Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

Three months later

C assian had never made it to Rhayder.

To get Cassian away from Brielle and the maelstrom of trouble that had followed Cassian around, Christopher had sent him to escort David back to Canterbury. He didn't think sending Cassian to his father so soon after their blow up was a good idea, so he sought to give Cassian a change of scenery so his temper would cool. Cassian spent a week traveling with David's army then ended up staying a couple of weeks at Canterbury before heading back to Lioncross. A month away from Brielle had improved his mood, and hers, and they were glad to see each other when he finally came back.

As Brielle had said, no amount of separation or time could damage their love for one another.

She was right.

Cassian was more civil to Christopher after having all that time to think about what happened and having David as both a sounding board and advisor helped a great deal. David wasn't emotionally involved in the situation and helped Cassian see that it simply wasn't as bad as he believed it to be. Ultimately, he'd still be marrying Brielle and that was all that mattered. The month away with David made all the difference.

Cassian returned as his old self again, at least mostly.

No one was more relieved that Christopher.

It was on this day that the sense of normalcy was present more than it usually was. A bright spring day in March that would have been a beautiful day had the trouble with the king not been a continuing problem. It hung over everything– every gathering, every action, every village and every city– like a fog.

There was no escaping it.

After a relatively quiet December, January and February saw the rebel armies in a good deal of action. Peter, Addax, and Alexander were in the middle of it. The armies had moved from the midlands into the north and the de Lohr army remained in Lincolnshire to hold the line while the mercenary army pushed into Northumberland and Scotland. Meanwhile, those at the de Lohr castles sat on the Marches and watched, waiting.

Waiting for the king's armies to come back their way.

So far, they hadn't, but that didn't mean they weren't going to. Lioncross, Ludlow, Wigmore, and the smaller outposts were buttoned up tightly. Other English garrisons, including all of Jax's properties, were buttoned up, as well, including Rhayder. Jax had spent just a few days there after the ap Griffin assault, ensuring there was no more trouble, before heading home. Christopher had heard from Peter that John and his mercenary armies had been ruthless in the north after the first of the year, which concerned him a great deal.

That kind of military activity meant that Jax either encountered John's mercenaries before he arrived home or shortly thereafter and, truth be told, Christopher was nervous about it. He waited daily for a request from Jax for aid and he'd already decided that he was going to split his army off from the rebel warlords specifically to reinforce Jax at Pelinom.

But no request had come.

In fact, he received a missive from William Marshal himself that John's army had done damage in Scarborough and was continuing to move south after running a scorched earth campaign over Northumberland and on into Scotland before being repelled. That was also the missive announcing that William was coming for a visit to Lioncross and Christopher knew the man was coming for counsel. The war with John was only growing worse and something had to be done. Either William Marshal already knew what needed to be done or he needed Christopher's suggestions.

Either option had Christopher on edge.

He sensed that, one way or the other, the king's reign of terror was coming to an end.

At least, he hoped so.

The one good thing that had come from this spring was the fact that Christopher had his younger sons at home. They'd fostered in their early years with their Uncle David at Canterbury, but a few years ago, Christopher had sent them to Kenilworth Castle, the jewel of knightly training grounds. Anyone who was anyone trained there, so Curtis de Lohr, who would see sixteen years this year, and brothers Richard and Myles had gone on to train with the best of the best.

But last month, with the king on the rampage, Christopher wanted them home, so he had the pleasure of his three middle sons being at home for the time being, helping keep vigilant watch on the walls of their birthplace. Even now, Christopher could see Curtis' blond head near the gatehouse as the lad stood with Cassian and a very old knight, Jeffrey Kessler. Jeffrey had been at Lioncross before Christopher took command of it many years ago, a gruff German knight who had become a friend over the years.

It was a very prideful thing for Christopher to see Curtis on the walls, nearly as tall as Cassian was but having not yet filled out. He was long-limbed and gangly at this age, but strong and eager to learn. Richard and Myles were two and five years younger than Curtis, respectively, and were still in that youthful exuberance stage that had Jeffery smacking them on the head every once in a while.

But never around their father.

Even now, Christopher could see one of those youthfully exuberant boys making a dash off the wall, moving far too quickly down the stairs and ending up sprawling in the dirt when he tripped over his own feet at the bottom. That brought a smile to Christopher's face. Myles, named for Christopher's father, came racing over to his father as fast as those skinny legs would take him.

"Papa!" he yelled. "Cass and Jeffrey say to tell you that there are riders approaching!"

Myles nearly crashed into his father with his momentum as Christopher reached out to steady the boy. "How close?"

"Coming up the road even now. Close!"

"What standards do they bear?"

Even if the boys weren't training at Kenilworth at the moment, they were still continuing their education and vigilance was part of that. They were still expected to follow protocols and that included knowing important color combinations and standards. Myles beamed, displaying a mash-up of permanent and baby teeth he'd not yet lost in that toothy grin.

"The Crimson lion," he said proudly.

Christopher fought off a grin. "And whose standard is that?"

Myles giggled. "Don't you know, Papa? I am not going to tell you if you do not know."

Christopher grabbed the boy by the arm at his smart remark and planted a trencher-sized hand on his bottom, but not hard enough to hurt. "Cheeky rascal," he said. "Tell me right now or I shall beat you severely."

Myles continued giggling. "William Marshal, Papa."

Christopher pretended to spank the boy again for being a little devil, but then he ended up hugging him in the end.

"Very well," he said, releasing the child. "We knew he was coming, did we not?"

"Aye, Papa."

"Then tell Jeffery and Cass to lift the portcullis and make sure to spread the word among the men. The Earl of Pembroke will be shown all due respect."

Myles nodded and dashed off again, all arms and legs in motion. Christopher grinned, shaking his head at his silly but sweet child, before turning for the keep to let his wife know. He knew she'd kill him if he didn't forewarn her.

Christopher found his wife in the smaller hall inside, the one used by the family for private meals or gatherings. Dustin, Lady Hereford, had their four youngest children with her– Rebecca, Douglas, Westley, and Olivia Charlotte. Olivia Charlotte was the only child in their family who went by two names because when she'd been born, they hadn't been able to come to an agreement on a name. Dustin liked Olivia while Christopher liked Charlotte– hence, Olivia Charlotte, or Lottie as her siblings called her.

But only when their mother wasn't around.

Dustin was sitting by the hearth sewing on something as he entered. Westley was predictably drawing with charcoal on the stone hearth while Douglas and Rebecca, at five years and seven years respectively, were trying to build something with kindling and bits of rushes. The baby was in her basket next to her mother, sleeping peacefully, as Christopher came to his wife and leaned over, kissing her on the head.

"What has you inside at this time of day?" Dustin asked. "You're usually out on your rounds."

Christopher watched as Westley ran over to him and immediately began drawing on his boots, boots that had already been drawn on many times in the past. Those old boots were covered with baby scrawl. "I came to tell you that The Marshal is arriving," he said. "I will take him to the great hall, but please have the servants bring refreshments. You may also prepare a chamber for him in the keep to sleep in. I'll put anyone else who came with him in the knights' quarters."

Dustin set her sewing aside and looked up at him. "So he's finally arrived," she said. "I wondered when he would."

"It is today, evidently."

"How long will he be here?"

Christopher gazed down at his wife, the woman his entire world revolved around. When he'd first met her those years ago, he'd been struck by her beauty– big gray eyes and thick blonde hair that had tumbled to her knees in a straight, silken waterfall. She had been a tiny thing and she still was but there was nothing frail about her. She was bold, brassy, and intelligent, but she was also the most courageous, compassionate, and kind woman he'd ever known.

He couldn't live without her.

"I do not know," he said. "Plan on at least a few days."

She nodded, but it was clear she was thinking about what needed to be done. "I will send the servants to the kitchen, but why not bring The Marshal in here?" she said as she stood up. "It is more private than the cavernous hall and I am certain his conversation will not be for everyone to hear."

Christopher pointed to his feet where Westley was busy drawing. "I do not want my son the artist drawing on William Marshal's expensive shoes," he said frankly. "If you will remove the children, I will consider using this chamber."

Dustin grinned at her eager two-year-old son as he drew what looked like trees on his father's right boot. "I will remove them," she said, turning to Rebecca and Douglas. "Rebecca, please take the baby up to your chamber. Douglas, you will take Westley. Hold his hand and do not let him go."

Red-haired Rebecca was already moving for the baby's basket while Douglas, a solemn and obedient child, nodded seriously. He was only five years of age, but he was big and strong. He managed to get Westley away from Christopher's boots and drag the whining child all the way up the stairs. Dustin followed them part way, making sure everyone was safely up the stairs and heading to the chamber before she returned her attention to her husband.

"Why is he really coming, Chris?" she asked quietly. "William Marshal does not head to the Marches simply for a social visit. He must have a reason."

Christopher nodded. "I am sure he does," he says. "And I am equally sure we will know about it when he arrives."

Dustin didn't seem as casual about it as he was. "He wants you for something," she said, unhappy. "He always wants you for something."

"That seems to be my lot in life."

"Mayhap he wants you to help him negotiate a peace with John."

Christopher rolled his eyes. "I would be the last person he would want for that," he said. "John and I are not exactly good friends, Dustin. You know this."

Dustin wasn't convinced. "You and John are historical adversaries," she said. "But that does not mean that he does not respect you."

Christopher looked at her as if she'd gone mad and waved her off. "Though I appreciate your speculation, you're wrong," he said. "We shall find out why The Marshal is here soon enough."

Dustin wasn't so sure that she was wrong, but she didn't press him. With a long look at her husband, she headed off to give the servants orders as Christopher returned to the keep entry just in time to see William Marshal ride in through the enormous gatehouse.

But he wasn't alone.

It occurred to Christopher that several of the Executioner Knights were riding with him. That was the name given to the elite spies and assassins of William Marshal's espionage ring, men who were the best knights in the world. They were skilled, seasoned, cunning, and deadly. All of the things a good knight should be and Christopher could see that several were on his doorstep.

It wasn't a good sign.

The situation might be worse than he thought.

Forcing himself to rise above his concern, he took the steps down to the bailey where William Marshal had just dismounted his steed. There were stable servants infiltrating the ranks, leading the weary horses away as Christopher headed straight to the man everyone knew as The Marshal.

The man who controlled England.

"Greetings, William," Christopher said. "Welcome to Lioncross."

William smiled weakly as he proceeded to remove his gloves. "We stayed in a very small village about ten miles south of here and the food was atrocious," he said. "We'd come all the way from Gloucester the night before and I did not want to push us into traveling more than we already had, but more's the pity that I did not. We were punished with horrible food and I do believe Achilles was throwing up his innards all night, so for God's sake, show us something decent to eat."

Christopher was trying not to laugh because he was being rather dramatic about it. "Of course, my lord," he said. "My wife is having food and drink brought to the small hall as we speak. Come inside and rest."

William started to walk towards the keep. "There is no time to rest yet," he said, lowering his voice. "Was that a young de Velt I saw upon the wall walk just now?"

"Aye," Christopher said, following the man. "That is Cassian, Jax's youngest son. Why?"

William was looking at the keep ahead. "Where is Peter?"

"Leicester the last I heard," Christopher said. "Sherry and Addax are with him, too."

"I want you to send word to Peter now," William said. "Recall him back to Ludlow immediately. And Sherry is not with the army in Leicester; I have already recalled him for a special mission, but you will send Peter back to Ludlow. I have need of him."

Christopher could sense a great deal of stress coming from William, something that was unusual for the normally unflappable man, and he didn't like it one bit. It only made him more anxious.

"I will send a missive to him before the morning is out," he said. "What has happened, William?"

They had reached the steps of the keep and The Marshal simply pointed towards the entry. "Not out here," he said. "I will tell you inside."

Christopher kept his mouth shut as the group of knights headed into the keep while the rest of The Marshal's men, mostly soldiers, were dispersed by Essien. The knights, however, moved into the small hall, which now had the beginnings of a substantial meal on the table. There was wine and bread, cheese and fruit, and small meat pies left over from the night before. As William headed for the table to pour himself some wine, Christopher greeted Maxton of Loxbeare, Kress de Rhydian, and Achilles de Dere. They were the core of The Marshal's spy ring, men known as the original Executioner Knights.

The Unholy Trinity.

Kress and Achilles greeted him warmly, but Maxton, the leader of the trio, was a little more standoffish. Christopher, Kress, Maxton, and Achilles had served together for many years prior to becoming part of The Marshal's spy ring, so they had a long history, starting in the days when they were all young knights seeking fame and fortune. Maxton and Christopher were two natural leaders and there had always been an unspoken competition between them for dominance. They were never close, and they aggravated each other easily, but they would also die for one another which made their dynamics strange. There was great respect there even if there wasn't great love.

As the men began to sit around the table, Christopher shut the door behind them. The door to the small hall was almost never closed, so the hinges creaked heavily as he pushed the panel closed. Christopher went back to the table, but he didn't sit down. He noticed that Maxton and Kress hadn't sat down, either.

Everyone was looking at The Marshal.

"What's this all about, William?" Christopher asked quietly. "What has happened?"

William downed an entire cup of wine before answering. "I am not entirely sure where to start, so I will start at the beginning," he said. "At least, the beginning of this year. John and his mercenaries were in Nottingham in December and by January, they were in Berwick."

Christopher braced himself. "Berwick is Cole de Velt's command," he said. "God, don't tell me that Berwick fell to John."

William shook his head. "Berwick held," he said. "From what I am told, it is a mess, but it held."

"Thank God."

The Marshal sighed faintly. "Aye, thank God for Berwick," he muttered. "John's army moved to Northwood Castle, which also held. They were particularly angry about that because they were looking for a major castle from which to launch their charge into Scotland, but Northwood held, Berwick held, and so did Roxburgh and some of the smaller castles. But there was a problem with a couple of the armies– de Vesci, for one. His army was soundly beaten and fragmented. And then, there was Pelinom."

Christopher had a very bad feeling and he didn't appreciate The Marshal drawing it out. "Pelinom failed?"

"Worse," William said softly, looking Christopher in the eyes. "I am the bearer of bad news, Chris. Jax de Velt was killed in the siege."

Christopher had to genuinely steel himself but he just couldn't manage it. For a moment, he stared at The Marshal in shock. He couldn't seem to move. But as the words sank in, he put his hand to his mouth and turned away, struggling against the overwhelming grief that had suddenly descended. He felt as if a blanket of agony had just been tossed over him and he couldn't get out from under it.

He could hardly breathe.

"My God," he managed to say, a lump in his throat. "This just isn't possible."

"I'm afraid it is."

"When?"

"Late January, I'm told."

The confirmation was like a dagger and Christopher actually staggered. He ended up leaning against the wall next to the hearth, supporting his weight as the news sank even deeper.

"He was just here in December," he finally said. "There had been trouble with the Welsh at his holding of Rhayder Castle and several English armies converged to chase them away, including Jax's army. He was alive and well then. We spoke, we supped, we even laughed. We celebrated our alliance. But he had to return to Rhayder Castle to make sure the Welsh were not causing any further trouble before returning to Pelinom because he knew John was moving north. He wanted to be home to defend his castle and his family."

The Marshal sighed heavily and stood up, pouring a cup of wine and taking it to Christopher. He shoved it at the man, who took it numbly. "I know he was your friend," he said, not unsympathetic. "That is why I wanted to tell you personally. There is much more involved in this situation, of course, but I knew you would want to know."

Christopher took a deep breath as he struggled to compose himself. "Of course I would," he said. He looked at William. "That is why you asked me if it was Jax's son on the battlements."

"Aye," William said. "He hasn't said anything about it?"

"Not a word."

"Then he must not know. You must tell him."

When Christopher thought on Cassian, he had to shut his eyes. Now he was being gutted again, for an entirely different reason. All he could think of was the argument Jax and Cassian had before Jax left for Rhayder and how this news was going to affect Cassian.

It was going to destroy him.

"I will," he said, his throat tight with emotion. "I know there is much business to discuss, but let me do this first. I will not be able to concentrate if I do not."

William nodded. "I know," he said. "You must tell him, of course."

Christopher nodded, forcing himself to take a deep breath so he could at least regain what was left of his composure. He couldn't be in a frazzled state when he spoke to Cassian because he would have to be strong for the young knight.

He knew for a fact that Cassian was not going to take the news well at all.

"Can you at least tell me what you know about it?" he asked. "I am sure Cassian will ask and I want to tell him what I can."

William nodded, tipping the cup up to Christopher's mouth because the man had forgotten he was holding it. As Christopher took several big swallows, William spoke.

"From what I was told, Pelinom was hit with a massive show of force," he said. "John was furious by the time he hit Pelinom because he'd not been able to break Berwick, Northwood, or Roxburgh."

"So Pelinom received the brunt of his anger."

"Exactly," William said. "The battle went on for a couple of days before Jax was able to get a man out and send for help. The problem was that Berwick, Northwood, and Roxburgh were shut tight against John's onslaught, fearful it would come back again, so they were reluctant to send aid lest they open themselves up to danger."

Christopher shook his head with great regret. "I understand the logic," he said. "There is no shame in that. I am certain Jax understood, as well."

William nodded, but the story continued. "On the third day of the attack, John's archers arrived," he said. "I am not certain why they were not there at the beginning but my suspicion is that John used them heavily with the other castles, so for the first two days, they were out replenishing their bolts. In any case, they arrived and the bombardment began. Jax's army suffered serious losses because of the hail of bolts raining down from the sky and Jax was dragging men to safety when he was hit, twice, in the back. Still, he kept pulling men to safety but his wife forced him to stop. He staggered into the keep and collapsed in her arms. He died there."

Christopher couldn't help it; the tears came and he closed his eyes tightly, imagining his dear friend dying in the arms of the woman he loved. Lady Kellington de Velt was the last face Jax ever saw in this life and Christopher knew that was the way he would have wanted it. But his heart hurt so badly for the man he'd grown to love as a brother.

"He died in battle," he finally muttered, wiping the tears from his face. "He died saving men and that is a glorious ending for any man. Did Pelinom hold?"

"It did. John was unable to take it in the end."

Christopher sighed heavily with relief. "Thank God," he muttered. "Even so, I find that I am heartbroken. Heartbroken to have lost my friend and heartbroken that fine young men like Cole and Julian and Cassian are now without their father because of that bastard of a king. God, I should have killed that man when I had the chance. I had so many chances those years ago when he was a prince and Richard was king, but I did not take them. I have regretted that before but never more than I do now."

William clapped him on the shoulder, grieved by Jax's death as well. "There were years when we all feared Ajax de Velt," he said. "And then there were years we were grateful to have him as an ally. I shall always remember him as an ally. And his death will not go unpunished, Chris. I swear it."

Christopher heard something in The Marshal's voice that gave him hope. "What do you have in mind?"

William shook his head and turned back for the table. "Seek out young Cassian now and return to us when you are finished," he said. "We have a plan to speak of."

Christopher took a deep breath and calmed himself. He could see Kress and Achilles looking at him with sympathy. Even Maxton was looking at him with something close to pity. As close as Maxton could get, anyway. As Christopher headed towards the door, Maxton stopped him.

"Chris, wait," he said.

Christopher turned to him. "What is it?"

Maxton cleared his throat. "This is going to sound strange coming from me, but I am sorry about de Velt," he said. "I know that you two were close friends. I admired the man greatly, though I will admit I was too intimidated by him to try to make a friend of him. He probably wouldn't have let me, anyway."

Given the contentious relationship Christopher and Maxton had for years, Christopher was surprised by the words of comfort. He smiled weakly.

"I would say that is a fair assumption," he said. "He did not make friends easily. I'm not sure he really knew how, but he tried. He and I were able to get along because I was able to break through, somehow. I understood him. But in Jax's mind, I suppose he thought of himself as the friend of a man if he wasn't driving poles through him and leaving him to die. If he showed you mercy, he was your friend."

In spite of himself, Maxton grinned. That wasn't a simple thing when it came to Christopher. "We all have our standards, I suppose," he said. "But I wanted you to know… to know that I am sorry."

Christopher's eyes glimmered as he looked at the man. "And I appreciate it," he said. "I did not ask before, but can you tell me who relayed the information to The Marshal?"

Maxton nodded. "Caius d'Avignon of Richmond Castle," he said. "You know that is Cai's garrison, far up in Yorkshire. He went to reinforce the border castles and arrived at Pelinom too late. He heard everything from Jax's distraught wife and several of his men."

Christopher took a long, deep breath, thinking of just how composed Dustin would be if something similar had happened to him. More than likely, she would have been beyond hysterical.

"Thank you for telling me," he said. "And tell me something else– what does William want with Peter and Sherry?"

Maxton gave him a gentle push towards the door. "Tell de Velt's son first," he said. "That's more important now."

Christopher couldn't disagree. Leaving the four men in the smaller hall, feasting on cold meat pies and wine, he headed for the keep entry. But he paused before he reached it, thinking that he should probably bring Brielle along for moral support. He didn't want to face Cassian alone, not when he knew how badly this was going to affect him.

He needed reinforcements.

Turning on his heel, he went in search of Brielle, who was still up in her chamber. She was with Christin and they were working on something that they tried to hide at first but then confessed that they were working on an embroidered cloak for their mother's day of birth. He examined it briefly, for it was quite beautiful, before gently telling Brielle what had happened.

If Cassian's reaction was only half of the grief that Brielle had exhibited, then it was going to be a terrible reaction, indeed.