"Doth something amuse you?"
Amery glanced up to find Gunther watching. "Nay. I only thought how if I were you and was forced to tolerate such moods as mine, I would soon abandon such a friend. Our days number too few for you to be put upon by ill humor."
"I linger only to see the day a fair damsel melts the ice from your heart," Gunther stated simply. "Then I shall be done with you and have cause to celebrate."
Amery's wide chest shook with his laughter. "Then harden yourself against my biting words, good Gunther, for it will be a long time coming." With a sharp nudge of his heels in Conan's sides, they cantered off down the road and Amery laughed loudly when he heard Gunther's oath hurled upon him. "And be quick, my love-struck knight, for yonder lies the valley of my father's land and I wish to find food and rest within the castle walls."
"I have yet to see such a castle sprout wings and fly away," Gunther shouted. "There's no need to hurry."
"Ah, and if the manor were called Burchard, I would wager I would be left behind," Amery bantered, kicking Bis steed into a full gallop.
"Yea," Gunther returned, "but I have no cause to question what might await me!"
Suddenly Amery yanked back hard on the reins, and Conan's hindquarters were nearly buried in the soft earth as the steed responded to his master's-command. Rearing, he snorted his objection to so quick an end to his unrestricted race. A firm rein calmed the animal and Amery spun the destrier around. "What say you?" he asked, brow furrowed.
Gunther waited to reply until he drew his charger next to Amery's. "The lord of Wellington is dead six months past. You have spoken many times of Lady Edlyn's wish to see your half brother rule. With your absence all these years and the free hand given to the lady, 'twould be a guess, but I suspect you will not be greeted with open arms. 'Twould be wise to approach with caution."
Amery considered his words a moment, then jerked Conan back to the path they traveled. "Yea. You are right. Though Radolf and I were never enemies as children, there's a chance his mind has changed with only his mother to fill his head with thoughts. Twas those few fond memories that spurred my foolishness. Thank you, Gunther."
Gunther nodded and silently cursed the need to warn his friend, for he saw Amery's playful mood darken and the hardened, quiet side of the man surface. Would Amery ever find peace? he wondered sadly.
The castle of Wellington had been erected on the bank of a stream running through the valley. Though narrow, the waterway was deep and served as a moat on three sides of the structure. The fourth held the only entrance to the building, which Was made of stone and mortar, and anyone seeking an audience with its lord must first travel through the serfs' village to reach it. While Ryland had reigned as the lord, the iron-bound door of heavy oak had stood open, welcoming his serfs at all hours of the day to seek his advice on matters concerning, his lands and its people. But with his passing, the barrier had been closed as well as the hearts of those who lived within the walls, and a firm hand now ruled Wellington.
" Tis beautiful, this land of your father's," Gunther said once he and Amery had ridden to the top of the last hill overlooking the castle and had brought their steeds to a halt.
"Yea," Amery agreed softly, noticing little change in the village. "As a child I spent many days playing outside the walls of the castle. 'Twas a time of peace, and friendship ran high." He grew quietly thoughtful, then smiled, recalling something pleasant from his past. "I remember the look my father would give me whenever he came searching for me. Titles-and nobility held little meaning for me as a boy and I would shed my clothes of linen for homespun and play with the others my age from the village." He chuckled. '"Twas hard at times to name the son of Lord Ryland for all the dirt on my face. And he tried to show his displeasure for my lack of concern but always failed. You know, Gunther, I somehow thought he longed to do as I had done, for his true friends lived outside the castle and were never afraid to show their affection,"
"He must have been a good and fair lord to win their respect," Gunther added.
Amery glanced up, his green eyes darkening. "Yea, until Lady Edlyn had her say and Radolf was born. When I was six and my half brother three, I took him with me to the village to play. I loved him and protected him, but Lady Edlyn thought I held jealousy in my heart and planned to harm the child."
Amery's face hardened and his nostrils flared with each breath he took. "She beat me that day and forbade me to leave the castle or play with Radolf from that time on."
"And your father?"
"He argued at first until Lady Edlyn locked her chamber door to him." His hate-filled gaze fell upon the castle once more. "And each time a trinket of any kind was missing or Radolf fell and caused injury to himself, she blamed me. If food wasn't prepared to her liking or I was served before Radolf, she would scream treason, that all favored me over her and her son, 'the rightful heir to Wellington.'" The muscle in his cheek flexed. "God, how I hated her," he said bitterly. "And my father, the lord of all the people, was blind to everything." His anger seemed to vanish as he looked back at his friend, a sarcastic smile twisting his mouth. "Dost thou know how I got this?" he asked, touching the scar on his cheek.
Gunther shook his head.
"From the ring-on her finger when I tried to stop her from killing my puppy. Twas my punishment for disobeying her, she said. But when I ran to my father with word of her cruelty, she labeled me a liar, claiming the animal had fallen down the steps where I had thrown him. 'Twas only Doane who believed me and gave me comfort." A quiet contentment seemed to wash over him as he looked upon the castle again. "But my father can no longer protect her, and I am not a child but a man full grown. She will pay for all the lies, deceit. I will claim what is mine and cast her from the place. Her time has come to pay what is due." Nudging Conan, Amery and the steed bolted off and headed for the village.
Gunther watched as the proud figure of his friend rode further on and was certain no other in the world had heard the man's story as fully as he. His heart ached for the boy of years ago and understood from whence this knight's hatred had come. Yet it had closed his friend's eyes and his heart to all women, for he swore that each was the same as Lady Edlyn. Finally Gunther's curiosity about Amery's tenderness with animals and tiny children had been appeased. They were the only living things that never sought to hurt him; their honesty, innocence and loyalty the only key to unlocking the chains from around Amery's hardened exterior. Visions of the beautiful Lady Jewel came to mind and he raised a brow, wondering. Could she find that key? And now after what had happened, would she even want to try? He frowned, perplexed, and spurred his horse to follow his companion. Amery had stated that only God and his king could sway him, but Gunther decided it would be worth the effort to add a third to his list, and with a little prodding from him. Lady Jewel would be the one.
A silver falcon emblazoned on a black shield gleamed in the sunshine and stopped the children's play in the village as they stared wide eyed and curious. From the doorways of their simple huts, both men and women stared unmoving. A quiet fell among the people as the visitors and mighty destriers advanced, the clanking of armor and pounding hooves echoing throughout the stillness.
From beneath the shadow of his helm, Amery surveyed the people, his-own curiosity aroused when all seemed afraid. Though many years had passed since last they had seen him, the shield bearing his coat of arms, which hung from his saddle, and the colors borne by his charter proclaimed his identity and should not have given anyone reason to fear him.
"Doth seem, Amery, no one wishes us well," Gunther observed, noticing how those they had passed had hastily gathered their children and gone inside, closing doors behind them. "Hath the Lady Edlyn's preaching turned their hearts so quickly?"
"Twould seem," Amery murmured, recognizing several of the older men. His brow crimped. "Do these people not seem ill fed to you, Gunther? And their clothes are little more than rags. I had not heard tales of poor crops this summer past."
"Yea,
" Gunther answered. "And few have fires burning, for no smoke fills the air. A curious thing, Amery."
Glancing ahead of them, Amery studied the entrance to the castle, his bewilderment deepening. The minutely carved, giant oak doorway was closed, and he had little doubt that if he tried to enter he would find it locked and barred. The torches on either side had not been lit and the stained-glass windows were shuttered, as if protecting those inside. Amery jerked Conan to an abrupt halt and swung the steed around to face the group of nervous men who lingered.
"You there, Ramsden," he thundered, his pointed finger raised in the man's direction. "Stand forth!"
The man of more than three score years lowered his head, clasped his hands as if in silent prayer, and hurried forward. "Yes, sire." His voice came weak and fearful.
"What say you that you dress in rags, starve your children, and turn from me as if I would strike you dead? I am Amery, new lord of Wellington."
"Nay, my son, you are not."
Angrily, Amery yanked his head around to glare at the brazen one who spoke, but his ire vanished when his eyes settled on his old friend, Doane, standing outside one of the huts. He laughed. "No other would call me son but you, or have the courage to question my words." Amery grinned. "Tis good to see that you have not turned against me."
"Never that, Amery, eldest to the late Lord Ryland, never that. As I told you many times, you are the son I never had." Doane smiled tenderly. Leaning against his cane for support, he raised a gnarled hand to indicate his home. "My dwelling is humble but I offer all I have to you and your friend. Come. We shall start a fire and find a crust of bread to share." He motioned to one of the young boys standing in the doorway behind him. "Take Sir Amery's steed and that of his friend and tend to them."
The lad of no more than ten with blond, curly hair and round blue eyes quickly did as he was bade, but once he stood before Conan, his courage faded, and he glanced fearfully back at Doane. Eager to do as the old man wished, the boy had little realized the task he had undertaken as he had approached the giant stallion. But now he saw that one tug of the steed's huge head against the reins would lift him from the ground and set them off in any direction the destrier might choose.
Amery could sense the cause of the lad's hesitation from the look in his pale blue eyes, and without comment he hastily dismounted to stand near the child. "I call him Conan," he said, removing his helm and reaching for-a pouch beneath his hauberk. "If you give him one of these"—he handed the boy a sugared candy—"he will be as gentle as a kitten. But," he added, dropping a second piece in the open hand, "you must eat one too."
When the child glanced up questioningly, Amery winked, the gesture going unseen by those who observed, and a bright smile flashed from the boy in return.
"As for my friend's steed," he continued, waving a hand toward Gunther, "'tis little more than a mule. No danger there."
The boy giggled, popped the treat into his mouth and easily took Conan's reins from Amery. Cautiously, he held out the candy between a thumb and forefinger, pulling back when Conan raised his nose.
"Nay. Like this," Amery instructed, taking the tiny hand in his own large one and stretching it out flat, the sugar drop positioned on the palm. "He will tickle but not bite."
Another giggle erupted from the boy when Conan did just as the huge knight had said, and Amery laughed, tousling the boy's hair with his wide, hand as he walked past him.
"Have you adopted another son, Doane?" Amery inquired with a grin as he and Gunther followed the old man into his hut.
"Nay, Amery. He is of my own blood. My grandson by my second daughter."
"Ah, yes. As I remember, you had seven."
Doane paused and glanced up at him. "Nine. Two were born after you left." He smiled, extending a hand to denote the crude chairs that sat around the small table. "Please, rest thysehres."
The two men did as bade and settled back to watch the busy activity of the women in the hut as they started a fire in the hearth and brought cups and plates made of clay to the table as well as a jug of goat's milk and a loaf of bread. When the eldest of the women lifted the pitcher to fill the cups, Amery raised a hand, declining.
"'Tis not that I insult your hospitality, Doane, my friend, but from what I've seen, you cannot spare a drop."
Doane nodded dismissingly at the women and waited until they had left the hut to allow the men their privacy before he hobbled to a chair placed before the hearth. Easing himself into it, he sighed. "Times are bad, Amery. Since your father died, there has been much sadness here."
"Tell me the whole of it," Amery urged.
Tired brown eyes shadowed by thick white brows looked up at him. "Before your father, my friend, was cold in his grave, Lady Edlyn brought us together to announce the new lord of Wellington, Radolf, second son of Ryland. We could not question it, but I always knew someday you would return home to claim what was rightfully yours. The people of this hamlet feared rule by Radolf, knowing Lady Edlyn would guide his decisions. Your father was always fair with us and gave each an equal share of food, but Lady Edlyn thought us worse than the pigs in the sty. When crops were harvested, they were taken inside the castle walls and we were forced to beg for a morsel to feed our children. Many have died, Amery, since Radolf has been lord."
A huge fist slammed against the table. "And I shall right the wrong done you," he roared, bolting from his chair.
"Nay, Amery," Doane objected. "There is more of which you know not. Please sit and hear it all, for it would be dangerous, to ride into the castle with only one man by your side."
"But those who live there were my father's knights and will pledge allegiance to his son."
"Until this morn when news reached the castle, they would readily have joined you. But not now."
"News?" Amery echoed. "What news? What words could sway their hearts and set them against me?"
"Please sit, my son, and I will tell you," Doane pleaded softly, watching Gunther lay a gentle hand on his friend's arm and silently urge Amery to do as he had been bidden.
"A grievous thing has happened and no easy way to tell it comes to mind but simple verse," Doane began, his expression pained. "Two nights past, Harcourt castle was attacked and all within were slain. Lord Alcot, Lady Jocelyn, Edwina and Ivy, and the young William have met their deaths. Only your betrothed, Lady Jewel, was spared, and I fear simply by the grace of God, for she has been at court these four weeks past."
Amery's green eyes flashed his rage. "Attacked? Why? Who would do such a thing?" he ground out through clenched teeth.
"In my heart I know it is a lie, good Amery, son of my beloved friend," Doane answered, leaning forward in his chair, tears glistening in his eyes. "It has been said that in Lord Alcot's hand a green stone was found, an emerald necklace that belonged to your mother, and you are being held responsible, that it was torn from your neck when Lord Alcot met-his death."
Amery's face whitened with the old man's story. Silent, he rose and went to the hearth to stare into the fire.
"Those who did this came under friendship, Amery, for Lord Alcot and all his knights met them without swords or weapons, opened their doors and arms willingly as if they believed no danger would come from their visitors. Lord Alcot was a great and cunning knight. He must have trusted the man who slayed him; otherwise he would have armed himself. 'Tis why blame of this evil act has been placed on you."
"But Lord Alcot was the father of Amery's betrothed," Gunther pointed out. "Could any who spread the lie explain the reason he would draw his sword against the man?"
"News has reached us of the King's capture and the ransom that is needed to free him. They say all knights of the realm must collect the levies and that Sir Amery sought out his neighbor first. When Lord Alcot refused .. ."
" 'Tis child's reasoning," Gunther stormed.
"Yea, and I told the others in this hamlet such, that Sir Amery had not returned from the Crusade in three years. No eyes fell upon the one who murdered Lord A
lcot and none could say Sir Amery had returned. But still they believed. And now that he has come, it sets to fact the lies as they see it."
"Then someone knew we had crossed into this land," Gunther said thoughtfully. "To seal the trap, Amery's presence was needed, to place him near Harcourt castle without witnesses to say the difference. Only I can disclaim the tale, for he never left my side."
"And one against many will not convince them, Sir Gunther," Doane said sadly.
"Then we must find the one who did this and prove Amery's innocence."
"Yea. But you will be hard put to do so. A price has been placed on Sir Amery's head and arty who ride with him."
"A price?" Gunther bellowed. "Who would dare? He is a knight to the king of England!"
"I can name him," the deep voice stated, and both Doane and Gunther turned to look at Amery. Casually, he glanced over at them, a sardonic smile on his handsome face. "My half brother, Radolf, done so by instruction of Lady Edlyn."
"But Amery," Gunther contested, "'twould mean he believes the guilt lies with you."
"Nay, Gunther, ray friend. Whether he believes or not is not his cause, but finding an easy way to set the people of Wellington against me. If all are fooled by his actions, they will turn from me, the rightful lord, and follow the deceitful one. Is that not how it is, Doane?" he asked, looking at the old man.
"Yea, my son. Twas Radolf," Doane said softly, casting his eyes away from his friend. "And I have more of which I wish to speak, Amery, something that saddens my heart more than just the telling of it."
"Then spill the words and ease your burden," Amery urged.
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