Chapter Four #4
Bretton stared at her a moment before breaking down into a grin. The man had a devastating smile of big, white teeth.
“Nay, I am not God,” he said, “but I have been called the Devil, and these castles I take back from your father are now part of my dominion. There has never been another warlord like me nor shall there ever be another one like me. I am unique unto myself, with more power than Jax de Velt could ever hope to have.”
Allaston sighed heavily at his boast, which turned into a coughing spell. She ended up coughing into her hand, struggling to breathe. She was starting to feel ill again, from his words more than from actual illness. It was frustrating to hear him speak of such hatred for the man she loved.
“Then I am sorry for you,” she said. “Look at you. You are obviously a powerful and well-spoken man, and men like you are a premium commodity. You could do so many things with your life, swear fealty to any number of wealthy lords or even to the king himself, but instead, you focus all of your power and intelligence on vengeance. Your father is dead and killing my father will not bring him back. In fact, I would suspect that even if you are able to murder my father, all you will feel is a hollow sense of accomplishment. What will my father’s death bring you?
Happiness? I doubt it. You are an embittered and unhappy man and no amount of killing is going to satisfy that hole in your heart you are trying so desperately to heal. ”
Instead of flare, Bretton actually found himself listening to her.
She spoke rationally, not with fear or emotion, and he found that her manner intrigued him.
She was a calm and collected lady in the face of death and, in spite of everything, a small seed of respect sprouted for her.
Nothing she said was untrue. In fact, it made a good deal of sense.
After a moment of digesting her words, he actually smiled.
“Mayhap that is true,” he said, watching her as she tried not to look at him. He could tell that she didn’t like what she saw. “But I intend to find out. In any case, this is what I have planned for most of my life and no one will convince me otherwise. It is something I must do.”
Allaston was looking at her hands, the floor, anything not to look the man in the eye. “These men that fight with you,” she said. “Do they feel the same sense of vengeance that you do? Did my father wrong them as well?”
Bretton shook his head as he sat back, ending up on his bum a few feet away from her. “Nay,” he said. “They are in it for the money and properties I can provide them. We are a mercenary army, my lady. Did you not realize that?”
She glanced at him, sidelong. “All of them?”
“All of them.”
“But where did you find all of these men?”
He cocked his head thoughtfully, his gaze moving between her and the snapping fire.
“In Ireland,” he said. “After I escaped your father’s carnage, I was sold to a merchant and ended up in Ireland.
That is where I grew up, where I learned my craft, and where I compiled an army big enough to take on Jax de Velt. My men are well paid, my lady.”
Allaston’s head came up and she looked at him. In the soft light of the fire, he actually looked quite handsome with his square jaw and dark hair. He looked almost… normal. But he wasn’t normal. The man was a killer.
“Who sold you to a merchant?” she asked. “You were a mere child. Who did this?”
His rather pleasant expression faded. “Servants that used to work for my family,” he said.
“I escaped with a few of them and, in the end, they simply didn’t know what to do with me.
An old woman had been taking care of me and when she died, her husband sold me.
He did not want a young boy about the house and opted for the money I could bring him. ”
Allaston was listening intently to a rather sad story. “The merchant used you as a slave?”
Bretton’s features tightened as he stared into the flame of the hearth.
“Among other things,” he muttered softly.
“When I became older, I ran away and found an Irish mercenary who agreed to take me as an apprentice in exchange for work. It was a difficult life but I learned a great deal. I am not afraid of hardship.”
Allaston was rather surprised he was opening up so much about his personal life, but she knew it was the drink.
He was still exhibiting some signs of having imbibed too much.
Still, his tale was a sad one. It began to occur to her that if perhaps she played to that sad tale by showing sympathy, perhaps she could gain his trust somewhat.
Perhaps if he stopped viewing her as the flesh and blood of his hated enemy, things might be different.
One could hardly kill someone they liked or at least felt a connection to.
Perhaps if she was nice to him, it would pay off in the end. She had to try.
“I do not imagine that you are,” she said. “It sounds as if you have had a very difficult life. I suppose, in a sense, that I do not blame you for what you feel. I cannot say I would feel any differently if a warlord had killed my father.”
His bright blue eyes were intense on her. “A warlord will,” he said. “Make no mistake, my lady. A warlord will kill your father.”
She held his gaze steadily. “So you would do to me what my father did to you?” she asked. “You would take away my father, too?”
“At least you had your father for a good deal of your life. That is more than I can say for myself.”
He was making it difficult for her to be nice to him but she continued to try. “And you think that killing my father will somehow replace those missing years with your father?”
He shook his head. “Not replace,” he said. “I am not looking to replace anything. I am looking to right a wrong.”
“By creating another wrong?”
“Call it a reckoning, if you will. An eye for an eye.”
Allaston believed him. The more she spoke with him, the more she realized he meant every word he said.
It was a sad and sickening realization. “You have thought this way for so long that it has become a part of you,” she muttered.
“What happens after you kill my father? Do you go on with your life, marry well, and raise a family on the blood of vengeance? Will killing my father make all things possible for you? I wonder.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t,” he said, his gaze lingering on her. “There is no reason to discuss this any longer because you will not convince me otherwise. I must do as I must, and you will have to accept it.”
I must do as I must. He sounded rather final.
She realized that she had to do what she must as well.
Her attempt to be sympathetic to him hadn’t worked, so she had to try another tactic.
She wasn’t sure what that was yet, but she realized she couldn’t wait around for the end of Jax de Velt to come.
Perhaps it would be her end, too. She had to do something.
She had to fight. She simply couldn’t stand by and watch de Llion kill her father.
Much as he had plans, she would have to have plans, also.
She would have to fight back.