“Aye,” she agreed, pointing out to the kitchen yard. “I have a bean and pork soup cooking and also the last of the mutton we had. It is cooking in a gravy that has peppercorns and onions.”
His gaze remained on her, smoldering and weary, before turning to see what she was pointing at. “Have you done all of this by yourself?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I have had help,” she said, thinking to perhaps emphasize the value of the servants he had not put to the stake. Perhaps emphasize her value, too, now that she knew what he was capable of. “Uldward and Blandings have been extremely helpful,” she said. “Robert cut up the mutton to put in the pot. I could not have done it without them.”
He turned to look at her again. “Who are they?”
“The cook and kitchen servants.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I see.”
Allaston didn’t have much more to say as the conversation waned. Nervously, she politely brushed past him through the doorway.
“There is already fresh bread and cheese in the great hall,” she said as she moved by him. “Your men can start with that while I finish preparing the rest of the meal.”
Bretton couldn’t help but notice she seemed very nervous, not at all like the stubborn woman he had come to know. He followed her as she moved to the first big pot, which was bubbling with the beans and pork.
“It seems that you have done a great deal around here,” he said. “I was in the keep. It is very tidy.”
Allaston nodded as she took the big wooden spoon that was hanging on the tripod that was holding the pot. She stuck it into the soup.
“Aye,” she replied. “In truth, there wasn’t much to clean. The keep was fairly well kept.”
He watched her stir. “I appreciate a tidy keep,” he said. “You have done well.”
His compliment made her feel rather warm in spite of everything. She started to say something but some of Bretton’s men appeared near the entry to the kitchen yards, fighting over something. They had their arms full of what looked like goods of some kind. Suddenly, one man threw a punch at the other man and they went down, brawling in the dirt as other soldiers ran up and began shouting words of encouragement. Allaston stopped stirring the soup, looking on with concern and then horror as the man who had been punched first pulled a dirk and rammed it into the neck of his accoster. She gasped as Bretton moved away from her, quickly moving towards the men in a life or death battle.
He charged into the fray, yanking the bloodied dirk out of his soldier’s hand and pulling him off the man he had mortally wounded. With the dirk still in his hand, he balled up his enormous right fist and plowed it into the killer’s face, sending the man sailing backwards onto his arse. The man was knocked unconscious by Bretton’s devastating blow and Bretton tossed the blooded dirk to the ground as he ordered the men who had gathered to clean up the mess. Dallan appeared, having been over at the gatehouse when the fight broke out, and he took charge of the situation.
With the mess being cleaned up, Bretton returned to the kitchen yard where Allaston was still standing over the soup, stirring it. He couldn’t help but notice she wouldn’t look at him. He also noticed that she seemed to be trembling, which piqued his curiosity. He’d never seen this woman nervous since he’d known her so it was natural to wonder what had her shaken. What could have happened since leaving Cloryn those weeks ago to have turned her into a nervous mess? He wondered.
“How has it been here since my departure?” he asked, hoping to discover the reasons behind her state.
Allaston stirred the pot gently. “Quiet, my lord,” she said. “There has not been much to speak of, truly.”
It was extremely rare that she addressed him as “my lord”. Now, he was really curious. What could have happened to have changed her demeanor so?
“You have kept yourself busy?” he asked.
She nodded, tendrils of dark hair blowing in the breeze. “Aye,” she replied. “Sewing, cleaning, and other things.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Speaking of sewing,” he said, “I have several things that could use mending. I will bring them to you.”
Allaston nodded. “Very well, my lord.”
My lord again. His eyes narrowed at her, scrutinizing her, as he watched her stir. He was trying to figure out what in the world had her so nervous and obedient. Aye, obedient. The woman he knew before leaving Cloryn wasn’t particularly obedient. But she certainly was now. Scratching his head, he simply turned away without another word and headed back to the bailey.
Bretton didn’t see Allaston for the rest of the morning. He had been busy with his men and with a strategic planning session with Grayton, Teague, and Dallan. He had left Olivier at Rhayder Castle to organize and oversee the rebuilding of the damaged castle, so he only had his three commanders with him to charge on to Comen and Erwood Castles. But they would be enough. They were a loyal and hard-working bunch, and he considered himself extremely fortunate.
All the while in the planning session, however, thoughts of Allaston plagued him. He was curious to observe the woman’s behavior again, to see if this morning had merely been a fluke, or a bad day for her. In fact, it concerned him so much that he cut his meeting short and headed to the great hall to finally eat a decent meal because he knew that was where she would be.
Dirty, smelly, and with a five days’ growth of beard on his face, Bretton entered the great hall where the majority of his men were now supping. Everyone was exhausted from the battle, from the march, so there wasn’t much excitement going on. Merely men stuffing their faces with bread, cheese, mutton in gravy, and great bowls of the bean and pork stew Allaston had made. In fact, the entire hall smelled delicious and Bretton sat at the end of the feasting table, being served his meal from an old man with stringy gray hair. Before the servant could leave, he spoke to the man.
“Where is Lady Allaston?” he asked.
The servant was another nervous mess. His lips trembled as he spoke. “In the kitchen, my lord,” he said. “Shall I send for her?”
Bretton nodded as he tore apart a hot loaf of bread with garlic and peppercorns. “Send her to me.”
The old servant dashed away as Bretton began to stuff his mouth with the bread, which was delicious. The mutton was delectable, surprising for mutton, as was the bean and pork stew. It was all flavored beautifully with onions and garlic and plenty of salt. He loved it. As he was slurping up the last of the mutton from his trencher, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw Allaston standing by his left arm. When their eyes met, he actually smiled.
“This meal is the best I have ever had,” he told her with complete honesty. “The nuns at Alberbury taught you this?”
Allaston nodded, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchen and perhaps even from his compliment. “Aye, my lord,” she replied. “I told you that I had been assigned kitchen tasks and the nuns taught me what they knew.”
He continued to stare at her. She was still nervous and he didn’t like it, not in the least. He rather preferred the woman who was intent on defying him to this cowering female. There was such strength in Allaston, strength that had garnered his respect. This woman standing before him was not showing strength. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stood up and grasped her by the arm.
“Come with me,” he said softly.
Allaston had no choice. Her arm in his grip, she trailed after him as he pulled her out of the hall and across the bailey. Dust kicked up as his big boots met with the dry soil and rocks, and Allaston was on the verge of panic. Why was he taking her away like this? Had she done something wrong? Sweet Jesus, she’d worked so hard to do everything right.
As he pulled her up the stairs, Allaston tripped out of sheer anxiety, and he carefully helped her back to her feet again. There was an odd gentleness in his touch, something quite unexpected. Well, was he angry with her or wasn’t he? By the time he pulled her into the open room on the entry level, the room he used
for his meetings, she was nearly in tears.
Once inside the room, Bretton let go of Allaston’s arms and faced her. He crossed his arms, his head cocked pensively, as he looked into her eyes.
“What has happened since I last saw you that you would cower in my presence?” he asked quietly. “The woman I left a few short weeks ago did not behave as if she was afraid of me. But the woman I see before me behaves fearfully. Look at you. You are almost in tears. Why do you behave this way?”
Allaston didn’t want to tell him but she had little choice. He was asking a civil question and expecting the truth. Were she to lie to him, she suspected his questions would no longer be civil. But, God help her, she didn’t want to tell him. Yet, she had to. She backed away from him, rubbing her arm where he had gripped her.
“You wanted obedience, did you not?” she asked, having difficulty looking him in the eye. “I am simply being obedient.”
He grunted. “There is a difference between obedience and abject fear,” he said. “You are displaying the latter and I want to know why.”
She looked at him, then. “You told me when you left those weeks ago that I was to stay to the keep and to the hall, that I was to be obedient,” she said. “I have done that. I have done everything you told me to do. So now I have done something wrong because I am doing what you told me to do? I do not understand.”
He saw a flash of the old Allaston, the fiery one, and it pleased him. So she was still in there, somewhere. He wanted to bring her out. It was that Allaston he liked.
“You behave as if I have a knife to your throat,” he said. “I have never done anything like that to you, even when I took you from Alberbury. I have never held a weapon to you in any way. Why do you fear me so now?”
Allaston met his examining glare, seeing something so brilliant and beautiful in his face. Aye, it was true. She could see brilliance and beauty. She simply couldn’t imagine he was behind the horror outside the walls, the horror of killing the Mother Prioress right before her eyes, but the truth was that the man was a killer. He had made it clear that he was capable of atrocities beyond her comprehension. It was this killer who was using her to lure her father to his doom. So how on earth could she think he was brilliant and beautiful? The dam she had held so tightly was beginning to burst and there was no stopping it. She was so confused, so fearful, that she could hardly control herself.
“As you seek answers to your questions, I also seek answers to questions of my own,” she said quietly. “May I ask my questions first?”
He shrugged. “You may.”
“Will you be completely truthful?”
“I always am.”
Allaston considered that response before continuing. She was careful in the way she phrased her questions, not wanting to sound accusing or irrational. At least, not yet.
“When you were gone these past weeks, where did you go?” she asked.
Bretton met her gaze unwaveringly. “That is my business, lady.”
“It was to conquer another castle. I heard you and your men speaking.”
“Then if you already knew, why did you ask?”
Allaston’s scrutiny was intense. “Was there a lord and lady at that castle, too?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Did you bash their children’s brains out and put the parents on spikes like you did the lord and lady of Cloryn?”
All of the pleasant or warm reflections in Bretton’s expression had vanished. Now, he was looking at her with the eyes of a man who had no regrets in life, no matter what he’d done. He regarded her coolly.
“Where did you hear such things?” he asked evenly.
Allaston shook her head, firmly and with resolve. “It does not matter,” she said. “What matters is if those rumors are true.”
He didn’t hesitate. “They are.”
She swallowed hard, staggering back a bit as if he had struck her. Even though she’d known the truth, it was still a blow to have him confirm it so callously. Tears began to pool in her eyes but before she could respond, he was moving towards her, stalking her, as if he was the hunter and she was the prey. His enormous body moved with grace and stealth.
“And before you think to denounce me for such things, remember this,” he hissed. “Your father did such things along this border twenty-five years ago, such horrors as you cannot comprehend. Whatever I am doing, he did first, so before you tell me what a horrible murderer I am, you had better rethink your accusations. Your father was a brutal murderer who ran a spike through my father’s anus, up into his guts and through his chest so that the end of it came out of his shoulder. Then he put one end of the pole into the ground and left my father, a truly good and decent man, to die an agonizing death, so every man I put to a stake, every woman I disembowel, and every child whose brains are splashed out over the walls has your father to thank for it. It is all de Velt’s fault!”
He was in her face by the time he finished, leaning over her as she recoiled from him. Allaston couldn’t tear her gaze away from his angry blue eyes. He was enraged, that was true, but oddly enough, she wasn’t afraid of him. That pity she had felt for him before began to fill her veins yet again because she understood why he was doing it. She’d understood it back when he’d first told her but now, it was more evident than ever.
“I know what my father did to your father, for you have already told me,” she said, her tone a breathy whisper. “Now you are doing what my father did, but for what? To somehow punish my father? Do you really believe this will hurt him somehow by emulating his reign of terror? Nay, that is not why you do this. Deep down, you are still that hurt, shattered five year old boy and you are taking your anger out on the world. The only person you are hurting is yourself.”
Bretton was so close to Allaston’s face that his breath was lifting tendrils of her hair. Her words sank in and his eyes narrowed, briefly, as a flash of anger rolled through him. As fast as lightning, he reached out and grabbed her, pulling her hard against his broad chest. His fingers bit into her tender flesh and she gasped, startled by his reaction. She could see something dark and painful brewing in his eyes.
“You know nothing,” he snarled. “What do you know of that five year old boy who watched his entire world go up in flames? What do you know of that child who saw his mother kill his sister and then herself because she knew what her fate would be at the hands of de Velt? I watched as my mother stabbed my sister in the chest and then slit her own throat, but I was too young and too powerless to stop her. I was too young and too powerless to stop de Velt from impaling my father and destroying my castle. I escaped with some of the servants, a lonely bundle of humanity, who then kept me for a while, tending me, until I became too much of a burden and they sold me into slavery. I was too young and too powerless to stop the man who bought me from raping me from the time he purchased me until I grew old enough to fight him off. I killed him when I was ten years of age to finally free myself of the abuse. So do not judge me, Lady Allaston, by the way I treat the world. The world has never been kind to me. Therefore, I am not kind to the world.”
Allaston stared at him, deeply surprised and deeply horrified by his admission. Her heart was aching for the man. Now, so much of what he did and who he was made sense. It was much more than Jax de Velt destroying his castle and killing his father. It was everything that came after that. He blamed Jax for destroying his life, as he’d once said. It would seem there was some truth to that.
“What you have had to endure is barbaric and terrible, and I cannot imagine the pain you must have felt,” she admitted. “I would apologize for the sins committed against you but I do not believe that would make a difference. If… if my father apologized to you, would it help to ease this anger you carry?”
Bretton still wasn’t over the fact that he had just told her his darkest secret. Gazing into those bright green eyes and beautiful face, it was as if he’d had no control. It all just came spilling out. He was both embarrassed and strangely relieved, as if a burden had bee
n lifted from him, a burden he had carried most of his life. Now Jax de Velt’s daughter shared that burden, too. Perhaps it was right that she did, considering her father had laid this heavy burden across his shoulders. Perhaps it was right that a de Velt helped him bear the unbearable.
“Do you truly believe it that simple?” he asked after a moment, the grip on her arms loosening. “The destruction of a man’s life cannot be erased by condolences.”
“Mayhap not,” she said softly, “but mayhap it will ease you somewhat. You have a terrible burden to bear. If I could make it easier for you, I would.”
She had meant it innocently, in the course of attempting to be understanding about his situation, but Bretton didn’t take it that way. All he could think about was physical comfort, sexual comfort, as sexual contact with a woman he was attracted to was something of a rarity. In fact, he couldn’t even remember bedding a woman he felt something for. Those kinds of relationships didn’t exist in his world. Aye, she could make it easier for him. She could give him comfort where none existed.
His mouth descended on hers, abruptly, tasting a woman who was sweeter and softer than anything he had ever experienced. Allaston shrieked, into his mouth, but Bretton didn’t release her. In fact, he pulled her tighter, kissing her so forcefully that she was nearly bent over backwards. As she squirmed and gasped, he forced his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, suckling her tongue as she continued to resist him. But the more she struggled, the more excited he became. It wasn’t so much her resistance as it was her taste. She tasted delightful and he could feel himself growing hard. There was only one way to ease his desire.
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