Chapter Five
Sir Markus de Aston was a high caliber knight, a support for the Sheriff of Ilchester’s position, who had come through Matthew Wellesbourne, Earl of Hereford, by way of the de Nerra family of Erith Castle in Cumbria.
From the Somersetshire de Aston family, Markus was tall, muscular, with reddish-blond hair, and rather good-looking, and he had come to Stretford Castle because Wellesbourne had enough knights and Matthew thought he was doing a good turn by sending such an excellent knight to serve his son-in-law.
But he’d sent Markus into a hellish situation, something the young knight had been forced to endure for a few years.
But the main issue with Markus was that, having come from Wellesbourne, he was somewhat protective and partial to Lysabel, as Matthew’s daughter.
Watching her suffer with a bastard of a husband when there was nothing he could do about it had turned him into a stiff, rather embittered man.
As a man of emotion, the only way to save himself was to harden his natural tendencies. And now, with Trenton’s presence, he didn’t seem any less hard. In fact, the mere suggestion that he go against what he believed Benoit would want hardened him even further.
He knew what his liege was capable of.
Lysabel had introduced the young knight to Trenton and explained that he would be forming an escort to take her and her daughters to Wellesbourne Castle. That suggestion alone was going against anything Benoit would agree to, and Markus naturally balked.
“We cannot go,” he said flatly. “Lord Benoit will return at any time and he would be displeased to see that his family had gone to Wellesbourne without his permission. I am sorry, but you cannot go, Lady de Wilde.”
In truth, Lysabel had expected a refusal, but not so quickly or so firmly.
They had gathered to discuss the request in the same solar where Trenton and Lysabel had their lovely conversation the night before, a solar where all of the riches of the de Wilde coffers were on display.
Trenton was standing by the door as Lysabel and Markus stood over near the big table, cluttered with Benoit’s things.
It was a stark reminder of the lie that Trenton and Lysabel were perpetuating, leaving things as if the man would be returning any day.
Therefore, it was no wonder that Markus rejected the suggestion of traveling to Wellesbourne Castle.
It was not what the lord would want.
Hearing Markus’ staunch denial, Lysabel knew she had to tread carefully.
Markus was very much a man who carried out his lord’s wishes, whether or not he agreed with him.
But Lysabel also knew that there had been many a time when Markus hadn’t agreed with Benoit, and it was to the man who at times had showed consideration for other factors that she aimed her plea.
“Markus,” she said patiently. “I realize you are only doing what you believe is in my best interest, but you must look at it from my perspective. I’ve not seen my parents in a very long time and Wellesbourne Castles is only a two-day ride from here.
While I am waiting for my husband to return, I would like to visit my parents, whom I love very much.
They have not seen their granddaughters in almost a year.
Would you deny my father his joy in seeing his granddaughters? ”
Markus faced her, his manner firm but bordering on angry. “My lady, if Lord Benoit returns home and you are not here, it will not go well for either of us,” he said. He eyed Trenton a moment before lowering his voice. “Must I make this plain in front of a stranger?”
Lysabel didn’t like that Trenton was being called a stranger. “He is not a stranger,” she said. “I told you who he was. I have known him my entire life. You may speak freely in front of him.”
Markus’ gaze settled on the woman. It was clear that he was mulling over her answer. All he knew was that an unfamiliar knight had arrived the previous evening and, today, he was being told this man would be escorting Lord Benoit’s wife and children to Wellesbourne. Nay, he didn’t like that at all.
“My lady, forgive me, but although you may know him, I do not,” he said, trying to be patient.
“It is my responsibility to tend to the welfare of you and your children while Lord Benoit is away. I cannot, in good conscience, turn your safety over to a knight I do not know. I am sorry if you do not understand that.”
Lysabel was not only becoming embarrassed, she was becoming angry.
“My safety,” she snorted quietly. “You only care for it when my husband is not here. When he is here, you look the other way like everyone else. Your words are empty to me, Markus, so pretend not as if my safety is truly your concern. Your only concern is Benoit’s reaction if he was to return and discover I was gone. ”
Markus straightened up, eyeing the woman whose well-aimed tongue had hit him where it hurt – his integrity.
It was the very thing he’d wrestled with since the day he assumed his post at Stretford and realized very quickly that he served a man who beat his wife, among other infractions.
And it wasn’t an occasional thing; it was frequent, resulting in a woman who was broken and bruised most of the time.
When he wasn’t beating her, he was out whoring, or robbing from his vassals, or any number of unsavory things.
Nay, Markus didn’t any of it, but he turned a deaf ear to it because there was nothing he could do. Benoit de Wilde was his liege and his duty was to serve the man. In that respect, he supposed his words to the lady were, indeed, hollow. Hollow in so many things.
But he had no choice.
“Mayhap that is true, my lady,” he said. “If your husband were to discover I let you go to Wellesbourne Castle, then there would be hell to pay for the both of us.”
Lysabel looked at him a moment before turning to Trenton.
Standing back in the shadows of the room, he was simply listening to everything going on very carefully.
She was looking for some manner of direction in his expression but he gave her none.
Frustrated, she was about to do what she swore to him that she wouldn’t do – she wanted Markus’ cooperation but he wasn’t going to give it to her unless he knew the truth, and perhaps not even then.
But she had to try.
“I want you to listen to me, Markus, and listen carefully,” she said. “And I want your oath as a knight that what I tell you will never leave your lips. Will you do this?”
He hesitated a moment. “Aye, my lady.”
“Then swear it.”
“I swear upon my oath that I shall not repeat what you tell me.”
“And I will swear to you that what I tell you is the truth. I will make this vow before God.”
“As you say, my lady.”
With a heavy sigh, she looked at Trenton again, who by now had an expression on his face that suggested concern.
He had an idea of what she was going to say, but he didn’t stop her; perhaps he, too, understood that such an illusion couldn’t be kept from those in command.
It was clear that Markus’ loyalties were with Benoit regardless of how he personally felt about the man.
That being the case, he would continue to be loyal to him and Lysabel would continue to be a prisoner with the ghost of Benoit de Wilde hanging over her, in death as he did in life.
As long as Markus believed Benoit would return, he would continue to carry out his duties as his lord would want him to.
Therefore, Trenton kept silent as Lysabel continued.
“The last night that Benoit was seen here at Stretford was a terrible night,” she said quietly. “Do you remember that night, Markus? You must be honest.”
It was clear from Markus’ expression that he did, indeed, remember that evening. It was the first time he lowered his gaze.
“Aye, my lady.”
“You heard me screaming.”
Markus sighed faintly. “Aye, my lady.”
“But you did nothing to help me.” When Markus simply kept his gaze averted, unable to look at her, Lysabel continued.
“I know you could not act against Benoit, Markus. I understand that. If anyone was to help me, it had to be me. Twelve years of beatings was too much for me to take. Markus, that night was the last night Benoit beat me or ever shall beat me. He is dead.”
Markus’ head shot up, his eyes widening. “Dead?” he hissed. “What? How?”
Lysabel was quiet for a moment. It was her turn to look away, knowing what she was about to say to the dedicated knight. But she felt strongly that she had to.
It had to be this way.
“The shattered window,” she murmured. “Do you remember it?”
He nodded, looking at her with extreme shock. “Aye, my lady.”
“Benoit was beating me with his fists and… and the window became broken,” she said, knowing she was about to lie about the whole situation because she didn’t want Markus to know that the man standing a few feet away had killed his liege.
It was better this way. “I killed Benoit with the broken glass. I wrapped him in a cloak so he would not bleed everywhere, stuffed him into the wardrobe, and told you that he had left and I did not know where he had gone. I killed him because if I did not, I knew he was going to kill me.”
Markus had gone from extreme shock to extreme disbelief. “You… you killed him, my lady?”
“Aye. And I must go to Wellesbourne Castle to discuss this with my father. I need his counsel.”
Markus’ mouth was hanging open and when he realized that, he shut it quickly. He tore his gaze from Lysabel, looking to Trenton, who was still standing near the door like a massive, silent sentinel. He hadn’t moved a muscle. His gaze moved back to Lysabel.
“Clearly, your friend de Russe knows of this,” he said, struggling with the news. “You told him?”
“I removed the body,” Trenton said. He could no longer remain silent and when both Lysabel and Markus looked at him, he stepped from the shadows. “I removed it and disposed of it. No one will ever find it.”