Chapter Twenty-Two #5
He moved past Bretton, heading out into the bailey to see what was happening with his men and with the situation in general.
Moreover, he suspected his daughter and Bretton had a few things to say to each other.
Well did he remember the newness of his relationship with Kellington and the moments, in the early days, that they had spent alone.
Those were precious times. Besides… he had a feeling he would be seeing a good deal of Bretton in the future.
There would be plenty of time to get to know the man with a mercenary heart to mirror his own.
Aye, they would understand each other well.
As Jax headed out to the bailey, de Lohr brushed past him, heading towards the kitchens. As Bretton and Allaston watched, there was a brief conversation between Christopher and Jax, ending with Jax pointing towards the kitchen and mentioning something that set Christopher to grinning.
The great Christopher de Lohr, perhaps one of the greatest knights to have ever lived, looked off towards the kitchen, seeing a man who looked like Rod standing along with a woman who had her father’s dark hair, and knew he was gazing upon Bretton and Allaston.
No one had to be obvious and point it out, he just knew.
And he also knew that all was well. Whatever the trouble, whatever had caused them to come to Cloryn, no longer existed. Jax de Velt said so.
Allaston and Bretton watched Christopher turn and walk away with Jax, two legends heading towards the bailey, two men who were now allies as well as friends. As they headed towards Keller de Poyer, who now had control of the gatehouse along with a few hundred of his men, Allaston turned to Bretton.
“Thank you,” she murmured, “for giving me my father back.”
Bretton smiled at her. “I got my father back, too,” he said, stroking her dark head.
“I cannot say what manner of relationship we will have, but I intend to try and forge one. He is my father, after all. I feel… I feel as if I have been given a second chance with him, even if he doesn’t remember me.
I am going to do my best to help him try. ”
Allaston agreed, noting that Rod and John Morgan were now leaving the kitchen yard, having tied Teague up to one of the supporting posts that held up the kitchen roof. The man was bound and gagged, ridiculously so, and Rod grinned brightly at Allaston as he walked past her.
“I kicked him a few times for you, my lady,” he said, leaning his head in the direction of Teague. “I even pinched his neck for good measure.”
Allaston giggled at him. “I think I am going to like you, cousin Rod.”
Rod winked at her boldly, his gaze moving to his cousin. His expression softened as he beheld the man and, after a moment, he reached out to lay a hand on Bretton’s broad shoulder.
“Welcome back from the dead, cousin,” he exclaimed. “I am very glad to have you back.”
Bretton softened toward his cousin, a man who had been so happy upon their first meeting to see him alive.
Bretton hadn’t been very nice about it. Now, he was feeling the same joy that Rod had felt.
Before Rod could get away, he grasped him and pulled him into a tight embrace, reaffirming bonds that had been shattered those years ago.
Now, the bonds were being re-forged, stronger than before.
“I am glad to be back,” he said softly as he released the man.
Rod was grinning from ear to ear as he walked away, heading back to the bailey where the rest of the de Lohr and de Velt men were gathering.
Behind him trailed John Morgan, a big man with a battered head, and Bretton watched the man as he walked away, feeling a mixture of joy and sorrow in his heart.
His father didn’t know him now, but soon he would.
Bretton vowed this to be true. He was just about to turn to Allaston when John Morgan came to a sudden halt, paused, and retraced his steps to Bretton.
He stood there a moment, looking at the man, as Bretton returned his stare curiously.
“Is something the matter, John Morgan?” he asked.
The man stood there a moment, seemingly confused. When he finally looked up and fixed Bretton in the eye, there was something there, something more than just cursory recognition.
“Bretton,” he finally said in his raspy voice, one that sounded very much like his son’s tone. “Your name is Bretton.”
Bretton nodded encouragingly. “It is.”
John Morgan’s mouth worked as if he was trying very hard to say something, words that he couldn’t quite bring forth. Finally, he spit them out.
“Bee,” he muttered. “Your name… it used to be Bee.”
Bretton’s breath caught in his throat and tears came to his eyes as he gazed back at the man he loved with all his heart. Once, there had only been his father in his world, a man who was bigger to him than a mountain. His life that was and would be again. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Aye,” Bretton breathed. “You used to call me Bee when I was small.”
A twinkle came to John Morgan’s brilliant blue eyes. “I… remember.”
Bretton started laughing. They were the sweetest words he had ever heard.