“Why did you bring him?” he demanded. “Why?”
Rod watched his cousin, the mighty mercenary who had so flawlessly planned the destruction of Jax de Velt’s empire, crumble before him. The man was falling apart.
“Because we want to exchange Morgan de Llion for Lady Allaston,” he said urgently. “Your father is not dead, Bretton. If he is not dead, then there is no cause for vengeance against de Velt. If you will not come and see your father, then we will take him away and you will never know the truth!”
It was a plot to force Bretton to come to de Velt and de Lohr, but it worked. Bretton bellowed to the sentries to raise the portcullis and they did, chains grinding as the iron grate slowly lifted. When it was about three feet off the ground, Bretton darted underneath it and started running, running for that field where the promise of seeing his father waited. He was blind to anything else.
So was Rod. He ran after his cousin, unaware that Allaston, as she tried to duck beneath the grate, was grabbed from behind by Teague. The man slapped a hand over her mouth and spirited her away from the portcullis, but neither Bretton nor Rod noticed.
As a life-changing event was about to take place in the field below Cloryn, a life-or-death struggle was about to take place inside the walls.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Bretton hadn’t run in this manner since he had been a child. He was running wildly, swiftly, so fast that his chest hurt from the exertion. He was sailing across the road, down the slope, and into the field where the four horsemen await in the distance. As he ran, he began to hear the sounds of children’s laughter deep in his mind, sounds of his sister, Ceri, as she would chase him about. That was what running reminded him of; his beloved sister. He’d not thought of her in twenty-five years. Odd how he could hear her laughter as he ran for his life beneath the bright blue sky.
The four horsemen were drawing closer, three of them dismounting while a fourth remained on his steed. As Bretton drew close, the first thing he saw was Berwyn as the man ripped off his helm and moved to intercept him. But Bretton came to a halt before Berwyn could grab him, and he stared at his grandfather, so much older than he had remembered him, as the man broke down into tears.
“Bretton,” he breathed. “It is you. Somehow, I imagined that Rod was wrong. Not until this very minute did I truly believe him.”
Breathing heavily, Bretton focused on his grandfather. “It is me,” he said. “It has been a long time, Grandfather.”
Berwyn simply nodded, smiling through his tears, but he didn’t try to hug him as he’d tried to hug John Morgan. That had only ended in heartbreak. So he stood there, wringing his hands and drinking in the face of the grandson he thought he’d lost. Rod, who had been slower to run because of the heavy mail he was wearing, came running up behind Bretton, breathing so heavily that he nearly collapsed.
“I told him,” Rod said, panting, to Christopher and Jax. “He wants to see John Morgan.”
Before anyone could react, the fourth rider, still astride his steed, removed his helm. Bretton caught the movement and turned to look at the man, realizing the moment he removed his helm that Rod had not been lying. Morgan de Llion no longer had his head of dark, curly hair, and he was missing his beard, but the face was the same and the eyes were the same. They were Bretton’s eyes.
The emotion in the field was palpable as Bretton faced down the man he thought he’d lost. There were no words to describe his joy, no song beautiful enough to describe the moment. It was something he’d never thought he’d see again and he was at a loss. He could only think of four simple words, the four greatest words he could have ever used to define the moment.
“Papa,” Bretton breathed, tears coming to his eyes. “It is you.”
John Morgan gazed down at the warrior impassively. Stiffly, because he knew it was expected of him, he climbed down off the horse and faced Bretton, a man who looked a good deal as he had in his youth. He had difficulty meeting his gaze at first, that open and emotional stare that made him uncomfortable, but after a few moments, he found that it was nearly hypnotic to look into those bright blue eyes. There was something in them, something deep inside the depths that made him unable to look away.
“I am told that I am your father,” John Morgan said.
Bretton nodded, tears falling from eyes and onto his stubbled cheeks. “You are,” he whispered. “I thought you were dead.”
John Morgan eyed the man who was coming increasingly more interesting for him to look at. He wasn’t sure why, but something made him study the man who was supposed to be his son. He was still uncertain, however, and nervous. He was surrounded by strangers and struggling not to back away as he normally did.
“I do not know you,” he said. “But you will take me in exchange for de Velt’s daughter. Where is the girl?”
Bretton wasn’t finished looking at his father. All he could do was stare at the man. “Look at me,” he begged softly. “You do not know me? You used to call me Fish Bait. Do you remember that, Papa? You would take me fishing with you and tell me that you would throw me in the water to attract fish, and that they would nibble my toes. Don’t you recall?”
Bretton was moving closer to John Morgan and the man took a step back, uncomfortable with Bretton’s close proximity. “I do not,” he said. Then, he tore his eyes away, looking up to the imposing walls of Cloryn Castle. “But what have you done here? My son would not kill people and abduct women. I have heard that about you. Why did you do such a thing?”
A hint of guilt began to creep over Bretton, an odd sense of shame as his father’s words registered. When he replied, the words that came forth were the truth. “To avenge you,” he said. “I thought you were dead at the hands of de Velt. I am here to avenge you.”
John Morgan frowned. “Did I teach you that?” he wanted to know. “Did I teach you that vengeance is the way to live? I would not teach my son that. Where is this woman? Her father wants her back and you will turn her over immediately.”
Bretton’s joy at his father’s appearance was dashed as shards of disapproval poked holes in his happiness. In fact, he felt as if he’d been slapped in the face, shamed for all to see, scolded by a man he had held up as nothing short of saintly. As he stood there, realizing this joyful event was becoming not so joyful, Jax walked up behind him and put a blade to his throat.
“It was foolish of you to come out here without protection or weaponry,” Jax growled in Bretton’s ear as he grabbed the man from behind. “You will tell your men to bring my daughter forth or this will end very badly for you.”
Christopher hadn’t seen Jax’s action coming and he stepped towards the pair, holding out a quelling hand. He didn’t want to see Jax do anything rash, at least not until they had Lady Allaston in their possession.
“Jax,” he said, calmly but firmly. “Let him go. He will bring Allaston forth of his own free will but if you harm him, I fear what his men will do to her.”
Jax had Bretton by the hair, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. He heard Christopher but he ignored him. “You called forth The Dark Lord and now you have him,” he snarled. “If my daughter is harmed in any way, I will make you pay the price with every bone in your body. What made you think you could challenge me and win, boy? I will filet you as I have fileted countless others, better men than you. I will make you feel pain as you have never experienced it in your life.”
Bretton wasn’t afraid. He was fairly certain de Velt wouldn’t do anything to him with de Lohr so close but, then again, he was dealing with an enraged father so it was impossible to know just how serious the threat was. Still, he kept calm.
“Your daughter is in perfect health,” he told him. “She is at the gatehouse.”
Rod, concerned for his cousin’s life against an angry Jax de Velt, turned to look for Allaston. He had last seen her standing at the portcullis.
“I do not see her,” he said. “Where could she have gone?”
Bretton couldn’t turn his h
ead because Jax had him by the hair. “She was standing with me,” he said. “She must still be there. She must….”
A distant scream filled the air, echoing against the castle walls. It was a woman’s scream. There was no doubt about it. Another one came right after it, hysterical and piercing. Rod looked at Bretton, his eyes wide with shock, only to see Bretton as he struggled to get away from Jax.
“Allaston,” Bretton breathed, throwing up an arm and catching Jax in the face. As de Velt fell back, struck in the nose, Bretton took off at a dead run towards the castle. “Allaston!” he yelled.
Christopher grabbed Jax and shoved him toward his charger. “Mount up!” he bellowed. “Follow him!”
Christopher vaulted onto his horse, taking off after Bretton, passing Rod as the man took off running, too. Jax, nursing a bleeding nose, leapt onto his horse, followed by Berwyn and John Morgan, all three of them thundering towards the castle and the source of the screams, but Jax held off Berwyn as the man raced beside him.
“Return to the army!” he yelled. “Send de Poyer and a contingent of infantry immediately. Then have Wellesbourne and de Wolfe bring up the rest of the troops and position them at the gatehouse. We may need them!”
Berwyn obediently broke off from the men racing for the gatehouse, heading back to the army camped about a half-mile away. Jax, however, continued on, passing Rod and Bretton, on foot, and making it to the gatehouse just behind Christopher.
As the big knights dismounted their chargers, someone inside the gatehouse began to lower the portcullis. Christopher rolled under it, followed by Jax, before Bretton or anyone else could get beneath it. Suddenly, it was just Christopher and Jax against several hundred mercenary troops. Christopher quickly realized they were in a very bad position and he unsheathed his broadsword, as did Jax. Eyes on the mercenaries who were staring them down, he spoke to de Velt.
“Go find your daughter,” he told Jax. “I’ll try to lift the portcullis.”
Jax was deeply torn. “You cannot do it alone,” he said. “You will need my help.”
As they stood there, backs against the portcullis, Bretton reached through and grabbed Jax. “I have two armed commanders,” he said, breathless and wild with worry. “It is possible… oh, God, anything is possible. But if you come across them, do not underestimate them.”
Jax nodded as Bretton turned to the others. “There is a postern gate,” he said. “It is possible we can breach it. We must try.”
As Jax and Christopher faced off against the mercenary army, trapped like dogs by the lowered portcullis, Bretton, Rod, and John Morgan made haste for the postern gate near the kitchens. As Rod ran to collect his charger, still grazing by the side of the road, Bretton began to run but a hand in his face prevented his forward momentum. Startled, he looked up to see John Morgan extending a hand to him.
“Ride with me,” John Morgan said. “We will move faster.”
Bretton looked at the hand in his face. His father’s hand. He had visions of being a young boy again as his father offered him a helping hand. The emotions were swirling again, now joined by emotions of fear for Allaston’s safety. As he heard another scream from inside the castle, he grabbed John Morgan’s hand and vaulted onto the back of the horse. Holding onto his father, touched deeply by the feel of his father’s big, warm body for the first time in twenty-five years, he gripped him tightly as the man spurred his big Belgian charger along the massive curtain wall of Cloryn Castle in search of the postern gate.
In search of Allaston.
*
Teague had dragged Allaston away from the gatehouse and across the bailey. He had her around the waist, hauled up against his body, as she struggled and fought. He was very strong, however, and managed to carry her up into the keep even as she tried to kick his knees out. It was a vicious battle.
Once inside the keep, Allaston managed to make contact with his tender inner thigh and he faltered, tripped, and ended up dropping her to the ground. Allaston hit heavily on her right hip but she scrambled up and away from the warrior before he could grab her again. She ran into the open room with the table where she and Bretton had made love, rushing to the other side of the table, as far away as she could get from Teague de Lara. He was a big, frightening man and she was understandably terrified.
Teague stumbled into the room behind her, seeing that she now had a big, heavy table between them. His handsome face was dark with anger.
“You thought you could make a difference,” he said, breathing heavily from their struggles. “You thought you could stop that which was already in motion. You cannot stop us, do you hear?”
Allaston, panicked, shook her head at him. “I do not know what you are talking about,” she said. “Why did you grab me like that?”
Teague began to move around the table, noting that with every step he took she took another step away from him. “Grayton was right,” he said. “You are a danger. You have bewitched Bretton. He owes us a measure of glory and I will not let you stop it.”
Allaston was edgy and frightened. Teague was trying to get close to her again and she would not permit it. “I have no idea what you could possibly mean,” she said. “I have not bewitched Bretton.”
Teague came to a halt, wondering how he could get across the table and grab her again. “Aye, you have,” he said, “whether or not you realize it. He is obsessed with you and that means his focus on our campaign, our plans to confiscate your father’s Welsh holdings, is in jeopardy.”
Allaston noted he had stopped attempting to pursue her but she didn’t trust him. She knew he was going to come at her again and was trying to anticipate his next move.
“I want to go home,” she said, her lower lip trembling. “I want to leave Cloryn and never look back. My father is here. Let me go to him.”
Teague studied her. “Bretton is with your father now,” he said. “What do you think they are discussing? If I hold you, I can control them both. They will have to do what I say. You are my path to riches, lady, and I will use you to my advantage.”
His declaration made her blood run cold. “What do you intend to do?”
Teague shrugged, trying to make it look casual. “Lock you up as you should be locked up,” he said. “Or mayhap I will tie a rope around you and dangle you from the top of the keep. Your father would do anything to keep you safe. And so would Bretton, I suspect.”
She frowned. “What good will that do?” she said. “It will not make Bretton fall under your command. He is your commander.”
Teague shook his head. “Not after this day,” he said. “Even if your father exchanged himself for you, having Jax de Velt as his prisoner would only cause Bretton to become complacent. He would have what he wanted – he would have your father. There would be no incentive to conquer the remaining two de Velt castles as we had planned. You see, I have no emotional investment in you or in Jax de Velt, but I do have an army under my command. And I intend to use it.”
Allaston shook her head. “You are mad,” she hissed. “Those mercenaries will not follow you. They follow Bretton.”
“We shall see.”
With that, he suddenly vaulted over the table and Allaston screamed in surprise, ducking under the table and scrambling to the other side. Once on her feet, she made a dash for the front door, screaming again when she realized Teague was right behind her. She flew down the stairs, realizing he was making a grab for her as she ran, and suddenly ducked to the side so he sailed right past her, falling down the last several stairs and landing in a heap. As Teague picked himself up, Allaston went on the run again, screaming once more when he made a swipe at her legs.
Running around the side of the keep and heading for the kitchens and, hopefully, the postern gate, she saw the other commander, Dallan, coming at her from the direction of the great hall. He didn’t seem particularly concerned until he saw Teague staggering after her, and at that point, he headed in Allaston’s direction.
Terrified to see the second commander co
ming after her, she screamed yet again as she darted off towards the kitchen yard, racing through the opening in the wall. Her goal was the postern gate but she could see that it was guarded by several men, so she changed direction and ran for the kitchen itself. There were several things there that she could use to protect herself with. There was no way to escape so she knew she would have to fight.
Now, it was coming down to defending her own life. Those weeks ago when she had been abducted from Alberbury, she had believed she was already dead. Those weeks in the vault, she had wished for death. But she realized she wasn’t ready to die. If these bastards wanted her, then they were going to have to work for it. She was a de Velt, and a de Velt was a fighter.
Uldward was in the kitchen when she ran in. Dallan was right behind her and she tried to slam the door in his face, catching his hand in the doorjamb. As Dallan howled, Allaston ran through the kitchen, past a shocked Uldward, and launched herself from the small, square window that faced the keep. By that time, Dallan and Teague had shoved the door open again and were knocking things over in their haste to grab her legs before she could make it completely through the window. Seeing this, Uldward let the mass of hot coals that he had been stoking for the bread oven tumble onto Dallan’s right leg, burning through his breeches in a second. It also ignited the tattered edges of his linen tunic.
Dallan howled as his tunic began to go up in flames, knocking back into Teague, who made a desperate swipe for Allaston’s leg just as she fell from the window to the other side. There were many implements leaning against this side of the kitchen and she grabbed an iron spit, one used to roast carcasses over an open flame. It wasn’t too heavy and it was sharp on both ends, but as she started to run away, she saw Teague emerge from the kitchen and head in her direction. Caught, she doubled back and ended up trapped between the keep and the kitchen, boxed in, as Teague was closing the gap.
“Stay away!” Allaston yelled, wielding the iron spit. “If you come any closer, I will be forced to defend myself!”
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