The worst was yet to come. By sunrise, they were on the march to Cloryn Castle.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cloryn Castle
Allaston had watched the army returning from Comen Castle from her chamber high in the keep. They had been gone almost nine days, a much shorter time than when they had gone off to Rhayder, and she was curious to know why they had returned so soon. She certainly hadn’t expected it, but rather than race down to see the returning army for herself, she remained in the bower, waiting, watching for her first sighting of Bretton.
He wasn’t difficult to spot. Astride his charcoal charger, he entered the gates of Cloryn when about half of his army was already into the bailey. In the colors of sunset, the hues of orange and yellow flashed off the armor, creating bolts of lightning in the growing darkness. Allaston stood at the window, watching, until the rest of the army came through and the provisions wagons brought up the rear. When one wagon lost a wheel right at the gatehouse and got stuck, she decided to make her way down to the entry of the keep and watch from there. Somehow, she wanted to be closer to Bretton that way. She wanted him to know she was there.
Dressed in one of Lady Miette’s surcoats, a brocaded blue silk that was extraordinarily fine, she smoothed at her hair, making sure it was properly braided and neat, before heading down the narrow inner stairs and ending up at the keep entry. As she opened the heavy oak and iron door, watching the commotion outside, Blandings mounted the steps and met her at the top.
“My lady,” the old man greeted, eyeing the soldiers in the bailey. “What should we do for their supper? No one told us the army was returning until a half hour ago. Uldward has chicken carcasses stewing in a pot and he is baking bread, but it will not be ready right away.”
Allaston looked at him. “We had a good deal of cooked mutton left,” she said. “What about that?”
The old man shook his head. “It has gone sour,” he replied. “We cannot serve it to the men.”
Allaston sighed distantly. “Unfortunate,” she said. “It was fine yesterday when I checked it. We were storing it in the coldest part of the vault.”
“Would you like to check it for yourself, my lady?”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “I trust you. If you say it has gone sour, then I believe you. But now we must figure out what to cook for the men on a large scale that does not take too much time.”
Thoughts of greeting Bretton pushed aside for the moment, Allaston headed down the steps with Blandings in tow, both of them heading around the keep towards the kitchens to the rear. Once inside the kitchen yard, she met up with Uldward and had a discussion about the stewed chickens and how they could possible stretch it to feed hundreds. Allaston eventually came up with an idea that they had used at the priory to feed great groups of people. Dividing the stewing chickens into three large pots, she added more water and a mixture of rye and wheat flour and butter, which thickened up the liquid in the stew and made it richer and more filling. Then, she had Uldward pour precious white wheat flour into a bowl and she added water and salt to it, making it into a massive pile of dough.
Uldward carried the heavy dough out to the pots, simmering away with their stew, and Allaston began to break off little pieces of the dough, roll them into balls, and toss them into the simmering pots to make dumplings. She also tossed in chopped onions, carrots, peppercorns, and lots of salt into the stew to flavor it. Soon, both Uldward and Blandings were making little dough balls and putting them into the stew to cook.
As Allaston stood over one of the pots, checking the consistency of the dumplings, she heard movement behind her and glanced up from the pot, startled to see Bretton standing there.
“Oh!” she gasped, accidentally dropping her spoon into the simmering cauldron. “I did not know… what I mean to say is welcome home, my lord.”
It was rare when she used “my lord” to address him and Bretton grinned. He couldn’t help it. Moreover, the sight of her was something he had missed terribly. He had seen her briefly at the keep entry when he had entered the bailey but she had soon disappeared, so he had hurried through his duties so he could once again locate her. Now, all he seemed capable of doing for the moment was staring at her, drinking in his fill, and feeling his heart lighten. Something about the woman made him feel giddy and carefree, as if nothing else in the world mattered.
“My lady,” he greeted, noting the bubbling pots. “I see you have a fine feast prepared for our return.”
Allaston’s gaze was still riveted to his weary but handsome face but she managed to nod in answer to his statement. “It should be ready soon,” she said. “We have bread and stew.”
“No peas?”
She grinned at his expression of disgust when he asked the question. “No peas, I swear it.”
He laughed softly. “Then I am content.”
Her eyes twinkled at him. “I did put carrots into the stew, however,” she said. “Do they disgust you as well?”
He shook his head. “They do not,” he replied, his levity fading as he looked at her. He couldn’t seem to do anything other than stare at her. “Has the situation at Cloryn been quiet while we have been away?”
Allaston’s smile faded as well. “It has,” she replied. “You… what I mean is that you seem to have returned fairly soon. Did everything go as planned?”
As the lightheartedness faded from the conversation, the reality of the situation took hold. As Bretton gazed at her, all he could think of was the conclusion he had reached at Comen, how he simply wasn’t good enough for the woman. She deserved a fine man and an acceptable marriage, certainly not a marriage with a mercenary who could not give her the respectability that she deserved.
Allaston was a good woman with a good heart, and he had realized sometime between last night and today that he loved her deeply. He had been fighting his emotions where they pertained to her, thinking himself merely fond of her, but he knew that was a lie. He loved her, with everything that he was, he loved her. But she was better off without him. Moreover, he had to kill her father and he could not bear looking into her eyes and seeing the pain he would cause as a result. He couldn’t bear to see the hatred. He swallowed hard before replying.
“It did,” he said. “I was hoping I might tell you about it.”
Allaston was both surprised and curious at the statement. “Of course,” she said. “I am happy to listen.”
He reached out and took her, gently, by the arm. “Come inside,” he said. “I will tell you… everything.”
Allaston willingly went along with him, feeling his big hand on her elbow, so very thankful he had returned whole and sound. It was true that she knew why he had gone; to conquer another castle. He had gone to kill men and steal from them. But that didn’t mean she wanted to see him cut down in the process. She still believed there was good in the man and, with time, she hoped she could turn him away from this terrible life. After all, her mother had done it with her father. She hoped she could do the same. Since he had left for Comen Castle, she had thought of little else.
The keep was cool and dark, smelling of fresh hay on the floor that Allaston would sprinkle about to catch scraps and waste, only to be shoveled or swept out at a later time. Instead of taking her into the open room on the entry level that he used as his private solar, Bretton took Allaston up to her chamber on the second floor, a comfortable room that was warm and nicely furnished. It was also more private. As they entered the room, Allaston turned to Bretton just as he closed the door behind them.
“Before you begin, I should like to say something,” she said, gazing up into his weary, handsome face. “With all of the preparation prior to your departing to Comen Castle, I did not have the chance to thank you for burying the dead of Cloryn. What you did, Bretton… it meant a great deal to me. Thank you for showing such mercy to those who had perished.”
Bretton’s gaze was steady upon her. “Did it give you a reason?”
“A reason for what?”
<
br /> “To love me?”
Allaston smiled knowingly, hearing her words echoed in his voice. “That is possible,” she whispered coyly. “I missed you while you were away. I am happy to see you have returned whole and healthy.”
God’s Blood, how he wanted to give over to the feelings he was experiencing. Feelings of joy and contentment that he never knew existed. Feelings that all men dream about but seldom experience. Aye, he wanted to experience all of it but he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to her. He had to make her understand that they were not meant to be, in any aspect.
With a dreadful sigh, he moved towards the bed, sitting heavily, feeling it sink beneath his weight. His gaze was on Allaston as she moved towards him, her expression still alive with warmth. Already, what he must say to her, what he must do, was killing him.
“Comen Castle was not difficult to breach,” he told her. “The walls were surprisingly inadequate. It took us two days to gain control. When we rounded up the commanding officer and his family, I was faced with the surprising fact that the commander’s father was one of de Velt’s original knights.”
The warmth, the smile, disappeared from Allaston’s face. In fact, she looked a bit bewildered as she sank down into a chair near the hearth.
“I see,” she murmured, eyeing Bretton uncomfortably. “May I ask who it was?”
“Ares de Gault.”
Allaston looked sick and tears immediately popped to her eyes. “He is my father’s cousin,” she said tightly, fighting the tears. “We used to visit with him quite frequently. He brought his wife and sons to Pelinom a few times, usually around Christmas, and we would celebrate the season with them. His wife, Lady Destanne, used to take all of the children out to the bailey and teach us how to shoot a bow and arrow. She was very good at it. And they had three sons, Augustus, Asher, and Harrison, and we would all play together. They were very nice boys. They were….”
She suddenly came to a halt and hung her head, unable to continue, knowing what he had done to the family, or at least thinking she knew. Bretton watched her as she struggled not to weep.
“I only met Ares and his son, Augustus, and Augustus’ wife and their three daughters,” he said. “I did not meet Ares’ wife or the other sons.”
Allaston simply nodded her head. She didn’t ask any further questions, knowing she would hate the answers. Bretton stood up from the bed, exhausted, and made his way over to the chair next to hers. He sat down, watching her lowered head.
“They are alive,” he admitted. “I let them go.”
Allaston’s head shot up, her eyes wide with shock. She could hardly believe her ears and it took several seconds for the news to sink in. Then, she threw her arms around his neck and began to weep pitifully, out of relief and joy, hugging him tightly. Bretton knew he shouldn’t put his arms around her. God, he knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t want to torment himself with something he could never have, but he ended up holding her anyway. He simply couldn’t stop himself.
“Thank you,” Allaston sobbed. “Thank you so much for showing mercy, Bretton. I knew you could. I am so thankful that you did.”
He hugged her, feeling her body against his, or at least as much as the awkwardness of the chairs and his chain mail would allow. It was a stolen moment, something to tuck back in his mind and revisit during the times he was particularly lonely. He patted her on the back gently.
“Aye, I did,” he said quietly. “I did as you asked. I showed mercy. Stop crying, now. There is no need.”
Allaston nodded quickly, releasing him as she wiped at her face. But she couldn’t help kissing his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered, patting the cheek she had just kissed. “Thank you for letting that good man come forth. I knew he was in there. I have always known.”
She latched on to Bretton’s hands, squeezing, and he was increasingly distraught with what he must do. It would be so easy to ignore it, to pretend he would make her a fine husband, but he knew it would not be possible. He stared at her hands, holding his, until the angst exploded in him and he pulled his hands away, standing up and moving away from her, wandering in the direction of the lancet window that overlooked the bailey. He found he couldn’t look at her, terrified he would weaken.
“Mayhap there is a good man inside me, but not good enough,” he said, gazing out into the wide evening sky beyond the window. “I told you once that I am not sure I can let go of what I have become. During this entire campaign to Comen Castle, it was all I thought of. You were all I thought of. The truth of the matter is that I am your captor and you are my prisoner. If I wanted to marry you today, I could. I could also impregnate you and fill you full of those sons I once spoke of, sons that would be conditioned to hate their grandfather. I could relegate you to nothing more than a broodmare. If I wanted to do all of these things, I could. But the reality is that I do not want to do this to you. I cannot. Allaston, I love you with all my heart and soul and then some, but this love I feel for you is not enough to overcome the need for vengeance against your father. It would always come between us and I could not do that to you. You must have a man who will love you wholly and give you the respect and station that you deserve. I cannot do that. I cannot give you what you deserve.”
Allaston rose from her chair, her expression full of sorrow and foreboding. “What do you mean?” she asked, fear in her tone. “What do you mean to do with me?”
Bretton could feel her question like a dagger to the heart. He knew what he had to do and he turned around, looking at her with an expression of utter grief.
“I am going to send you home.”
Allaston exploded. “Nay!” she hissed. “I am not going home. You asked for my hand in marriage and I agreed. I am staying here with you! You cannot send me home!”
She was furious. He was cowering. Bretton tried to reason with her. “Allaston, listen to me,” he said. “You deserve an excellent match, something I cannot provide you. You deserve to have a husband who is good and pure, and who does not have a driven hatred against your father. Don’t you see? No matter how much I love you, my sense of revenge against your father is what will drive us apart. I must kill him and I cannot stomach the grief and hatred in your eyes when I do. It will destroy me.”
Allaston was beginning to weep, stricken with anguish. “You do not have to kill him,” she sobbed. “I have begged you not to, I have pleaded with you, and I have even offered myself in marriage to you if you will only forget your vengeance. Whatever you have inside of you, this hatred you hold, is killing you. It will destroy you. You must understand that I would not have made the offer of marriage to you unless I loved you, too. I did not want to tell you for fear it would make no difference to you whether I did or not, but I will tell you now that I love you, Bretton de Llion. I love you and I will be your wife, and you will not send me home!”
She was sobbing loudly by the time she was finished. Bretton stood there, watching her, his heart breaking. He found that there was a lump in his throat, something very unfamiliar to him. The last time he had felt such a thing had been a long time ago. As he watched Allaston weep, all of his defenses crumbled. Everything he held strong and fast was laid to waste, dissolved by her tears.
“I am a broken man,” he replied tightly, trying to make her understand. “I was five years old when I was sold to a merchant who raped me repeatedly. He tore me up inside, not only of the body, but of the mind. Things still… still do not work right at times. When I left him, I served an Irish mercenary for a time who not only taught me his craft, but beat me bloody in the meanwhile. When I was old enough, I left him, too, to seek my fortune, but I discovered that one needed money in order to build a fortune or pursue one’s dreams. I therefore prostituted myself as a young man until I had saved enough money to buy weaponry and a horse, and then I hired myself out as a soldier of fortune. It took me years to amass the army you see now, years to find myself in the place I am this night, and all of it was possible only because of t
he hatred I had for your father. It drove me, it molded me, and it has made me what I am. I cannot let go of it, Allaston, and I cannot let you marry a man who is purely filth and rancor. It would pull you into my world and I cannot let you live there.”
Allaston was still weeping even though the hysterical sobbing had faded somewhat. She was listening to his horrible story, one that had seen the man survive some of the most terrible times imaginable. She felt such pity for him, such incredible pity. She wiped her face as she made her way over to him, sinking to her knees before him. When he tried to turn away, she threw her arms around his legs and refused to let him go.
“I understand your world is a terrible one,” she cried, relishing the feel of his warmth in her arms. “I know you have had unspeakable things happen to you, but instead of seeing filth and rancor before me, I see a survivor. I see a man who was so strong that nothing could stop him. I see a man who had a goal, even if was a brutal goal, and he fought to achieve it. He did everything he could to fund that dream and here you are, the head of your own mighty army.”
Her body against his legs was causing him physical pain. Bretton put his hands down, trying to pry her away from him, but she held fast. Tears popped to his eyes because he couldn’t stand the contact between them. It was sweet beyond words, horrible beyond imagining. The tears in his eyes began to run down his face.
“Let me go,” he commanded hoarsely. “Allaston, release me.”
Allaston only held on tighter. “I will not,” she whispered. “Not until you hear me out. You are a survivor, Bretton, a brilliant man of great determination. You have lived in a world that has been trying to kill you since you were five years old and when you came to Alberbury, it was because God, who knew he had ignored you for your entire life, directed you to come to me. He directed me to go to you. Don’t you see, Bretton? God has given me to you as a reward for your terrible life. With me, you will find peace and love and happiness. I am your reward for a life gone wrong.”
Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 130