Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"T here's no question, Tay," St. Denis said. "The bounty hunter must be eliminated. I will not have that bastard hunting down Anton's surviving progeny."

In the solar of Exford Castle as the storm raged outside, Tay had just relayed the information Marina had given him about the bounty hunter at The Black Cock to St. Denis. Fox and Sinclair were in the chamber, along with Ming Tang and Creston. Aamir and St. Gerard were there purely because they'd happened to be in the room when Tay asked for an audience with St. Denis. They had offered to leave, but Tay wanted them present. He needed counsel and level heads.

St. Gerard, however, didn't like what he was hearing.

"Wait," he said, eyeing both his father and Tay. "Mayhap I am missing something here, but why would we eliminate a bounty hunter? What threat is he to us?"

"Not to us," St. Denis said. "To the woman I told you about, the daughter of my old friend, the Duke of Toxandria. The woman who hit Tay yesterday and then ran off."

That brought the light of understanding to St. Gerard's eyes. He'd been on the periphery of the situation with the female trainee, certainly not well informed about it, so the entire conversation about a bounty hunter and the lady made no sense to him.

Until now. Now, things were becoming clear.

"Ah," he said, looking to Tay. "The recruit?"

Tay nodded. "The recruit."

St. Gerard rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "And her uncle sent the bounty hunter?"

"He did."

"Why are we interfering?"

St. Denis frowned. "Because he is after the daughter of my old friend," he said. "I told you this. You heard Tay explain the situation."

St. Gerard cocked an eyebrow, clearly reluctant to say what was on his mind—but it had to be said, in his opinion. "Aye, I heard the explanation," he said. "I understand that the woman's uncle murdered her father and seized his duchy. Is that not correct?"

St. Denis nodded. "It is."

"Then it was brother against brother."

"Aye."

St. Gerard looked at his father as if the man had gone mad. "Father, you are talking about a blood feud," he said. "We cannot get involved."

"We are not getting involved," St. Denis said. "We are simply protecting a young woman."

"From a bounty hunter sent by her uncle," St. Gerard said. "Far be it from me to point out this situation, but Blackchurch has a longstanding policy of being neutral in any conflict. We have been neutral for five generations, meaning we do not take sides, and we certainly do not become involved in a blood feud."

St. Denis folded his arms across his chest in an unhappy gesture. "We are not taking sides in anything, Gerard," he said. "But I cannot let my friend's daughter be taken back to her murderous uncle by a bounty hunter. I have already agreed to train her in order to help her regain the duchy, but I cannot give her men to help her. That would be violating our stance of never taking sides. But that stance does not prevent me from sending missives to other allies of her father and asking them to help her in her quest. We cannot do more than we already have, but that does not mean others cannot commit manpower in her time of need."

St. Gerard sighed heavily at the lesson in selective semantics from his father before turning to Tay. He looked at the man a moment before cocking his head curiously.

"Why should you be interested in protecting the lady?" he asked. "She was a recruit you never wanted. She even hit you in the ballocks, yet you went chasing after her to bring her back. Why?"

Tay and St. Gerard had never been enemies, but they'd never been the best of friends, either. St. Gerard lacked understanding sometimes, and saw things too plainly. He often forgot emotional or other factors. Tay had never been disrespectful to him, ever, and St. Gerard had always shown Tay an enormous amount of admiration, but it was all a professional relationship between them. Now, St. Gerard was starting to probe into things that were better left unprobed with Tay.

He tried not to get defensive.

"I was told to show the woman some concern because of your father's relationship to her father," he said evenly. "When she ran off, I went to bring her back because I thought that was what your father would have wanted. Any concern I show her is because she is of special consideration to your father and for no other reason than that. Were you looking for another explanation?"

St. Gerard shook his head. "Nay," he said, holding up a hand to ease a man who was nearly twice his size. "I did not mean it the way it sounded, but if she has bewitched you somehow…"

"She has not bewitched me."

St. Gerard threw up his hands. "Well, she has certainly bewitched my father," he said. "He is intending to get involved in a blood feud because of her."

"Christ," St. Denis groaned. "Eliminating a bounty hunter is not involving myself in a blood feud. No one will know of our involvement but me, you, and the bounty hunter. It is not as if I'm sending an army to reclaim the Toxandria duchy. If I was going to do that, I would send word to Abelard and have Triton's Hellions join the fray."

"Cousin Abelard and his pirates only fight on the sea, Father."

"You think so, do you?" St. Denis snorted at the ignorance of his son. "They fight wherever there is a profit to be gained, but that is beside the point."

"What is the point?"

"I've told you this before—show some compassion. Not every situation is clear. You must take other factors into account."

It was that old argument between them. St. Gerard shook his head in exasperation and looked to Aamir. "And you?" he said. "You are the great politician, the great negotiator. What say you in all of this?"

Aamir didn't want to get in the middle of a father-and-son discussion, but he, too, thought St. Gerard was often blind when it came to certain things. He tried to be tactful in his reply.

"I think a friendship is a worthy thing," he said. "If it was your daughter who needed help, would you not want a friend to help her? She's a lone woman, Gerard. She has no one. Your father wants to help her, and that is noble. Do not diminish his decision by accusing him of violating Blackchurch's position."

That wasn't what St. Gerard wanted to hear, and he rolled his eyes. With a heavy sigh, he looked around the chamber at his father, at Tay, at the other trainers in the room, and shook his head with exasperation.

"If that is your opinion, then so be it," he said. "But know that I do not agree with it. There is a reason why we do not involve ourselves in other men's wars, and once we start doing so, we set a precedent. Who can say that the Lady of Toxandria's cause is more worthy than, say, another cause that comes to our doorstep? Where does it stop? Do we start building armies to provide to men willing to pay for them? Is that where it ends? When we also become mercenaries?"

He was looking at his father when he finished, who lifted his shoulders. "Mayhap when you have a friend murdered by his brother and you must help the man's daughter, you will understand," he said quietly. "I cannot explain it to you better than I already have."

St. Gerard was frustrated with the entire conversation. As he saw it, the scheme was dangerous—dangerous for Blackchurch and what they stood for. Even if his father didn't see it, he did.

And he intended to do something about it.

Still shaking his head in disagreement, he quit the solar, leaving his father standing there with some sorrow.

St. Denis sighed heavily before turning to Tay. "He simply does not understand," he said. "He is afraid we will violate what Blackchurch has stood for all these years."

Tay nodded. "I know," he said. "He is not wrong, but he also has no emotion or loyalty involved in this situation. You do. What would you have us do, my lord?"

St. Denis turned away, moving back to his enormous table and sitting wearily on the chair behind it. After a moment, he lifted his head, looking to the trainers in the chamber. Men who were the finest in their field.

Tonight, they would prove it.

"Eliminate him," he muttered. "No trace, Tay."

Tay nodded firmly. "No trace, my lord."

He turned to the men behind him, men he considered close friends—Fox, Sinclair, Creston, and Ming Tang. He made his way over to them as Aamir joined them. With St. Denis back at his table, perhaps wrestling with the command he'd just given in the wake of his argument with St. Gerard, Tay lowered his voice.

"I was told that the bounty hunter retired for the evening at The Black Cock," he said. "I will go to him and draw him out into the kitchen yard, where you will be waiting for him. I do not know if this man has anyone else with him, as most bounty hunters travel with a few men, so Ming Tang, Creston, and Aamir will be on the lookout for any associates. Fox and Sin, you will join me in ambushing this bounty hunter."

He was utilizing the strengths of the trainers at this point—Fox and Sin were the trained knights, men who specialized in implements of war and how to use them. In battle, they had no equal. Ming Tang only fought with his hands or with a staff, and Creston and Aamir, though fully competent with weapons, were more focused on spies or the other underhanded factors of a conflict. If the bounty hunter had men with him, those two could find out where they were and do away with them. Ming Tang would cover their backs.

"We should go now," Aamir said quietly. "The element of surprise will be on our side. We do not want the man leaving in the morning and our losing track of him."

"True," Fox said. He looked at Tay. "Sin and I will retreat to the kitchen yard and wait for you. I would suggest that Ming Tang come with us while Aamir and Creston go in through the front of the establishment with you."

It was a solid enough plan. Tay nodded sharply, looking at the men around him. His friends, his brothers—men he would quite willingly die for, trainers of the highest order that were rarely called into action. But when they were, no group of men were deadlier. They'd dedicated their lives to their vocation, and no collection of warriors were more skilled, talented, or dedicated.

It was a thing of beauty.

" Numquam dedite, " he said quietly.

" Numquam dedite, " the group around him repeated softly.

Never surrender. It was their mantra.

With that, Tay silently indicated for everyone to move out. They would collect their weapons and gear, including oiled cloaks against the storm outside, and quickly be on their way. As Lord Exmoor wrestled with the reality of a son with no compassion and the gray area of his men assisting an old friend's daughter in a blood feud, the six Blackchurch trainers headed out to do his bidding—but in Tay's case, there was a personal element to it.

He was going to rid Athdara of those bounty hunters once and for all.

The night was about to get interesting.