Chapter Thirteen #4
“And you, my lady,” he said quietly. “I assumed you were Lady de Llion but I am guessing that was an incorrect assumption. Am I wrong?”
Allaston, now at the forefront of the conversation, met Rod’s gaze steadily. She didn’t dare look at Bretton because she didn’t want to see his expression. It could have been one of intimidation or one of resignation. Either one was prone to upset her so she answered Rod of her own accord.
“Nay,” she replied. “I am Lady Allaston de Velt. Jax de Velt is my father.”
“Then you are his prisoner.”
“Aye.”
Rod nodded understandingly, drawing in a long, steadying breath. After a moment, he stood up, kicked the chair back, and withdrew his broadsword.
“My lady, please back away,” he said evenly. “My horse is around back, a black steed with four white feet. You can make it to my horse as I hold off my cousin. Ride hard south to Bronllys Castle and tell my grandfather who you are. He will help you.”
Allaston’s eyes widened with shock, looking at Bretton, who remained calmly in his seat. But his eyes were fixed on Rod.
“Is this truly what you wish to do, Rod?” Bretton asked. “I will not let her go, so you are in for a fight. If you think you can best me, I invite you to try.”
“Wait!” Allaston stood up, putting her hands out, eventually rounding the table and putting herself between Rod and Bretton. “I am not leaving, Sir Rod, although I appreciate your chivalry. I must remain with Bretton.”
Rod’s brow furrowed as he looked at her. “Why would you do that?” he asked. “He has abducted you. He burned an entire priory and killed dozens of nuns for the privilege. And you say that you must stay with him? I do not understand.”
Allaston faced off against Rod, a big man with a big sword.
“Because he wants to kill my father,” she said, wondering if he would understand her logic.
“As long as I remain with him, mayhap I can convince him otherwise. If I flee now, he will continue with his vengeance against my father and I do not wish to see my father killed.”
Rod did indeed understand her reasoning. He didn’t like it, but he understood. “So you are voluntarily remaining with him?”
Allaston nodded firmly. “I am,” she said. Then, her eyes glimmered with pain. “I must.”
Rod sighed heavily and, giving the woman a somewhat sorrowful expression, sheathed his broadsword. As if he hadn’t just drawn his sword against his cousin, he collected his seat, took the cup away from Bretton, and drained the contents. He found that he needed it.
“This is all so damn confusing,” he said, pouring more wine. “Since when do prisoners want to remain with their captors? I was prepared to go head to head against my own flesh and blood for you, my lady.”
Allaston was still standing up, now closer to Rod than she was to Bretton. “And I appreciate your chivalry, as I said,” she replied. “But I will not leave Sir Bretton. I choose to remain.”
“I am not ‘Sir’ Bretton,” Bretton muttered. “I am simply Bretton. Slaves and mercenaries are not usually knighted, as it is a noble profession. My profession is not noble and I was never knighted.”
Both Rod and Allaston looked at him with some surprise.
“All de Llion men are knighted,” Rod said frankly.
“We have never had a man in our family who has not been knighted. I can knight you right now, as I was knighted personally by King Richard. So was my brother, Rhys. I will knight you, Bretton.”
Bretton’s first reaction was one of surprise and gratitude.
Of course he had always wanted to be a knight.
It had been a dream of his since he had been very young.
He was certainly skilled enough, but there was more to it than that, enough so that he knew he would never make a true knight.
He had committed too much wrongdoing against the church, against mankind in general, for him to be an honor to the knighthood.
It was something that was not possible in his world.
“Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “Knights are sworn to uphold the chivalric code and that is something I cannot and will not do. I respect the knighthood enough not to want to sully it.”
Rod was perplexed. The man before him was not what he had expected, although he wasn’t sure what, exactly, he had hoped for.
It was clear that Bretton de Llion was a complex man, one that Rod didn’t entirely relate to or understand.
His hopes for forging a relationship with the man were slowly being dashed because it was clear that Bretton wanted no such thing.
After a moment’s pause, he shook his head.
“There are strange forces at work around you, Bretton,” he said. “Although I am still very glad to find you alive, I am not sure what goes on with you. You are not the cousin I expected.”