The question was so off of the subject that it took Kellington a moment to realize what he had asked. Confused, she turned around to the small table near the wall. It held a pitcher with what she assumed, after taking a sniff, was mead that was several days old. She took a cup and the pitcher and went to him.
Jax disregarded the cup completely and drank straight from the pitcher. He downed it in two large gulps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he was finished. He regarded her as he tossed decanter to the floor.
“Do you know nothing of war, lady?” he asked quietly.
Kellington stood there a moment before shrugging dumbly. “As I told you, we do not see much war at Pelinom. The Scots leave us alone for the most part. I have never been a part of a siege.”
“Then Pelinom is a rarity,” he replied, his dual-colored eyes still fixed on her. “War goes on all around it, but Pelinom stays safe in its own little world.”
“That is true.”
Something in his tone hardened. “But it is true no more. Now that I have Pelinom, things will change. This place will change. It is now a military garrison.”
She shook her head, deeply puzzled. “But why? Why must it be so?”
“Because it is mine.”
She still did not completely understand, biting her lip as she thought on her words. “But the women in the chapel, my lord. Why must you kill them? Would it not be better to release them to the keep and allow them to resume their normal duties? They are not a threat.”
“Any conquered people are a threat.”
“Then you consider me a threat as well?”
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “You most of all.”
“But why? I will not lift a weapon. I could not kill you.”
He pondered his reply; in fact, he could hardly believe he was even speaking to her of such things. She was the enemy, someone he should hardly be giving his time and attention to. But he was doing so nonetheless. After a moment, he averted his gaze and moved towards the hearth where a large sling-back chair sat, cold and unused. He planted his massive body in it, listening to the wood groan.
“What do you know about me, Lady Kellington?” he asked.
She blinked at the question. “I… I know that you are Ajax de Velt and that you are now commander of Pelinom Castle.”
He shook his head slowly. “Nay,” he said quietly. “What do you know about me?”
She realized what he meant; what had she heard? What had she been told? Kellington lowered her gaze and went to her bed, sitting primly on the edge. Strange how the man didn’t intimidate her as much now as he had only hours ago; she wasn’t exactly comfortable with him, but she wasn’t exactly terrified, either. She folded her cold hands in her lap.
“I know that you are called The Dark Lord,” she said softly. “I have heard tale that you are a greatly feared man.”
He snorted, resting his chin in his hand. His two-colored eyes were riveted to her. “Feared indeed,” he rumbled. “Have you heard that Baron de Vesci of Northumberland fears me so much that he provided me with my own castle and lands just so I would stay away from his holdings? And did you also hear that Henry is so wary of me that he pays me a regular stipend every year in the amount of five hundred gold crowns just so I will not pillage and loot his properties?”
Kellington was astonished. “The king pays you?”
Jax nodded disinterestedly, his gaze wandering to the hearth and for some unknown reason, rising to light it. Perhaps it was because he had seen the lady shiver. It didn’t even occur to him that that was the reason until several seconds later.
“I was not born to title or money,” he said as he set out the kindling. “I must take what I want. And I want a good deal.”
She watched him expertly lay out the kindling and the peat. “But…,” she fumbled for her words. “But you already have a castle and lands. And the king pays you a salary to leave him alone.”
Jax nodded as he struck the flint and blew on the sparks. “Actually, I have several castles,” he said casually, watching the fire flare. “I have six along the Welsh Marches. I control everything between Welshpool and Brecon. Even the Marcher lords pay tribute to me so that I will not burn down their castles and steal their lands. And the Welsh are too weak and unorganized to oppose me, so their lands have become mine.”
She listened to him speak so nonchalantly about such serious matters, her astonishment turning to outrage. The man was a monster and either didn’t care or didn’t realize it. She suspected it was the former.
“Why do you tell me these things?” she asked, her tone bordering on cold.
He looked at her then, sweeping his shoulder-length hair out of his eyes. “I tell you so that you will understand that I am no one to be trifled with,” he stood up, focused on her lovely face. “You are horribly ignorant. I am educating you.”
“I never believed you were someone to be trifled with,” she shot back softly. “But your boasts do not impress me.”
He just stared at her and Kellington was suddenly afraid she had been too bold again. She stared back, waiting for him to explode, but he continued to gaze steadily at her. Then something strange happened; the corner of his mouth twitched. Then the other corner twitched. Soon, he had broken out in to a full-blown smile and deep dimples carved ruts down each cheek. His teeth, from what she could see, were straight and relatively white. Had the man not been so dark and horrifying, it would have been a nice smile.
“Nay, I did not expect that they would,” he replied, rubbing at his face as if the smiling had hurt somehow. “But I would tell you just the same. You are a naïve girl and you will understand this world you find yourself a part of. This is my world now. You must adjust so there are no mistakes in the future.”
“Mistakes?” she repeated, not liking the sound of that. “What kind of mistakes do you mean?”
His smile vanished. “I told you earlier. You are confined to this keep. You will not stray from its walls without an escort. I have warned you of my wrath should you disobey. I will not warn you again.”
She was wise enough not to argue with him. He was beginning to intimidate her again but she fought it. She averted her gaze, looking to her hands.
“I will not stray from these walls, my lord,” she cast him a hooded glance, “if you will bring the women in the chapel back into the keep. I swear to you that we will all stay here and resume our duties as normal, which are necessary to the function of Pelinom. You cannot do without us.”
He put his hands on his slender hips, his expression bordering on a glare. “Do you actually think to bargain with me?”
“May I?”
His eyebrows rose. “God’s Blood, you’re a saucy bit of baggage. I’ve killed men for less than what you display.”
Somehow, she didn’t fear his statement. For as annoyed as he appeared, there was a lack of force behind it.
“Are you going to kill me, then?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. But not today.” He eyed her a moment, thinking on her offer. It made some sense. “Very well, Lady Kellington. If you can guarantee that your women will not cause problems and will not stray from this keep, then I will release them to your custody. But if one of them creates even the slightest disturbance or the smallest infraction, my wrath will fall upon you. Do you comprehend?”
She rose from the bed with a smile on her lips. Jax watched her approach, realizing he had never seen her smile. It was the most glorious thing he had ever witnessed; her teeth were straight, white, and she had a big dimple in her left cheek. He could have gazed at that smile for a thousand years and never grown tired of it.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said as she stood before him. “Thank you for your display of mercy.”
Jax hadn’t thought of it that way. He didn’t like the sounds of it and that unbalanced him. The lady, in fact, unbalanced him. Everything about her was beginning to shake him. Without another word, he moved around her and headed for the door.
&n
bsp; “My lord?” she called after him.
He hesitated, hand on the latch. “You must want something more.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the only time you address me formally is when you want something. I’ve never heard you say it any other time.”
She pursed her lips regretfully. “I am sorry. Does that displease you?”
He thought on it. “Nay,” he finally shook his head. “I suppose not. What else do you want?”
She seemed to lose her confident manner. In fact, she began wringing her hands and he dropped his hand from the door latch.
“What do you want?” he asked again.
She cleared her throat softly. “If… if I ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?”
“It depends on the question.”
“Please, my lord?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You must want to know badly if you are addressing me formally again. Well, what is it?”
“My father,” she almost whispered. “Where is he?”
“I sent him back to Foulburn Castle.”
“Where is that?”
“My seat, to the west of Berwick,” he told her. “Is there anything else?”
At least she knew where her father was now. Somehow, it was better and worse at the same time.
“Aye,” she said. “There is one more thing.”
“What is that?”
She was moving towards him again, wringing her hands. She was such a tiny little thing, so sweet and lush and womanly. Jax didn’t know why he felt like moving away from her, but he did. On the other hand, he felt rather warm and lustful as she drew close. It was an odd combination.
“The women,” she said in a tight voice; she realized she was close to tears as she spoke. “Some of them have husbands that you have… they are outside on poles and… well, could we bury them, please? If it was my husband in the bailey, I… I could not bear it. May we bury them?”
Jax gazed down at her, feeling strangely torn by her soft plea. It was not his habit to remove the bodies of the enemies until they had rotted to shriveled corpses. Until then, they were an example to all who would contemplate opposing the will of Ajax de Velt. They served a purpose. He was the conqueror; they were the conquered. He could not remove that which represented his victory.
“Nay,” he said quietly, lifting the latch and opening the door.
Kellington didn’t say any more as he stepped through the panel and shut it softly behind him. In fact, she stood there a long while, staring at the door, struggling to come to grips with the past few days. It had all seemed like a horrible nightmare until a few moments ago. Now it was a real nightmare. She was going to have to adjust if she was going to survive.
They all would.
*
Her name was the Lady Lavaine de Chambon. Her husband was Sir Trevan de Chambon and upon exiting the chapel that was built into the gatehouse of Pelinom, his body was nearly the first thing she saw.
Kellington heard the screaming from her fourth floor bower. Instinctively, she raced down two flights of stairs to the second floor and bolted from the entry and down the wooden stairs before she realized what she had done. By then, it was too late; she spied the women coming from the chapel and saw Lavaine on her knees before her husband’s corpse. She hastened towards the fallen woman.
The few serving women and the cook hurried by her, sobbing, as she ran to Lavaine’s side. The woman was in hysterics as she clutched the pole upon which her husband was impaled. Kellington fell to her knees beside the petite brunette, throwing her arms around her.
“Levie,” she whispered firmly in the woman’s ear. “Come with me now. Come away from here.”
The tiny brunette with the big brown eyes sobbed loudly. She clutched at the wood, reaching up to touch her husband’s foot and then drawing her hand away in horror.
“My sweet Trevan,” she bawled. “What have they done to him? What did he do to deserve this fate?”
Kellington was trying to pull the woman to her feet, fearful of what Jax would do when he saw that she had violated his directive at the first opportunity. She was doubly fearful of what he would to do Lavaine.
“Lavaine,” she said, more firmly. “Our lives are in jeopardy the longer we stay here. You must get up and walk with me.”
Lavaine was incapable of answering. It took all of Kellington’s strength to pull the woman to her feet. Even then, Lavaine threw herself against the pole, embracing her husband’s lower legs as she did so. Kellington tugged but Lavaine held fast.
“My sweet darling,” she wept. “First my son, now my husband. I would beg God to take me as well. I cannot live without them!”
Kellington had tears in her eyes. With a few more tugs, she managed to disengage Lavaine. The woman clung to her, nearly pulling her to the ground as Kellington struggled to walk for the both of them. There were dead men everywhere and Kellington tried not to look, focusing on keeping her head down and her feet moving forward. Lavaine was like dead weight. As they made it to the wooden steps, she caught sight of enormous boots from the corner of her eye. Daring to glance up, she could see Jax standing at the base of the stairs.
His expression was hard, as it had been the first time she had ever seen him. But she knew it was the calm before the storm; she had disobeyed him and left the keep. She wanted to explain herself before he took her head off.
“My apologies, my lord,” she said as they neared the stairs. “I heard the lady screaming and only sought to help. I swear I did not spitefully violate your command.”
He didn’t reply; in fact, he stood there in stone cold silence as she practically lifted Lavaine onto the steps, ascending one at a time. It was an exhaustingly slow process but she finally got her into the keep. Once inside, Lavaine collapsed on the floor and took Kellington down with her.
“I cannot live,” Lavaine moaned. “My reason for living is gone. My son, my husband… I want to die.”
Kellington had pushed herself up. On her hands and knees, she stroked Lavaine’s dark head.
“Nay, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Trevan would not want you to speak so. You must live. You must go on, if for no other reason than a tribute to his memory. Show us what a strong woman you are; show us why Trevan loved you so.”
Lavaine didn’t hear her; she was crippled with grief. As Kellington stroked the woman’s hair, a pale, slender serving girl game up behind her.
“Shall I help ye get her upstairs, m’lady?” the girl murmured in her ear.
Kellington nodded. “Thank you, Matilda,” she took hold of Lavaine’s right arm. “Go to her other side. Perhaps we can lift her between us.”
It was a painful labor. Matilda was no larger than a child herself and lifting Lavaine was difficult. With Kellington on the opposite side, they could only raise her to her knees. The woman refused to be lifted any further. As they pleaded with her, Jax stood by the entry and watched the scene. He caught Amadeo’s gaze out of the corner of his eye; the man was in the archway to the great hall. He had heard the screams, too. With a sharp, perhaps reluctant, nod of his head, Jax sent a silent signal to his knight.
Amadeo moved forward and grabbed the Lavaine by the arms, shoving Matilda to the ground and sending Kellington stumbling. As the women screamed in fright, he unsheathed the dagger that was lodged at his waist. The intent was obvious; they had not the time or the effort to waste on a grieving woman. She could join her husband’s corpse in the bailey.
But as he lifted his dagger to slit her throat in a clean, easy motion, another body was suddenly between his weapon and the woman’s neck; Kellington had somehow made it to her feet and had thrown herself between Lavaine and the dirk. Amadeo ended up slitting a small portion of Kellington’s left shoulder blade instead of Lavaine’s tender white flesh.
Startled, he watched as Kellington fell to the floor in agony. Lavaine was still screaming, now for an entirely different reason. Chaos suddenly enveloped the small entry as servant
s wailed and Jax’s knights began shouting. Amadeo watched as Jax himself swept down on Kellington and lifted her off the floor; blood was on her back, his hands. Somewhat unbalanced, Amadeo lifted his blade again to accomplish his task but Jax boomed orders at him so loudly that they reverberated off the stone. The order was to cease. Amadeo sheathed his dirk and dropped Lavaine back to the floor in one smooth motion.
Weeping servants rushed forth to take Lavaine away. Amadeo snapped orders to the thin male servant hovering near the solar to bring water and thread even as Jax carried Kellington up the stairs. He sent Henley for their surgeon. Then he followed his lord to the upper floors.
“I’ve sent for the surgeon,” he told Jax as they mounted the second flight of stairs to the fourth level.
Jax did not reply. He carried Kellington into her chamber and carefully deposited her on the bed. Beyond that, he was unsure what else to do. He wasn’t the one to tend battle wounds. When he tried to get a better look at Amadeo’s handy work, she turned on him like a wild animal.
“Do not touch me,” she half-barked, half –hissed. “Get out of here and leave me alone.”
Jax and Amadeo stood over the bed, emotionlessly watching her. She was injured, bleeding, and terrified. Jax had seen enough battle wounds to understand the unstable mentality.
“My surgeon will sew your wound,” he told her steadily.
She was trembling with shock, trying to roll off the bed to get away from the two enemy knights. She was smearing blood on her coverlet.
“I said get out,” she slid so far to the edge of the bed that she fell off. She was on her knees, her lovely eyes spitting venom. “Go away from me. And send your surgeon away. I do not want him to touch me.”
Jax put his hands on his hips. “That wound needs to be tended.”
“Get out!” she screamed, shaking terribly. “Get out, get out!”
She was becoming hysterical. Neither Jax or Amadeo were adept at dealing with hysterical women; they had seen many in their life but had never know an ounce of compassion for any of them. Amadeo remained detached, but Jax was experiencing a very strange moment; it was obvious he wanted to attend her wound but was not sure how to accomplish that. He could have forced the issue but realized he did not want to. At least, not physically.