Chapter Three
Lioncross Abbey Castle
Welsh marches
Several days later
“I’ve never seen Papa so angry,” Westley said. “Thank God you’ve come. Cheltenham is causing an uproar.”
It was sunset on a day that had been cold but sunny as spring began to transition into summer. The ride from Pembridge Castle, for Roi, had been a smooth one, and he’d reached Lioncross in record time at the summons of Curtis. But it was Westley who had met him at the gatehouse.
“When did he arrive?” Roi asked. “Christ, Papa has only been returned from Pembridge for a few days. Robin must have received my missive and immediately raced here.”
“Raced?” Westley repeated in disbelief. “I believe he flew. You should have seen his horse when he arrived—the poor thing is still recovering, and Cheltenham has been making a nuisance of himself ever since.”
“I do not know what that man wants from me,” Roi growled as he turned his horse over to the nearest soldier. “I no longer have a son to marry his daughter. What in the hell does he want from me? Blood?”
Westley eyed him with uncertainty. “I probably should not tell you this, but I heard them arguing,” he said. “Cheltenham wants his five hundred gold marks returned, the dowry he’d already paid you when the betrothal was signed. Or…”
“Or what?”
“Or he wants another de Lohr son,” Westley said grimly.
“One way or the other, that man wants his daughter to marry a de Lohr. He doesn’t care who it is.
He’s going around asking every man he sees if he’s a de Lohr.
He asked Curtis and then demanded to know if Curtis was already married.
Curtis nearly took his head off. Papa has kept me out of the solar for that very reason. ”
Roi looked at him, aghast. “Cheltenham wants you?”
Westley grunted, perplexed. “He wants one of us—any one of us.” He shook his head. “I have no desire to marry Beck’s betrothed. No offense to Beck or the girl, but I will choose my own bride, thank you.”
Roi stared at him a moment, processing the outrageous situation, before heading off toward the keep with Westley by his side.
He’d ridden at a hard pace, concerned with the information in his brother’s summons, but now that he knew the details of Robin’s appearance at Lioncross Abbey, he was growing more furious by the second.
How dare the man come and harass his elderly father?
How dare the man behave so abominably in the face of their grief?
Roi was going to take the five hundred gold marks he brought with him and shove them down Robin’s throat.
After he told the man what he thought of him.
They reached the wide steps that led into Lioncross’ keep, but before they could pass through the doorway, Roi held out a hand to Westley.
“Stay here,” he said. “If the man is spitting venom, I do not want you in his range. In fact, I want you to stay well clear of what I am about to do.”
Westley looked concerned. “What are you going to do?”
Roi’s response was to crack his knuckles before heading into the keep.
Lioncross Abbey’s keep was only a keep in the literal sense—it was the center of the castle and where the family lived—but it wasn’t round or even square.
It was a building, like a palace with many rooms, built atop the ruins of an ancient Roman temple, which was why they called it the “abbey.” But the structure itself was vast and wide, with wings and floors, and it was a most fitting residence for the Earl of Hereford and Worcester.
In fact, Roi thought he could hear his father’s voice as he approached the man’s solar.
But he also heard another voice, talking over him.
Robin.
Roi burst into the chamber.
The first thing he did was point at Robin standing a few feet away from Christopher, who was sitting in a chair with a hand on his head. Seeing this, and the strained expression on his father’s face, Roi boomed.
“You!” he said. “Sit!”
It was perhaps the loudest shout anyone had ever heard out of Roi, but he was positively enraged. Robin, shocked at the man’s appearance, stumbled back as Roi came toward him.
“Roi!” he said in surprise. “You… you have come!”
He didn’t sit fast enough for Roi’s liking, so Roi charged the man and shoved him back into the nearest chair. He shoved him so hard that the chair tilted sideways, nearly toppling to the ground, but both Roi and Robin stopped it from falling completely. As Roi righted it, he got in Robin’s face.
“That will be enough out of you,” he snarled. “Do you understand me?”
Robin was truly taken aback. “What do you—”
“Shut your lips,” Roi barked. “For once, shut your bloody lips. I had to listen to you for two solid years, you and your eternal yapping, never listening to anyone but always making sure your voice was the loudest. I will tell you now that your assault of my father will not be tolerated, and I do not care if you are an earl. One more word out of you, in rage, towards me or my father, and I will gut you where you sit and dump your body out on the road for the birds. If anyone asks, you were killed by outlaws. Do you understand what I am telling you? Your bullying and insults will no longer be tolerated.”
By the time he was finished, Robin was looking at him with both fear and outrage. “Say what you will,” he said after a moment. “But I am still an earl, and you cannot threaten me.”
“I just did.”
“Roi,” Christopher said quietly. “Back away from Cheltenham. Go.”
Roi let his furious gaze linger on Robin for a moment to emphasize that he meant everything he said before moving away, over toward his father. He tore his gaze off Robin to look at his elderly, exhausted father.
“Are you well, Papa?” he asked. “I am so sorry he came here, though I do not understand why. He should have come to me at Pembridge.”
Christopher put his hand on Roi, his emotional son, and pulled him closer as if fearful Roi would break away and throttle Robin right in front of him.
“Cheltenham is a valuable ally,” he said simply. “This situation is… difficult. He came to offer his condolences, but he also wants to know what we intend to do about the situation now that it has happened. He paid for a husband. He wants one or he wants his money back.”
Roi’s jaw twitched furiously as he looked at Robin still sitting in the chair. “I shall give him his money back,” he rumbled. “I will shove it right down his contemptible throat.”
“Roi,” Christopher snapped softly. “I realize you are upset. We are all upset. But I told you that this was an important situation to us all. Cheltenham would like to be allied with us by marriage, and whoever marries his daughter will inherit the earldom. That is quite a prize, and one I intend to keep, so this is not all his doing.”
When Roi realized that his father wasn’t all for kicking Robin from Lioncross, he looked at the man sharply. “What do you intend to do?”
Christopher sighed heavily. “I have other grandsons,” he said. “I also have other sons that are not married. That is what Lord Cheltenham and I were discussing.”
Roi’s brow furrowed. “Then you do not want me to give the money back?”
Christopher shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “For the good of all of us, I would like to provide Cheltenham with a de Lohr son. He will be the next Earl of Cheltenham.”
Roi stared at his father, understanding what the man was saying.
One way or the other, Robin would get his de Lohr husband and Christopher would have an alliance with Cheltenham.
That was what all of this boiled down to—he could see that both of them were in on it.
Both were determined to have an alliance, no matter the cost. But in this case, Christopher was determined that the earldom would have a de Lohr name.
One more feather in the cap of the de Lohr empire.
But the problem was that his father hadn’t made the bargain in the first place.
Roi had.
This was all his doing.
At that realization, he began to feel sick. It occurred to him what he had to do, what the most logical choice in this situation would be, though he was loath to do it. The more he thought on it, the sicker he felt until he finally, and reluctantly, opened his mouth.
“You needn’t select a de Lohr son or grandson, Papa,” he said, suddenly sounding quite resigned. “It is not your responsibility to shoulder the problem that originated with me. I made the bargain. I would not ask anyone else to assume the burden.”
Christopher looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”
Roi’s gaze lingered on his father for a moment before finally turning to Robin.
“You want a de Lohr husband?” he said. “Then you shall have one. Not a grandson of the earl, either, but a son. A son with wealth, reputation, property, and title. You can have me, Robin. It is only right, since your daughter was to marry my son. I shall wed your daughter in his stead, and then you can have everything you want.”
Robin shot to his feet. “You?” he said. “You will marry her?”
“I am the best candidate. And the moral one.”
He was right, and they all knew it. If the son could not marry the daughter, it was not only expected, but preferred that the widowed father marry the daughter in his son’s stead.
That had been the one solution neither Robin nor Christopher had suggested, given the fact that Roi was undoubtedly mourning his son.
Adding a new wife on top of that would have been too much for any man.
But Roi made the offer.
Robin’s jaw went slack as he took a few steps toward Roi, absolutely stunned by the offer.
“But you…” he said. “Are you serious, Roi?”
“I am.”
“You’re twice her age.”
“I have seen forty years and three.”
“She has only seen twenty.”