Juliandra wasn’t quite sure to say to him. He seemed almost… lost. With a new English king on the throne, and a new title given to him by his brother, he’d reached a new and unfamiliar point in his life. She could see that tender heart in him, more than ever before, and it touched her.
Impulsively, she reached out and put her hand on his arm.
“You will know peace,” she said. “It may not be at Wybren, for you are in the middle of Welsh territory, but I am sure once you return to Trelystan, you will know peace. It seems to me that you have earned it.”
Kevin looked at her hand on his arm. She had pale skin and slender fingers with little nails on the tips, uneven but clean. He was still looking at her hands when he spoke.
“You have not yet answered me,” he said. “Would you be agreeable to a marriage?”
Juliandra could see where he was looking. Her hand was still on his arm and she could have pulled it away, but she didn’t. She didn’t answer, either, and when he finally dared to look up at her, she simply smiled coyly and looked away. Kevin thought it might have been an affirmative answer but he was prevented from pursuing it as the minstrels suddenly appeared at the table, strumming on their instruments.
“Lady of the House,” the man with the citole said. “I am told you can sing like an angel. Will you sing for us, please?”
Those that heard the question began to roar in approval and Juliandra began to turn red in the face, embarrassed that the attention was on her. Kevin, a grin on his lips, stood up and pulled her to her feet. As she weakly protested, he put his hands on her waist and lifted her right up onto the table.
“Sing,” he commanded softly.
She looked at him, still reluctant. “But…”
He winked at her. “Sing for me.”
That wink gave her pause. It was sweet and subtle, but there was something deeper about it.
Personal.
He was asking her to sing because he wanted to hear her.
No one had really ever wanted to hear her before.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded and turned to the minstrels. After a brief discussion, they began to play a lively song and Juliandra began to clap her hands so that the entire hall began to clap in rhythm, too. Because she was at one end of the hall and she knew she wouldn’t be heard very well, she leapt off the table and beckoned the musicians to follow her.
“Harry McMerry came to town,
A lady fore to seek.
When Harry McMerry found a gown,
He begged her for a peek.
Oh, lady dear, be of good cheer,
My hand, I offer thee,
I promise to love you
Every day of my life
After I’ve had my beer!”
The men cheered and lifted their cups, and Juliandra encouraged them to sing the chorus with her.
“Harry, Harry, a man so merry,
A lady fore to seek.
Harry, my Harry, she’s a beautiful pip,
And she’ll give you a taste of her lips!”
Everyone in the hall was clapping and singing now as Juliandra moved around the vast hall with the musicians in tow, singing at the top of her lungs. She wasn’t nervous or reluctant any longer because they were so happy to see her, and so receptive to her singing, that she felt comfortable and flattered. It was quite fun. She ended up over by the table where Kevin was sitting and started to sing the verse again, encouraging him to sing.
“Harry McMerry came to town,
A lady fore to seek.
When Harry McMerry found a gown,
He begged her for a peek.”
Smiling, Kevin shook his head, begging off because he wasn’t much of an exhibitionist, but he’d had too much to drink, so he gave in to her pleas and joined in as she sang the last part of the verse.
“Oh, lady dear, be of good cheer,
My hand, I offer thee,
I promise to love you
Every day of my life
After I’ve had my beer!”
Unfortunately, Kevin couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, as his friends all knew. He was tone-deaf and off-key, but he sang because Juliandra had begged him to. About four words into the second part of the verse, however, Juliandra could hear his terrible singing and she tried very hard not to laugh because he was making a valiant effort at it.
Instead, she winked at him and headed back towards the center of the hall where men were loudly singing because Kevin’s off-key singing was starting to throw her off. The hall was just singing the chorus, the part about giving a taste of her lips, when someone reached out and grabbed her.
“Give me a taste of yer lips, dearie!” a big soldier cried.
He had her around the waist, trying to kiss her as she fought him off. His friends were laughing and cheering him on, and now they, too, were trying to kiss her. The good humor of the song quickly turned to panic for Juliandra as she slugged one man in the face.
The mood of the hall suddenly became tense and uncertain.
Juliandra was fighting for all she was worth, trying to free herself from a man who held her tightly. He tried to kiss her again and she slapped him, hard, demanding her release her. He simply laughed at her. She wasn’t sure she could ever get away from him.
But then, a strange thing happened.
Juliandra caught sight of Kevin as he loomed behind the soldier, but it was merely a flash of his face. Suddenly, she was being jerked around as Kevin threw his arm across the soldier’s neck, yanking the man out of his chair. The soldier abruptly released her, but it wasn’t because he was fighting with his liege.
It was because Kevin had snapped his neck.
In a flash, the man who had grabbed her was dead.
Juliandra was on the ground, on her arse, as she looked up at Kevin, who stood over the dead man with a remorseless expression. Suddenly, he didn’t look or act so drunk. He seemed very sober. He kicked the man aside as he faced the entire room full of stunned soldiers.
“The next man who lays a hand on her gets the same,” he bellowed in a tone Juliandra had never heard from him before. “Touch her and you die. Consider yourselves warned!”
The soldiers were genuinely shocked. A couple of the dead man’s comrades began to speak up, to possibly condemn Kevin for his hasty action, but Bannon and Cal were there, in the midst of everything, scolding every man at the table, demanding they clear the hall. They did, dragging their dead friend with them.
As Cal made sure that table cleared, Bannon began to pace around the fire pit, explaining the need for discipline that was brutal and harsh. Men who had no discipline were as good as dead.
De Lara’s knights had established the law.
Still raging and struggling for control, Kevin looked at Juliandra, who was still sitting on the ground. Reaching down, he pulled her to her feet.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked.
Juliandra was deeply shocked by what had just happened. “You… you killed him.”
Kevin’s jaw ticked faintly. “Answer me,” he said. “Did he hurt you?”
“Nay,” she fired back, almost angrily. “Why did you kill him?”
He still didn’t reply but, instead, grasped her by the arm. “Retreat for the evening,” he said. “My men evidently cannot keep themselves under control with you cavorting in front of them. Though they understand now what will happen to them if they molest you, it is better not to tempt fate.”
Juliandra couldn’t seem to make her legs work. She watched soldiers drag away the dead man, who had traces of vomit coming out of his mouth. It left a trail on the floor.
Dead…
It occurred to her that she’d never really seen a dead man before. Dead because of her. She didn’t even know what she’d done wrong. She’d only been singing and having a good time, and suddenly, a man was dead because of her.
God, she felt sick.
The world began to dim.
Kevin caught her before she could hit the ground.
<
br /> CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The raw material that the smithy needed wasn’t readily available in Pool, but the man whose business it was to sell scrap and raw material was expecting a wagonload of it on the morrow, so Gareth ended up spending the night in Pool at a place called The Silver Fish.
The tavern was a combination of an inn and also a place that smoked and sold fish caught in the river that ran behind the inn. Basically, it was a fishmonger’s inn, which Gareth found interesting as he watched the comings and goings of the place from his private room, struggling to stave off the boredom as he waited for the morning when they’d be able to purchase the raw material and head back to Wybren.
Gareth had grown up on the Marches in a castle about twenty miles to the north, so he knew the area better than Kevin did. His father had cemented a strong rule amongst the Welsh even though he was English, and the Welsh respected him. But that relationship had taken a long time. Originally, his father had come to the Welsh Marches to kill and conquer. It had been a time in Bretton de Llion’s life when he had been one of the more brutal warlords in England. But that had ended when he’d married Gareth’s mother and he’d spent the past thirty years cultivating a strong relationship with his allies.
That was exactly what Kevin needed to do.
Gareth knew that, more than most. But he also knew that it wasn’t going to be easy. Desperation had caused Kevin to hold fast to Gethin ap Garreg’s daughter even as the man lay dead in the vault. Gareth understood the desperation and although he didn’t disagree with Kevin’s actions, taking a woman and her father hostage wasn’t going to be particularly endearing to the locals.
If Kevin wanted to build bridges, then he was going to have to use better tactics.
Gareth had stewed on that thought all day and into the night, sleeping on a lumpy bed in the inn while the smith he’d come with, an Englishman named Noode, remained down in the common room because the man liked to drink. When Gareth awoke before dawn, he found Noode sleeping on one of the tables downstairs.
Rousing the man, he ordered some food and drink from the tavern keeper, who was preparing for the day to come. Bread, cheese, and buttered ale arrived, and the ale was heavy, sweet, and very buttery. Gareth didn’t much like it, but he drank it to wash down the bread and cheese. By that time, they were ready to go to the man who would supply them with the slag the smithy needed. Crossing the avenue just as the sun rose, they were nearing the scrap dealer’s stall when Gareth heard his name.
“De Llion!”
Gareth turned sharply to see Peter de Lohr heading in his direction.
And he wasn’t alone.
As the sun rose over the village of Pool, Gareth saw several men he recognized behind Peter, not the least of which were two very powerful warlords – Sean de Lara and Alexander de Sherrington. He also saw young William de Wolfe, a squire as heavily armored as the knights. He was puzzled to see the young man, but more than that, he was puzzled to see Sean and Alexander. He let the smithy go on ahead to the slag dealer while he went to greet the incoming tide of English.
“This is a surprise,” he said truthfully. “What are you doing here?”
Peter grinned. He was big and blond, like all of the de Lohr men, and had a more congenial personality than most of the Executioner Knights. He was still young, however, and although he’d seen plenty of battle, he hadn’t yet learned to harden himself the way men sometimes did with age and experience. He was still ready to smile, ready to carry on a conversation.
He still wore his heart on his sleeve.
“My father sent us to see how Kevin was faring,” he said, throwing his thumb back at Sean, who was riding up on his big, red steed. “Lord de Lara was heading north to visit his brother, anyway, but my father sent Sherry and me along.”
“Oh?” Gareth said curiously. “Why?”
Sean was close enough that he heard the question. “Because we know something my brother may wish to also know,” he said as quietly as he could. Then, he started looking around. “Where is my brother, Gareth?”
Sean’s words had Gareth’s concern rising. “At Wybren, my lord,” he said. Being a newer member of the Executioner Knights, he still addressed the senior members formally, and most especially an earl. “He is settling in admirably as Lord of the Sky. All has been peaceful here.”
Sean nodded as if he didn’t quite believe him, looking around the town that was just coming alive at this time in the morning. He studied the layout, the people, before replying.
“That is good to know,” he said. “Why are you in town this morning?”
Gareth pointed towards the slag merchant. “I brought the smithy for raw materials,” he said. “We will purchase them and then we shall depart. It should take no longer than a few minutes if you can wait.”
Sean nodded, eyeing The Silver Fish. “We’ll wait,” he said. “We’ll have something to eat while you take care of your business, but do not delay. I intend to make it to Wybren before the nooning hour.”
“Aye, my lord,” Gareth said.
Sean seemed to have a sense of urgency about him. As Sean and Alexander headed over to The Silver Fish, Gareth turned for the slag merchant but he’d picked up a couple of tails. Peter and William were following him.
“What’s this all about, Peter?” Gareth asked quietly. “Lord de Lara seems… tense. What has happened?”
Peter dismounted his horse and William did the same, walking next to Gareth as the man marched along.
“Rumblings, mostly,” Peter said, keeping his voice low. “My father has been hearing things and he relayed them to Sean.”
“What is he hearing?”
“Have you ever heard of Phylip ap Bedo?”
Gareth thought on that. “I do not believe so,” he said. “Why? Who is he?”
“He is one of my father’s Welsh neighbors,” Peter said. “They are not allies, but they are not exactly enemies. My father tolerates him and he tolerates my father. But my father has a spy in ap Bedo’s ranks and, evidently, they have been speaking about Wybren and Kevin. Purely by coincidence, Sean was on his way north from Bath to see how Kevin was faring with his new command and my father told Sean what he had heard. Now, Sean wants to speak to Kevin about it.”
Gareth didn’t like the sound of that. He looked at Peter. “Is it bad?”
Peter lifted his eyebrows. “I am not certain.”
Gareth didn’t ask any further questions. He made it to the slag merchant’s stall and hurried the man along as quickly as he could, having it all loaded into a wagon they’d brought from Wybren the day before. He paid the merchant well and within the hour, Gareth, Sean, Peter, Alexander, William, and about eight hundred de Lohr soldiers were making their way north to Wybren Castle.
“This is a hell of a place, Kevin.”
The words came from Sean as he dismounted his frothing steed in the inner bailey of Wybren Castle. Kevin was vastly surprised to see his brother, though not displeased. He was, however, curious.
“More than you know,” he said, his gaze drifting over his brother who had recovered quite nicely from his brush with death a couple of years ago. “It is quite agreeable to see you again, Sean. You are looking well. How is Dani?”
Sean smiled at the mention of his wife. “Angry because I would not bring her with me,” he said. “She wanted to come and see your new castle. Truthfully, I think she wanted to get away from screaming children. The twins have reached an age where they are quite a challenge.”
Kevin grinned. “Terrors, are they?”
Sean snorted. “That is putting it mildly,” he said. “They are not quite two years of age and smarter than I am. Everything is new and wonderful to them, but they want everything they see and God help us all if Dani denies them – they scream louder than banshees. I had to come north to see you simply to gain some peace.”
Kevin laughed. “And leave poor Dani to deal with the tyrants.”
Sean nodded. “I am a coward, I know,” he said. “Bu
t there is good news, too. Dani is pregnant again and that is also why I did not bring her. She should not travel.”
Kevin put a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations,” he said. “I shall pray for a son this time.”
Sean shrugged. “Truth be told, I adore my daughters,” he said. “They are beautiful angels even if they are little terrors, but I find that I rather like girls. I would not mind another one.”
“But a son would be welcome.”
“Most definitely.”
Kevin nodded, a glimmer of warmth in his eyes as he looked at his brother. He could tell that Sean had something else on his mind simply from the way he was making light conversation. That wasn’t Sean’s usual manner – he wasn’t a light conversation type of man. He eyed his brother for a moment before looking over his shoulder to see the approach of someone he liked a great deal.
Alexander de Sherrington, or Sherry to his friends, grinned as he and Kevin made eye contact. Big, dark, and handsome, Alexander had married Christopher de Lohr’s eldest daughter and was now in command of the de Lohr war machine along with Peter. With Christopher growing older, he was backing away from actively attending his massive army and left the strenuous duties to the younger men. Alexander had a congenial manner about him and was very likable, but only to men he liked in return.
That bright smile was only a façade for the deadly knight beneath.
“So,” Alexander said. “This is your great Welsh command? Impressive, Kevin. The little brother has done well for himself.”
Kevin grinned. “Thank you,” he said. “And you? How goes things at Lioncross Abbey?”
Alexander waved him off. “Give me drink and I shall tell you,” he said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder at the big, black steed he’d been riding as the grooms tried to lead the excited animal away. “I was forced to ride de Wolfe’s stallion most of the way. The beast threw him twice and we were afraid the next time he might break something, so my hands are weary and my arse hurts. I need to sit down on something that isn’t trying to throw me.”
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 74