Medieval Master Warlords (59 page)

She peered up at him, his touch causing her heart to race. “Does it mean so much to you to earn my love, then?”

“I would not ask if it did not.”

It was a beautiful answer. Allaston gazed up at him, feeling his heat and power enveloping her, thinking it was about the most wonderful thing in the world. The man was a killer, that was true, and by all rights she should not love the man. But she was a woman of religion, and religion taught her to forgive and not to judge. Even though he had done some terrible things, it was truly not her place to judge him. She needed to show him mercy and compassion, too, in the hopes it would bring forth that man, that good man, she knew to be buried deep within him. She opened her mouth to reply but the wind shifted and she caught a whiff of the rotting dead outside the walls. In that stench, she had her answer.

“Bury the dead of Cloryn,” she said softly. “It would be a great act of mercy and compassion, Bretton, something I could see. Something I could be proud of. Would you do this for me?”

Bretton didn’t outright deny her but she could tell that he was unhappy with her request. The hands on her arms began to caress her, ever so slightly.

“Why would this mean so much to you?” he asked. “You do not know these people. They mean nothing to you.”

She fell silent a moment, contemplating her answer. She had to make him understand. “Nay, I do not know them,” she said. “But someone did. Someone mayhap even loved them. Think on it this way. If it was your father out there, wouldn’t you hope that someone would have the decency to bury the man and put him to rest?”

He let go of her arms, his bright eyes studying her, deliberating on her reply. With her calm questions, she was making him face the most horrific thing in his life rationally, without anger or fear. It was not a pleasing or simple answer that he gave her.

“As far as I know, no one did,” he said quietly. “My father was left on a pole for all to see and I do not know how long he remained there. Everyone knows that de Velt left his victims impaled for at least six months. But what he did with them after that, no one seems to know. More than likely, he threw the bones into a mass grave or into a river.”

Allaston sighed heavily. “But why do you leave them up?” she asked the same question she had asked before. “You are not hurting my father by doing this. You are not even sending him a message because he truthfully doesn’t care. I told you that the only way to truly hurt him would be to put me on a pole so he can see me when he comes to Cloryn, but you would not do it. I even gave you the opportunity.”

His expression was one of displeasure. “You were counting on the fact that I would not do it,” he said. “You knew I would not. You did it to bait me and to humiliate me in front of my men.”

Allaston shook her head. “I did not mean to humiliate you,” she said truthfully. “At the time, I truly meant what I said.”

“That may be, but you caused me some dishonor with your behavior. Surely you realize that.”

“Then tell me how I can prove my remorse?”

His attention focused on her, thinking of all the ways she could make good on her apology, but they were ways she would more than likely not agree to. In fact, she was quite likely to fight him on it because his ideas involved naked bodies. He had to think of something she would be agreeable to, something they would both find satisfaction from. He was on such unsteady ground with her, not knowing what to say, unfamiliar with the art of gentle conversation. He wanted to be polite and courteous, but it was utterly foreign to him. He simply wasn’t an eloquent man so he said the first thing that came to mind.

“No more peas,” he said, pointing to the basket she had set down. “I will eat carrots, but no more peas.”

Allaston grinned, turning to look at the basket he was pointing to. “I must prepare those or they will rot,” he said. “You will not have to eat whatever I make. Is that truly all you can think of to make amends? No more peas?”

He shrugged his big shoulders, eyeing her after a moment. There was a hint of mischief in his expression. “I might forgive you for a kiss.”

The statement has been spoken almost fearfully, as if he knew she was going to deny him even before he asked. It was an utterly innocent statement, too, coming from a man who had no more innocence. It had been taken from him long ago. But not everything in him was ruined. Allaston could see it in his expression. There was still something good and fair underneath. But he was also being a bit impish about it and she played along.

“Cheek or hand?” she asked.

He cocked is head. “What do you mean?”

She signed with mock impatience, as though he was an ignorant fool. “The kiss,” she said. “Where do you want it? Cheek or hand?”

He could see she was jesting with him. “You can plant it on my arse.”

Allaston shrieked in disgust, trying not to giggle as she did so. “I am
not
kissing your arse,” she said. “It is the cheek or the hand.”

Bretton was fighting off a grin. “Those are my only choices?”

Allaston nodded firmly. “Your only choices,” she confirmed. “In fact, if you....”

She was cut off when he suddenly grabbed her, slanting his warm mouth over hers. Allaston was startled, initially a little scared, but she quickly succumbed to his hot, seeking lips. He suckled her lower lip gently, running a tongue over it, and Allaston shuddered. Fueled by her response, Bretton’s onslaught grew more intense and his arms tightened around her.

Although the initial grab had been rough and tactless, the kiss was searing, speaking of untapped desire. Bretton had never kissed a woman in a manner that wasn’t pure lust or physical need, so this was something quite different to him. He was kissing her because he wanted to, because it seemed like the right thing to do, and because doing so somehow satisfied something deep inside him. She was warm and luscious, and so very soft, her body against his. He was losing himself in the kiss, letting himself go, when Uldward the cook suddenly came through the doorway. The next thing Bretton realized, he was standing about five feet away from Allaston with his heart pounding in his ears.

Allaston looked a bit startled as well. She gazed at Bretton, wiping at the moisture on her swollen lips. As Uldward bustled around in the kitchen yard on a hunt for something he evidently needed, she eyed the man, knowing he had seen them in a passionate embrace. Her cheeks began to flame as she struggled to pretend that Uldward hadn’t seen any of it.

“What do you intend to do about de Lohr’s missive?” she asked, simply to move onto another subject far away from the heated kiss. “Will you respond to him?”

Bretton had the back of his hand to his mouth. He could still taste her on his flesh and he wanted to keep that taste as long as possible. He could smell her, too. She smelled like flowers.

“It is none of his business,” he said. “De Lohr has no cause to interfere in something that does not concern him.”

Allaston’s head was still swimming from his kiss so she wandered back over to her stool, next to the pea basket, and sat heavily.

“I find it quite surprising that my father asked him to broker my release,” she said. “As I said, my father has no allies. He keeps to himself.”

There was something in that statement that caught Bretton’s attention. “Then the question is
why
he would involve de Lohr,” he said thoughtfully. “Why ask someone you do not know to mediate a conflict? There must be a reason.”

Allaston began shelling the remainder of the peas. “Maybe he did not want come himself,” she said. “Mayhap he was fearful of what would happen if he did. I’m sure he fears that you will harm me. Mayhap he believed that de Lohr can better negotiate my release given the fact that you are not angry with de Lohr.”

Bretton looked at her with a cocked eyebrow. “I wasn’t angry with him until he sent his missive,” he said. “No man will stand between me and Jax de Velt, and especially not Christopher de Lohr. De Lohr had better be careful that I do not kill him in order to get to de Velt.”

Allaston said nothing. Her focus was on her peas. She wasn’t going to argue with him about his vengeance towards her father any more. He knew how she felt about it but he was determined to go through with it anyway. At least, he said so. She could not give up hope that she could change his mind. She could only hope that God would work a miracle in her favor.

“When you reply to his missive, will you tell him that I wish to remain here?” she asked. “I am sure he will not believe you, but you will make sure to tell him, won’t you?”

Bretton’s gaze lingered on her. “It is your father I want,” he said. “I will make sure de Lohr understands that. Your purpose in this situation has been pre-determined from the beginning. You are to draw your father to me.”

She looked up. “Is that what you will tell him?”

Bretton drew in a long, pensive breath. “I will tell him that if he wants to negotiate, then he must see me face to face. That is the only way I will conduct business with your father or with de Lohr.”

Allaston looked down to her peas. She didn’t have much more to say to that so she let the subject die. Bretton seemed preoccupied, anyway, now thinking of de Lohr’s missive and not of the heated kiss they had shared. As she sat there and harvested tiny green peas, Bretton walked over to her, gathered her dirty right hand to kiss it gently, and then promptly turned and headed out of the kitchen yard. Before he could get away completely, Allaston called after him.

“Bretton?”

He paused, turning to look at her. “Aye?”

Allaston looked up from her peas, her green-eyed gaze swallowing him whole. “Please consider burying the dead of Cloryn,” she said. “If it was your father up there, you would want someone to bury him. That man of mercy... let me catch a glimpse of him today. It would mean a great deal to me.”

Without another word, Bretton left the yard. Allaston wasn’t sure her request had much impact with him simply from the stubborn expression on his face so she went back to her peas, hoping that someday he might have more respect for her requests.

Within the hour, the army of the dead outside of the walls started to come down.

℘

By the evening meal, the smell of burning bodies filled the air, mingling with the smell of roasting meat. The pig that had been butchered a few days prior was now being roasted over an open flame, creating a stench with the burning dead that truly had to be experienced to be believed.

Although Allaston has asked him to bury the bodies, Bretton had decided to burn them and bury the ashes because there was very little left of the bodies as it was. It was easier to burn and bury the ashes. As Allaston stayed to the kitchen to make sure the food was amply, and properly, prepared, Bretton was in the keep in the entry-level room that he had claimed for his own.

Sitting at the head of the long, scrubbed table, he had a quill in his left hand as ink and sand sat off to his left within easy reach. A piece of vellum was spread out before him, a section he had torn off from another missive he found at Cloryn addressed to the former commander. He was scribing a missive to de Lohr, basically telling the man to stop protecting de Velt and send the man to him. He proceeded to tell de Lohr, under no uncertain terms, that Allaston’s life would be in danger until de Velt presented himself. He was just finishing up the missive when he heard boots approaching, glancing up to see Grayton, Teague, and Dallan approach from the keep entry.

He put his head back down, finishing his message, as his commanders entered the room. The strain between him and his commanders had been great ever since he had returned from Newtown and he wasn’t particularly in the mood to speak with them. He’d done enough of that earlier in the day when they’d had a fine yelling match in the great hall. As he continued to write, the three commanders sat down at the table, remaining silent as Bretton finished scribing. When he paused enough to make them think he was finished, Grayton spoke.

“Is that the response to de Lohr?” he asked.

Bretton nodded, his eyes on the parchment before him. “It is,” he said, unfriendly. “I have told de Lohr not to interfere in what does not concern him and to produce Jax de Velt on my doorstep or Lady Allaston will suffer. Grayton, prepare a messenger to send this immediately.”

Grayton’s eyes assessed Bretton. “I will,” he said, “but we must speak with you first.”

Bretton grunted sharply. “If you are going to fight with me about placing Lady Allaston in the vault again, then my answer is still no,” he said, finally looking up at them. “What else could you three possibly have to say to me beyond that?”

Teague, who was the most level-headed of the group, spoke. “The men are concerned, Bretton,” he said honestly. “Before the yelling started in the great hall, we were going to relay those concerns, so I will relay them now. Our next target is Comen Castle and we were supposed to be there now, as per your word. But it seems that you have grown complacent and Lady Allaston seems to be at the center of it. You must understand that perception is everything, Bretton, and she is perceived as having bewitched you with her wiles. The men grow increasingly suspicious and if you allow her to roam the castle freely, it is quite possible that her life will seriously be in danger purely because they believe her to be a threat to the dreams of wealth you promised them.”