Chapter Eighteen
He didn’t even recognize him anymore.
Jerome had been sitting with his son in the vault, the same vault where Raymond had been killed hours earlier.
He was staring at the man who had been his only family since the death of his wife.
Staring at the tattered remnants of the life he’d known and facing the cloudy facets of a future he hadn’t been expecting.
Raymond had been dead for several hours and had turned into a gross caricature of what he used to be in life.
A gross caricature of what Jerome’s life had now become, something strange and misshapen.
This nightmare he found himself a part of.
A nightmare with no end in sight. The alcohol that Jerome had imbibed the night before had mostly worn off by the time the sun began to rise, but death was, in and of itself, a sobering experience. Now, he had a sober, shattered mind that reflected what had happened and what he needed to do.
His son had been murdered.
He wasn’t leaving Axminster without satisfaction.
Raymond had attacked a young woman, he’d been told.
The same young woman that had been Raymond’s target during his years at Axminster.
A young woman who had evidently played games with Raymond, telling others that she was eager to see him and then, when he made advances, she retreated.
At least, that was part of what Jerome had heard, rumors once the news of Raymond’s death had started to spread, but the truth was that both Raymond and the young lady he attacked had been manipulated by another young woman who evidently had a vendetta.
Truthfully, Jerome was in shock. He felt as if he wasn’t living in the real world.
He’d sat for hours staring at his son’s body, dumbfounded by what had happened, but that daze had given way to anger—anger great enough to make threats of punishment against those responsible.
Douglas de Lohr, the son of the Earl of Hereford and Worcester, had killed his son in defense of this young woman.
It was complex and convoluted, but the one thing that wasn’t complex or convoluted was the fact that Raymond had died.
It was the only thing that was crystal clear.
And Jerome was going to exact his pound of flesh.
He had been stewing on it for several hours.
He had threatened to march on Lioncross Abbey Castle, seat of the Earl of Hereford in Worcester, but that was the grieving father talking.
De Honiton had a decent-sized army, but it would be no match for Hereford’s.
Even he knew that. Therefore, armed conflict was not the answer.
But he knew what was.
He knew where the pound of flesh would come from.
Ultimately, the situation was Lady Isabel’s fault.
This was her castle and anything that happened here was her responsibility.
As the sun rose over the bucolic Devon landscape, Jerome knew what he had to do.
He knew what he wanted to do. He’d lost his son this night.
Nothing could bring Raymond back, but those responsible were going to pay dearly.
That very price was on his mind as he made his way out of the vault and to the entry level of the keep.
Lady Isabel’s solar was just off the entry and he knew she, and her knights, had been there for quite some time.
As far as Jerome was concerned, they were all afraid to face him, afraid to admit their failings.
No one stopped him as he entered the keep and went to the solar door.
He went to open it, but someone opened it from the inside and he abruptly found himself face to face with Douglas de Lohr.
He’d never felt more contempt for a man in his life.
“Get out of my way,” he growled. “Where is Lady Isabel?”
“Here,” Isabel said. Hearing the man’s voice, she’d leapt out of her chair to face him. “Please come in, Lord de Honiton.”
Douglas stood aside as de Honiton entered, but de Honiton couldn’t help but ball a fist as he walked past the knight. He lifted his hand to strike Douglas in the face, but Douglas grabbed the man’s hand purely out of reflex and nearly crushed it. Jerome cried out in pain as Douglas clamped down.
“Douglas, release him,” Isabel commanded. “Please—let him go.”
Douglas did, but he pushed at the same time, thrusting Jerome nearly halfway across the room.
“Consider that a warning, my lord,” he said in a decidedly threatening tone.
And Jerome took it for a warning. He stumbled over a chair and ended up leaning over it as he pointed at Douglas.
“He has killed my son and now he threatens to kill me!” he said. “I do not know what animosity this man has against me, but I demand protection!”
Isabel went to Jerome as Eric went over to Douglas, not to protect Douglas but to prevent him from charging de Honiton if the situation grew physical.
Isabel was focused on the brittle man.
“Lord de Honiton, I assure you that Douglas has no vendetta against you,” she said evenly. “But he will not allow you to strike him. You will behave civilly in my solar.”
Jerome’s expression cooled. He looked between Isabel and Douglas and even Eric, his gaze jerky, his body quivering.
“I see,” he said after a moment. “My son is dead and all you can speak of is behaving civilly. Where is the outrage that my son was uncivilly killed in your castle?”
Isabel could see a grieving father before her, but it seemed to her that there was more to it. Jerome seemed slightly off beyond the normal burden of grief. It was in his eyes, in his movements. There was no reason here, no balance.
Something told her to be on her guard.
“I have repeatedly conveyed my condolences for this unhappy situation,” she said.
“But I have also explained to you that your son was attacking a young woman—most brutally, I might add. What did you expect? That he would simply be allowed to do as he pleased and harm a young woman who was resisting his advances?”
Jerome’s eyes widened. “A whore who teased him!”
“An innocent young woman who was wrongfully accused of such a thing,” Isabel replied firmly.
“I have told you that this situation was manipulated by another girl out of jealousy. Your son happened to be a tool she used and nothing more, but what she did not force him to do—what no one forced him to do—was brutally attack a young woman who had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him.”
Jerome began to look at all three of them again, his eyes darting from one to the next. He stood up from his position against the chair, backing away as he pointed to the occupants of the chamber.
“I may not be as powerful as de Lohr, but I have friends and allies, too,” he said.
“Mayhap I cannot raze Lioncross, but I can create such havoc as you cannot possibly imagine. I can have archers anywhere, striking at your fathers and brothers and children. I can send men to ravage your women and burn your villages. I can make it so that you are looking over your shoulder every day for the rest of your life, wondering when I am going to strike next and who shall be my next victim. You are responsible for this, Lady Isabel, and I swear upon my son’s dead body that Axminster shall never be safe again.
I will do these things unless I have satisfaction! ”
He was shouting by the time he finished, shaking his finger at Douglas, at Eric, and even at Isabel. Douglas was preparing to launch a verbal assault against the man, but Isabel lifted her hand to him, indicating he keep still. She had been the mistress of Axminster for many years.
She was going to handle this.
“May I ask what satisfaction you require?” she asked.
Jerome’s eyes fixed on her. “I am not a fool,” he said.
“I can demand you turn de Lohr over to me, but I know you will not. Even if you did, his father would get involved and my entire family line would be destroyed. But the truth is that my family line is already destroyed. Stolen away from me when de Lohr killed my son. He took away my lineage. I have no more. But I want more. That which I have lost must be replaced.”
Isabel wasn’t following his train of thought. “How can it be replaced?”
Jerome seemed to cool again. His face relaxed, or perhaps it simply morphed into an expression that was a harbinger of things to come. There was something flickering in his gaze.
Something unsavory.
Now, the lack of reason and balance would be revealed.
“The girl my son has allegedly attacked,” he said. “Who is she?”
Isabel frowned. “Allegedly?” she repeated. “I will let you see her. You will see the bruises and cuts upon her person and the lump on her head the size of hen’s egg. There was no alleged attack, my lord. Your son most definitely attacked her and there is proof.”
“Who is the girl?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Tell me and I will answer you.”
“Answer me now and I will tell you.”
Jerome stamped his foot violently. “You will tell me what I wish to know!”
Suddenly, Douglas was between Isabel and Jerome, his hulking presence filling up the air. “If you do not speak politely to the lady of the keep, I will throw you from the window,” he growled. “Grief does not give you the right to command Lady Isabel.”
Jerome was both frightened and enraged. “You will not make demands of me, de Lohr!” he shouted. “You are a murderer!”
“And your son was a motherless deformity with the moral values of a goat.”
Jerome picked up the chair with the intention of throwing at Douglas, but Douglas yanked it out of the man’s hands and tossed it aside, leaving no barrier between him and Jerome.
If Douglas charged, there was nothing to stop him.
As Isabel swiftly grabbed Douglas’ arm and tried to pull him back, Douglas jabbed a finger at Jerome.
“Do that again and you can join your son in hell,” he snarled. “I will not warn you again.”
Eric had to help Isabel pull Douglas away from the confrontation. He had both hands on Douglas, dragging him away, as Isabel faced Jerome.