Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

B ecause of the depleted stores, the meal was nothing fanciful but it was plentiful. Great loaves of bread, cheese, some remnants of dried fruit and half of a sheep littered the table. The men at the table ate and talked, mostly between themselves as they plowed through the food. Jax was part of their conversations but they wholly ignored Kellington, for which she was grateful.

She felt rather like she was sitting at the Devil's supper table. She could feel the evil cloaking the hall like a fog, invading her senses, causing her to shrink away when one of the men laughed loudly or spoke in tones with too much volume. She was coming to wish that Jax had never asked her to sit at the table. These men wanted nothing to do with her, and she with them. They were de Velt's generals, a special breed of warrior.

Kellington sat between Jax and Amadeo. The blond knight was involved in a conversation with a couple of Jax's generals and she caught bits of conversation about the shape of Welsh longbows and how the garrisons in the Marches were having them modified to fly further. Kellington picked at her mutton, not particularly hungry, her mind moving to the orchards to the south where the apricots were. It was a big orchard, planted many years before she was born. She thought of her mother and how the woman loved to make apricot compote with apricots and sugar and nutmeg. She hadn't thought of her mother in quite some time; the woman had succumbed to a cancer when she had been eight years of age. Her father had never quite gotten over the death.

Someone was attempting to gain her attention. Startled from her rambling thoughts, she looked up to see that Amadeo was focused on her.

"I was saying that Pelinom is perhaps one of the most organized fortresses we have come across," he said with a surprising amount of pleasantness in his voice. "We've seen such places as you cannot imagine. Unkempt and failing although there was no excuse for such a thing because they were well placed and well supplied."

He was attempting to make conversation. The knight sitting next to him was looking at her as well; he was one of the generals from Wales, a big man with very dark curly hair and onyx-colored eyes. Kellington's nerves were on edge.

"I am honored that you think so highly of Pelinom's abilities," she replied politely.

Amadeo watched her in an appraising manner, perhaps a closer look than he would have normally taken given the fact that his liege was planning on marrying the woman. He was very curious indeed.

"I am told it is all your doing," he said. "Cleric duties are an unusual skill for a woman."

She shrugged lightly. "As an only child, I fear my father sought to pass on all of his knowledge regardless of what it was. I can read, write and do mathematics. And I can also wield a sword, although most of the time it hurts my wrist just to lift it."

She was smiling slightly, attempting to interject some lightness into the conversation. She suspected these men knew little humor and she wondered inwardly if such attempts were a mistake. To her surprise, Amadeo smiled but it was the knight on the other side of him that spoke.

"You have battle skills, then?" the man said; he had a deep, unexpectedly gentle voice. "Did your father expect you to defend the keep in his stead?"

She wriggled her eyebrows. "I doubt my sword skills would have been an asset in that case. I would have done better kicking men in the shins or gouging their eyes out."

That drew a laugh from Amadeo and the knight, which in turn garnered Jax's attention. A few of the other men turned their attention to Kellington and before she knew it, the entire table was looking at her. Her smile faded when she saw their focus and her heart began to pound.

"Why do you laugh?" Jax very nearly demanded.

Amadeo shook his head. "The lady was merely explaining the extent of her warring skills."

"I see," Jax's two-colored gaze lingered on Amadeo a moment before focusing on Kellington. "I was not aware that you had warring skills."

He was in pure de Velt mode; deep, dark, menacing. This was the man she had met the first day he had conquered Pelinom, the man she was terrified of. She had no idea why he seemed to bleed destruction and evil at her like a sieve.

"I do not," she said, coughing slightly because her throat was dry from nerves. "I believe that is the point. The best I could do against an enemy is tickle them to death."

Amadeo snorted again; her comment actually brought smiles to a few faces. Jax was not oblivious to the fact that she was humorous nor was he oblivious to the male attention on her; he was only aware of his raging jealousy. He knew these men, had fought with them and died with them. Some were as close as brothers. But their smiles upon Kellington had his killer instincts raging to defend what was his. It was the strangest thing he had ever experienced.

"As I recall," he said, no humor whatsoever in his voice, "you did not tickle, you tried to bite. Caelen nearly lost fingers."

Kellington's smile faded and her cheeks flushed a dull red. She lowered her gaze to her lap, unsure what more to say. She felt ill to her stomach, wishing she could sink through the floor and vanish.

"It was my fault for his less than knightly behavior towards the lady at the time," Caelen actually spoke up from across the table. "I would not blame her overly."

Jax glared at Caelen for daring to defend the woman. It was a challenge as he saw it. He was about to return the volley when his attention shifted to the something, or someone, lingering in the shadows near the kitchen stairs. In the blink of an eye, he was on his feet, moving. His actions were so abrupt that Kellington looked up to see what had him moving so quickly. She barely had time to recognize Lavaine before Jax was upon her.

Lavaine had something in her hand. Whatever it was went flying as Jax grabbed her wrist, eliciting a scream of pain. He reached out an enormous hand to grab the woman around the throat, but Kellington was on her feet.

"No!" she screamed. "Do not kill her!"

Lavaine had collapsed, weeping loudly as Jax's hand lingered on her neck, then slowly came away. His dual-colored eyes stared at Kellington with the look of a wild animal. He was in battle mode, the killer unleashed. But Kellington forced herself past the terror his expression provoked, simply grateful he had not snapped the woman's neck. She rushed to her friend, gravely concerned.

"Let her go," she said to Jax. When he did not respond, she looked him in the eye and put her hand on his grip. "Please, Jax. Let her go."

The battle-intense glimmer in his eyes slowly died. He looked at her for a very long moment before slowly, reluctantly, complying. Kellington threw her arms around the weeping woman as Jax went to retrieve what he had knocked from Lavaine's hand.

It was a dagger, small and bejeweled. He returned to the women with the weapon in his hand. Kellington looked up from cradling Lavaine against her, realizing what it was. Her heart sank.

"She is mad with grief," she told him quietly, with desperation. "You must not…."

Jax snapped his fingers and Amadeo moved forward, grabbing Lavaine roughly. But Kellington held on fiercely in a bizarre tug-of-war.

"No," she shouted. "My lord, you must not do this. She is wrought with bereavement. She does not know what she is doing."

Lavaine emitted an unearthly howl. "My baby is gone," she groaned. "My sweet husband is murdered. There must be justice!"

The woman was digging herself deeper and deeper. Amadeo had stopped pulling for the moment, looking to Jax for further instructions. He could have easily yanked her away but he did not want to injure Kellington in the process. It was an odd situation because under normal circumstances, he would not have given a second thought to who he harmed. But this was different. Kellington slapped at Amadeo's hand, attempting to force him to release Lavaine.

"Let her go," she snarled, turning to Jax. "Please, my lord. I told you she was wishing death upon herself in her grief. If you kill her, it will have little meaning. Please… please have mercy. Let me take her back to her chamber and comfort her."

Jax had been watching the scene with mixed emotions. He did not want to deny or upset Kellington, but that did not change the gist of the situation. "She was approaching the table with a dirk, lady," he said in a deep, deadly tone. "I believe her intentions are obvious."

Kellington couldn't argue the point. "But she is beyond rational thought. She is torn with anguish. I told you that she and her husband had waited years for their son to be born. And then you and your men took him in the blink of an eye. You had no reason to murder an infant. If there is anyone to blame for her madness, it is you."

The table of men sat in stunned silence. No one spoke to Jax de Velt in such a manner and lived to tell the tale. If Henley's drunken words had any truth, the validity would soon be put to the test in the next few moments and the generals were very interested in the outcome. De Velt dealt with most women at the tip of a sword. In fact, he dealt with most living creatures that way. But Lady Kellington might prove to be the sole exception to that rule. If that was the case, then Jax de Velt was no longer the most powerful being in the realm. Lady Kellington was.

They did not have to wait long for a response. Jax reached out and grabbed Kellington around the waist, giving a hard tug and breaking her grip on Lavaine.

"Take the woman to the vault," he snapped at Amadeo. "I will deal with her later."

Lavaine began screaming as Amadeo took her by the hair and hauled her from the hall. In Jax's arms, Kellington was a kicking, scratching wildcat as he carried her from the room. She managed to twist in his arms, shoving against his massive chest and trying to propel herself from his arms. As Amadeo exited the entry with Lavaine, Jax took Kellington up the stairs and into her chamber on the fourth floor. When the chaos in the hall was abruptly gone, the men around the table sat in silence for several moments before turning to look at each other. No one said a word.

Once inside Kellington's bower, Jax slammed the door so hard that the entire keep rattled. Kellington was still struggling when he set her down, causing her to lose her balance and tumble to the floor. Hair askew, gown torn, she found her footing and faced him with a stance borne of pure fury.

"You cannot kill her," she half-demanded, half-pleaded. "You did this to her. You cannot punish her for what you have caused."

Amazingly, Jax kept his cool. "You will never again address me as you did in the hall. You will never use words of reproach and you will never again behave with such disrespect. Is this in any way unclear?"

"What are you going to do with Lavaine?"

"Answer me. Do you understand?"

Kellington knew she was pushing the limit with him. But she was frightened and furious. Still, there was a great portion of her that knew Lavaine was to blame for her actions. But there was so much more to it than that. There was so much more to this man she was becoming increasingly involved with. She struggled to maintain her angry stance, but the tears were too strong. She was terrified.

"You never even apologized," her features crumpled.

He was not swayed. "Do you understand what I have told you?"

"Aye," she snapped angrily. "Aye, I understand you. I understand that I am a prisoner, my father is a prisoner, Pelinom is all but destroyed and I must bend to your will at every turn. I understand completely, my lord."

He watched her rage, the way her little nose wrinkled when she was angry, the way she wiped at her face with her beautiful hands. She had the most magnificent hands. Some of his fury fled as he stood there and watched her grieve.

"I will leave you to your thoughts, then," he said quietly, turning for the door. "Be prepared to leave at dawn tomorrow."

"My lord," she said before he could open the door.

When he turned to look at her, he was struck by the beauty of her face, the emotion in her eyes. A wave of guilt washed over him and his indestructible will was in danger of crumbling.

"Please do not kill her," she begged softly. "She is distraught. I swear she will never do it again."

He took his hand from the latch and faced her. He should have continued from the room and he knew it, but he couldn't seem to make himself leave. "She is an assassin," he said. "And you expect me not to punish her for this?"

Kellington went to him, tears streaming down her temples. "Keep her to the vault if you must, but do not kill her. It would serve no purpose."

"It would eliminate a threat."

"You have many threats, my lord. You cannot eliminate them all."

He stared at her, knowing full well he should not relent. He was noticing with increasing awareness that he was becoming extremely pliable to her will. It should have infuriated him. But in truth, he did not much care. He'd never given regard to another creature other than himself and his own wants; this was the very first time. He found it the most liberating, and terrifying, experience.

"Then what would you suggest?"

She swallowed, wiping the tears from her face, surprised he would ask her opinion. She wanted to sound rational when she answered, not emotional. But she could only think of one honest answer.

"Do you really wish to know?" she asked softly.

"I would not have asked if I did not."

She gazed up at him. Then, very gently, her soft hands reached out and collected one of his enormous, calloused hands. His hands were so large that she could only get a grip around his fingers. But the warmth from her touch was unmistakable.

"Apologize for the death of her husband and child," she said quietly. "And allow her to grieve at their grave. Let her reconcile herself to this."

He just stared at her. The sensation of her warm, tender touch was overwhelming him. He couldn't think straight. But he retained enough of his wits to reply.

"I will not apologize. What happened to her husband and child is the way of war."

Kellington knew what his answer would be. She held his hand tighter, moving up against him and pressing her sweet, warm body into his torso.

"I understand that men die in war. It is the nature of it. But you could at least apologize that her family became a casualty of that violence."

"I will not apologize."

Her gaze lingered on his strong face. Then she let him go, moving away from him and going to sit on her bed. He stood like stone where she had left him, watching every move she made.

"Will you at least express regret for the baby?" she asked softly. "He was such a sweet little thing. You did not have to kill him. He could not have harmed you."

He did not sense that she was trying to manipulate him; on the contrary. He sensed that she was attempting to help him understand something he had little concept of. And he was trying very hard to see her point but it was not making clear sense.

He broke from his stone-like stance, slowly walking towards her. After a moment of staring down at her sweet face, he sat down beside her on the bed.

"War is my life, lady," he said quietly. "The weak and small do not fit into that world. What happened to your friend's baby has happened a thousand times before and will happen a thousand times again. It is the way of things. To express regret for that would be to express regret for the clouds blotting out the sun; it was a natural part of conquest."

She turned to him, her golden-brown gaze moving over his rugged face. "The sun and clouds are not living, breathing creatures," she could see he did not understand her so she tried another tactic. "Think on it this way. You have stated your desire to marry me. What if we have a son? What if our fortress was besieged by someone who manages to breach it? What if your son and I were killed and our murderers called us a casualty of war? How would you feel about that?" She suddenly shook her head and looked away. "I do not know why I am bothering to explain this to you. I am not sure you are capable of understanding what I am attempting to convey."

He stared at her, putting her words in a context he understood. He thought of an unknown warrior driving a sword into her beautiful body. Then he thought of the nameless, faceless son they would have, his legacy, a healthy boy with his mother's lovely features and his father's strength. He thought of the child as someone took him by the feet and slammed his head into stone, and with that thought, a stab of unknown horror plunged deep into his belly like nothing he had ever experienced. It was enough to cause him to lose his breath. Suddenly, he began to have an inkling of what Kellington was attempting to tell him.

He stood up, unable to look at her. His gut was churning, his head swimming. He went to the door and opened it.

"Be ready to leave at dawn," he said so quietly she barely heard him.

The door shut. Kellington sat there into the night, tears on her face and a vice around her heart.