned at the child’s misery. But he was being carefully tended to and it relieved Torston’s mind tremendously. Now able to focus on Alyx, he was about to turn for his horse when
he realized that Charlotte was still standing beside him, her big blue eyes gazing up at him. He smiled weakly.

  “I thank you for helping take care of Ryston,” he said. He’d always known the girl had had a passion for him. “It means a great deal to me.”

  Charlotte flushed, her young pre-pubescent blood pulsing wildly. “’Tis an honor, Sir Torston.” She swallowed hard, struggling with her composure. “But the woman you must help… is it Alyx?”

  Torston’s smile faded. He wasn’t sure if news of Winslow’s death had made it back to Makendon yet because he’d been too busy to send word, and he was certain word of Alyx’s abduction hadn’t made it back. Therefore, he tried to be gentle.

  “She’s in Scotland, lass,” he said. “I’m sorry I do not have the time to tell you the entire story, but I must leave immediately. There will be time enough to explain when I return.”

  Charlotte nodded submissively. Torston was about to mount when, impulsively, he turned and grasped her by the arms. She gasped with surprise, gazing up into his smoldering eyes that suddenly conveyed a good deal of urgency.

  “I must ask you one final thing, Charlotte,” he said quietly. “Promise me?”

  She swallowed again, almost choking. “A-Anything, my lord.”

  Torston paused a moment, searching for the correct words. But the expression on his face, one of determination and dread, was abundantly clear. “Tell your mother,” he murmured, “that if I should not return, Ryston is not to be sent to The Lyceum. I would have him stay here, raised by your mother as a personal favor to me. And she is to tell no one who he really is, least of all anyone from The Lyceum. Will you tell her this?”

  Charlotte nodded unsteadily, strands of red hair falling in her face. “I-I promise, my lord.”

  “Good girl.” He released her, mounting his steed in one swift motion. With a final glance at the white-stoned walls of Makendon Castle, he bade his son a silent farewell and quit the bailey at a gallop.

  One rescue complete.

  Another still to go.

  Torston could only pray, with every breath he took, that he would be in time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Luckenburn Tower

  The great hall of Douglas’ fortress was warm, smelling of smoke and burned meat.

  It was only midday, but there was a feast going. There were people everywhere, enjoying the lively atmosphere and plentiful food as a collection of musicians played in one corner of the room. Big, burly men in woolen tunics and women in gowns fashioned from nicer pieces of fabric gorged themselves on venison and fowl, and a variety of delicacies.

  Seated with Douglas and Edna, Alyx watched the activities of the room in silence. She was quite content to do so as Douglas’ voice broke into her thoughts.

  “Are ye not hungry, sweetheart?”

  Alyx looked at Douglas before glancing down at her cold, congealed food. She shook her head.

  “Not particularly,” she replied stiffly. “I think I should like to retire to my chamber.”

  Douglas’ disappointment was obvious. He didn’t want her to leave, but damnation, it was so difficult to get through to her. He had arranged this feast, in the daylight no less, with the hopes of breaking down Alyx’s fiercely-held walls, but she wanted no part of him.

  She hadn’t from the start.

  That didn’t make him any less determined to woo her, but the ghost of Torston de Royans was strong. The lass had a wall of protection up and Torston was the driving force behind it.

  Douglas wanted to knock that wall down in the worst way.

  “A pity,” he said. Then he gestured to the musicians in the corner. “Those men have come all the way from Spain. There’ll be dancers in a little while tae entertain. I am sorry ye’ll be missing a truly festive performance.”

  Alyx didn’t feel much like eating, true, but the dancers were another matter. She had always enjoyed good entertainment. “Lord Harringham has dancers all the way from Nubia,” she mentioned, although the tone was decidedly unfriendly. “Their skin is as black as coal and they do wonderful acrobatics.”

  It was nearly as much as she had talked since her arrival and Douglas was eager to maintain the momentum. “Is that so? What sorts of acrobatics?”

  Using a finger, Alyx drew invisible circles in the air. “They spin about, turning somersaults and flying through the air like birds. One man even walks about on his hands, bending his legs all the way over so that his feet touch his head.”

  “Amazing. And ye say they are black-skinned?”

  “Black as night.”

  “What language do they speak?”

  Alyx shook her head. “I don’t know. I never asked, and I have never heard them speak.” She turned to Douglas, looking him in the eye for the first time all evening. “What language do you suppose they would speak? Certainly not French or Spanish or Italian. Latin, mayhap?”

  She actually seemed… interested. Shocked, Douglas gazed into the sky-blue eyes, taking her question very seriously. “Nay, not Latin.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “If they’re Nubian, then they come from Egypt. I would suspect they speak Arabic or some other exotic language.”

  “Do you speak Arabic?”

  Douglas shook his head. “’Tis a difficult language. When I traveled to Cypress, I…”

  “You traveled to Cypress?” Alyx interrupted him, the light of excitement in her eyes as he spoke of the travel she was so interested in. “When did you travel there?”

  Douglas realized with pleasure that he had her undivided attention. “When I was a young lad,” he said. “My father sent me tae foster with a noble family in Edinburgh, and I squired for the baron as a youth. He took me to the continent with him on his travels and I was fortunate enough to learn a few of the languages, among other things.”

  Alyx was enthralled. “What languages do you speak?”

  His eyes twinkled at her. “Latin. Remember pia mater?”

  She looked just the slightest bit sheepish. “I do,” she replied. “What else do you speak?”

  He shrugged. “Italian. And I can read Greek. All men should travel in their lives, I think. It gives a man a broader view of the world.”

  “A woman should travel, too,” Alyx said. She suddenly felt the pangs of appetite and, after taking a healthy drink of wine, she smiled at Douglas. “I’m going to travel someday.”

  Douglas returned her smile, warming to the conversation. “I know,” he said. “Jerusalem, Constantinople, Tyre. Do ye remember ye told me on our very first meeting in the woods?”

  Alyx nodded as she thought back to that moment in time. It seemed so long ago. “I do. And I meant it.” She picked at her bread, dipping a piece in the cold gravy and popping it in her mouth. “But you didn’t tell me that you had already traveled the world. Where else have you been?”

  He thought a moment. “The usual places. Paris, Amsterdam.” He eyed her as she decided that she was, indeed, hungry and delved into her cold food. Douglas waved at a serving wench, who immediately brought a fresh trencher. “I’d be an excellent guide should ye decide tae travel someday.”

  Alyx dove into the steaming venison. “You… you could tell me where to go, I suppose,” she said as she wiped her mouth with a square of linen. “Is there any place you would return to if you could? Any place so beautiful that it would be worth seeing again?”

  He smiled, shifting in his chair so that he was closer to her. Alyx could feel the heat of his thigh against her hip and resisted the urge to move away from him.

  “In Venice, they have buildings built on top of the water, like a floating city,” he said softly. “And many of these buildings have colored glass in the windows. At sunset, when the sun hits these windows precisely, it’s as if the entire city is aglow in color. It’s the most wonderful sight in the world.”

  Alyx couldn’t help but listen, intrigued. “I want to see it, too.”

  His expression was soft on her. Staring into Douglas’ eyes, Alyx knew she shoul
d look away, anything not to encourage the man. But he seemed to be pulling her toward him, like an invisible rope, luring her with the one thing she very much wanted to do – travel.

  He was trapping her.

  “Ye’ll see it,” he murmured. “I plan tae take ye there myself. We’ll be married there if ye like. A grand wedding in the oldest church in Venice, with colored windows lighting up the entire city, just for ye.”

  Alyx’s warm expression went dark. How many times did she have to reject the man before he would understand her sincerity? It was of no use to get angry, truly. And it was of no use to argue, because he simply out-argued her. She cried about it, but he didn’t care.

  With a sigh, she averted her gaze, reaching out to collect her wine and downing the fortifying contents in one swallow. Douglas remained silent, but out of the corner of her eye, Alyx caught a glimpse of white material.

  She turned to find big blue eyes staring at her. Michael Kerr’s sweet baby face filled her vision as Douglas held him up to her.

  “Hold him.” Douglas practically thrust the child into her arms. Awkwardly, Alyx held the infant at arms-length, staring into his little face just as he stared into hers. Douglas grinned when he saw her uncertainty.

  “Come now, lass,” he admonished lightly. “Hold him close tae ye. Surely ye know how tae hold an infant?”

  She lifted an eyebrow, still staring at Michael in her outstretched hands. “Did you know how to hold an infant before your son was born?”

  Douglas chuckled. “Not in the least. The lad scared me tae death.”

  “As he frightens me.” Alyx loved babies but she’d never truly been exposed to one. Now that she had one in her hands, however, it was intimidating. “Please take him. I’m afraid I’ll drop him.”

  “Nonsense,” Douglas said. “Cradle him in the crook of yer arm, as ye’ve seen me do. That’s right; like that.”

  Alyx was terrified that the baby would somehow slip through her hands as she tried to maneuver the child in her arms. Although she wanted to give the baby back to his rightful parent, Douglas ignored her attempts and coached gently as she eventually put the infant against her shoulder, bending her elbow enough so that the child slid easily into place.