Chapter Eight #3
Their conversation was interrupted when Westley appeared in his father’s tent, dragging Melusine with him. He had her tightly by the arm. The subject at hand was quickly forgotten as Curtis, Elle, and Christopher faced the pair as they entered, but it was Curtis who spoke first.
“You have been brought back to your cousin by my good graces, my lady,” he said to Melusine. “You may stay if you can behave yourself. That means you are not to antagonize your cousin. Am I making myself clear?”
Melusine looked a little unnerved. In fact, she had a rather wild look in her eye, not at all like the woman Curtis and Elle had seen earlier.
“Aye,” she said quickly. “I understand.”
With that, she pulled from Westley’s embrace and raced to Elle, throwing her arms around the woman. It was clear she was terrified. That certainly was a change in demeanor, and Curtis suspected he knew why. He turned to Westley.
“What happened?” he asked. “What did Amaro do?”
Westley shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “I found them in the bailey, below the wall walk. Amaro had her sitting against the wall, but she did not say anything, and neither did he.”
Curtis’ focus returned to Melusine for a moment. He’d had qualms about Amaro guarding her from the first, and her sudden change in behavior seemed to confirm his suspicions. He had enough trouble with Amaro and male prisoners, but now… now, he had female prisoners. One was to be his wife.
He didn’t like the future of trouble he was sensing.
That was something he didn’t need.
“Papa,” he said after a moment. “When you return to Lioncross, will you take Amaro with you?”
Christopher’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Because I do not want him here.”
“Can you tell me why?”
Curtis sighed sharply. “You know why,” he said, lowering his voice.
“I realize the Conde de Zidacos is a valuable ally, but his son has a wicked streak in him, and most especially with women. I will have enough trouble building trust between the lady and me without worrying about a knight who can be… unpredictable.”
Christopher knew that. The Conde de Zidacos knew it, as well.
He was hoping that spending time with the English might show his son another facet of the world and help him mature past the petty, vindictive knight he’d been.
Amaro was such a paradox with his strong sword yet unpredictable ways, as Curtis had said.
Christopher had hoped that he, as the father of six sons himself, would be able to mold the man.
But that hadn’t happened.
Yet.
“Not now,” he said. “Keep him here with you a little while longer. You may need his sword if the Welsh decide to launch a counterattack, so I do not want to remove him yet.”
Curtis didn’t like that answer. “Then leave Roi with me.”
“I need Roi.”
“You have Sherry.”
Christopher shook his head. “I am comfortable with the way my command is structured now,” he said. “It works well.”
“But…”
Christopher held up a hand to silence him. “Just keep Amaro for a while longer, at least until we know the Welsh aren’t going to attack immediately,” he said. “Then we will speak again on the matter.”
Curtis was vastly unhappy. “If he cannot behave himself, you should send him back to his father,” he said. “He was his father’s problem until the man dumped him on you. He knew he was an issue.”
Christopher shot him a quelling look. “You are not telling me something I do not already know,” he said. “And I do not wish to speak of this any longer.”
The conversation was shut down, but Curtis had a lot more to say on the subject. He wouldn’t disobey his father. Still, it left him frustrated. He needed some air. Therefore, he went over to Elle, who was still in a clutch with Melusine, and took her by the wrist.
“Come,” he said, sounding disgruntled. “Show me Brython.”
Elle was still holding on to Melusine as Curtis pulled her toward the tent opening. “If you wish,” she said. “But are we not waiting for the priest?”
“My father will send us word when he arrives,” Curtis answered as he walked past his father, unable to look at him. “Meanwhile, you will show me my new garrison.”
Elle went with him, grasping Melusine’s hand and forcing her to follow.
Christopher let them go, returning to the table that held business matters for him, including Curtis’ account of the battle that the man had given him that morning.
He knew his son was upset with him and he knew why, but much like Curtis with his future wife and her brother, Christopher walked a fine line between Amaro and his father.
He had for years.
In truth, he’d done to Curtis what Amaro’s father had done to him—dumped an unruly and unethical son onto someone else.
Christopher had made it seem as if it was an honor for Amaro to serve Curtis, when the truth was that Christopher simply didn’t want the man in his ranks.
Now, Curtis was increasingly vocal about not wanting him in his.
Christopher was starting to wonder if the de Laraga alliance was worth it.
In the days and months to come, he would remember that thought.
*
“You mentioned that Brython is part of a prophecy,” Curtis said as he led Elle and Melusine out into the sunshine. “Where is this gate to Annwyn supposed to be?”
Melusine was clinging to Elle, walking alongside her. When Curtis came to a halt at the edge of the moat, gazing up at the enormous walls, Elle came to a halt as well, and Melusine leaned against her, laying her head on her cousin’s shoulder.
“It is in the vaults underneath the keep,” Elle said. “Much of these lands are rocky, and there are caves about. The gate to Annwyn is in a natural cave beneath the castle, but there is water. A small pond. The gate is beneath it.”
“Fascinating,” Curtis said, his gaze still on the walls. “Tell me what you know of the history of this place. All I’ve ever heard has been from my father’s scouts.”
Elle still wasn’t entirely comfortable with telling him everything about Brython, handing over something she deeply loved on a silver platter.
Or silver sword, as it were. She had to force down the argument she’d presented to Christopher, how they were making it seem so easy when this was something that had gutted her to her very soul.
Her loss was their gain.
“It has been standing here for many ages,” she said. “It was built by a prince of Powys long ago who wished to build on this sacred site to protect it. It is built from the great blue stones that are found to the west, stones with magical properties, it is said.”
“Is that so?” he said as he began to walk toward the gatehouse, pulling her along by her wrist. “It seems this place was meant to be magical from the beginning.”
Elle felt as if she was walking into a tomb.
A tomb of her dreams, of her life, that was.
She must have slowed down, because Curtis turned to look at her, but she really didn’t know why until they reached the drawbridge that had been partially repaired so that a man, one at a time, could walk across the moat on three long planks to get to the gatehouse. Elle wasn’t looking at the drawbridge.
She was looking at the state of the gatehouse.
He was looking at her because she’d come to a stunned halt.
“This place was meant to be magical from the start,” she said, her tone soft.
“My lord, I do not mean to be difficult, but the last time I was in this place, I was fighting you. I was fighting for my life. You must give me a moment to mourn what I have lost before I go in there with you. I’m simply not… ready.”
Curtis let go of her wrist. “You will have to go in there sooner or later.”
“Everyone is allowed to mourn a death. You must allow me to mourn mine.”
He looked at her a moment before turning his attention to the castle.
It was in a terrible state. English were swarming over it, mostly the gatehouse and the western wall that had been so badly damaged.
They had already begun repairs. However, Curtis wasn’t entirely unsympathetic to Elle’s feelings.
This had been her home, and she had fought hard for it.
She was looking upon her failure and having difficulty with it.
But even as he thought on that, something else occurred to him.
“May I ask a question?” he said.
Her focus was on the twisted portcullis that several soldiers were trying to remove from the front of the gatehouse. “What would you ask?” she said.
He gestured to the castle. “From what you have told me, your life was not a good one,” he said. “Is that a fair statement?”
She looked at him. “You know everything,” she said. “I have told you what my life has been.”
“Then it was not a good life.”
“Nay.”
His gaze fixed on her. “Then why would you mourn a life that was not good?” he asked. “I can understand that you would mourn your dreams and goals, but to mourn a life where you only had one set of stinking clothing and did not get enough to eat? Why would you mourn such a thing?”
He had a point. Melusine lifted her head from Elle’s shoulder, looking at her cousin to see what her reaction was going to be, but Elle didn’t have an answer for him.
He seemed to point out things she didn’t want to acknowledge, not even a life that hadn’t been the most comfortable or the kindest. But it was the only life she’d ever known, so the question frustrated her.
Pulling her arm from Melusine’s grip, she charged toward the drawbridge.
“Then let me tell you of this terrible place that will now become your home,” she said. “Let me show you the keep where you can be comfortable. I will tell you everything you need to know so you know the quality of your prize.”