Chapter Seven
My rough beauty, how you inspire me
Let me compare you to cheerful prey
How they are too blind to see, but always dreaming about the divine in us all
Death is but a heartbeat from life
Addax looked up from the vellum he’d just read aloud. “Is… is that all?”
Tristan nodded. “She’s the only woman I’ve seen here at Wrexham for months,” he said. “I was inspired to write something about her.”
Addax blinked. “I see,” he said, desperately trying to find something redeemable in that horrific three-line poem. “Cheerful prey. That is an interesting choice of words.”
“Is it wrong?”
Addax quickly shook his head. “Not wrong,” he said. “Just interesting. I do not think I have ever heard those two words used together. Why would you compare her to prey?”
Tristan shrugged. He took the vellum back from Addax, the one that had his careful handwriting on it as he’d composed a poem in the hour before the evening’s feast began.
He found that was his best time to create his poetry because it was usually quiet at that time of night, the calm before the storm of the evening’s feast.
He put the vellum back on the table.
“I know it’s terrible,” he said, giving the man a timid smirk.
“You do not have to tell me. But it’s something I’ve always done, terrible or not.
So much of my life is harsh and difficult and brutal.
It’s the one thing that seems to calm my soul, as dreadful as it is.
It just comes out of me, and I do not know why.
It comes out in words like cheerful prey. ”
Addax smiled with some sympathy. “It is not dreadful,” he assured him in a kind lie. “Your poetry is truth. She is a rough beauty. There is nothing untruthful about that.”
“I doubt she would like to be called that to her face.”
“Probably not,” Addax said. He eyed Tristan a moment as if summoning the right words to continue. “You find her… beautiful, then?”
Tristan looked at him sharply, realizing what he was asking.
“Nay,” he said flatly, moving past Addax and toward the solar door.
“She is not a feast for my eyes, as much as you want me to say so. She’s Carr’s daughter, and if I seem to show any kindness towards her, it’s simply because her father is preparing to treat her abominably. That’s not right.”
Addax followed him to the door, clapping him on the back. “Be at ease, my friend,” he said. “I did not mean to intimate you plan to marry her tomorrow. But I suspect beneath the dirt, she might be pretty.”
Tristan cast him a long look before heading out of the door. “You’ll shut your lips if you know what’s good for you,” he growled. “I am not interested.”
Addax erupted into soft laughter, holding up his hands in surrender, before following Tristan from the solar and out of the keep.
The night air was cool and damp, with an enormous full moon in the sky above.
The walls of the castle were so tall that they tended to block out everything but the sky, so there was nowhere to look but up.
The battlements were heavily lined with sentries, men with torches and, in some cases, dogs as they walked their section of the walls, watching the countryside for any hint of danger.
Vigilance, at Wrexham, was always the order of the day… or the night.
Truth be told, Tristan was never far from the top of the wall.
Much like the patrol and his inability to stay out of it and simply command, he often found himself on the wall walk as well, watching the land, making sure all was well.
In recent months, he’d been thinking about summoning some of the local Welsh lords, because he was a firm believer in understanding the perspective of the enemy.
Only then could one either anticipate the next move or try to resolve the differences.
Addax seemed to think it was a good idea, as did William, who had spent all of that time on the Scottish border against the Scots.
Understanding one’s enemy was key to achieving peace.
Or at least success in battle when the Welsh surged again.
And they would.
“I smell beef,” Addax suddenly said, interrupting Tristan’s thoughts. “Is it possible that we might actually have something other than mutton for sup?”
Tristan nodded. “It is not only possible, it is reality,” he said. “Shrewsbury sent us several of their red beasts in exchange for those small ponies we were using to haul the rocks necessary for repair.”
Addax lifted his eyebrows. “Is that why the Shrewsbury knight was here last week?”
“That’s why.”
Addax smiled with pleasure. “Excellent.”
Tristan looked at him. “Why are you so excited?” he said. “You do not traditionally eat beef.”
Addax shrugged. “I know,” he said. “That comes from the religion I was born into. Beef is usually avoided because cows are viewed as sacred, but since I was converted by the Christian knights who took my brother and me under their wing when we were young, I find that I have a taste for beef from time to time.”
Tristan’s attention returned to the great hall looming before them. “I am not entirely sure I could worship a god who did not permit a man to eat beef,” he said. “Sounds unusually cruel.”
Addax snorted. “It is not,” he said. “It is a religion that respects all living things and promotes a diet that does not include living creatures.”
“What does that leave you with?”
“Plenty of fruit and vegetables and grains,” Addax said. “But I confess, I’m happier with a good beef knuckle than a bowl of turnips.”
Tristan fully agreed with him. They entered the great hall at that point, the cavernous chamber with the hearth that was taller than a man.
In the past, there had been a firepit in the middle of the floor, and the smoke had evacuated up through the roof, but de Gresford had built a proper hearth, so now the fire pit in the middle of the hall was simply a depression that drunk men would trip in.
But the new hearth was much nicer and far less smoky.
“There’s Carr,” Addax muttered. “See him? At the dais?”
Tristan did. “I see him,” he said evenly. “I must say, I’m curious how he is going to behave with his daughter this evening. Something tells me that I might be punching him in the mouth before the evening is through.”
Addax simply waggled his eyebrows because he, too, had been wondering the same thing. As they approached, they could see Dermot sitting with Carr but no William, as the young knight had the night watch. Approaching the table, Tristan and Addax took their seats.
“I could smell the beef across the compound,” Carr said. “You’ll be lucky if I do not crawl inside that carcass and eat it from the inside out.”
Tristan smiled weakly as a servant approached and put a cup of wine before him. “You’ll have to fight Addax for the privilege,” he said. “He, too, was commenting on the smell.”
Carr was already into his second cup of wine and in much better spirits than he had been earlier. “In Dublin, there are herds of small black cows with sharp little horns,” he said. “They make for the most delightful eating. It’s one of the things I miss.”
“Do you ever think you’ll return?” Addax said, collecting his own cup of wine. “A man should be able to return to his homeland once in a while, I should think.”
“But you have not,” Carr said. “A pity. I heard that you and your brother were chased out by assassins.”
It was a delicate subject he had veered onto, but Addax didn’t let it bother him like it used to.
His younger brother, Essien, was much quicker to temper, but Addax—the man who had been the crown prince of his country—was calm and wise in most things.
It had been thirty years since they’d left their country of Kitara, and sometimes Addax felt as if that entire part of his life had only been a dream.
Sometimes the mind shut out what was too painful to deal with.
Even childhood memories.
“I shall never return,” he said simply. “There is no reason to unless I want to raise an army and attempt to take back my father’s throne.
But Ireland is much closer than my country, and you did not leave under violent circumstances, so I was simply commenting that, if you are able, a man should have the right to return to the country of his birth. ”
Carr studied the dregs in his cup for a moment.
“Mayhap,” he said. “My grand-uncle was a king of Leinster, and today, a cousin claims the throne. There is really nothing for me there other than Irish factions who wish to fight against one another because one believes it should rule over the other. In Ireland, I spent my entire life in a bare-knuckle fight because of it. But my wife… she is a banphrionsa. That means princess in the Irish.”
“Her lineage is stronger than yours?”
“Much.”
“Surely she is beautiful.”
Carr shrugged. “She looks like an Irish lass,” he said. “And before you ask me anything more about her, know that I am here and she is in Ireland because I did not wish for her to come to England when the Marshal brought me here. I do not miss her.”
Addax looked at Tristan, who rolled his eyes and shifted so his back was mostly to Carr.
The subject of his family had come up, and already the man was being belligerent.
Carr was close to irritating Tristan already, but he evidently didn’t realize it because he turned to the man, unconcerned that he was mostly turned away from him.
“Have you seen my daughter since last we spoke?” he asked Tristan. “Did you tell her to join us in the hall for the meal?”
Tristan nodded, but he didn’t turn to face him. “Aye,” he said. “I told her. I also told her she could choose some clothing from the things that were left behind by de Gresford. She clearly needs something to wear until you have the opportunity to have clothing made for her.”
Carr looked at him as if he’d just said something ridiculous. “Have clothing made for her?” he repeated. “She came here uninvited. Let her pay for whatever she needs. I will not do it.”
That was the reaction Tristan had expected. He didn’t say anything because whatever came out of his mouth was sure to start a fight. He’d never seen such selfishness, especially from a man he thought he knew. It was utterly shocking, as far as he was concerned.
“Why did she come, Carr?”
The question came from Dermot, who, thus far, hadn’t been privy to anything said about Lady Andromeda’s arrival.
The man, usually so quiet in an almost introverted sort of way, had been on the walls when the lady arrived.
He didn’t know anything about the situation.
Tristan was curious to know what Carr would tell him.
“Because de Courcy sent her to me,” Carr said with disgust. “He did not want her burden any longer, so he sent her to me.”
“Has she done something wrong?” Dermot asked.
“I do not know,” Carr said. “Truthfully, I do not care. All I know is that she has come here to be a burden on a man who is a virtual stranger to her.”
“That is not exactly true,” Addax said from across the table, his dark-eyed gaze moving between Carr and Dermot.
“The lady told de Wolfe that men had come to kill her, so de Courcy spirited her out of Rockbrook Castle with an escort with the intent of sending her to safety in England. If you’re going to disparage your own daughter, Carr, then you should get the facts straight.
And mayhap you should speak to her before you tell everyone you do not want her here.
Do you think hearing that from you is going to cause men to respect her?
They’ll look at her as unwanted baggage, and some might even treat her that way.
Is that what you want? Your daughter assaulted because you show her such disregard?
An honorable man would not speak so of his own child. ”
Carr was red in the face by the time Addax was finished. “This is none of your affair, coimhthíoch,” he said. “I will say what I please.”
He’d called Addax an outlander, which was a term in Ireland for people who weren’t born there. It mostly meant undesirables, and Addax, an intelligent man, knew enough Gaelic to know that. Before he could reply, Tristan turned to Carr.
“If you use that term with regards to Addax again, I will send you back to Ireland without hesitation,” he said evenly.
“You will never again show any man in my command such disrespect, because if it comes down to it, you are a coimhthíoch in England, bred from a warring race so barbaric that you cannot rule your own lands. You are here serving an English lord, and you take orders from him every day. You are a servant and nothing more. Shall I go on?”
Carr was taken aback by the threatening tone and harsh words. He and Tristan usually enjoyed a good relationship, so this kind of banter was not normal between them. He could see that he’d overstepped, but it was a difficult thing to swallow his pride. With a heavy sigh, he looked at Addax.
“My apologies,” he said. “This situation has me unbalanced. I… I should not have spoken to you so.”
Addax wasn’t sure he believed the apology, but he didn’t say so.
He simply nodded his head briefly and looked to Tristan, who was still incensed over Carr’s comment.
Addax thought Tristan might even continue to verbally lash the man, but he seemed to settle down with the apology.
He just was sitting back in his chair again, bringing his cup to his lips, when his gaze caught something over Addax’s head, in the direction of the hall entry. The cup froze, nearly to his mouth.
Addax would remember the expression on Tristan’s face for as long as he lived.