“I know you cannot tell by looking at him, Uncle Matthew, but he has, indeed, grown since he has been with me,” he said. “It is something about those three together that brings out the naughty lad in each of them. They will be doing that when they are old and gray, you know.”
Matthew knew that, too. In a sense, it was good to see that some things never changed, not even his wild youngest son or the younger de Russe boys. The fact that some things stayed the same was oddly comforting.
“I suppose,” he said, his gaze falling on Grier. “Your lady wife, I presume?”
Dane nodded as he looked at Grier. “My dear wife,” he said affectionately. “My lady, this is Matthew Wellesbourne, Earl of Hereford, and standing next to him is my brother, Trenton. Greater men you will never meet.”
As Matthew went to speak to Grier and Gaston, Dane went to Trenton. Trenton, his older brother by a year, and Dane were inordinately close, and Trenton was the man Dane respected most in the world next to his father. Trenton had married the year before and had given up his position with the king in order to settle down and help Gaston manage his estates.
Now that Gaston was growing weaker, and sicker, Trenton had taken on a tremendous amount of responsibility. As the Earl of Westbury, he was the heir to the dukedom of Warminster.
A more powerful man had never lived.
Dane extended his hand to Trenton, taking it tightly. “I am surprised to see you,” he admitted. “The great and mighty Westbury on my doorstep. I have missed you, Brother.”
Trenton grinned; like most of the de Russe male offspring, he looked like his father to a fault. He was the man’s size and strength, and nearly his personality, too. He’d had some demons in his life but, thanks to the woman he married, his life was finally running smoothly for once. For Dane, that was very good to see.
“I have missed you, also,” Trenton said. “You and I usually do not spend so much time apart, but with my duties with Warminster, and your new holdings in the northern Marches, I’m afraid separation might be a new way of life for us.”
Dane nodded, regretfully. “But I will always be at your side if you need me; you know that,” he said. Then, he glanced at Gaston as he lowered his voice. “Why is he here? He looks terrible, Trenton. I cannot believe Mother let him come.”
Trenton’s gaze moved to Gaston, also. “When he received your missive about the dukedom and marriage, nothing could keep him away,” he muttered. “Mother actually locked him in a chamber, trying to keep him from going. The only way she would let him travel is if all of us went with him – me, Uncle Matthew, Cort, and Gage. She would not let him go without a huge support system.”
Now it made sense as to why so many of his family members had come. “How has he been?” Dane asked.
Trenton put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Not well,” he said honestly. “He spends most of his time with his grandchildren and he does not travel. That is why it took us so long to get here; we traveled slowly and stopped frequently, for his sake. But nothing would stop him, Dane; you have to know that. He is so proud of you and what you have become. I heard him tell Mother, once, that he could now die happy because Trenton and Dane had finally come into their own.”
Dane closed his eyes, a brief and miserable gesture. “I hope he did not hasten that death by coming here,” he said. “Come, let us go inside the hall where it is warm. He should not be out here in the cold.”
Trenton agreed. They moved towards the group that was now circled around Grier, and even though she was the center of attention, which usually embarrassed her, she was carrying on a charming conversation, bringing laughter from both Gaston and Matthew. It made Dane’s heart swell with gratitude to see that; his beautiful wife, now blossoming before his very eyes.
He, too, couldn’t have been prouder.
“Let’s not stand out here in the snow any longer,” Dane said, pushing between Cort and Matthew to take Grier by the arm. “My wife will be just as entertaining in the hall, where it is warm and we are not being snowed on.”
The group of them began to walk towards the hall as the Warminster escort was disbanded behind them. However, William and Boden and Gage were still roughhousing, so they left those three to their own snowy fun. In fact, Matthew was watching the trio, shaking his head at their antics.
“Is this what has been happening at Shrewsbury?” he asked Dane. “This place is so slow and unexciting that those three can spend all of their time wrestling?”
Dane looked at the man in surprise. “Shrewsbury?” he said. “Slow?”
Gaston put his arm around his son’s shoulders. “Admit it,” he said. “You’ve found a peaceful and completely dull command in Shrewsbury. Nothing exciting ever happens here.”
Dane lifted his eyebrows, looking at his wife, who was looking at him with the same expression.
Nothing exciting ever happens in Shrewsbury.
Dane had to shake his head.
“Give me time, Papa,” he said. “I will tell you just how unexciting Shrewsbury has been since I have assumed command. I think it might surprise you.”
Gaston laughed softly. “I am an old man, Dane,” he said. “It takes quite a bit to surprise me. Have you even used the legendary Shrewsbury battle horn yet? That thing must be rusting for lack of use.”
Dane had to laugh. “You think so, do you?”
Dane was still laughing when they entered the hall, met by Charlisa and her gracious hospitality. By the end of the evening, not only was Gaston surprised by the deceptively peaceful Shrewsbury, so was everyone else. Shrewsbury wasn’t the bucolic corner of Shropshire that they thought it was.
But more than the life-and-death struggle that Dane and Grier had been forced to endure, one thing was readily apparent to Gaston – the gap-toothed, skinny lad he’d first met those years ago had grown into a fine, strong man without a shadow of Guy Stoneley’s manner in him. Perhaps Dane was a Stoneley by blood, but his heart and soul were purely de Russe.
And that gap-toothed, skinny young man had finally found his piece of heaven.
* THE END *
Afterword
I truly hope you’ve enjoyed Dane and Grier’s story. Now, to clarify a couple of things –
As you’ve seen, Grier is the last of the de Lara family, the Lords of the Trinity Castles (or Lords of the Trilaterals, as they are also called). There are two branches of the de Lara family.
The first branch is the Lords of the Trilaterals, which stemmed from Luc de Lara, who came over with the Duke of Normandy (see WARWOLFE for this character). The de Laras come from Spain, and Luc de Lara was the Count of Boucau. One of the direct descendants of this branch is Sean de Lara (LORD OF THE SHADOWS). You also meet Sean’s father and brother in ARCHANGEL, and the Lords of the Trilaterals are discussed a bit in that book, too.
The second branch of the de Lara family is the Earls of Carlisle (DRAGONBLADE), because Tate de Lara was adopted by the de Lara family. Being the bastard son of Edward I, the king sent his infant son to the de Laras to both shield him and take care of him, so that branch of the family is de Lara in name only – by blood, they are Plantagenet.
Therefore, Shrewsbury is not the Dragonblade/Earl of Carlisle branch, but the Sean de Lara branch. This book takes place three hundred years after Lord of the Shadows, but I think it’s particularly cool that Dane is now the Lord of the Trinity Castles as well as the Duke of Shrewsbury. I think Sean de Lara would have been very proud, and comforted, knowing that his family properties and family legacy are in the hands of a competent de Russe. Since my books cover approximately 450 years (the entire stretch of the High Middle Ages), sometimes there are centuries between books, especially with descendants, and the House of de Russe is my latest (most recent) house. They kind of close up the Medieval World and take us into the Tudor World.
And with that, I hope you enjoyed the mini-family reunion at the end, brief as it was. It did my heart good to write about Gaston and Matthew one more time, and it does my
heart good to see how fine and noble their children have become (except for William, Boden, and Gage, but they’ll have their time, eventually!).
Much love,
THE DARK LORD
A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
‘Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,—Woe for that man who in harm and hatred hales his soul to fiery embraces’
—Beowulf, Chapter II
CHAPTER ONE
May, 1180 AD
Scots Borderlands, England
He had her by the hair; strands of spun gold clutched in the dirty mailed glove. Perhaps it was because she had tried to bite him and he did not want to chance another encounter with her sharp white teeth. Or perhaps it was because he was a brute of a man, sworn to Ajax de Velt and knowing little else but inflicting terror. Whatever the case, he had her tightly. She was trapped.
The woman and her father were on their knees in great hall of the keep that had once belonged to them. Now it was their prison as enemy soldiers overran the place. There were memories of warmth and laughter embedded in the old stone walls, now erased by the terror that filled the room.
Pelinom Castle had been breached before midnight when de Velt’s army had tunneled under the northeast tower of the wall, causing it to collapse. The woman and her father had tried to escape, along with the populace of their castle, but de Velt’s men had swarmed them like locusts. It was over before it began.
Around her, the woman could hear the cries of her people as de Velt’s men ensnared them. She had been captured by an enormous knight with blood splashed on his plate armor and she had understandably panicked. Even now, trapped against the floor of the great hall, she was panicked and terrified. Tales of de Velt’s atrocities were well known in the lawless north of England, for it was a dark and lawless time. She knew they were about to enter Hell.
From the corner of her eye, she could see her father on his knees. Sir Keats Coleby was a proud man and he had resisted the invasion gallantly. Why he hadn’t been outright killed, as the garrison commander, was a mystery. But he was well-bloodied for his efforts. The woman couldn’t see his face and she fixed her gaze back to the floor where the knight held her head. He very nearly had her nose pushed into the stone.
There was a great deal of activity around them. She could hear men shouting orders as the screams of her people eventually faded. Horror consumed her, knowing that de Velt’s men were more than likely doing unspeakable things to her servants and soldiers. Tears stung her eyes but she fought them. She wondered what horrors de Velt had planned for her and her father.
She didn’t have long to wait. With her face nearly pressed to the stone, she heard a deep, rumbling voice.
“Your name, knight.”
The woman’s father answered without hesitation. “Sir Keats Coleby.”
“You are commander of Pelinom, are you not?”
“I am.”
“And the girl?”
“My daughter, the Lady Kellington.”
The silence that filled the air was full of anxiety. Kellington could hear boot falls all around her, though it was difficult to see just how many men were surrounding them. It felt like the entire army.
“Release her,” she heard the voice say.
Immediately, the hand in her hair was removed and she stiffly lifted her head. Several unfriendly faces were glaring down at her, some from behind raised visors, some from helmless men. There were six in all, three knights and at least three soldiers. There could have been more standing behind her that she did not see, but for now, six was enough. Kellington’s heart was pounding loudly in her ears as she looked around, waiting for the coming confrontation. The knight to her right spoke.
“How old are you, girl?”
She swallowed; her mouth was so dry that there was nothing to swallow and she ended up choking. “I have seen eighteen years, my lord.”
The knight shifted on his big legs and moved in front of her; Kellington’s golden-brown eyes dared to gaze up at him, noting a rather youngish warrior with a few days growth of beard and close-shorn blond hair. He didn’t look as frightening as she had imagined, but she knew if the man was sworn to de Velt, then he must be horrible indeed.
“Does your husband serve Pelinom?” he asked, his deep voice somewhat quieter.
“I am not married, my lord.”
The knight glanced over at Keats, who met his gaze steadily. Then he turned his back on them both, leaving them to stew in fear. Kellington watched him closely, struggling to keep her composure. She wasn’t a flighty woman by nature, but panic was the only option at the moment.
“Are there any others of the ruling house here?” the knight paused and turned to look at them. “Only the garrison commander and his daughter? No sons, no husband, no brothers?”
Keats shook his head. “Just my daughter and I.”
He deliberately left out ‘my lord’. If it bothered the knight, he did not show it. Instead, he turned his focus to the gallery above, the ceiling and the walls. Pelinom was a small but rich and strategically desirable castle and he was pleased that they had managed to capture her relatively intact. The chorus of screams that had been prevalent since the army breached the bailey suddenly picked up again, but the knight pretended not to notice. He returned his focus to Keats.
“If you are lying to me, know that it will only harm you in the end,” he said in a low voice. “The only class spared at this time is the ruling house. All others are put to death, so you may as well confess before we kill someone who is important to you.”
Keats didn’t react but Kellington’s eyes widened. She had never been a prisoner before and had no idea of the etiquette or behaviors involved. Living a rather isolated existence at Pelinom for most of her life, it had left her protected for the most part. This siege, this horror, was new and raw.
“What does that mean?” she demanded before she could stop her tongue. “It is only my father and I, but my father has knights who serve him and we have servants who live here and…”
The knight flicked his eyes in her direction. “You will no longer concern yourself over them.”
She leapt to her feet. “My lord, please,” she breathed, her lovely face etched with anguish. “My father’s knight and friend is Sir Trevan. He was with us when you captured us, but now I do not see him. Please do not harm him. He has a new infant and…”
“The weak and small are the first to be put to the blade. They are a waste of food and space within a military encampment.”
Kellington’s eyes grew wider, tears constricting her throat. Her hands flew to her mouth. “You cannot,” she whispered. “Sir Trevan and his wife waited years for their son to be born. He is so small and helpless. Surely you cannot harm him. Please; I beseech you.”
The knight lifted an eyebrow at her. Then he glanced at the other knights and soldiers standing around them; they were all de Velt men, born and bred to war. All they knew was death, destruction and greed. There was little room for compassion. He looked to Keats once more.
“Explain to your daughter the way of things,” he turned away from them, seemingly pensive. “I will listen to what you tell her.”
Keats sighed heavily, his gaze finding his only child. Though a woman grown she was, in fact, hardly taller than a child. But her short stature did nothing to detract from a deliciously womanly figure that had come upon her at an early age. Keats had seen man after man take a second look at his petite daughter, investigating the golden hair and face of an angel. He was frankly surprised that the de Velt men hadn’t taken her for sport yet, for she was truly a gorgeous little thing. He was dreading it, knowing it was only a matter of time and there was nothing on earth he could do to stop them. The thought made him ill.
“Kelli,” he said softly. “I know that you do not understand since you have never seen a battle, but this is war. There are no rules. The victor will do as he pleases and we, as his prisoners, must obey.”
“He will kill a b
aby?” she fired back. “That is unthinkable; it’s madness. Why must they kill the child? He’s done nothing!”
“But he could grow up to do something,” Keats tried to keep her calm. “Do you remember your Bible? Remember how the Pharaoh killed all of the first born males of Israel, afraid that one of them would grow up to be the man prophesized to overthrow him? ’Tis the same with war, lamb chop. The enemy does not see man, woman or child. He only sees a potential killer.”
“You understand well the concept of destruction.”
They all turned to the sound of the voice; a deep, booming tone that rattled the very walls. Keat’s had the first reaction all evening, his brown eyes widening for a split second before fading. Kellington stared at the man who had just entered the great hall as all of the other men around her seemed to straighten. Even the knight who had been doing the questioning moved forward quickly to greet the latest arrival.
“My lord,” he said evenly. “This is Sir Keats Coleby, garrison commander of Pelinom, and his daughter the Lady Kellington. They claim that they are the only two members of the ruling house.”
The man who stood in the entrance to the great hall was covered in mail, plate protection and gore. He still wore his helm, a massive thing with horns that jutted out of the crown. He was easily a head taller than even the tallest man in the room and his hands were as large as trenchers. The man’s enormity was an understatement; he was colossal.
He radiated everything evil that had ever walked upon the earth. Kellington felt it from where she stood and her heart began to pound painfully. She resisted the urge to run to her father for protection, for she knew that no mortal could give protection against this. The very air of the great hall changed the moment the enormous man entered it. It pressed against her like a weight.
The great helmed head turned in the direction of the knight who had been doing the interrogation, now standing before him. Then he loosened a gauntlet enough to pull it off, raising his visor with an uncovered hand. The hand was dirty, the nails black with gore.