“Eleven in England, six in Wales, two in Scotland and fifteen in France.”
Her eyebrows rose. “And you did this to every army you conquered?”
“Every one.”
Her head wagged back and forth slowly, staggered by the sheer numbers. “Who told you this was the right way to force people into submission?”
“My father.”
She didn’t want to slander the man’s father, but he was obviously a madman. Beseechingly, she reached out and touched his massive booted foot.
“De Velt, I would never disparage your father, but doing what you do… it simply isn’t right.”
“Of what do you speak?”
“All of it. But leaving men to rot without a proper burial simply isn’t right. It doesn’t make people fear you. It simply makes them hate you.”
His eyes moved to where her small white hand rested on his boot. He swore he could feel the heat through the leather.
“Do you hate me, then?” he asked, lifting his eyes to look at her once again.
She gazed at him a moment. Then she just shook her head. “Hate is a strong emotion. I do not admire what you do, that is for certain. I fear you have been misguided in your life to believe that your methods are honorable. I… I feel sorry for you, I think.”
He stood up so fast that it startled her. “I do not require your pity, lady,” he growled. “You would do well to keep that for those scarecrows in the bailey.”
She stood up, slowly, favoring her left arm and shoulder by cradling it with her right hand. “I did not say that I pitied you. I said that I felt sorry for you and I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you are a very unhappy man if things like impaling enemies give you your only sense of satisfaction.”
He gave her a strange look. “What makes you think that?”
She shrugged. “I do not know. Only it seems to me that you are never satisfied with what you have. Why else do you go about conquering castle after castle, never satisfied with what you have and always looking for more? What need are you trying to fill? What appetite are you attempting to sate?”
He looked down at her, the way her blond hair brushed gently around her chin and the way her eyebrows arched over her golden-brown eyes. It frightened him to think on how wise she was, how much she knew what was in his mind when he himself didn’t even like to think on it.
“You talk too much,” he said simply.
She gave him a quirky smile. “I know,” she agreed. Then her smile faded. “What can I do to convince you to bury the men in the bailey?”
“I will not bury all of the men in the bailey.”
“Then what can I do to convince you to bury Sir Trevan?”
He eyed her. He could demand most anything and she would more than likely see it through. He remembered well earlier in the day when she had followed through on her commitment to accepting punishment on behalf of the people of Pelinom. He had little doubt that she would follow through on anything he asked of her. He could simply take what he wanted and satisfy both his curiosity and his lust; aye, he lusted for her. There could be no other reason why he showed her such leniency. But with the same thought, he realized that he did not want to take from her or order her into submission. That satisfaction she spoke of; he could not think of anything more satisfying than if she were to give herself to him willingly.
“I will extract a heavy price to bury your knight,” he finally said.
It was the first positive admission she had heard from him to that regard and her heart soared even as her brain quivered with fear; her head heard the words but her heart was encouraged by his compliance no matter what the cost.
“Name the price, my lord,” she said. “What will you have me do?”
He crossed his massive arms, cocking his head as he did so. “Kiss me.”
Her eyes flew open. “What?”
“You heard me.”
She didn’t know why she was startled but she was. She was frightened on top of it. The price could have been much higher and she knew it, but somehow she had not expected a simple yet intimate command. She had been fooling herself into thinking it would be something far less personal. But perhaps she was making more out of it than it was; a kiss could be a completely innocent and respectful thing. She would proceed on that premise.
“Very well,” she agreed, moving to stand before him and reaching for his hand.
He saw what she was doing and had no intention of those rosy lips touching his dirty hands. Reaching out, he grasped her around the head and his mouth descended on hers, his warm lips firm and smooth and powerful. Kellington yelped with surprise but knew there was no escape; he enormous hands completely encircled her skull and the lips upon her had instantly sucked all of the thoughts from her head. Before she knew it, his hands moved from her head to her body and those massive arms were wrapping themselves around her slender torso.
Kellington was terrified and exhilarated at the same time. His mouth sucked her top lip, her bottom lip, before his tongue plunged demandingly into her honeyed mouth. He was ravaging her to the point where she could not breathe, his lips and tongue doing obscene things to her mouth that she should not have allowed. But along with that indignant reaction came another reaction of such intensity that it paralyzed her. Her heart was fluttering and her head swimming. She could taste the man overwhelmingly; the faint taste of ale and musk that was not unpleasant. She was just coming to analyze it, to experience it, when he suddenly let her go.
Kellington would have tripped had he not reached out to steady her. But he grabbed her bad shoulder and she winced.
“You have no right to do that,” she hissed, her cheeks warm.
“I have every right. You are my captive and I may do as I please with you.”
Infuriated, embarrassed that she had responded to him, she put a few steps of distance between them. “I’ll not be your whore,” she spat. “I’ll kill myself before I allow you to take such liberties with me.”
He frowned. “Who said you were to be my whore?”
“Do not do that again.”
“You clearly do not understand the concept of submission,” he said huskily. “Now, go. I want you to go back to your chamber and stay there. I do not want to see your face again before morning. Is that clear?”
She was having trouble thinking. “But… but Sir Trevan…?”
“I will keep my end of the bargain.”
“But….”
“Go now. That is not a request.”
Dazed, she did as she was told and stumbled from the cell. Mounting the stairs was difficult, made more difficult by Jax’s massive body directly behind her. She could feel his heat.
They emerged into the cool night, into a field of dead men impaled on posts. Although Kellington knew the situation in the bailey, it did not make it any easier to face. She kept her head lowered, heading in the general direction of the keep, praying she would not become ill now that the stench of the dead was overwhelming. Even in the dark, it was a thick blanket of putridness that covered everything.
She heard a loud snapping off to her left and she instinctively looked to see where the sound was coming from. She looked just in time to see Jax ripping Trevan down from his pole, snapping the wood in the process. He tossed the knight’s body to the dirt as if it hardly weighed anything; considering Trevan had been a fairly large man, it was a testament to Jax’s brute strength.
Tears suddenly sprang to Kellington’s eyes as she watched Jax pull out the remainder of the pole from Trevan’s body and toss it aside. Seeing Trevan on the ground reminded Kellington of another matter which she had not yet discussed with Jax. Tears in her eyes, hand over her mouth, she made her way towards Jax through the macabre forest of bodies.
“My lord?” she called timidly.
His head snapped up, his dual-colored eyes focusing on her. “I told you to go inside.”
“You did,” she nodded, struggling not to cry as she form
ed her thoughts. Trevan lay at her feet and she allowed herself to gaze down at the man; he didn’t look so horrible now lying on the dirt. He looked as if he was sleeping. Swallowing, she summoned her courage. “Sir Trevan and his wife had a baby. A son. Would… would you please tell me what has become of the baby?”
Jax looked down at her, his expression unreadable in the dim moonlight. “Do you really wish to know?”
“Is it true you killed all of the weak and small when you took control of Pelinom?”
“Aye.”
“Even the baby?”
He drew in a long, heavy breath; she could hear him. “Kelli, what do you want me to tell you? Do you want the truth? You would not like it if I told you.”
The fact that he had called her by her nickname did not occur to her. She was more focused on the gist of his words and they made her sick. Sick of stomach, sick of heart. The tears found their way onto her cheeks and she furiously wiped them away.
“There were many children at Pelinom,” she said, her voice trembling. “Do you mean to tell me that they are all dead?”
“If they did not run away, then they were put to death.”
He said it without emotion. Kellington couldn’t help it; she began to sob softly.
“How could you do that?” she wept softly. “They were just children. They were no threat to you.”
As he watched her weep, that odd tugging in his chest resumed with a vengeance. It only seemed to happen when she was around and he could define a myriad of sensations associated it; anger, remorse, disgust, sorrow. He wasn’t very good at discerning emotion and it unbalanced him. More than anything, he did not like to see her weep. Knowing he was the cause of it only seemed to infuriate him.
“Go inside,” he rumbled, turning away from her.
She didn’t obey him right away. She stood there and sobbed, wiping her face, her gaze moving to the dead man at her feet. Painfully, she crouched beside him and a small, white hand moved to touch his dirty brown hair. He had been a good man, rather quiet, with a quick sense of humor. He had made her laugh many a time and she would miss his sly wit. Lingering on memories of the kind man, she lowered her head and prayed.
Jax glanced over his shoulder as she murmured final prayers over the corpse of the knight. It took only a few seconds, long enough for him to feel a twinge of regret for what he had done. It was the first time he’d ever felt such a thing and the fury that shot through his body caused his control to snap. He yanked the bottom half of the pole from the ground and it suddenly went sailing, crashing into the stone wall several feet away and splintering in a shower of wood.
With a gasp, Kellington looked up from her prayers, seeing Jax standing with his back to her, his hands clenching and unclenching. His entire body was dangerously coiled.
“I’ll not tell you again,” he rumbled. “Go inside.”
Kellington suspected she had better obey. The man had already shown her a generous amount of patience and given his reputation that was not a usual occurrence. Rising to stand, she was focused on the back of his long dark hair. Before she retreated, there was one last thing on her mind.
“Sir Ajax,” she said with more strength than she felt. “May I ask one more thing of you?”
He turned slightly but did not look at her. His strong profile was illuminated in the haunting moonlight, his jaw flexing hazardously.
“You have already asked quite enough.”
“One more thing and I swear I shall ask no more.”
“What is it?”
“The baby,” her voice broke as much as she tried to control herself. “Could you please bury him with his father?”
Jax stood there, jaw clenching and fists working. Kellington knew she should run for her life but could not manage the feat. She sensed that, for all of his fury, that he was experiencing a moment of extreme confusion. If he was not, he would have surely unleashed himself on her by now. She was smart enough to know when to capitalize on his moment of weakness; she had to make him understand.
Kellington stepped over Trevan and made her way, hesitantly, to where Jax was standing. The man was working fists that were the size of her head. Her gaze trailed down his enormous back, with impossibly wide shoulders and slender waist, moving to his equally massive arms and skull-sized fists. Taking a very big gamble, she reached out a small hand and laid it gently on one of his colossal fists. His flesh was cold against her; cold and hard. Her hand was soft and warm. She took a good grip of his hand and squeezed.
“Please, Sir Ajax,” she was standing very close to him, hoping her would feel the sincerity of her plea. “His name was Maxim. Bury him with his father. Show us this one small mercy and I swear I’ll never ask another merciful favor from you.”
He continued to stand like stone. Kellington gave one last squeeze and turned for the keep, feeling her exhaustion and weakness to her very bones.
CHAPTER SIX
They began coming at dawn, a fairly large army on the horizon that had the sentries on the walls shouting the news. The early morning was filled with birds and men calling, the pink sky overhead promising a lovely May morning. It seemed like any other normal day at Pelinom except that it was anything but normal. The morning marked their twelfth day of hell.
Kellington was up, gazing sleepily out of the lancet window into the bailey below. The great gates, having since been repaired from the siege, were cranking open and there were many soldiers in the ward. The grisly army of scarecrows was still there although Kellington tried not to notice; as the days passed and the stench faded, it was easier to resign herself to Jax’s handiwork. She wondered at the identity of the incoming army but did not pay an over amount of attention to it; there was nothing she could do about it. With a yawn, she turned away from the window.
Jax had not spoken to her in more than a week. She had seen him every day as she settled in and resumed her usual duties, but he’d barely said a word to her in all that time. A few times, she had caught him staring at her, but he had quickly averted his gaze and moved on to something else. Trevan’s body was gone from the bailey and that was all she cared about at the moment; she hadn’t yet asked about the baby.
As the sun rose, she bathed in warmed rosewater that Matilda had brought her and quickly dressed against the chill of the room. Clad in soft linen pantalets and a soft linen shift, she layered on a complete bliaut gown made from dark blue linen with a snug bodice, full skirt and long, flaring sleeves. The wound on her shoulder was almost healed and gave no more pain as the fabric brushed against it. A belt of pewter link hung around her slender waist with decorative weights that caused it to hang properly. The neckline was scooped, making a nice presentation of her full breasts and slender shoulders.
Matilda helped her roll on her fine wool hose and secure them with ribbons. The little servant slipped soft leather slippers on her mistress’ feet and went to work on the long blond hair. It was straight and thick with no hint of curl, like a sheet of crystalline gold that fell to her buttocks. Matilda took her lady’s hair and plaited into a thick braid, draping it over one shoulder. She took a smaller section of hair and wrapped it around the base of the braid, against her head, creating a lovely artwork of hair.
It felt like a normal day for a little while. There were moments when Kellington could forget about the horrors of the past two weeks. But once she was finished dressing, there were matters awaiting her attention the solar and her stomach quivered when she once again remembered the state they were in and the enemy knights infiltrating the walls of her beloved keep. She might even see Jax and she was not quite sure how she felt about that. An uneasy peace had settled since the day she insisted he bury Trevan and since they’d hardly spoken, she wasn’t sure of his mood.
The second floor with the great hall and solar were relatively quiet. A few servants milled about and dogs were wrestling in the great hall. Kellington moved across the entry and into the solar, heading for her father’s desk. Being May, there was the matter of a la
te spring harvest coming up for apricots and cherries and she wanted to make sure they were prepared to take the produce to market once picked. With all of their soldiers killed and most male servants either murdered or run off, the burden of harvest would fall on the women.
On the shelf next to the hearth lay the tally books for Pelinom. They were carefully rolled sheets of parchment, secured with a strip of dried gut. Every year had a different roll and rolls from previous years were stamped with her father’s seal and carefully stored on the upper shelves. Kellington went for the roll that had the tallies from this year’s harvests so far. On the lowest shelf at knee-level was a wooden box that held a quill, ink, a wax stick and her father’s signet. She carefully collected the box, the roll of parchment, and put them both down on the desk.
Collecting the tall stool that she would perch herself on for hours while she completed her tallies, Kellington settled herself on the seat and laid out her parchment. Her very careful writing filled about a quarter of the sheet, tallies from January through April. Most of the tally was for honey, the result of a particularly fruitful fall and very busy bees. But there was also a tally for the upcoming apricot and cherry harvest and an estimate of what she projected to glean. As Kellington tried to determine just how to harvest so much produce with very little labor force, Jax suddenly entered the solar.
She’d never heard him enter the keep; all had seemed still and quiet in the entry hall beyond. She hadn’t even heard a door open. But suddenly he was standing in the doorway and she was startled by his abrupt appearance.
“My lord?” she said before he could speak. “Do you require something?”
He just stood there a moment, appraising her with his dual-colored eyes. As time passed, the unnerving effect of his unusual eyes had less and less of an impact on her. Now she was coming to find them strangely intriguing.
“Some visitors have arrived,” he said in his rumbling baritone. “We will require the hall as a meeting place and refreshment.”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 146