Chapter One
Baron Rothwell;
As you are a man with little time to spare, I shall come to the point.
As you are well aware, there has been continuing discord between St. Cloven and Wisseyham Keep.
The actions which preceded this unrest had to do with land rights upon which Sir Albert de Fluornoy was most inequitable.
In truth, my lord, he stole lands which did not belong to him.
The dissension has been rampant now for many years, an environment which, sadly, my son and Sir Albert’s children have grown accustomed to.
It is my understanding that since Sir Albert’s death six months ago, St. Cloven is without a lord and the prosperous business has been left to the minimal capabilities of his young daughters.
Therefore, I am proposing that my son and the eldest de Fluornoy daughter be joined in matrimony.
It is my sincere wish that the dispute clouding our daily existence be quelled with the marriage of our respective heirs, bringing peace to a province that has known little harmony for nearly thirty years.
I know that your infinite wisdom will triumph in this most serious matter. We trust your decision will be the correct one.
Written at Wisseyham Keep
Sir Nigel Warrington
20 June 1282
*
“What do you think? Is it respectful enough?”
Colin Warrington smiled at his father, his eyes resting on the freshly sanded missive. “If it were any more respectful, you would be licking his arse,” he snorted softly. “Summerlin is no fool, you know.”
“Nay, he is not a fool, but he is eager to maintain a peaceful barony and he will do what is necessary. Besides, I would bed with the man himself if it meant acquiring St. Cloven, and I have already damn near made a pact with the Devil to gain you what you deserve. St. Cloven is famous from Edinburgh to London and more than loaded with suitable wealth for Warrington coffers.”
Colin cocked a slow eyebrow. “’Twill be my wealth, father. Mine alone.”
Nigel eyed his son and rose stiffly; his joints were growing stiffer and more painful by the day and there were times when it was difficult to walk.
“As you say,” he replied. “But you will recollect who obtained for you that wealth and you will return the proper respect due.”
Colin looked away from his father, pondering his immediate future. They were closer to St. Cloven’s wealth than they had ever come and his impatience was growing. Lord, it had been a long, long road and he was thankful that the end was finally in sight.
To have St. Cloven for his own was a dream he and his father had always shared, a dream that had known its setbacks and disappointments.
The dream continued to lurk in the recesses of their minds, even as the years passed and time faded the urgency.
But the dream never died, remaining dormant for the opportunity of an open chance to act.
Nigel thought he saw a chance, once. In spite of the land dispute, he had petitioned Sir Albert for the eldest daughter’s hand, hoping to marry the young heiress to Colin.
Sir Albert had responded strongly to the impropriety of the request, adding further insult by promptly pledging ten-year-old Lady Peyton to fifteen-year-old James Deveraux of King’s Lynn.
It had been a setback, but not the end of the dream. Years passed and Nigel was content to bide his time until another opportunity presented itself. And he knew, without a doubt, that another chance would happen across his path. He would simply have to be wise enough to interpret it.
At a tournament in Norwich, the long-awaited opportunity came in the form of a poor knight who advanced to the final rounds of the joust competition against Lady Peyton de Fluornoy’s arrogant fiance.
A poor knight coerced into an evil action, lured by his desperate need for money.
A poor knight forced into a murderous act in exchange for the welfare of his family, and Nigel had taken full advantage of the warrior’s destitute state and had been wise enough to interpret the chance.
Twenty gold coins had bought Deveraux’s death. Fitting, considering it had only taken thirty pieces of silver to betray Jesus Christ. Betrayal means the same in any monetary denomination.
“She never did suspect anything, did she?” Colin asked after a moment, passing a glance at his father.
“Who? The Lady Peyton?” Nigel shook his head. “A witless bitch, like all the rest. She shall never come to know how she has been manipulated.”
“It wasn’t difficult to orchestrate Deveraux’s death,” Colin picked at his yellowed teeth.
“’Twas a perfectly believable plot, maneuvering the break of a crows-foot joust pole only to have it replaced by the spare, which happened to be spear-tipped.
Twenty gold coins will buy just about anything, including an honorable knight to do away with an opponent. ”
“I thought we were going to have trouble with de Fortlage. He is so damned ethical that when you suggested he eliminate Sir James, I thought he would run straight to the field marshals and inform them of your proposal. ’Tis amazing what money can buy, including silence.”
“And it certainly did not hurt matters that you were sitting behind his wife in the lists pointing a dagger at her back,” Colin chuckled at the memory of particularly ugly blackmail.
“No one ever suspected that Deveraux’s death was planned.
De Fortlage said it was an accident and his word was believed without question. ”
Nigel smiled, entirely pleased that his plans to procure St. Cloven for his son were moving along so admirably. Now, to wed his son to the heiress and all would be complete. The wealthiest ale empire in all of southern England would belong to Colin.
“Now, we will send this message to Summerlin and wait for his reply which, I am sure, will be in the affirmative. What better way to assure peace than to marry two enemies?” his eyes grazed the sanded missive as the ink dried, re-reading his words.
“There is virtually no possibility that Brian Summerlin will refuse such a submissive and polite request.”
Colin rose on his long legs; he was a muscular man. “And I look forward to acquiring my new wife. God only knows, she is a beauty to behold.”
“And a virgin, I am sure,” Nigel snorted. “Albert kept both she and her sister secluded from the world. Outside of James, I do not believe they had many visitors to St. Cloven. You know what a recluse Albert was.”
“Indeed I do,” Colin moved for the door, pausing a moment in thought. “Other than marrying the Lady Peyton, we have never truly discussed what would become of her once I took possession of St. Cloven. You do not really expect me to treat her as a wife, do you?”
“I care not what you do with her once you obtain the manor. Keep her abed day and night if it pleases you, or throw her down the stairs and be done with it. ’Tis your decision.”
Colin smiled, a sinister gesture laced with the promise of pure evil. “I shall consider those options. Both of them.”
Nigel smiled darkly, a gesture reminiscent of his son. Lady Peyton de Fluornoy was a very minor player in his grand game, a pawn to be used and disposed of.
The main objective, of course, was revenge; revenge for lands stolen, for wealth earned by St. Cloven from those lands upon which fields of barley thrived, and indirectly, revenge upon Baron Rothwell.
Wealth the Warringtons claimed, considering the land which fed St. Cloven’s brewery belonged to them.
Selective in memory, of course, they conveniently neglected to recollect that the House of Warrington never showed much interest in the overgrown meadows until Albert de Fluornoy’s father claimed them for his own use.
After thirty years, the family honor was still at stake and Nigel considered it just compensation that St. Cloven was finally within his grasp.
Baron Rothwell fit into these plans rather nicely.
As Brian Summerlin sat majestically atop the throne of the Rothwell barony, the power of a substantial province in his palm, Nigel would gain power beneath his nose.
With Wisseyham Keep and St. Cloven joined by marriage, the link would prove extremely powerful and their rising force would be a power Summerlin would be compelled to reckon with.
Alone in his solar, Nigel continued to smile as his thoughts shifted from his liege to the object of his hatred.
How considerate that Albert should die without finding another suitor for Lady Peyton.
St. Cloven was without a capable man to administer her wealth, and Nigel silently thanked Albert for his thoughtfulness.
He could not have planned events better himself.
All that was left was for Nigel to solicit the liege of the province for Lady Peyton’s hand.
With Albert dead, there would be no one to oppose his request. And surely Baron Rothwell would do anything to maintain peace and serenity within his barony; a wedding between warring clans would be an acceptable solution.
Moreover, Brian would do anything Nigel asked of him. It was a dark secret they shared.
Sighing with relief, he drew himself a chalice of St. Cloven pale ale. Swirling the sweet liquid in his mouth, he swallowed and erupted into sinister laughter.
All of it would soon be his.
St. Cloven
Cambridgeshire, England
Lady Peyton de Fluornoy swirled the last drop of red ale, breathing through her nose to fully extract the flavors as her father had taught her.
She had been doing this since childhood and had a better palate for ale than most seasoned men.
A most useful talent, considering her family had been in the ale business for four generations.