knight story III
Jul. 26th, 2007 05:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrPart II
*~*~*~*
Lyon lifted his eyes to the ceiling as another resounding crash came from the kitchen, followed by the now-familiar bellowing of Brice as the lad once more started a war with the cook.
He pinched the bridge of his nose at the sound of something heavy and metal hitting the wall. "That lad is a menace. I think they sent him not to deliver a message, but to rid the palace of him."
The housekeeper chuckled. "He has a temper to match that hair, for a certainty."
Not a day after they had locked him away in the south room, Brice had given up his rage over being imprisoned and had switched to complaining about everything he could possibly think up.
He had been ignored – until he had maligned the food. At that point, Lyon had been outside with the guards. He had not become aware of the feud which had sprung up between his prisoner and his cook until he heard the crash which had become the first of many.
Keeping Brice locked up had failed abysmally. At his wits end, Lyon had finally tossed him into the kitchen, thinking actually having to do work would silence him and at last end the matter.
Instead, and he should have expected it really, Brice showed startling skill – and opinions completely opposite those of the head cook. He had tried more than once to silence them, to keep them separated, but he may as well give up breathing.
Perversely, the two of them seemed to enjoy the battling. Lyon rather thought the cold had affected both their heads, but so long as it kept Brice from demanding to see Lady Winifred or be set free, he would endure it.
Or kill them.
The shouting reached a deafening crescendo and Lyon snapped. "Bring that rapscallion to me at once," he roared, startling the hall into silence, until the housekeeper bobbed a hasty curtsy and bolted off to retrieve Brice from the kitchens.
Brice appeared a moment later, looking much like he had lost a war, though to tell from the excited flush to his cheeks he was not suffering overmuch from the loss. He was covered head to foot in the work of the kitchens – evidence of slaughtering chickens, flour from baking, hair tied back with a strip of leather, a streak of something on one cheek.
Did he not know better, he would never believe this boy to be among those who knelt before the King to memorize his most secret and important messages.
"Boy," he bellowed. "There is work to be done, and if you insist upon contributing I will thank you to stop destroying my kitchens. Your family is clearly not what it once used to be, if such behavior is what they teach their whelps."
"Do not malign my family, you vagrant knight," Brice said, all but shouting the words. "You hold me hostage here, refuse to inform me where her ladyship might be found – I see not why you think you have any right to call my behavior into question."
Lyon sighed, wondering what had become of his homelands that children were raised to behave so abominably. He reached out and yanked Brice close. "Because this is my keep and a lack of manners annoys me, boy, and should you continue to provoke my ire you will find yourself sleeping not in the south corner room but in our disused dungeon. They are old enough we've naught but one key, it and the locks so old that I cannot promise they will properly operate. It could very well be that once you are locked in, we will be unable to unlock the door. Do you take my meaning, boy?"
Brice glared at him, but it quickly withered beneath Lyon's. "Yes, my lord, your meaning is taken well." He made no protest as Lyon roughly let him go, merely resettled his messy clothes as best he could. Lyon wondered where he had obtained them, but dismissed the thought as irrelevant. When Brice finally looked up again, there was a faintly hurt look upon his face. "My name isn't 'boy' you know."
"When you cease to act like one," Lyon snapped, "I shall address you as a man. If you want to prove yourself worthy of such respect, you could try not to engage in battle every hour. There are more dignified ways to disagree with someone." Even at their worst, when they were unused to one another, he and Chastaine had never bellowed and thrown things.
"I am a messenger, my lord," Brice said stiffly, "fit for very little else."
Lyon rolled his eyes. "I am a knight, yet I manage quite well in the role of Seneschal. It seems to me you do well enough in the kitchens when you are not attempting to drive my cook from the keep. Behave, ere you find yourself locked away rather than given freedom to move about the keep."
"Yes, my lord," Brice replied, looking miserable but resigned.
Restraining an urge to smack him, for at least the boy was trying, Lyon shoved him back toward the kitchen. Perhaps there would be peace for a time.
Problem managed for the moment anyway, Lyon returned to rereading the missive he'd received three days ago.
Lyon,
Good news at last. Her ladyship is a half day's ride ahead of us, and we have already formed a plan to take her back. If all goes accordingly, we shall be on our way home in not more than a week's time, and it should be much sooner than that.
I gather the messenger incurred your wrath straight away, to be locked up so swiftly in that drafty room. If it is one of those Beauclerc he sent, then I think the south corner room far too generous. We have a dungeon, make use of it.
I regret we will miss the Winter Banquet. Do not eat all the pudding or we shall have to be at odds immediately upon reuniting, and I think her ladyship would prefer we hold the bickering for at least an hour.
Direct your scowls at the sky, that the weather holds until we are safely returned.
Chastaine.
Lyon realized he was smiling as he tucked the note away, and immediately scowled.
"Sir Lyon."
He looked up, stirred from his thoughts, and stared at the housekeeper. "Yes, madam."
"The head cook says that if you are displeased with her services, then you have only to say and she will take herself elsewhere."
Lyon's lips twitched. "It is not the cook who dissatisfies, it is the boy. If anyone can beat that idiocy out of him, it is she."
"I will tell her you said so, Sir Lyon, but I think she will not believe you." The housekeeper chuckled and held out a plate. "She and Master Brice managed to contrive something new between the battling, using the currants and a bit of brandy. She wanted to know if it might be fit for the banquet."
Accepting the plate, Lyon slowly ate the bit of thick, rich cake. He was surprised at where his thoughts immediately turned. "It is most suitable, and she might consider making it again for the homecoming. Chastaine would adore it."
"Yes, my lord," the housekeeper said with a smile, taking the dishes away. She faltered to a stop as a resounding crash came from the kitchen, followed by a great deal of shouting. Heaving a sigh, rolling her eyes, she braced her shoulders as though going to battle and stalked into the kitchen.
Lyon pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned and walked from the main hall, out into the courtyard.
"Rider, ho!" he heard the guards call. One turned, catching sight of him. "Looks like a messenger, my lord," he said. "Thankfully, not royal."
Keeping his thoughts to himself, Lyon pulled his cloak more tightly around him and waited. Sure enough, several minutes later a messenger came clattering through the portcullis and slid nimbly from his horse.
He spotted Lyon and strode toward him, boots crunching in the light fall of fresh snow. Dropping to one knee, he lowered his head and spoke. "I seek Sir Lyon, knight of Castle Triad."
"I am he," Lyon replied, accepting the missive as it was held out. "To the kitchens with you, and if you like be most welcome to join us at our banquet this night. Would you be willing to take a reply at first light."
"Aye, my lord," the messenger replied with a quick grin before remembering his head should remain lowered.
"My thanks. Be off to the kitchens, then." Lyon watched him go, then saw the horse was tended to before venturing back inside.
Still he could hear squabbling from the kitchen. He hoped the cook beat the boy senseless. He dropped his hand to the heavy ring of keys at his waist, quickly finding and thoughtfully stroking the large iron key which belonged to the dungeons.
Ignoring the chaotic kitchen, he made his way to his bedchamber and dropped down in his seat beside the cold fireplace, lighting a taper before finally breaking the wax seal on the missive.
Lyon,
It would seem my words of good tidings were written with haste.
Fortune seems not to favor us, for instead of finding our Lady Winifred and disposing of the brigands, I have recovered her wedded beyond all annulment, to a man claiming to be the bastard son of the King of Kosomor. My tale only grows more grim.
His Majesty, it seems, attempted to use his daughter as a pawn in getting Rothland to obey his commands. When he sold his daughter to Kosomor rather than Rothland, the Roths retaliated by poisoning our keep and stealing our lady.
Ere she could become the wife of a Roth, she was stolen again by the moorlands, and married to the bastard son.
Against my wishes, the bastard still lives. Against her ladyship's wishes, he is Brigand until we grant him permission to stay both alive and married to our lady.
I will tell you the tale in full upon arrival, this message journeys to you the eve of our journey home.
If you can, attempt to coerce that royal messenger to cooperate. The King, regretfully, needs to know what Rothland attempted to do.
Perhaps in the fervor sure to be stirred up, they will forget to remove our heads. I should think our duties quite tricksome to perform without them.
Chastaine.
Lyon held the note tightly in one fist, crumpling the parchment, shaking with the force of it.
Damnation.
This was a fine mess to be dropped upon them.
Lady Winifred married, no doubt in a ceremony wholly unworthy of a Princess, without the blessing of her father or the royal priest, not even her mother or sister to comfort and guide… it was no way for a maiden to go into her marriage, and he hated for her that she had been treated so callously.
Chastaine was correct, this Brigand would be nothing more until he proved himself worthy of keeping both his head and their lady.
Lyon smoothed the parchment out and read it all again, then carefully tucked it away with the other beneath his tunic.
What to do, what to do. As Chastaine said, the King would now have to be informed. They knew the enemy, what had been done.
Even if it meant he would shortly be headless. Sighing, Lyon stood and crossed the room, stepping outside and bellowing for assistance as he reached the main hall.
"Aye, Sir Lyon?" a young maid asked.
"Send that fool messenger to me in my chambers – and see that he cleans himself up first. Also see my midday meal is brought."
The maid bobbed a curtsy. "Aye, my lord."
He waited until she had gone, then went back to his room. A couple of minutes later and his food appeared. Lyon could not help smiling – rather than the usual repast of stew and bread, they had sent him samples of some of the foods to be eaten that night. It would seem that despite the chaos, his kitchens were accomplishing something.
Drinking the mulled wine sent with it, Lyon dove cheerfully into the hearty repast, and was enjoying the last of his custard tart and wine when a sharp knock came at his door. "Enter," he called, just to annoy the boy.
Annoyed Brice was, but smart enough for the moment not to complain. Lyon was not certain if he was better or worse off for being stuck with a youth for this task.
"Sit," he said, setting aside his wine as Brice obediently sat across from him. "I have never seen my cook so easily riled in all the years I have known her."
"That woman is terrifying," Brice said fervently.
Lyon's mouth quirked briefly in a smile. "Aye, but the food she prepares makes amends. You seem to be at least as skilled, an odd trait for a King's messenger."
Brice grimaced and shrugged, but did not otherwise reply.
Lyon picked up his wine and drained the last of it. "You have been wondering where my lady has gone."
"Yes," Brice said slowly, looking at him warily, but sitting up straighter in his seat.
"She will be returning shortly," Lyon said grimly, "but I need your help, for there is something her father must know…"
Brice nodded eagerly, eyes wide. "I will help, gladly, only tell me – please."
Lyon lifted one brow at the odd compliance. "First, I must have from you the message to be delivered to her royal highness."
"I cannot—"
"The time for your games is over, boy," Lyon said firmly. "I cannot trust you if you will not trust me."
Brice's shoulders sagged. "Aye," he said sadly. "My message for her Highness was thus: Matters are at last concluded, and all arrangements made. You are to be wed ere the spring flowers are in bloom. Make ready to journey with all haste the moment winter is sufficiently thawed. Send word by way of this messenger the very moment you begin your journey."
Lyon nodded. "Did he not say to whom she was to be wed?"
"Nay, Sir Lyon," Brice said, slumping back in his seat. "The rumors about the palace, however, say she is to marry the cur moorland King."
Groaning, Lyon wished longingly for something stronger than mulled wine. He was a knight however, and knights did not indulge in the stronger spirits even if they were in most sore need of them.
Thinking of spirits turned his thoughts to Chastaine, and how many times after cold days like these he had drawn brandy for both of them, leaving Lyon's in his room that he might enjoy it before bed. It had been one of the few comradely gestures exchanged between them. In his turn, Lyon had ever repaired Chastaine's tunic along with his own. Knights tended to all their own belongings, but Chastaine was hopeless with needle and thread. Neither of them would trouble the already busy castle servants with such trivial work, so Lyon managed it while he sipped his brandy before bed.
Never had they drunk together, Lyon realized, something he supposed would be common enough practice between knights who spent so much time together. It simply was not possible, however, an unspoken arrangement between them that Chastaine rose early and so could go to bed earlier, while Lyon rose late and so found his bed later. Ever the arrangement had worked.
He had not touched the brandy in all the time he had run the castle alone, and he realized now he had no desire to touch it. Twas not the same, and as much as the thought confounded and irked, it was the simple truth.
"You must listen to me closely, boy," he said at last, shunting away the trivial thoughts. "There is no time for the foolishness which spurred me to toss you to the kitchens. I need to know I can trust you, for one mistake may cost my lady, her Highness, much. Understand you, this?"
"Aye, my lord," Brice said.
Lyon nodded, still reluctant but having no choice in the matter, and swiftly related all that he knew of the matter.
When he finished, Brice spent several minutes staring. Finally he shook himself. "Ach, my lord, that is quite a different tale than the one I had been imagining."
"Pray tell, what tale were you imagining?" Lyon asked, dreading the answer.
Brice smiled sheepishly, scrubbing a hand through his red hair. "With both her Highness and Sir Delacroix missing, it seemed to me they had eloped."
Lyon blinked – then burst out laughing. "Chastaine? Elope with the Princess? I shall have to tell them that, if only to see the looks upon their faces!"
"It did not seem that amusing to me," Brice muttered, slinking down in his seat.
"That is only because you do not know them," Lyon said, finally getting control of his laughter. "She is our lady, and I believe she regards us as particularly aggravating older brothers." He reached up to touch his cloak pin, clenching his hand into a fist before it could stray higher to the sapphires in his ears. "Guarding her has proven difficult enough. Neither I nor Chastaine seek the role of her husband. I think such a damsel is not to his taste, and she is certainly not to mine."
Brice rolled his eyes. "A Princess is not to your taste? What strange men, to find such a woman inadequate. I can think of hundreds who would find her exactly to their taste. A Delacroix especially, I should think, would find a Princess adequate. What then, pray tell, would either of you find to taste, if a Princess lacks?"
Lyon started to reply, annoyed as ever by Brice's impudence, but the question drew him up short. He did not know. As knights sworn to guardianship they had no time for dalliances or marriages. Yet every man had needs, and he realized suddenly he did not know where Chastaine slaked his lust. Not that it was his business, and certainly he did not care…
But at any given moment he could predict where Chastaine was, and when he would appear, and he knew Chastaine could do the same with him. They jointly controlled the castle, it only made sense they were familiar with one another's patterns. Yet going over all that they did in the course of the day…as knights they were fully within their rights to take their pleasure where they pleased. However, neither of them preferred the tawdry dalliances in which so many knights indulged, and such behavior would distract them from the duty of guardianship.
Did Chastaine dally with one of his hunters when they were a field? Nay, he would not fraternize with his men so, which cut out the soldiers as well.
Realizing the black recesses to which his mind had strayed, horrified, Lyon furiously brought his mind back around to where it should be dwelling. "You will take word to his Majesty then?"
"Aye, my lord," Brice said.
"You are oddly cooperative," Lyon said slowly. "What happened to calling me Brigand and threatening to have my spurs taken away? Was the fight beat out of you in the kitchens?"
Brice looked at his hands. "I want only to be useful, my lord. I am not properly a Beauclerc, not as they have always been. My father gave up his lands and title to marry my mother, who was naught but a peasant, a cook in my father's keep before he surrendered it to marry her and live in peace. Twas from her I learned kitchens. When illness took them, my uncle took me in on the provision I fit properly into the family…" He shrugged. "This was my first mission, and I have failed to perform it according to his dictate. If taking this message back will repair that shame, gladly will I do it."
Lyon grunted. "If it is the kitchens you prefer, then in the kitchens you should stay. A man true to himself is worth a thousand who spend their life living a lie. Pack your things, Brice, and be off with all haste."
Jerking his head up, Brice blinked, then smiled hesitantly. "Aye, my lord…though, if I may…"
"What is it?" Lyon asked, not really wanting to know what ridiculous boon was about to be asked of him.
Brice ducked his head again. "Might I stop by the kitchens, to see that all my efforts came to success?"
Lyon stared at him, then chuckled softly and shook his head. "Aye, Brice. Perhaps next year you might come and enjoy the banquet properly, and under happier circumstances."
"Aye, my lord. Thank you."
Nodding, Lyon motioned him out, staring broodingly into the fireplace.
Finally he forced himself to rise, leaving his room to return to the main hall in time to bid Brice a final farewell. Flagging down a servant, he gave orders for the dishes to be fetched from his room, and writing implements brought. Ideally they were well on their way home, naught but a few more weeks away – but he should keep Chastaine as informed as he possibly could, as there was no telling what could go awry when.
Taking a seat at one of the long tables, he murmured a thank you when a maid brought him a fresh tankard of mulled wine, and by the time his writing implements were brought he had decided upon what to write.
*~*~*~*
Chastaine glowered at all and sundry as they trudged through the streets of Shenan. Two weeks, he reminded himself. Two weeks and he would be back home, in his own bed, and hopefully back to his routine.
He missed the hunting, the brewing, eating a quick lunch before the work resumed, be it planting or harvesting, or the hundreds of other tasks that would come with the thaw. The boisterous meals on those days they could afford to sit and eat for an extended period of time, the quiet camaraderie on those days they could not.
More than anything, though, he missed someone at his back. Knowing that while he tended the south and east fields, Lyon watched the north and west. That every problem he did not anticipate, Lyon would. So many little things had nagged him on this journey, a dozen little mistakes because he was too used to someone else covering what he could not. Too used to being a half.
Scrubbing at his face, he sent Kodey ahead to commandeer an inn, pressing coin into his hand. He wondered if the lad was nervous or unhappy, to be back here where they had so poorly met. But if he was, the lad gave no sign of it, darting off knowingly through the streets, eager to please, so very different in such a short time from the uncertain waif he had been before.
"It is good to be back on familiar shores," Lady Winifred said with a sigh, "though I shall not be truly content until I am home and can rest in my own bed."
Chastaine glowered at the mention of her bed, for she would no longer be sleeping in it alone, and by the day he was finding it harder to contrive reasons to take Brigand's head. Infuriating, to say the least, and ere he lost his own head for this mess he would find one of his own to take.
He turned away as Lady Winifred chatted idly with her husband, the men, letting her work her magic upon them while he waited for Kodey to return.
The lad returned sooner than he had expected, grinning brightly and barely holding still long enough to tell him that all had been arranged at the inn – it was the very one Chastaine had used before, close to the tavern where he had encountered Kodey. "There was also a message for you, Sir Chastaine!" Kodey said eagerly, handing over the tightly rolled scroll.
Chastaine took it, wondering that this time he did not have to force his smile. The vellum was sealed with the Triad symbol, stamped into Lyon's deep yellow wax. He broke the seal and unrolled the missive, hoping for some form of good news to raise his spirits.
Chastaine,
Promptly after your last missive, I sent the Beauclerc home with the full tale, as well I knew it, of the troubles surrounding her ladyship. The two week journey to the palace, and at least a two week journey back for whomever he sends to take our heads, will hopefully give you enough time to return that we might defend our keep proper.
Brigand, I trust, you have been putting through his paces. I have prepared both the south corner room so recently vacated by the Beauclerc and a choice cell in the dungeons.
Should you find no other missive awaiting you, trust that for now all is well at home. We await the return of our Lady most eagerly, and I will most gladly return to you those tasks you have been sorely neglecting on this tiresome quest. Being headless is no excuse for continuing to neglect them, I trust you are aware of this.
The worst of the weather should be long past, you have only mud and water to fear and those should be as naught beside the chore of dealing with a Princess and her Brigand husband.
Speed home.
Lyon
Lady Winifred's soft laughter broke into his thoughts. "La, even apart you two are together. What has Lyon to say, Chastaine?"
"That your father has been informed, all for now is well at the castle – unless that has only quite recently changed – and your people eagerly await your return."
"I eagerly await our return," Lady Winifred replied. "I fear it shall be a brief return, but to see it one last time…" She sighed and smiled sadly. "Come, let us find our beds that we might be home that much sooner."
Chastaine nodded and tucked the missive away, turning to lead them toward the inn. "Aye, my lady."
They reached the inn rapidly, swiftly settling into their respective rooms. Chastaine cast Brigand a glare, but it was a useless effort – his own were not half so fierce as Lyon's, and Brigand unfortunately had every right to do as he pleased to his wife.
Heaving a sigh, Chastaine closed the door to his own room – and felt a smile tug at his mouth to see how diligently Kodey was working to set his things away, fussing over the food brought up before their arrival, poking at the fire to make certain it stayed properly ablaze. "Sit a spell, lad. You are at least as tired as the rest."
"Nay, my lord," Kodey said, shaking his head vigorously. "I can scarcely hold still."
"Oh?" Chastaine asked, removing his cloak before taking a seat. He held out a hunk of bread and cheese, chuckling at the way Kodey wolfed it down as he fluttered back to poke at the fire. "Why ever is that?"
Kodey looked up at him, then dropped his eyes and turned back to the fire. "I am eager to see your castle, my lord. I…I do not want to be sent off again…"
"You will not be," Chastaine said firmly. He reached into his coin purse and pulled out a smallpence. "Catch, lad," he called, and flicked the coin as Kodey turned. "Run along and see what sweetmeats you might find. Be well back before dark falls."
"Aye, my lord!" Kodey cried, eyes bright. He snatched up his cloak and called a hasty farewell as he bolted from the room.
Chuckling, Chastaine picked up his tankard and drank deeply of the warmed ale. Sweeter than he liked, Lyon would like it more, though he would agree that it was too thin. Soon he would be home, perhaps able to enjoy his own ale a bit before the King sent someone to remove his head.
He wondered if they would at least grant the boon he and Lyon be buried at Castle Triad. Thinking of being placed amongst the bones of his ancestors in the dank depths of the family chapel somehow left him depressed. He would much rather be buried on Triad lands, perhaps in the field not far from the castle itself where the crops never seemed to take. The trees there were fine, the view splendid…it would not be a bad place at all to rest eternally.
Lyon, he knew, would agree.
Shaking his head at the strange direction of his thoughts, putting them to exhaustion, Chastaine set aside his ale to begin eating when the door abruptly slammed open. "What—Kodey, what is wrong?"
"My lord! My lord – men – one looks like you."
"Calm down, Kodey," Chastaine said firmly, but the words Kodey had managed to get out chilled his blood. "Speak slowly, take your time."
Kodey shook his head furiously back and forth, hair flying about. "There is no time, my lord. Men come dressed in the King's colors. One looks like you. That is troublesome, is it not?"
"Quite troublesome," Chastaine said quietly, standing up and drawing his cloak back on.
He had hoped to be at Castle Triad before the end arrived. Somehow, it had never occurred to him he might die alone.
Not entirely alone, he supposed. Lady Winifred was here…yet it was not the same thing.
As her guardian, there was always the chance he would fall protecting, or die for failing to do so. At any moment the end could come, as it nearly did for Lyon when the festival banquet was poisoned.
Every scenario had been pondered between them, plans made for every one they could imagine. In all of them, it was accepted that they would fight together, die together. Like so many things between them, it was not necessary to speak on it. Always it had been understood.
That he would shortly die without his fellow guardian beside him seemed wrong. It seemed unfair. Always it had been the two of them. He guarded Lyon's back, Lyon watched his, and together they kept their eyes on the troublesome Princess.
How cruel it seemed that at the last they were miles apart.
He wondered what it meant that rather than worry over what would become of the Princess when he and Lyon were no longer there to guard her, he thought only of Lyon.
Before he could follow the thought to its conclusion, there came a sharp pounding at the door. Kodey jumped, crying out, and bolted for Chastaine, clinging to him, half-hiding beneath his cloak.
A moment later the door flew open.
The man filling the doorway was Chastaine's height, though in the full armor and bright blue tunic, emblazoned with a unicorn, he seemed much larger. His hair was the same wavy gold, eyes the same blue. Save for the beard and the lines of age carved into his face, he could have been Chastaine's twin.
"Brother," Chastaine said calmly. "I did not think his Majesty would be so cruel as to make you take my head."
"Oh, I shall not be the one removing it," the Captain of the Royal Knights replied. "My orders are to take you to Castle Brae, for his Majesty to mete out your punishment at his leisure."
Chastaine barely kept his shoulders from sagging in relief. Perhaps he would not die alone after all.
"Who is the boy?" the Captain demanded.
"My squire," Chastaine said calmly. "When my head tumbles from my shoulders, at least grant me the boon of seeing he is returned to Castle Triad. He has committed no wrong in this, merely shown poor judgment in choosing to cast his lot with mine."
The Captain grunted. "Such boons are not mine to grant. Gather your things. I would keep this affair as peaceful as it might be."
Chastaine relaxed a bit, knowing his brother would see Kodey cared for as he wished. They had never been close, he and Tobin, but Tobin had children of his own, one of them about Kodey's age.
"Sir Chastaine?" Kodey asked, eyes filling his face as he looked up.
"All will be well," Chastaine said, ruffling his hair. "Gather our things, lad. We want not to keep my brother waiting."
Kodey bobbed a small nod. "A-aye, my lord."
Leaving Kodey to it, Chastaine joined his brother and left the inn. Outside, Princess Winifred stood proud and regal – and infuriated. "Captain, I demand—"
"Your father's demands, with all due respect, Princess, supersede your own. By his orders, you are to be taken to Castle Brae, there your fate to be decided by his Majesty." His eyes strayed to the man beside her, narrowing. "As will yours."
Before Brigand could speak, Chastaine drew his brother's attention. "How fairs the family, Tobin? It has been years since I have seen or heard from my kin."
"They are much the same," Tobin replied, motioning to his knights to take them all away. From the houses and shops all around them faces peeked, and Chastaine wondered how quickly the tale would spread, of the brigands taken into custody by the King's Captain. "Father is displeased you have failed the family so."
"He has failed no one," Princess Winifred said sharply, voice ringing out, drawing all around her up short. "Chastaine and Lyon have ever been my protectors, and they have succeeded in regaining me where you would have very likely failed, good Captain."
Tobin sneered and mounted his horse as it was brought. "I would not have seen you lost in the first place lady."
"Aye, you would have," Princess Winifred replied, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "All know the Captain enjoys fine food. The poison slipped into our banquet would have struck you at least as hard as it struck those of my keep. Even my sire is not immune to such devious Roth tricks."
"We go," Tobin said curtly, spurring his horse and leading them from the city.
Chastaine reached down and caught up Kodey as the boy came running out, this time settling the lad in front of him, rather than behind. Kodey trembled in his arms, and Chastaine wished he could better soothe him. The poor boy seemed cursed with a tumultuous life. "All will be well, lad."
"Will they really take your head, Sir Chastaine?" Kodey asked tearfully.
"I know not," Chastaine answered honestly. The way the journey had faired one misstep after another, more surprises than he cared for, he realized there was little use in predicting anything.
Princess Winifred looked at him. "I wonder if they have taken the keep, then." She smiled weakly. "At least we will see Lyon again."
Chastaine nodded, wondering how that simple thought eased him in a way naught else did.
"What of my keep?" Princess Winifred demanded. "Has my father ordered it razed? Have my people been slain or driven from their home because my father bungled my marriage and spurred the Rothlanders to this contemptible behavior?"
Tobin drew his horse to a halt and turned it around, moving closer to Princess Winifred. "You will watch your tongue, Princess. His Majesty is a finer ruler than most, and made the best decisions he could. The fault for this debacle lies not with him, but with those who failed in their sworn duty to protect you. Do not blame your sire for the mistakes of others."
"Who gives you leave to speak so to her?" Brigand demanded before anyone else could speak. "She is your Princess, your superior, and commands your respect. Treat her accordingly."
Sneering, Tobin shifted his attention to Brigand. "Who are you to reprimand me, vagrant? I have the King's permission to speak as I please to all, and I will not tolerate words spoken against his Majesty, not even from his daughter. Especially not from his daughter, who should be grateful for the care her sire has given her all these years."
"You will respect my lady wife or answer to steel for the transgression," Brigand replied, hand going to the hilt of his sword, touching it lightly in warning.
"Enough, Shad," Chastaine interrupted. "Brother, it would serve you well to recall that in all of this, it is her Highness who has suffered most. She has the right to speak as she pleases. How would you feel if twas your lady wife who had been so crassly treated? If such outrages were ever inflicted upon your daughter?"
Grunting, Tobin turned his mount back around and motioned for the party to continue moving.
Chastaine breathed a sigh of relief, then moved forward to ride alongside Shad.
"So I am no longer Brigand?" Shad asked. "I was becoming rather fond, really. Shad sounds not half so notorious."
"You have yet to gain Lyon's approval," Chastaine reminded, but grinned. "Any man who tells off my brother has my approval. He should not have spoken so to her Highness." He winked. "Should you have to reprimand him again, and the matter comes to swords drawn, Tobin always lowers his guard ere he lunges or feints. He is fond of feinting to the right midway through a fight. He never understood why all his brothers bested him."
Shad laughed. "My thanks, Sir Chastaine."
"How many brothers do you have, my lord?" Kodey asked, turning his head to peer up at Chastaine, brown eyes bright with curiosity.
Chastaine smiled. "Oh, how many do I have? A very good question; we are so scattered to the winds, it is hard to remember us all. Tobin there is the eldest, the star in our father's eye. Kyler and Branson journeyed across the sea, guarding the King's third-eldest son; they are twins, and drove my mother mad with their antics, or so the family tales do say. So that is three. Then there are my sisters, first Tea, then Constance. Four and five. After that 'tis only me."
Kodey nodded, turning back around and settling against him. Chastaine knew he would commit it all to memory, and likely ask countless questions as he continued to grow more comfortable.
If there were reasons not to despise this entire mess, Kodey was among them. Chastaine was not sorry a bit to have been over harsh that night, if it gained him this squire.
"I want one," Princess Winifred said, smiling fondly at Kodey, flushing faintly as her own words struck her.
Shad, riding between her and Chastaine, said nothing, but Chastaine did not miss the brief, happy smile which flitted across his face, nor the way he reached out to gently clasp Princess Winifred's hand.
If the man had not already won his approval, Chastaine would have given it then.
He still rather hoped Shad jumped or otherwise reacted amusingly to Lyon's glares.
Especially as it meant that Lyon would still be around to brandish them, and Chastaine would be around to witness.
"Who did his Majesty send to the castle to fetch Lyon?" he asked.
Tobin did not bother to turn around as he replied. "I do not know. My orders were to locate her Highness and you, and escort you to Castle Brae."
His brother was lying. Tobin was Captain of the Guard, he would be kept abreast of all that pertained to this affair, if his Majesty had seen fit to involve his Captain in it. Why, then, would Tobin lie about knowing who was going to fetch Lyon?
Obtaining answers would be fruitless. He would merely have to bide his time and wait and see…and hope that what he saw was Lyon.
Part IV
Lyon lifted his eyes to the ceiling as another resounding crash came from the kitchen, followed by the now-familiar bellowing of Brice as the lad once more started a war with the cook.
He pinched the bridge of his nose at the sound of something heavy and metal hitting the wall. "That lad is a menace. I think they sent him not to deliver a message, but to rid the palace of him."
The housekeeper chuckled. "He has a temper to match that hair, for a certainty."
Not a day after they had locked him away in the south room, Brice had given up his rage over being imprisoned and had switched to complaining about everything he could possibly think up.
He had been ignored – until he had maligned the food. At that point, Lyon had been outside with the guards. He had not become aware of the feud which had sprung up between his prisoner and his cook until he heard the crash which had become the first of many.
Keeping Brice locked up had failed abysmally. At his wits end, Lyon had finally tossed him into the kitchen, thinking actually having to do work would silence him and at last end the matter.
Instead, and he should have expected it really, Brice showed startling skill – and opinions completely opposite those of the head cook. He had tried more than once to silence them, to keep them separated, but he may as well give up breathing.
Perversely, the two of them seemed to enjoy the battling. Lyon rather thought the cold had affected both their heads, but so long as it kept Brice from demanding to see Lady Winifred or be set free, he would endure it.
Or kill them.
The shouting reached a deafening crescendo and Lyon snapped. "Bring that rapscallion to me at once," he roared, startling the hall into silence, until the housekeeper bobbed a hasty curtsy and bolted off to retrieve Brice from the kitchens.
Brice appeared a moment later, looking much like he had lost a war, though to tell from the excited flush to his cheeks he was not suffering overmuch from the loss. He was covered head to foot in the work of the kitchens – evidence of slaughtering chickens, flour from baking, hair tied back with a strip of leather, a streak of something on one cheek.
Did he not know better, he would never believe this boy to be among those who knelt before the King to memorize his most secret and important messages.
"Boy," he bellowed. "There is work to be done, and if you insist upon contributing I will thank you to stop destroying my kitchens. Your family is clearly not what it once used to be, if such behavior is what they teach their whelps."
"Do not malign my family, you vagrant knight," Brice said, all but shouting the words. "You hold me hostage here, refuse to inform me where her ladyship might be found – I see not why you think you have any right to call my behavior into question."
Lyon sighed, wondering what had become of his homelands that children were raised to behave so abominably. He reached out and yanked Brice close. "Because this is my keep and a lack of manners annoys me, boy, and should you continue to provoke my ire you will find yourself sleeping not in the south corner room but in our disused dungeon. They are old enough we've naught but one key, it and the locks so old that I cannot promise they will properly operate. It could very well be that once you are locked in, we will be unable to unlock the door. Do you take my meaning, boy?"
Brice glared at him, but it quickly withered beneath Lyon's. "Yes, my lord, your meaning is taken well." He made no protest as Lyon roughly let him go, merely resettled his messy clothes as best he could. Lyon wondered where he had obtained them, but dismissed the thought as irrelevant. When Brice finally looked up again, there was a faintly hurt look upon his face. "My name isn't 'boy' you know."
"When you cease to act like one," Lyon snapped, "I shall address you as a man. If you want to prove yourself worthy of such respect, you could try not to engage in battle every hour. There are more dignified ways to disagree with someone." Even at their worst, when they were unused to one another, he and Chastaine had never bellowed and thrown things.
"I am a messenger, my lord," Brice said stiffly, "fit for very little else."
Lyon rolled his eyes. "I am a knight, yet I manage quite well in the role of Seneschal. It seems to me you do well enough in the kitchens when you are not attempting to drive my cook from the keep. Behave, ere you find yourself locked away rather than given freedom to move about the keep."
"Yes, my lord," Brice replied, looking miserable but resigned.
Restraining an urge to smack him, for at least the boy was trying, Lyon shoved him back toward the kitchen. Perhaps there would be peace for a time.
Problem managed for the moment anyway, Lyon returned to rereading the missive he'd received three days ago.
Lyon,
Good news at last. Her ladyship is a half day's ride ahead of us, and we have already formed a plan to take her back. If all goes accordingly, we shall be on our way home in not more than a week's time, and it should be much sooner than that.
I gather the messenger incurred your wrath straight away, to be locked up so swiftly in that drafty room. If it is one of those Beauclerc he sent, then I think the south corner room far too generous. We have a dungeon, make use of it.
I regret we will miss the Winter Banquet. Do not eat all the pudding or we shall have to be at odds immediately upon reuniting, and I think her ladyship would prefer we hold the bickering for at least an hour.
Direct your scowls at the sky, that the weather holds until we are safely returned.
Chastaine.
Lyon realized he was smiling as he tucked the note away, and immediately scowled.
"Sir Lyon."
He looked up, stirred from his thoughts, and stared at the housekeeper. "Yes, madam."
"The head cook says that if you are displeased with her services, then you have only to say and she will take herself elsewhere."
Lyon's lips twitched. "It is not the cook who dissatisfies, it is the boy. If anyone can beat that idiocy out of him, it is she."
"I will tell her you said so, Sir Lyon, but I think she will not believe you." The housekeeper chuckled and held out a plate. "She and Master Brice managed to contrive something new between the battling, using the currants and a bit of brandy. She wanted to know if it might be fit for the banquet."
Accepting the plate, Lyon slowly ate the bit of thick, rich cake. He was surprised at where his thoughts immediately turned. "It is most suitable, and she might consider making it again for the homecoming. Chastaine would adore it."
"Yes, my lord," the housekeeper said with a smile, taking the dishes away. She faltered to a stop as a resounding crash came from the kitchen, followed by a great deal of shouting. Heaving a sigh, rolling her eyes, she braced her shoulders as though going to battle and stalked into the kitchen.
Lyon pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned and walked from the main hall, out into the courtyard.
"Rider, ho!" he heard the guards call. One turned, catching sight of him. "Looks like a messenger, my lord," he said. "Thankfully, not royal."
Keeping his thoughts to himself, Lyon pulled his cloak more tightly around him and waited. Sure enough, several minutes later a messenger came clattering through the portcullis and slid nimbly from his horse.
He spotted Lyon and strode toward him, boots crunching in the light fall of fresh snow. Dropping to one knee, he lowered his head and spoke. "I seek Sir Lyon, knight of Castle Triad."
"I am he," Lyon replied, accepting the missive as it was held out. "To the kitchens with you, and if you like be most welcome to join us at our banquet this night. Would you be willing to take a reply at first light."
"Aye, my lord," the messenger replied with a quick grin before remembering his head should remain lowered.
"My thanks. Be off to the kitchens, then." Lyon watched him go, then saw the horse was tended to before venturing back inside.
Still he could hear squabbling from the kitchen. He hoped the cook beat the boy senseless. He dropped his hand to the heavy ring of keys at his waist, quickly finding and thoughtfully stroking the large iron key which belonged to the dungeons.
Ignoring the chaotic kitchen, he made his way to his bedchamber and dropped down in his seat beside the cold fireplace, lighting a taper before finally breaking the wax seal on the missive.
Lyon,
It would seem my words of good tidings were written with haste.
Fortune seems not to favor us, for instead of finding our Lady Winifred and disposing of the brigands, I have recovered her wedded beyond all annulment, to a man claiming to be the bastard son of the King of Kosomor. My tale only grows more grim.
His Majesty, it seems, attempted to use his daughter as a pawn in getting Rothland to obey his commands. When he sold his daughter to Kosomor rather than Rothland, the Roths retaliated by poisoning our keep and stealing our lady.
Ere she could become the wife of a Roth, she was stolen again by the moorlands, and married to the bastard son.
Against my wishes, the bastard still lives. Against her ladyship's wishes, he is Brigand until we grant him permission to stay both alive and married to our lady.
I will tell you the tale in full upon arrival, this message journeys to you the eve of our journey home.
If you can, attempt to coerce that royal messenger to cooperate. The King, regretfully, needs to know what Rothland attempted to do.
Perhaps in the fervor sure to be stirred up, they will forget to remove our heads. I should think our duties quite tricksome to perform without them.
Chastaine.
Lyon held the note tightly in one fist, crumpling the parchment, shaking with the force of it.
Damnation.
This was a fine mess to be dropped upon them.
Lady Winifred married, no doubt in a ceremony wholly unworthy of a Princess, without the blessing of her father or the royal priest, not even her mother or sister to comfort and guide… it was no way for a maiden to go into her marriage, and he hated for her that she had been treated so callously.
Chastaine was correct, this Brigand would be nothing more until he proved himself worthy of keeping both his head and their lady.
Lyon smoothed the parchment out and read it all again, then carefully tucked it away with the other beneath his tunic.
What to do, what to do. As Chastaine said, the King would now have to be informed. They knew the enemy, what had been done.
Even if it meant he would shortly be headless. Sighing, Lyon stood and crossed the room, stepping outside and bellowing for assistance as he reached the main hall.
"Aye, Sir Lyon?" a young maid asked.
"Send that fool messenger to me in my chambers – and see that he cleans himself up first. Also see my midday meal is brought."
The maid bobbed a curtsy. "Aye, my lord."
He waited until she had gone, then went back to his room. A couple of minutes later and his food appeared. Lyon could not help smiling – rather than the usual repast of stew and bread, they had sent him samples of some of the foods to be eaten that night. It would seem that despite the chaos, his kitchens were accomplishing something.
Drinking the mulled wine sent with it, Lyon dove cheerfully into the hearty repast, and was enjoying the last of his custard tart and wine when a sharp knock came at his door. "Enter," he called, just to annoy the boy.
Annoyed Brice was, but smart enough for the moment not to complain. Lyon was not certain if he was better or worse off for being stuck with a youth for this task.
"Sit," he said, setting aside his wine as Brice obediently sat across from him. "I have never seen my cook so easily riled in all the years I have known her."
"That woman is terrifying," Brice said fervently.
Lyon's mouth quirked briefly in a smile. "Aye, but the food she prepares makes amends. You seem to be at least as skilled, an odd trait for a King's messenger."
Brice grimaced and shrugged, but did not otherwise reply.
Lyon picked up his wine and drained the last of it. "You have been wondering where my lady has gone."
"Yes," Brice said slowly, looking at him warily, but sitting up straighter in his seat.
"She will be returning shortly," Lyon said grimly, "but I need your help, for there is something her father must know…"
Brice nodded eagerly, eyes wide. "I will help, gladly, only tell me – please."
Lyon lifted one brow at the odd compliance. "First, I must have from you the message to be delivered to her royal highness."
"I cannot—"
"The time for your games is over, boy," Lyon said firmly. "I cannot trust you if you will not trust me."
Brice's shoulders sagged. "Aye," he said sadly. "My message for her Highness was thus: Matters are at last concluded, and all arrangements made. You are to be wed ere the spring flowers are in bloom. Make ready to journey with all haste the moment winter is sufficiently thawed. Send word by way of this messenger the very moment you begin your journey."
Lyon nodded. "Did he not say to whom she was to be wed?"
"Nay, Sir Lyon," Brice said, slumping back in his seat. "The rumors about the palace, however, say she is to marry the cur moorland King."
Groaning, Lyon wished longingly for something stronger than mulled wine. He was a knight however, and knights did not indulge in the stronger spirits even if they were in most sore need of them.
Thinking of spirits turned his thoughts to Chastaine, and how many times after cold days like these he had drawn brandy for both of them, leaving Lyon's in his room that he might enjoy it before bed. It had been one of the few comradely gestures exchanged between them. In his turn, Lyon had ever repaired Chastaine's tunic along with his own. Knights tended to all their own belongings, but Chastaine was hopeless with needle and thread. Neither of them would trouble the already busy castle servants with such trivial work, so Lyon managed it while he sipped his brandy before bed.
Never had they drunk together, Lyon realized, something he supposed would be common enough practice between knights who spent so much time together. It simply was not possible, however, an unspoken arrangement between them that Chastaine rose early and so could go to bed earlier, while Lyon rose late and so found his bed later. Ever the arrangement had worked.
He had not touched the brandy in all the time he had run the castle alone, and he realized now he had no desire to touch it. Twas not the same, and as much as the thought confounded and irked, it was the simple truth.
"You must listen to me closely, boy," he said at last, shunting away the trivial thoughts. "There is no time for the foolishness which spurred me to toss you to the kitchens. I need to know I can trust you, for one mistake may cost my lady, her Highness, much. Understand you, this?"
"Aye, my lord," Brice said.
Lyon nodded, still reluctant but having no choice in the matter, and swiftly related all that he knew of the matter.
When he finished, Brice spent several minutes staring. Finally he shook himself. "Ach, my lord, that is quite a different tale than the one I had been imagining."
"Pray tell, what tale were you imagining?" Lyon asked, dreading the answer.
Brice smiled sheepishly, scrubbing a hand through his red hair. "With both her Highness and Sir Delacroix missing, it seemed to me they had eloped."
Lyon blinked – then burst out laughing. "Chastaine? Elope with the Princess? I shall have to tell them that, if only to see the looks upon their faces!"
"It did not seem that amusing to me," Brice muttered, slinking down in his seat.
"That is only because you do not know them," Lyon said, finally getting control of his laughter. "She is our lady, and I believe she regards us as particularly aggravating older brothers." He reached up to touch his cloak pin, clenching his hand into a fist before it could stray higher to the sapphires in his ears. "Guarding her has proven difficult enough. Neither I nor Chastaine seek the role of her husband. I think such a damsel is not to his taste, and she is certainly not to mine."
Brice rolled his eyes. "A Princess is not to your taste? What strange men, to find such a woman inadequate. I can think of hundreds who would find her exactly to their taste. A Delacroix especially, I should think, would find a Princess adequate. What then, pray tell, would either of you find to taste, if a Princess lacks?"
Lyon started to reply, annoyed as ever by Brice's impudence, but the question drew him up short. He did not know. As knights sworn to guardianship they had no time for dalliances or marriages. Yet every man had needs, and he realized suddenly he did not know where Chastaine slaked his lust. Not that it was his business, and certainly he did not care…
But at any given moment he could predict where Chastaine was, and when he would appear, and he knew Chastaine could do the same with him. They jointly controlled the castle, it only made sense they were familiar with one another's patterns. Yet going over all that they did in the course of the day…as knights they were fully within their rights to take their pleasure where they pleased. However, neither of them preferred the tawdry dalliances in which so many knights indulged, and such behavior would distract them from the duty of guardianship.
Did Chastaine dally with one of his hunters when they were a field? Nay, he would not fraternize with his men so, which cut out the soldiers as well.
Realizing the black recesses to which his mind had strayed, horrified, Lyon furiously brought his mind back around to where it should be dwelling. "You will take word to his Majesty then?"
"Aye, my lord," Brice said.
"You are oddly cooperative," Lyon said slowly. "What happened to calling me Brigand and threatening to have my spurs taken away? Was the fight beat out of you in the kitchens?"
Brice looked at his hands. "I want only to be useful, my lord. I am not properly a Beauclerc, not as they have always been. My father gave up his lands and title to marry my mother, who was naught but a peasant, a cook in my father's keep before he surrendered it to marry her and live in peace. Twas from her I learned kitchens. When illness took them, my uncle took me in on the provision I fit properly into the family…" He shrugged. "This was my first mission, and I have failed to perform it according to his dictate. If taking this message back will repair that shame, gladly will I do it."
Lyon grunted. "If it is the kitchens you prefer, then in the kitchens you should stay. A man true to himself is worth a thousand who spend their life living a lie. Pack your things, Brice, and be off with all haste."
Jerking his head up, Brice blinked, then smiled hesitantly. "Aye, my lord…though, if I may…"
"What is it?" Lyon asked, not really wanting to know what ridiculous boon was about to be asked of him.
Brice ducked his head again. "Might I stop by the kitchens, to see that all my efforts came to success?"
Lyon stared at him, then chuckled softly and shook his head. "Aye, Brice. Perhaps next year you might come and enjoy the banquet properly, and under happier circumstances."
"Aye, my lord. Thank you."
Nodding, Lyon motioned him out, staring broodingly into the fireplace.
Finally he forced himself to rise, leaving his room to return to the main hall in time to bid Brice a final farewell. Flagging down a servant, he gave orders for the dishes to be fetched from his room, and writing implements brought. Ideally they were well on their way home, naught but a few more weeks away – but he should keep Chastaine as informed as he possibly could, as there was no telling what could go awry when.
Taking a seat at one of the long tables, he murmured a thank you when a maid brought him a fresh tankard of mulled wine, and by the time his writing implements were brought he had decided upon what to write.
Chastaine glowered at all and sundry as they trudged through the streets of Shenan. Two weeks, he reminded himself. Two weeks and he would be back home, in his own bed, and hopefully back to his routine.
He missed the hunting, the brewing, eating a quick lunch before the work resumed, be it planting or harvesting, or the hundreds of other tasks that would come with the thaw. The boisterous meals on those days they could afford to sit and eat for an extended period of time, the quiet camaraderie on those days they could not.
More than anything, though, he missed someone at his back. Knowing that while he tended the south and east fields, Lyon watched the north and west. That every problem he did not anticipate, Lyon would. So many little things had nagged him on this journey, a dozen little mistakes because he was too used to someone else covering what he could not. Too used to being a half.
Scrubbing at his face, he sent Kodey ahead to commandeer an inn, pressing coin into his hand. He wondered if the lad was nervous or unhappy, to be back here where they had so poorly met. But if he was, the lad gave no sign of it, darting off knowingly through the streets, eager to please, so very different in such a short time from the uncertain waif he had been before.
"It is good to be back on familiar shores," Lady Winifred said with a sigh, "though I shall not be truly content until I am home and can rest in my own bed."
Chastaine glowered at the mention of her bed, for she would no longer be sleeping in it alone, and by the day he was finding it harder to contrive reasons to take Brigand's head. Infuriating, to say the least, and ere he lost his own head for this mess he would find one of his own to take.
He turned away as Lady Winifred chatted idly with her husband, the men, letting her work her magic upon them while he waited for Kodey to return.
The lad returned sooner than he had expected, grinning brightly and barely holding still long enough to tell him that all had been arranged at the inn – it was the very one Chastaine had used before, close to the tavern where he had encountered Kodey. "There was also a message for you, Sir Chastaine!" Kodey said eagerly, handing over the tightly rolled scroll.
Chastaine took it, wondering that this time he did not have to force his smile. The vellum was sealed with the Triad symbol, stamped into Lyon's deep yellow wax. He broke the seal and unrolled the missive, hoping for some form of good news to raise his spirits.
Chastaine,
Promptly after your last missive, I sent the Beauclerc home with the full tale, as well I knew it, of the troubles surrounding her ladyship. The two week journey to the palace, and at least a two week journey back for whomever he sends to take our heads, will hopefully give you enough time to return that we might defend our keep proper.
Brigand, I trust, you have been putting through his paces. I have prepared both the south corner room so recently vacated by the Beauclerc and a choice cell in the dungeons.
Should you find no other missive awaiting you, trust that for now all is well at home. We await the return of our Lady most eagerly, and I will most gladly return to you those tasks you have been sorely neglecting on this tiresome quest. Being headless is no excuse for continuing to neglect them, I trust you are aware of this.
The worst of the weather should be long past, you have only mud and water to fear and those should be as naught beside the chore of dealing with a Princess and her Brigand husband.
Speed home.
Lyon
Lady Winifred's soft laughter broke into his thoughts. "La, even apart you two are together. What has Lyon to say, Chastaine?"
"That your father has been informed, all for now is well at the castle – unless that has only quite recently changed – and your people eagerly await your return."
"I eagerly await our return," Lady Winifred replied. "I fear it shall be a brief return, but to see it one last time…" She sighed and smiled sadly. "Come, let us find our beds that we might be home that much sooner."
Chastaine nodded and tucked the missive away, turning to lead them toward the inn. "Aye, my lady."
They reached the inn rapidly, swiftly settling into their respective rooms. Chastaine cast Brigand a glare, but it was a useless effort – his own were not half so fierce as Lyon's, and Brigand unfortunately had every right to do as he pleased to his wife.
Heaving a sigh, Chastaine closed the door to his own room – and felt a smile tug at his mouth to see how diligently Kodey was working to set his things away, fussing over the food brought up before their arrival, poking at the fire to make certain it stayed properly ablaze. "Sit a spell, lad. You are at least as tired as the rest."
"Nay, my lord," Kodey said, shaking his head vigorously. "I can scarcely hold still."
"Oh?" Chastaine asked, removing his cloak before taking a seat. He held out a hunk of bread and cheese, chuckling at the way Kodey wolfed it down as he fluttered back to poke at the fire. "Why ever is that?"
Kodey looked up at him, then dropped his eyes and turned back to the fire. "I am eager to see your castle, my lord. I…I do not want to be sent off again…"
"You will not be," Chastaine said firmly. He reached into his coin purse and pulled out a smallpence. "Catch, lad," he called, and flicked the coin as Kodey turned. "Run along and see what sweetmeats you might find. Be well back before dark falls."
"Aye, my lord!" Kodey cried, eyes bright. He snatched up his cloak and called a hasty farewell as he bolted from the room.
Chuckling, Chastaine picked up his tankard and drank deeply of the warmed ale. Sweeter than he liked, Lyon would like it more, though he would agree that it was too thin. Soon he would be home, perhaps able to enjoy his own ale a bit before the King sent someone to remove his head.
He wondered if they would at least grant the boon he and Lyon be buried at Castle Triad. Thinking of being placed amongst the bones of his ancestors in the dank depths of the family chapel somehow left him depressed. He would much rather be buried on Triad lands, perhaps in the field not far from the castle itself where the crops never seemed to take. The trees there were fine, the view splendid…it would not be a bad place at all to rest eternally.
Lyon, he knew, would agree.
Shaking his head at the strange direction of his thoughts, putting them to exhaustion, Chastaine set aside his ale to begin eating when the door abruptly slammed open. "What—Kodey, what is wrong?"
"My lord! My lord – men – one looks like you."
"Calm down, Kodey," Chastaine said firmly, but the words Kodey had managed to get out chilled his blood. "Speak slowly, take your time."
Kodey shook his head furiously back and forth, hair flying about. "There is no time, my lord. Men come dressed in the King's colors. One looks like you. That is troublesome, is it not?"
"Quite troublesome," Chastaine said quietly, standing up and drawing his cloak back on.
He had hoped to be at Castle Triad before the end arrived. Somehow, it had never occurred to him he might die alone.
Not entirely alone, he supposed. Lady Winifred was here…yet it was not the same thing.
As her guardian, there was always the chance he would fall protecting, or die for failing to do so. At any moment the end could come, as it nearly did for Lyon when the festival banquet was poisoned.
Every scenario had been pondered between them, plans made for every one they could imagine. In all of them, it was accepted that they would fight together, die together. Like so many things between them, it was not necessary to speak on it. Always it had been understood.
That he would shortly die without his fellow guardian beside him seemed wrong. It seemed unfair. Always it had been the two of them. He guarded Lyon's back, Lyon watched his, and together they kept their eyes on the troublesome Princess.
How cruel it seemed that at the last they were miles apart.
He wondered what it meant that rather than worry over what would become of the Princess when he and Lyon were no longer there to guard her, he thought only of Lyon.
Before he could follow the thought to its conclusion, there came a sharp pounding at the door. Kodey jumped, crying out, and bolted for Chastaine, clinging to him, half-hiding beneath his cloak.
A moment later the door flew open.
The man filling the doorway was Chastaine's height, though in the full armor and bright blue tunic, emblazoned with a unicorn, he seemed much larger. His hair was the same wavy gold, eyes the same blue. Save for the beard and the lines of age carved into his face, he could have been Chastaine's twin.
"Brother," Chastaine said calmly. "I did not think his Majesty would be so cruel as to make you take my head."
"Oh, I shall not be the one removing it," the Captain of the Royal Knights replied. "My orders are to take you to Castle Brae, for his Majesty to mete out your punishment at his leisure."
Chastaine barely kept his shoulders from sagging in relief. Perhaps he would not die alone after all.
"Who is the boy?" the Captain demanded.
"My squire," Chastaine said calmly. "When my head tumbles from my shoulders, at least grant me the boon of seeing he is returned to Castle Triad. He has committed no wrong in this, merely shown poor judgment in choosing to cast his lot with mine."
The Captain grunted. "Such boons are not mine to grant. Gather your things. I would keep this affair as peaceful as it might be."
Chastaine relaxed a bit, knowing his brother would see Kodey cared for as he wished. They had never been close, he and Tobin, but Tobin had children of his own, one of them about Kodey's age.
"Sir Chastaine?" Kodey asked, eyes filling his face as he looked up.
"All will be well," Chastaine said, ruffling his hair. "Gather our things, lad. We want not to keep my brother waiting."
Kodey bobbed a small nod. "A-aye, my lord."
Leaving Kodey to it, Chastaine joined his brother and left the inn. Outside, Princess Winifred stood proud and regal – and infuriated. "Captain, I demand—"
"Your father's demands, with all due respect, Princess, supersede your own. By his orders, you are to be taken to Castle Brae, there your fate to be decided by his Majesty." His eyes strayed to the man beside her, narrowing. "As will yours."
Before Brigand could speak, Chastaine drew his brother's attention. "How fairs the family, Tobin? It has been years since I have seen or heard from my kin."
"They are much the same," Tobin replied, motioning to his knights to take them all away. From the houses and shops all around them faces peeked, and Chastaine wondered how quickly the tale would spread, of the brigands taken into custody by the King's Captain. "Father is displeased you have failed the family so."
"He has failed no one," Princess Winifred said sharply, voice ringing out, drawing all around her up short. "Chastaine and Lyon have ever been my protectors, and they have succeeded in regaining me where you would have very likely failed, good Captain."
Tobin sneered and mounted his horse as it was brought. "I would not have seen you lost in the first place lady."
"Aye, you would have," Princess Winifred replied, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "All know the Captain enjoys fine food. The poison slipped into our banquet would have struck you at least as hard as it struck those of my keep. Even my sire is not immune to such devious Roth tricks."
"We go," Tobin said curtly, spurring his horse and leading them from the city.
Chastaine reached down and caught up Kodey as the boy came running out, this time settling the lad in front of him, rather than behind. Kodey trembled in his arms, and Chastaine wished he could better soothe him. The poor boy seemed cursed with a tumultuous life. "All will be well, lad."
"Will they really take your head, Sir Chastaine?" Kodey asked tearfully.
"I know not," Chastaine answered honestly. The way the journey had faired one misstep after another, more surprises than he cared for, he realized there was little use in predicting anything.
Princess Winifred looked at him. "I wonder if they have taken the keep, then." She smiled weakly. "At least we will see Lyon again."
Chastaine nodded, wondering how that simple thought eased him in a way naught else did.
"What of my keep?" Princess Winifred demanded. "Has my father ordered it razed? Have my people been slain or driven from their home because my father bungled my marriage and spurred the Rothlanders to this contemptible behavior?"
Tobin drew his horse to a halt and turned it around, moving closer to Princess Winifred. "You will watch your tongue, Princess. His Majesty is a finer ruler than most, and made the best decisions he could. The fault for this debacle lies not with him, but with those who failed in their sworn duty to protect you. Do not blame your sire for the mistakes of others."
"Who gives you leave to speak so to her?" Brigand demanded before anyone else could speak. "She is your Princess, your superior, and commands your respect. Treat her accordingly."
Sneering, Tobin shifted his attention to Brigand. "Who are you to reprimand me, vagrant? I have the King's permission to speak as I please to all, and I will not tolerate words spoken against his Majesty, not even from his daughter. Especially not from his daughter, who should be grateful for the care her sire has given her all these years."
"You will respect my lady wife or answer to steel for the transgression," Brigand replied, hand going to the hilt of his sword, touching it lightly in warning.
"Enough, Shad," Chastaine interrupted. "Brother, it would serve you well to recall that in all of this, it is her Highness who has suffered most. She has the right to speak as she pleases. How would you feel if twas your lady wife who had been so crassly treated? If such outrages were ever inflicted upon your daughter?"
Grunting, Tobin turned his mount back around and motioned for the party to continue moving.
Chastaine breathed a sigh of relief, then moved forward to ride alongside Shad.
"So I am no longer Brigand?" Shad asked. "I was becoming rather fond, really. Shad sounds not half so notorious."
"You have yet to gain Lyon's approval," Chastaine reminded, but grinned. "Any man who tells off my brother has my approval. He should not have spoken so to her Highness." He winked. "Should you have to reprimand him again, and the matter comes to swords drawn, Tobin always lowers his guard ere he lunges or feints. He is fond of feinting to the right midway through a fight. He never understood why all his brothers bested him."
Shad laughed. "My thanks, Sir Chastaine."
"How many brothers do you have, my lord?" Kodey asked, turning his head to peer up at Chastaine, brown eyes bright with curiosity.
Chastaine smiled. "Oh, how many do I have? A very good question; we are so scattered to the winds, it is hard to remember us all. Tobin there is the eldest, the star in our father's eye. Kyler and Branson journeyed across the sea, guarding the King's third-eldest son; they are twins, and drove my mother mad with their antics, or so the family tales do say. So that is three. Then there are my sisters, first Tea, then Constance. Four and five. After that 'tis only me."
Kodey nodded, turning back around and settling against him. Chastaine knew he would commit it all to memory, and likely ask countless questions as he continued to grow more comfortable.
If there were reasons not to despise this entire mess, Kodey was among them. Chastaine was not sorry a bit to have been over harsh that night, if it gained him this squire.
"I want one," Princess Winifred said, smiling fondly at Kodey, flushing faintly as her own words struck her.
Shad, riding between her and Chastaine, said nothing, but Chastaine did not miss the brief, happy smile which flitted across his face, nor the way he reached out to gently clasp Princess Winifred's hand.
If the man had not already won his approval, Chastaine would have given it then.
He still rather hoped Shad jumped or otherwise reacted amusingly to Lyon's glares.
Especially as it meant that Lyon would still be around to brandish them, and Chastaine would be around to witness.
"Who did his Majesty send to the castle to fetch Lyon?" he asked.
Tobin did not bother to turn around as he replied. "I do not know. My orders were to locate her Highness and you, and escort you to Castle Brae."
His brother was lying. Tobin was Captain of the Guard, he would be kept abreast of all that pertained to this affair, if his Majesty had seen fit to involve his Captain in it. Why, then, would Tobin lie about knowing who was going to fetch Lyon?
Obtaining answers would be fruitless. He would merely have to bide his time and wait and see…and hope that what he saw was Lyon.
Part IV
