Medieval Master Warlords (11 page)

“Do you really wish to know?” she asked softly.

“I would not have asked if I did not.”

She gazed up at him.  Then, very gently, her soft hands reached out and collected one of his enormous, calloused hands.  His hands were so large that she could only get a grip around his fingers.  But the warmth from her touch was unmistakable.

“Apologize for the death of her husband and child,” she said quietly. “And allow her to grieve at their grave.  Let her reconcile herself to this.”

He just stared at her.  The sensation of her warm, tender touch was overwhelming him.  He couldn’t think straight.  But he retained enough of his wits to reply.

“I will not apologize. What happened to her husband and child is the way of war.”

Kellington knew what his answer would be.  She held his hand tighter, moving up against him and pressing her sweet, warm body into his torso.

“I understand that men die in war. It is the nature of it. But you could at least apologize that her family became a casualty of that violence.”

“I will not apologize.”

Her gaze lingered on his strong face.  Then she let him go, moving away from him and going to sit on her bed.  He stood like stone where she had left him, watching every move she made.

“Will you at least express regret for the baby?” she asked softly. “He was such a sweet little thing. You did not have to kill him. He could not have harmed you.”

He did not sense that she was trying to manipulate him; on the contrary. He sensed that she was attempting to help him understand something he had little concept of.  And he was trying very hard to see her point but it was not making clear sense.

He broke from his stone-like stance, slowly walking towards her.  After a moment of staring down at her sweet face, he sat down beside her on the bed.

“War is my life, lady,” he said quietly.  “The weak and small do not fit into that world.  What happened to your friend’s baby has happened a thousand times before and will happen a thousand times again.  It is the way of things. To express regret for that would be to express regret for the clouds blotting out the sun; it was a natural part of conquest.”

She turned to him, her golden-brown gaze moving over his rugged face. “The sun and clouds are not living, breathing creatures,” she could see he did not understand her so she tried another tactic. “Think on it this way.  You have stated your desire to marry me.  What if we have a son?  What if our fortress was besieged by someone who manages to breach it? What if your son and I were killed and our murderers called us a casualty of war?  How would you feel about that?” She suddenly shook her head and looked away. “I do not know why I am bothering to explain this to you.  I am not sure you are capable of understanding what I am attempting to convey.”

He stared at her, putting her words in a context he understood. He thought of an unknown warrior driving a sword into her beautiful body. Then he thought of the nameless, faceless son they would have, his legacy, a healthy boy with his mother’s lovely features and his father’s strength. He thought of the child as someone took him by the feet and slammed his head into stone, and with that thought, a stab of unknown horror plunged deep into his belly like nothing he had ever experienced.  It was enough to cause him to lose his breath. Suddenly, he began to have an inkling of what Kellington was attempting to tell him. 

He stood up, unable to look at her.  His gut was churning, his head swimming.  He went to the door and opened it.

“Be ready to leave at dawn,” he said so quietly she barely heard him.

The door shut.  Kellington sat there into the night, tears on her face and a vice around her heart.

CHAPTER NINE

She was up early the next morning, bathing in warmed rosewater and dressing in a soft green woolen gown with contrasting silk trim. Because of the travel, Matilda wound Kellington’s long blond hair in a plaited bun at the back of her head.  The style emphasized her slender neck and lovely shoulders.   In fact, there was nothing about the woman that did not reek of elegance.   She was stunning.

As the sun turned the eastern sky shades of pink and purple, Kellington found her way to the solar to collect her box of quill and ink, and a fresh parchment that would be used to record the workers they hired and their pay.  She was busy making sure she had everything when the grating of armor caught her attention.

Though she’d seen Jax in his armor many a time, the sight of him in full battle protection elicited a yelp of fear before she realized it was him.  His enormous and deadly presence had momentarily startled her.   He had his helm on, visor flipped up and dual-colored eyes fixed on her.  After the events of the evening, Kellington wasn’t sure how to react to him.  They simply stared at each other for several long seconds.  Finally, he lifted a dark eyebrow.

“You will have to overcome your fear of knights.”

“What do you mean?”

“Screaming every time I walk into a room.”

She pursed her lips irritably as she checked her box to make sure she had everything she needed.

“I am not afraid of knights as a whole,” she eyed him. “Just certain ones who emerge from darkness like Lucifer himself.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Are you ready?”

He seemed fairly normal for the turmoil that went on the previous night. In fact, he seemed to have some humor about him.  It was a relief and a curiosity. Kellington nodded in response to his question, securing the box and handing it to him.

“Can you take this, please?”

He took the box.  He also took the parchment she offered him.  As they quit the solar, Matilda was at the door with Kellington’s gray fur-lined cloak and she secured it about her lady’s shoulders as Jax opened the great door.  With the hood pulled over her head to shield her view from the crop of dead bodies in the ward, she emerged after Jax into the damp dawn.

The bailey was cluttered with men in armor and weapons. It was a complete escort party of at least thirty men. But it was also empty of the gruesome army of corpses. When Kellington realized they were gone, she came to a halt half-way down the steps, her gaze moving over the ward in astonishment. 

Jax was off the steps and walking to his charger when he realized she was still on the stairs.  He came to a halt.

“What is it?” he asked her.

Stunned, Kellington didn’t know quite what to say.  She descended the remainder of the stairs and caught up to him.

“My father’s army…,” she looked around as if missing something. “They’re gone.”

“You wanted them gone.”

She looked at him. “But… where are they?”

His dual colored gaze moved to the north wall of the fortress as if to see through it. “You wanted them buried. They are buried outside of the walls.”

Her jaw dropped. “There were hundreds of them.  When did you do this?”

“Last night.”

“All of them last night?”

He was either being modest or he didn’t particularly want to talk about it; she wasn’t sure which. He seemed particularly tight lipped.

“You wanted all of them buried, so I ordered my men to bury all of them last night,” he replied, taking her elbow and leading her towards the gray palfrey that had been saddled for her. “It wasn’t such a feat as you apparently think.”

They had reached the palfrey but she still wasn’t over her surprise. “I cannot believe…,” she let out a blustery sigh. “Good God, you really did it.”

“I told you I would.”

She turned to him swiftly, her lovely, creamy face upturned in the weak morning light. “And my father?”

“I sent word to Foulburn last night.  He should be here in a few days.”

“And… and Lavaine?”

“Unharmed.”

She stared at him, at a loss for words.  When she blinked, fat tears found their way onto her cheeks.  Jax’s brow furrowed.

“Why do you cry?” he asked, his voice softer. “Is that not everything you asked of me?”

She sniffled, nodded, and then burst into soft sobs. “Oh, Jax,” she wept softly. “I did not believe you would truly listen to me. But you did.”

He bent over to look her in the face, unsure why the woman was crying. “Of course I did. I told you I would. Now why are you crying?”

She smiled at him, still tearing up, to let him know it wasn’t because she was angry or hurt.  Reaching out, a gloved hand touched his mailed cheek.

“Because I am pleased,” she sniffled, trying to dry up the tears. “It meant so much to me. I am so pleased that you did it.”

The glove on his face felt like heaven. That corner of heaven that he told her about.  Unwilling to show any emotion in front of his men, especially in light of the confusion they had shown over burying the enemy army, he simply turned her towards the palfrey and lifted her effortlessly into the saddle.  Then he moved to his silver charger, a menacing beast with big scars and gnashing teeth.  Mounting, he lifted his hand to Amadeo, who bellowed the command to move out.

Kellington wiped her tears away as they quit the fortress and progressed onto the open road.  She was still in a good deal of shock over the morning’s revelations, but it was elated shock.  As the sun broke from the horizon and began its ascent, the world around them came alive with bugs, animals and soft May breezes.  It was already turning into a very good day.

Kellington rode by herself in nearly the center of the group.  Jax was to the front of the column; she could see his helmed head.  Glancing around, she noticed that Amadeo was behind her by several feet.  His visor was down but she knew it was him; she recognized him.  

“Good morn to you, my lord,” she wasn’t sure he was looking at her but, just in case, she did not want to be rude. “’Tis a fine day.”

Amadeo was indeed looking at her. In fact, he couldn’t stop looking at her. He was still trying to figure out what she had said to Jax to not only spare the life of her friend, but to motivate Jax into burying her father’s army. The Wales generals had been astonished as well but had wisely kept their opinions to themselves, even as they had been roped into the burial party for Pelinom’s troops.   

Whatever spell was lingering over de Velt, they did not want to break or provoke it. Amadeo had served Jax for six years and had never seen such behavior from the man.  What no other man or woman on earth had been able to accomplish, this slip of a woman had. 

“Greetings, my lady,” he replied, hoping his voice did not convey his confusion. 

She smiled faintly, the dimple in her left cheek deep.  But for lack of anything more to say, she faced forward and gave a pat to her little mare when the horse jumped nervously at the snorting of the chargers.   Another few feet and one of the chargers nickered loudly, starting her little mare into a panic.  Rather than be thrown off, Kellington jumped and amazingly landed on her feet.   The little mare bucked and bolted off the road.

The party came to a halt as Amadeo went in pursuit of the palfrey.   Jax thundered his way back along the column.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Kellington turned to him but one of his senior soldiers answered in her stead; when de Velt asked a question, it had better be quickly answered.

“The lady’s palfrey was spooked, my lord,” the man replied.  “Amadeo is going to retrieve it.”

Jax’s head turned in Kellington’s direction and he raised his visor to get a better look at her. “Are you injured?”

She shook her head. “I did not fall off. I am fine.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on her a moment before going in search of Amadeo and the errant mare.  But his second was already returning with the little creature, who was frightened into madness by the presence of the chargers.  Kellington tried to comfort the little animal, but the mare was too far gone with panic.

“She will not ride calmly with these war horses,” Kellington said to Jax. “Either I ride at the rear alone or I ride at the front and away from the chargers.”

Jax thought on the situation a moment longer before extending his hand to her. “Amadeo,” he commanded. “Lift her up to me.”

Amadeo released the palfrey to the nearest soldier and dismounted his steed in the same motion.  He was a silent, efficient knight.  But as he drew close to Jax with Kellington in his grip, he lifted his visor to look at his liege.

“It would be better if she rode with me or someone else,” he said quietly. “You make a very big target riding at the head of the column and the lady is without protection.”

Jax’s first reaction was to bite his head off for questioning his decision.  But he stopped himself before the words left his lips, realizing the man was correct.   Still, he kept his hand extended.

“Lift her to me,” he said again. “I will ride in the middle of the column.  You will take point.”

Amadeo didn’t argue; he lifted Kellington up to Jax and returned to his charger.  As Amadeo pounded his way to the front and the column began to move once again, Jax settled Kellington across his thighs, holding both her and the reins with his left hand.  He established position in the center of the squad as they traveled down the road.

Kellington thought it was an odd experience riding with Jax.  First and foremost, he was covered with enough armor and weapons to single-handedly put most of London under submission.  Secondly, his charger was enormous and she had a very good view of all around her.   Thirdly, it was rather frightening and she wasn’t sure she liked it.  But she kept her mouth shut as they moved along the road towards the berg of Hadden, about an hour’s ride from Pelinom. 

The morning was soft and fresh, the sun warming the land slightly.  Jax and Kellington traveled in silence; she was afraid to say anything and Jax would not let his attention be diverted by chatter, even if it was Kellington’s chatter.  So the hour’s ride went rather slowly until the outskirts of Hadden came into view.  Down a slight hill, they could see it in the distance, a cluster of brown within a vast sea of green.

Kellington kept her eyes on the village as they drew closer.  It didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary; she could see people moving about, farmers with their carts, and children running in the road.  But as the army drew close enough to be within voice shot of the town, it was as if someone suddenly sounded an alarm; the entire village erupted in an uproar and people began running madly, slamming doors and windows and closing up shop.   It very quickly occurred to Kellington what was happening and she hastened to staunch the flow of panic.

“Stop,” she commanded Jax softly.

“Why?” he asked.

She craned her neck back to look at him, patting him heavily on his armored arm to emphasize her point.  “Jax, stop your army,” she commanded again, pushing herself from his grip and sliding to the ground. “Tell your army to turn back. Go back to the rise in the road and wait for me.”

He would not flip up his visor to look at her; he was in battle mode. He always was when in an unfamiliar situation.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

She gestured to the village. “Look at what is happening,” she said sternly, quietly.  “The appearance of your men has terrified them. Word travels fast; undoubtedly these people know what has happened to Pelinom.  They know that an approaching army cannot be a good thing. They believe you are here to raid the town.”

He looked around, noticing that the once-busy berg was now eerily still.  In his world, this was perfectly normal. But he realized they were trying to accomplish something other than total domination, so he shifted his thought processes to that regard. It was a struggle.

“I will not let you attend to this alone,” he said, holding up a hand to stop her protests. “But I will order the escort to back away.”

She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to have him as her escort because it was mostly him that the people were afraid of.  But she didn’t fight him further, hoping her presence alone would be enough to convince the villagers that doom was not about to rain down upon their little town.

She waited patiently as Jax gave Amadeo the order.  Amadeo, in turn, commanded all but four men, including himself, to retreat back down the road about a half mile and wait.  When the army was on a reverse course, Jax dismounted his charger, removed Kellington’s box and parchment from his saddlebags, and made his way to her. She eyed him as he approached.

“The broadsword,” she said, nodding her head at the weapon strapped to his hip.

He glanced down. “What about it?”

“If you want these people to come out of hiding, you should leave it back on your horse.”

He did flip up his visor, then. “I am not leaving my weapon on my horse.”

She gave him a mildly impatient look. “Only a madman would move against you,” she said steadily. “And we are not expecting a military offensive at this time. I think you can safely leave it behind. Moreover, I would suspect that broadsword isn’t the only weapon you have on your person.”