Devil's Dominion (15 page)

Bretton was taking the stairs slowly because she was. They were mossy and slippery, and she was unsteady on them. He watched her almost lose her footing on one before reaching out a hand to her.

“Here,” he said.

Allaston looked up from the steps, noticing the outstretched hand but having no idea what it was for.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He thrust the hand at her again to make his intention obvious. “Take my hand so you do not slip and break your neck.”

Hesitantly, Allaston put her hand in his and he clamped down on her fingers, his heated grip against hers. But he was strong and steady, and she end up relying heavily on him to help her the rest of the way up the steps. Once they reached the ground floor of the gatehouse, he faced her and let her go.

“Since you will no longer be in the vault, I intend to put you to work,” he said. “Tell me what you did at Alberbury. Surely you had assigned tasks.”

Allaston frowned, this time with some outrage. “You intend to make me your slave?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I intend to punish you,” he said. “Tell me what tasks you had at Alberbury.”

Allaston was still frowning but she complied. “My tasks were mostly kitchen related,” she said. “I helped cook meals, tend the garden, and tend stock.”

“Then your punishment will be kitchen-related,” Bretton said, turning to head out of the gatehouse as Allaston followed. “There were only a few male servants left after I took Cloryn and it would be fair to say that our meals have suffered. That will now be your task.”

She skipped after him, squinting her eyes in the bright light. “My punishment is to cook?”

“Your punishment is to be my chatelaine. I need one. You will run this keep to my satisfaction or I will take my hand to your backside. Is that clear?”

It was better than being in the vault. Even as she mulled over her new assignment, the first thing that popped to mind was how easy it would be to poison their food if she had access to the kitchen. A sick army could not march on her father. She hadn’t promised not to poison them, after all. She had simply promised not to harm anyone or try to escape. She supposed that poison could fall under the vow not to harm anyone and, as she thought on it, the technicalities of it had her torn.

Being nice to the man hadn’t worked. Reasoning with him hadn’t worked. Mayhap her only recourse was to somehow prevent the army from moving at all. But she had a feeling if she did that, then again, the consequences against her could be horrific. De Llion had forgiven an attempt against him once but she doubted he’d forgive a second attempt. Perhaps she needed to contemplate the option of poison over a little more before doing anything. Now that he was placing her in a position of some trust, she would have to be careful and not betray that trust until she was absolutely sure she could get away with it. If that moment ever came.

She wondered if it would.

℘

Two Weeks Later, Late June

Pelinom Castle, Northumberland

House of de Velt

The day was mild and windy as a sea breeze blew in from the east, carrying seagulls upon it. The birds sometimes ventured this far inland, looking for food and scraps, their loud cries hanging upon the wind.

A very big man with dual-colored eyes and dark, graying hair pulled back into a tail at the nape of his neck was standing at the window of his solar on the second level of Pelinom’s keep, watching the birds overhead against the blue sky. Ajax de Velt could remember when his older sons, Cole and Julian, would make slingshots when they were younger and try to knock the birds out of the sky. Once, they hit another bird, a beautiful bird with a red neck that had fallen out of the sky, wounded. The boys’ younger sister, Allaston, had cried and carried on, and wanted to nurse the bird back to health. The boys had wanted to eat it. Jax remembered the battle that had ensued, which Allaston had eventually won because she was very clever and not afraid of a fight. God, he missed those days. He missed Allaston.

With a heavy sigh, Jax turned to glance at the package on his desk. It had been delivered a half-hour before by a messenger bearing colors that no one had recognized. The messenger had dumped the package at the main gate of Pelinom and fled. Once the package was retrieved, the messenger was well away and there was no point in pursuing.

The sergeant in charge of the gatehouse had delivered it to de Velt, seated in his solar conducting other business, but Jax had taken the package and opened it with some curiosity in front of the sergeant. What he had pulled forth had been unexpected and macabre. Reading the missive that had come with the contents of the package had nearly thrown him into a panic. He’d read the missive six times before the words sank in:

Your daughter from Alberbury is my prisoner. The hair contained herein belongs to her. I hold your daughter and will soon hold all of your castles upon the Welsh Marches. I have done to your men what you have done to others in the past. Your sins have finally found you and if you wish for your daughter to be returned in good health, you will come to me at Cloryn Castle. Time grows short.

The last sentence was a threat and Jax knew it. After having received a severed head a week ago, the head of a man who had been his commander at Ithon Castle in the Welsh Marches, Jax knew that something was afoot but he wasn’t aware of how bad it was. Now, he knew. Someone was after him, his property and his family, and they wanted it badly enough to kill one of his commanders and abduct his eldest daughter. He’d kept the threat from his family, however. He’d never told them about the severed head, although his eldest son knew, but he wouldn’t be able to keep the abduction of his daughter secret. Now the threat was becoming very real, and very grave, and they would all have to face it.

With slow, heavy steps, he crossed the floor back to the massive oak table that served as his desk. He stared at the contents of the package, in a wad on the tabletop, before reaching down to collect it. Strands of dark, silky hair lingered in his grasp as he inspected the nest of hair. It looked like Allaston’s hair, soft and dark, but of course, he couldn’t be entirely sure. He’d sent for the expert, and he was dreading the moment when he would have to tell his wife that their daughter was in danger. He still wasn’t going to tell her about the severed head, for it was something she didn’t need to know, but the delivery of the hair was another matter altogether. He knew she wouldn’t take it well. Setting the hair back down on the table, he wandered over to the window again to contemplate his next move as he wait for his wife. She wasn’t long in coming.

Lady Kellington Coleby de Velt slipped into her husband’s solar, her hands full of something that she was either mending or making, he couldn’t be sure. They had six children and four grandchildren, and she was always making or mending something. Petite, with blond hair gathered into a bun at the back of her head and big brown eyes, she was still a stunningly beautiful woman in her forty-fifth year. She easily looked much younger, this woman who had tamed The Dark Lord those years ago. She went straight to her husband, who was still standing near the lancet window, lifting her cheek for his kiss.

“One of your soldiers said that you wished to see me,” she said, her attention on the bundle of material in her hands. She held it up, unfurling an infant’s dressing gown in front of her husband. “Do you remember this? Cole was baptized in it. I am putting some flowers on it so he can use it for his daughter’s baptism.”

Jax looked at the unbleached linen with the delicate silk borders on the neck and on the sleeves. “What if he has a son someday and wants to use the same gown?” he asked. “Cole will not want his son to wear flowers.”

Kellington shrugged, fussing with the stitching on the neck of the garment. “Then I will remove them,” she said, glancing up at her husband as she made her way over to a chair near the hearth. “What did you wish to see me about, my love?”

Jax watched her for a moment, hating the fact that he was about to make her very, very upset. The thought was excruciatingly distressing and made him sick to his stomach, but he didn’t have much choice. Kellington had to know. As Kellington sat down and began to resume her sewing, Jax thought on what he was about to tell her. He wanted to be gentle about it.

“I received a missive today,” he began, moving towards his desk where the wad of hair lay. Kellington had remained at a distance from the desk and hadn’t noticed it yet. “There is something contained within it that you and I must discuss. It has to do with Allaston.”

Kellington’s head came up. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her face immediately tense with concern. “Is she ill?”

Jax shook his head. “Nay, she is not ill.”

His words did not ease her. “Then what message comes from Alberbury?” she demanded.

Jax put up a hand to quiet her. “The missive was not from Alberbury,” he said calmly. “I will preface this by saying that Allaston is in good health for the moment, but it would seem we have a problem. According to this missive, someone has abducted her from Alberbury and is holding her for ransom.”

Kellington stared at him and he could see the levels of shock rolling across her delicate features. Mild shock turned to moderate shock. Finally, her eyes widened and she set her sewing down, rising from her chair.

“How do you know this?” she asked with great apprehension. “What does the missive say?”

Jax picked up the mass of dark hair from the desk and silently extended it to his wife. Kellington stared at the hair a moment before taking it from him, her pallor going from a healthy pink to an ashen shade as she inspected the strands. Jax came around the desk, putting his hands on her shoulders comfortingly as he watched her examine the lonely mass of hair, beautiful strands without an owner.

“This hair came with the missive,” he said quietly. “It looks like Allie’s but I cannot be sure. Mayhap you can.”

Kellington stared at the hair a moment longer before lifting it to her nose, smelling it deeply. Almost immediately, she broke down in tears.

“I can smell my babe,” she whispered. “This is Allie’s hair. I would know it anywhere.”

“You are certain?”

Kellington nodded emphatically. “I would stake my life on it,” she wept. “My God, what have they done to my child?”

Jax put his arms around her, holding her tightly. He felt so very sorrowful but in the same breath, he felt incredibly guilty. Whatever was brewing was directed at him with Allaston somehow caught in the middle of it. So many years of peace and now this. It was as unexpected as it was unwelcomed.

“I am assured she is in good health,” he stated, directing her to sit back down in the chair. As they moved, he collected the parchment from the desktop. “Let me read the missive to you.”

He did. Kellington wept softly as she listened, holding the dark mass of hair against her chest, over her heart. She was absolutely devastated with the turn of events. As he finished the last few words written before him, Kellington spoke.

“What does this mean?” she demanded, wiping at her nose. “Is there no ransom demand?”

Jax shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “As you heard, whoever has Allie wants me to go to Cloryn Castle.”

“But why?” Kellington wanted to know. “I do not understand any of this. Why do they have her and why do they want you to come and get her?”

Jax sighed knowingly. “I believe the comment of my sins finding me is a clue,” he said with regret. “Cloryn Castle, and five others, has been mine for twenty-five years, ever since I took a good portion of the Marches for my own in the years before I met you. Cloryn Castle was manned by one of my commanders, Orion d’Savignac, who left his eldest son in charge some years ago when he and his wife moved to the south of France for Orion’s health. The man who wrote this missive states that he has done to my men what I did to men those years ago and has directed me to go to Cloryn Castle. I suspect that mayhap Cloryn does not belong to me any longer. I further suspect my soldiers garrisoned there have met a violent end.”

That was putting it mildly. As he’d told himself, he made no mention of the severed head from Ithon because it would only add more horror to an already horrific situation. As it was, Kellington was struggling to calm her tears.