Chapter Nine
Callerton Castle
It still looked the same.
It also smelled and felt the same. It smelled like his father and felt like generations of his family’s failures. Although Ansel hadn’t been home to Callerton Castle in years, it hadn’t changed. Nothing had changed.
It was still the same dingy place he hated.
He’d received a strange, oddly worded summons about two weeks prior, one telling him that his father was dying and he was to come home.
He hadn’t recognized the writing, and nor had Lord de Allery, so Ansel wasn’t entirely certain that it wasn’t some sort of trick.
Perhaps there was an ambush waiting for him.
He waited two weeks before making any attempt to come home, and only then with the use of about fifty de Allery soldiers.
Lord de Allery wasn’t exactly agreeable to letting Ansel take them, but Ansel had taken them regardless of his liege’s opinion, because that’s what he did—Lord de Allery denied him and he did what he wanted anyway.
And here he was.
Ansel had been admitted through the gatehouse of Callerton Castle only because he was recognized by one of the older sergeants, but he was told to keep the de Allery men outside.
Ansel agreed until the gates opened, and then he ordered the de Allery men to charge inside.
A brief fight had broken out, and a couple of de Edington men were wounded as the de Allery men took over the gatehouse and shut out the de Edington army.
It was vastly confusing for them when they were called off from retaking their gatehouse by Ansel, their lord’s son, so they backed away.
It was a very strange standoff in the bailey as Ansel made his way inside Callerton’s round keep.
Inside, it smelled the way it always did—of dust and mold, of dogs and urine.
The keep had always had a stink to it. There was no one to meet him, so he took the stairs two at a time, up to his father’s chamber.
He didn’t even knock—he simply shoved the door open, removing his gauntlets as he did so.
His gaze fell on the only occupant in the chamber, his father, as the man looked startled to see him.
“Ansel!” he rasped. “You… you are here!”
Ansel tossed his gloves onto a worn table against the wall. He was several feet away from his father, appraising the man as one would appraise something disdainful. There was no affection there, only duty, and sometimes not even that.
“I thought you would be dead by now,” he finally said. “The missive made it sound as if you were on death’s door.”
Paulus could hear the disappointment in his son’s voice. Disappointment that he wasn’t dead yet, and that told him everything he needed to know.
It was still the same Ansel.
“I will be gone soon enough,” he said. “Now that you are here to make sure of it, it could be sooner than expected.”
Ansel stared at him for a moment before breaking into a grin. “I would not think to hasten your death,” he said. “Not when there are so many things to discuss. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say? That it is time for us to make amends for years of a desolate relationship?”
Paulus coughed, a low and slow heave that shook his entire body. It took him a moment to catch his breath. “Say it all you like, but it is not true,” he said. “You and I are too much alike, Ansel. There is no sentiment involved. Only ambition. Only greed.”
Ansel nodded in agreement. “True,” he said. “Everything I learned, I learned from you.”
“And you learned well.”
“Then you know why I have come.”
“Of course I do.”
Ansel took a long, deep breath before sitting down in the nearest chair. He faced his father expectantly.
“Well?” he said. “Then tell me. Where is the money?”
Paulus coughed again before answering. “There is none.”
The smug look faded from Ansel’s face. “What do you mean by that?”
“What do you think I mean?” Paulus said, finding a surge of strength against his greedy son.
“I mean that there is none. What money there was vanished long ago. It is all gone. You will inherit a big castle, an army, six villages that have been taxed into the ground, and no money. They only way you can get money is to sell it. That is what I have left you, Ansel.”
Ansel couldn’t believe his ears. He stared at his father as if the man had gone mad before finally shaking his head in disbelief. “Nay,” he said. “That is not true. Callerton always had a fortune.”
“Not any longer.”
“Handed down from father to son.”
“Listen to me, boy. There is no money.”
Ansel was coming to realize that his father wasn’t joking. At least, he was trying to convince Ansel that the family was destitute.
His eyes narrowed.
“You’re lying,” he growled. “Where is the money, Father?”
“Gone. It has long been gone.”
Ansel bolted to his feet. “That is not true,” he snarled. “Stop lying to me, or this will not go well for you.”
“Is that a threat?” Paulus said, mildly amused.
“Then, by all means, threaten me. Kill me. But if you do that, then you will never know if I am truly lying to you or not. But if you are smart, you will believe what I am telling you and listen to what I have to say. For once in your life, shut your mouth and listen to me. Will you do this?”
Ansel began to pace around like an enraged bull. “Damn you,” he said. “Damn you for doing this. What did you do with the money? How did you lose it?”
Paulus watched his son twitch. “That does not matter, because it was mine to do with as I pleased,” he said. “It was never yours, Ansel, but if you listen to me, I will tell you how to gain a treasure worthy of a prince.”
Ansel snorted at whatever scheme his father was preparing to spout forth because whatever it was, he already didn’t like it. But he had little choice.
“Go on, then,” he snapped.
Paulus was studying him carefully. “Your sister has been summoned home as well,” he said. “You’ve not seen her in years, but trust me when I tell you that she grew into a fair beauty. I sent her to London to live with Ethyl in the hope that the old cow could find her a husband.”
Ansel rolled his eyes before plopping down in the chair once more. “Why are you telling me this?” he demanded. “When you die, Katia becomes my problem. How old is she now? And still not married? No man will want an old maid for a bride.”
“Untrue,” Paulus said. “A woman of your sister’s beauty is highly prized. You just have to find the right… buyer.”
Ansel was about to roll his eyes again, but his father’s tone had him looking at the man. “Buyer?” he repeated. “What do you mean by that?”
Paulus snorted, a horrible, wet sound. “Think like a man with a head for business, Ansel,” he said.
“Think like the greedy bastard that you are. Your sister is old for a bride, but she is beautiful. She would not be too old for a rich widower who was looking for a woman to bear him more sons, or for a Spanish mercenary who would pay handsomely for an English beauty. You are looking at your sister as a burden when she could bring you your fortune if you find the right buyer. Now do you understand?”
Ansel did. He sat back, kicking his feet out as he leaned against the wall, not nearly as agitated as he had been only moments earlier.
“Sell her to the highest bidder,” he finally said.
Paulus nodded. “Mayhap there is a Northman who wants a woman to cook and clean for him and bear his children somewhere,” he said. “The point is that you can use her to gain your fortune. That way, she is no longer your burden, and you have the money you want. See how simple it is?”
“Mayhap.”
Paulus waved him off. “You will see,” he said.
“But the one thing you must do with her is keep her safe. Do not hit her or strike her. Do not mar her in any way. No man will want to buy damaged goods. You must take the best care possible of her if you are to get the highest price. Do you understand this?”
Ansel pondered that, thinking that it was perhaps a good idea, while Paulus watched his features ripple with his thoughts. Furrowed brow, a hint of a smile… Ansel had never been very good at concealing his thoughts.
But Paulus was.
In truth, it horrified him to make such a suggestion, but he had no choice.
Right after he’d told the priest to take his coffer and give it to Katiana, he’d discovered that the same priest had run off with his money.
What he told Ansel was the truth—there was no money.
His suggestion to sell Katiana for a high price was to both satisfy Ansel’s greed and to send Katiana far away from her brother with a man who had paid a good price for her.
Men did not usually abuse or mistreat things they paid a great deal for, so it was the only way Paulus could think of to save his daughter, tragic as it was.
Now, if Ansel only fell for it. His son was intelligent, but he wasn’t particularly sharp at times.
His thoughts were very basic, but strong.
He strongly loved money and power. He strongly loved battle and could fight with the best of them.
But he had always been cruel to his sister, so if he thought he could get money out of her, then he would do so.
Ansel’s greed would be Katiana’s salvation.
Otherwise, Paulus was fearful of her future under her brother’s care after he was gone.
“Well?” Paulus said after a few moments. “Do you agree to my plan for your sister?”
Ansel had been mulling over the entire situation. When his father spoke, he looked at the man before rising from his chair again and approaching the bed.
“I do,” he said. “There are even brothels in London who will pay a high price for a virgin. If she is a virgin.”
That suggestion made Paulus’ blood run cold, but he didn’t show it. “See if you can find her a husband first,” he said. “You may get more money for her that way, and, truthfully, you do not want to condemn her to life in a brothel. Your mother would not like that.”
Ansel shrugged. “That does not concern me, since the bitch never did anything much for me.”
“She gave you life.”
Ansel didn’t have anything to say to that. He stood at the edge of the bed, looking toward the lancet windows and seemingly lost in thought. But after several moments, he finally scratched his chin and returned his attention to his father.
“I will do what I must in order to gain the best price,” he said. “You said that she is on her way here?”
Paulus nodded. “She should be,” he said. “Word was sent to her the same time it was sent to you.”
Ansel cocked his head thoughtfully. “But London is far away,” he said. “It will take her time to get here. And how is dear Aunt Ethyl?”
“Still an old hag.”
That made Ansel grin. “And hopefully close to death,” he said. “When she dies, her manse becomes mine.”
“That is true.”
“And when you die, Callerton and everything else becomes mine.”
“That is also true.”
“Time to die, old man.”
With that, he yanked the pillow out from underneath Paulus’ head and came down on the man with his full body weight, the pillow slammed down over his face.
Paulus began yelling and coughing as Ansel held the pillow down tightly, smothering the life from his father.
Weak as he was, it still took several long minutes for Paulus to lose consciousness, and after that, Ansel kept the pillow over his face until his father’s chest stopped heaving and the man lay still.
Then, and only then, did he remove the pillow, put it back under his head, and quit the chamber.
At the bottom of the stairs, Ansel ran into a servant.
He told the man that Paulus had requested he not be disturbed for the rest of the night, not even for sup, so the servant spread the word to the kitchen.
Ansel dined on boiled mutton later than night as his father lay dead in the chamber above him, but no one knew that until the next morning when a servant discovered Paulus cold and stiff in his bed.
Word spread quickly to Ansel, who played the grieving son for about an hour.
That was all he could muster. Callerton Castle, officially, was his.
And so was a sister who would soon make her way back home and into his care.
Ansel had plans for Katiana.