Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

"M y lord?"

It was Caelen, standing in the entry of the great hall. Jax and Amadeo were seated towards the far end where a massive hearth burned brightly, spitting smoke and sparks into the upper portion of the room. The gallery was cloaked in a silver fog as the two men hovered over an old vellum map. It was Jax's map of conquest, one he studied religiously, for it showed him where he was and what more he needed to do. Studying the map was a nightly ritual.

"What is it?" Jax looked up from the vellum.

Caelen jabbed a thumb in the direction of the bailey. "The lady," he said. "She was pulling the body of that knight off the spike. She bit me when I grabbed her, so I threw her and her servants in the vault."

Jax looked at him as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Slowly, very slowly, he stood straight and focused on the knight who had borne such news.

"That's impossible," he said flatly. "The last I saw her, she was passed out on her bed as the surgeon tended her shoulder. There's no possibility that she was…."

"I know, my lord, but she was just the same," Caelen insisted. "She and a few women were trying to bury that dead knight."

"You should have let me kill her," Amadeo grumbled from across the table. "If you do not quell this immediately, it will get out of hand. We never have women in our installations and for good reason. Why do you deviate from that practice now?"

Jax turned his gaze to his second in command, his two-colored eyes simmering with fury.

"If you question me again, you will join that knight outside on the pole," he rumbled. "Is that clear?"

Amadeo knew he was not bluffing; the man never bluffed. He replied without fear. "It is, my lord."

Jax's gaze lingered on Amadeo a moment longer before turning back to Caelen. "You say she is in the vault?"

Caelen nodded. "Aye. I smacked her good when she bit me, the little bitch."

Jax lifted a dark eyebrow but did not reply. He moved away from the map with Amadeo and Caelen in tow. The three of them descended the old wood and iron steps, crossed the bailey under a brilliant blanket of stars, and took the narrow, mossy stairs from the ground floor of the gatehouse into the depths of the vault below.

It was very dark but for a single torch burning in an old iron sconce. It hardly lit the vault with its two large cells. Off to his left he could see a few figures huddled in one of the cells; it was the same cell that Kellington had been in earlier in the day. Now she was right back in it. He took the key off the wall and opened the grate.

His mighty presence sucked up all the air in the cell. While the three servants cowered, Kellington sat on the old straw, her hand on the side of her face, gazing up at him with baleful eyes. He met her gaze, wondering if Amadeo wasn't right in one breath and strangely glad to see her with the next.

"I see you have landed in the vault again," he said in his deep, intimidating baritone. "You will explain yourself."

The entire left side of Kellington's face was red and swollen where the big knight had slapped her. She kept her right hand over it to ease the throbbing; her left arm had limited mobility with the pain from her wound. Seeing Jax made her angry and sick all over again.

"We were trying to bury Trevan."

She said it so softly that he barely heard her. "Speak up, lady," he commanded.

The golden-brown eyes flashed. "I said that we were burying Trevan," she said, louder. "There is no reason why you must leave his corpse to rot. The man was simply defending his post. He did nothing to warrant such disrespect from you."

"I told you that you could not bury him."

"You have no reason to deny him a decent burial," she shot back, furious and in pain with her shoulder. "If you do not allow this man a proper burial then you are indeed the monster I've heard tale of. I tried not to believe it until this moment, but if you cannot show respect to a man's passing then I find you completely without honor and a horrible devil of a man."

Caelen and Amadeo froze, looking to Jax and waiting for him to tear the woman apart with his bare hands. They'd seen such things before. The servants were weeping and shivering in the corner of the cell, knowing their deaths would be next. But Jax remained where he stood, unmoving, unblinking, the dual-colored eyes undoubtedly concocting the most horrible death imaginable for the sassy wench. After several long, anxious moments, Jax's jaw began to tick.

"Remove the servants," he ordered in a rumbling voice. "Clear everyone out of here."

Caelen and Amadeo moved past Jax, yanking the three serving women to their feet and hauling them away. Kellington sat there and trembled, her hand still over her face, knowing she had pushed the man past his limits. But she frankly didn't care; she was beyond caring at the moment. She knew horrible things were going to happen and she had driven him to it.

Jax stood there a good long while before making any move. Kellington flinched when he finally began to walk towards her but admirably held her ground. When Jax came to within a few feet of her, he crouched down in front of her.

Kellington met his gaze, watching the disturbing two-colored eyes as they studied her. She tensed, waiting for a massive hand to come flying out at her. But for several long seconds, nothing happened. Then he spoke.

"If I am the horrible monster you have accused me of being, you and your servants would all be dead," he said in a quiet tone. "I would have shown you no mercy. Yet I have."

She eyed him, wondering why he was bothering to justify himself. "But the men in the bailey…."

"Are casualties of war. How many times must I explain this?"

"But they are men, not animals. They were defending their fortress. They should be given a proper burial. That is every man's right; even yours."

"Oh?" he lifted his eyebrows. "And do you think that if I had died in battle that those men would have given me a proper burial?"

"My father would have. So would Sir Trevan. They are honorable men and would have allowed you your due."

He drew in a long breath. He seemed to be looking at the hand covering her face. His enormous hand came up and she instinctively flinched, as if to pull away from him, but he stopped her.

"Let me see your face," he said as he pulled her hand away. He studied the big red welt. "It will fade. You should not have bit him."

She frowned. "He should not have grabbed me."

"He was stopping you from doing something you were not supposed to be doing in the first place. Moreover, you must be weak with that bad shoulder. What were you doing trying to bury a man?"

She lowered her gaze. "I… I am all right."

"I do not think so but it is a noble lie. In fact, your actions in defending your lady today were most noble. You have courage."

Kellington didn't know what to say to that. She looked up at him again, feeling her anger abate as a strange sense of desperation took hold. She had to get through to the man.

"Please," she asked softly. "Please let me bury Trevan. He was a good man, a kind man. His wife is my friend. They loved each other. It is such torture for her to see him impaled on a spike in the bailey. Will you please show us this mercy?"

"I thought you said I was a monster without mercy."

She sighed heavily, miserably. "I was angry. I do not understand why you are doing what you are doing to men who did nothing but try to defend themselves from your onslaught. If… if you show us this one mercy by allowing us to bury our dead, then I swear I will do whatever you wish. I will keep to my rooms, curb my tongue, serve your meals…anything… if you will please show us this one mercy. It is so very important to us. Can you not understand that?"

He regarded her. After a moment, he lowered himself to his buttocks, one leg bent and an arm resting on his knee. One of his thighs was larger in circumference than Kellington's torso. He was so very, very big and so very, very frightening. But Kellington was only looking at his face, waiting for a response to her plea. She couldn't think about anything else.

"Understand something about me, lady," he said after a thoughtful pause. "What you see in the bailey is the way of things. I have not become the most feared warlord in England because I show mercy. I show men what I am capable of and that in and of itself is a powerful weapon. Right now, the border is watching this place. They know I have it. They know this is not the last castle I will take. They know I will be aiming for the next castle soon and when I do, it would be smarter of men to simply flee and leave me the fortress because they know that they, too, shall find themselves made examples of if they do not. Those men in the bailey signal victory. And they send a warning."

Kellington watched him carefully, realizing he meant every word. He was devoid of compassion or understanding. After a moment, she shook her head in wonder. "Who has made you what you are? What fiend has molded your mind into believing that this is the right and honorable way to achieve your ends?"

"There is no other way."

"Of course there is," she shot back softly. "De Velt, you do not have to brutalize your conquered army to prove you are powerful. You can still be fierce and show compassion and fairness."

"Compassion is weakness. I am not weak."

She cocked her head, wondering who in the world had imparted such rigidity to him. "How many castles have you conquered like this?"

"Eleven in England, six in Wales, two in Scotland and fifteen in France."

Her eyebrows rose. "And you did this to every army you conquered?"

"Every one."

Her head wagged back and forth slowly, staggered by the sheer numbers. "Who told you this was the right way to force people into submission?"

"My father."

She didn't want to slander the man's father, but he was obviously a madman. Beseechingly, she reached out and touched his massive booted foot.

"De Velt, I would never disparage your father, but doing what you do… it simply isn't right."

"Of what do you speak?"

"All of it. But leaving men to rot without a proper burial simply isn't right. It doesn't make people fear you. It simply makes them hate you."

His eyes moved to where her small white hand rested on his boot. He swore he could feel the heat through the leather.

"Do you hate me, then?" he asked, lifting his eyes to look at her once again.

She gazed at him a moment. Then she just shook her head. "Hate is a strong emotion. I do not admire what you do, that is for certain. I fear you have been misguided in your life to believe that your methods are honorable. I… I feel sorry for you, I think."

He stood up so fast that it startled her. "I do not require your pity, lady," he growled. "You would do well to keep that for those scarecrows in the bailey."

She stood up, slowly, favoring her left arm and shoulder by cradling it with her right hand. "I did not say that I pitied you. I said that I felt sorry for you and I do."

"Why?"

"Because I think you are a very unhappy man if things like impaling enemies give you your only sense of satisfaction."

He gave her a strange look. "What makes you think that?"

She shrugged. "I do not know. Only it seems to me that you are never satisfied with what you have. Why else do you go about conquering castle after castle, never satisfied with what you have and always looking for more? What need are you trying to fill? What appetite are you attempting to sate?"

He looked down at her, the way her blond hair brushed gently around her chin and the way her eyebrows arched over her golden-brown eyes. It frightened him to think on how wise she was, how much she knew what was in his mind when he himself didn't even like to think on it.

"You talk too much," he said simply.

She gave him a quirky smile. "I know," she agreed. Then her smile faded. "What can I do to convince you to bury the men in the bailey?"

"I will not bury all of the men in the bailey."

"Then what can I do to convince you to bury Sir Trevan?"

He eyed her. He could demand most anything and she would more than likely see it through. He remembered well earlier in the day when she had followed through on her commitment to accepting punishment on behalf of the people of Pelinom. He had little doubt that she would follow through on anything he asked of her. He could simply take what he wanted and satisfy both his curiosity and his lust; aye, he lusted for her. There could be no other reason why he showed her such leniency. But with the same thought, he realized that he did not want to take from her or order her into submission. That satisfaction she spoke of; he could not think of anything more satisfying than if she were to give herself to him willingly.

"I will extract a heavy price to bury your knight," he finally said.

It was the first positive admission she had heard from him to that regard and her heart soared even as her brain quivered with fear; her head heard the words but her heart was encouraged by his compliance no matter what the cost.

"Name the price, my lord," she said. "What will you have me do?"

He crossed his massive arms, cocking his head as he did so. "Kiss me."

Her eyes flew open. "What?"

"You heard me."

She didn't know why she was startled but she was. She was frightened on top of it. The price could have been much higher and she knew it, but somehow she had not expected a simple yet intimate command. She had been fooling herself into thinking it would be something far less personal. But perhaps she was making more out of it than it was; a kiss could be a completely innocent and respectful thing. She would proceed on that premise.

"Very well," she agreed, moving to stand before him and reaching for his hand.

He saw what she was doing and had no intention of those rosy lips touching his dirty hands. Reaching out, he grasped her around the head and his mouth descended on hers, his warm lips firm and smooth and powerful. Kellington yelped with surprise but knew there was no escape; the enormous hands completely encircled her skull and the lips upon her had instantly sucked all of the thoughts from her head. Before she knew it, his hands moved from her head to her body and those massive arms were wrapping themselves around her slender torso.

Kellington was terrified and exhilarated at the same time. His mouth sucked her top lip, her bottom lip, before his tongue plunged demandingly into her honeyed mouth. He was ravaging her to the point where she could not breathe, his lips and tongue doing obscene things to her mouth that she should not have allowed. But along with that indignant reaction came another reaction of such intensity that it paralyzed her. Her heart was fluttering and her head swimming. She could taste the man overwhelmingly; the faint taste of ale and musk that was not unpleasant. She was just coming to analyze it, to experience it, when he suddenly let her go.

Kellington would have tripped had he not reached out to steady her. But he grabbed her bad shoulder and she winced.

"You have no right to do that," she hissed, her cheeks warm.

"I have every right. You are my captive and I may do as I please with you."

Infuriated, embarrassed that she had responded to him, she put a few steps of distance between them. "I'll not be your whore," she spat. "I'll kill myself before I allow you to take such liberties with me."

He frowned. "Who said you were to be my whore?"

"Do not do that again."

"You clearly do not understand the concept of submission," he said huskily. "Now, go. I want you to go back to your chamber and stay there. I do not want to see your face again before morning. Is that clear?"

She was having trouble thinking. "But… but Sir Trevan…?"

"I will keep my end of the bargain."

"But…."

"Go now. That is not a request."

Dazed, she did as she was told and stumbled from the cell. Mounting the stairs was difficult, made more difficult by Jax's massive body directly behind her. She could feel his heat.

They emerged into the cool night, into a field of dead men impaled on posts. Although Kellington knew the situation in the bailey, it did not make it any easier to face. She kept her head lowered, heading in the general direction of the keep, praying she would not become ill now that the stench of the dead was overwhelming. Even in the dark, it was a thick blanket of putridness that covered everything.

She heard a loud snapping off to her left and she instinctively looked to see where the sound was coming from. She looked just in time to see Jax ripping Trevan down from his pole, snapping the wood in the process. He tossed the knight's body to the dirt as if it hardly weighed anything; considering Trevan had been a fairly large man, it was a testament to Jax's brute strength.

Tears suddenly sprang to Kellington's eyes as she watched Jax pull out the remainder of the pole from Trevan's body and toss it aside. Seeing Trevan on the ground reminded Kellington of another matter which she had not yet discussed with Jax. Tears in her eyes, hand over her mouth, she made her way towards Jax through the macabre forest of bodies.

"My lord?" she called timidly.

His head snapped up, his dual-colored eyes focusing on her. "I told you to go inside."

"You did," she nodded, struggling not to cry as she formed her thoughts. Trevan lay at her feet and she allowed herself to gaze down at the man; he didn't look so horrible now lying on the dirt. He looked as if he was sleeping. Swallowing, she summoned her courage. "Sir Trevan and his wife had a baby. A son. Would… would you please tell me what has become of the baby?"

Jax looked down at her, his expression unreadable in the dim moonlight. "Do you really wish to know?"

"Is it true you killed all of the weak and small when you took control of Pelinom?"

"Aye."

"Even the baby?"

He drew in a long, heavy breath; she could hear him. "Kelli, what do you want me to tell you? Do you want the truth? You would not like it if I told you."

The fact that he had called her by her nickname did not occur to her. She was more focused on the gist of his words and they made her sick. Sick of stomach, sick of heart. The tears found their way onto her cheeks and she furiously wiped them away.

"There were many children at Pelinom," she said, her voice trembling. "Do you mean to tell me that they are all dead?"

"If they did not run away, then they were put to death."

He said it without emotion. Kellington couldn't help it; she began to sob softly.

"How could you do that?" she wept softly. "They were just children. They were no threat to you."

As he watched her weep, that odd tugging in his chest resumed with a vengeance. It only seemed to happen when she was around and he could define a myriad of sensations associated with it; anger, remorse, disgust, sorrow. He wasn't very good at discerning emotion and it unbalanced him. More than anything, he did not like to see her weep. Knowing he was the cause of it only seemed to infuriate him.

"Go inside," he rumbled, turning away from her.

She didn't obey him right away. She stood there and sobbed, wiping her face, her gaze moving to the dead man at her feet. Painfully, she crouched beside him and a small, white hand moved to touch his dirty brown hair. He had been a good man, rather quiet, with a quick sense of humor. He had made her laugh many a time and she would miss his sly wit. Lingering on memories of the kind man, she lowered her head and prayed.

Jax glanced over his shoulder as she murmured final prayers over the corpse of the knight. It took only a few seconds, long enough for him to feel a twinge of regret for what he had done. It was the first time he'd ever felt such a thing and the fury that shot through his body caused his control to snap. He yanked the bottom half of the pole from the ground and it suddenly went sailing, crashing into the stone wall several feet away and splintering in a shower of wood.

With a gasp, Kellington looked up from her prayers, seeing Jax standing with his back to her, his hands clenching and unclenching. His entire body was dangerously coiled.

"I'll not tell you again," he rumbled. "Go inside."

Kellington suspected she had better obey. The man had already shown her a generous amount of patience and given his reputation that was not a usual occurrence. Rising to stand, she was focused on the back of his long dark hair. Before she retreated, there was one last thing on her mind.

"Sir Ajax," she said with more strength than she felt. "May I ask one more thing of you?"

He turned slightly but did not look at her. His strong profile was illuminated in the haunting moonlight, his jaw flexing hazardously.

"You have already asked quite enough."

"One more thing and I swear I shall ask no more."

"What is it?"

"The baby," her voice broke as much as she tried to control herself. "Could you please bury him with his father?"

Jax stood there, jaw clenching and fists working. Kellington knew she should run for her life but could not manage the feat. She sensed that, for all of his fury, that he was experiencing a moment of extreme confusion. If he was not, he would have surely unleashed himself on her by now. She was smart enough to know when to capitalize on his moment of weakness; she had to make him understand.

Kellington stepped over Trevan and made her way, hesitantly, to where Jax was standing. The man was working fists that were the size of her head. Her gaze trailed down his enormous back, with impossibly wide shoulders and slender waist, moving to his equally massive arms and skull-sized fists. Taking a very big gamble, she reached out a small hand and laid it gently on one of his colossal fists. His flesh was cold against her; cold and hard. Her hand was soft and warm. She took a good grip of his hand and squeezed.

"Please, Sir Ajax," she was standing very close to him, hoping he would feel the sincerity of her plea. "His name was Maxim. Bury him with his father. Show us this one small mercy and I swear I'll never ask another merciful favor from you."

He continued to stand like stone. Kellington gave one last squeeze and turned for the keep, feeling her exhaustion and weakness to her very bones.