Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

Four Days Later

H e looked like Jesus.

Not that Sinclair had actually ever seen Jesus, but he imagined the man would look a good deal like St. Abelard de Bottreaux, leader of the band of English pirates known as Triton's Hellions. He controlled four main vessels in the Argos , the Mt. Pelion , the Pagasa , and the Athena , but he'd also confiscated other ships over the years, some larger and some smaller, including a very large vessel that belonged to the king of France called the Fountainebleau . He kept that particular ship moored at Lundy Island, coincidentally about ten miles to the west of Fremington and more than double that distance from where St. Abelard kept his main fleet on the Devon coast. Lundy was, indisputably, St. Abelard's island, and there was even a fortress there that he kept manned with his men. Ten cannons protected the harbor where the Fountainebleau was located because he was so damn proud of that vessel that he'd kill anyone who tried to get close to it.

For St. Abelard, it was all about collecting possessions.

And he had many.

It was this man that Sinclair was introduced to when Amir came for him as he was teaching his swordsmanship class on a misty morning. Amir, whose father was a great Egyptian warlord, was intimidated by no one, but even he was a little intimidated by St. Abelard. Sinclair had only ever seen the man at a distance and never truly met him or dined with him, so when he was formally introduced in St. Denis' solar, he could see what had impressed Amir so much.

St. Abelard was positively enormous.

He was as tall as a tree, taller than even Tay, and he had flowing white hair and a black and white beard, with bushy, dark eyebrows over piercing eyes that were the same color as St. Denis'. That was the only family trait that indicated the two of them might be related, but the truth was that their familial connection had been five generations ago. Now, they were merely distant cousins who shared the same name and the same Devon connection. St. Denis received nothing monetarily from Triton's Hellions, however, as all of that belonged to St. Abelard, and St. Abelard received nothing monetarily from St. Denis and Blackchurch. The enterprises were separate.

But the same determined, controlling attitude was not.

"Sit, Sinclair," St. Denis said after he'd introduced them. "I have told my cousin about your troubles. He is willing to speak with you about de Fernandez."

"Aye, de Fernandez," St. Abelard said, lifting one of those bushy eyebrows. "My old friend."

Sinclair cocked his head curiously. "Then he is an ally, my lord?"

St. Abelard snorted ironically, perhaps one of the loudest and most disgusting sounds Sinclair had ever heard. "Of course not," St. Abelard said. "The man is a thorn in my side. But we do have an understanding these days. A truce, if you will. He stays away from Ireland and western England and I stay away from France and the Castilian coast, though France is no great stretch. They are still furious that I have their warship. Ah, the Fountainebleau . What a beautiful woman she is. If I were to sail her near France, they would launch everything at me to get her back."

Sinclair eyed St. Denis, unsure how to proceed, so he did carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was anger this mountain of a man who happened to be a deadly pirate.

"Then if Lord Exmoor has explained the situation, you know it is a complicated one," he said. "I would like to speak with de Fernandez under the flag of truce and I would like to tell him that his young cousin is in peril because of this marriage contract. I would like to ask for his help in freeing her from the contract so that I may marry her. Mayhap you can tell me how best to accomplish a parlay with de Fernandez, since you know him. Would you have any advice, my lord?"

St. Abelard rolled his eyes and stood up, all flowing robes and furs, leather breeches, and that long white hair. He went over to a table that held fruit and wine and picked up the wine bottle, drinking from the neck.

"All for a woman, is it?" he finally said.

"Aye, my lord."

He eyed Sinclair. "Would it not be easier to simply find another one?" he said. "You are a handsome man. Surely there are many women who would make you forget this one."

So he's not a sentimentalist , Sinclair thought. That didn't surprise him. In fact, the man seemed callous to the situation, but that was his prerogative. He wasn't involved in any way, so he could afford the unsympathetic attitude.

But it gave Sinclair a clue as to how to deal with him.

"Let me ask you a question, my lord," he said. "Would any other ship replace the one you took from the French? The Fountainebleau ? Or is there something so special about that vessel that no other ship comes close to it?"

St. Abelard stopped with the wine bottle halfway to his mouth. He stared at Sinclair a moment before breaking down into a grin. "You are a smart man," he said. "You have explained it to me in a way I will understand. Then she means very much to you."

"Very much. And the French have taken her away."

St. Abelard chuckled, bring his bottle back over to the chair and sitting heavily. "And you want her back."

"I do, my lord."

St. Abelard thought on that, taking another swig of wine. "And all you wish for me to do is make it so you can speak with de Fernandez?"

"That is all, my lord, I swear it."

"You do not wish for me to interfere to get your lady returned to you?"

Sinclair shrugged. "I think de Fernandez, being the lady's cousin, would have a better chance," he said. "They might listen to him more than a stranger like you."

St. Abelard's eyebrows flew up. "A stranger?" he exclaimed. "I am not a stranger to anyone in Devon or Cornwall. They will know me and they will know my ships!"

"The lady told me that de Fernandez hides his ships in the River Taw, near Fremington."

St. Abelard calmed down unnaturally quickly. "I know," he said, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. "He thinks he is so clever, but I know they are there. The Navia , which is his prized vessel, is large, and he has trouble tucking it into the mouth of the river, so he has tried to use Lundy Island for his ships, but that is my island. He cannot have it."

"Sinclair is one of our finest trainers, Abby," St. Denis interrupted, his tone unusually serious. "This is an important matter to him. I told him that you would not exact a fee for your assistance, but de Fernandez might. He is willing to pay. So am I, if necessary."

Sinclair looked at St. Denis in shock. " You pay?" he repeated. "My lord, I will not accept anything from you. This is my fight, not yours. We established that."

St. Denis looked at him. "We did," he said. "But I thought about this all night. What you did for Toxandria was for me as well as for Athdara. Her father was a dear friend and you were all of the help I could give him. Therefore, I owe you a debt, Sin. You may as well accept that."

Before Sinclair could argue, St. Abelard spoke up. "If you are willing to pay, Denis, then I will humbly help this man speak with de Fernandez," he said, drowning out Sinclair's protest. "But you know what I want from you."

St. Denis sighed heavily with displeasure. "What do you want?" he said. "Money? My second-born child?"

"Nay," St. Abelard said as if the man were stupid. "The cog on the lake. I want the big cog."

St. Denis rolled his eyes, shaking his head and burying it in his hands when he realized his cousin had caught him. "God's Bones," he muttered. "Anything but the cog. I need it."

St. Abelard smacked his hand on the table. " I need it," he said. "I am taking a fleet south, to Lisbon, in the autumn, and I need that ship!"

"Nobody is taking anyone's ship," Sinclair said loudly, intervening. He looked at St. Abelard. "This is my debt, my lord. I will pay you what you wish."

St. Abelard cocked an eyebrow. "Then buy your lord's ship and give it to me."

Christ , Sinclair thought. As he shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all, St. Denis and St. Abelard began to argue over the cog and how St. Abelard would even get it to the coast. St. Denis pointed out that he'd had master ship builders disassemble it, take it to Blackchurch, and then reassemble it over a several-month period, but St. Abelard didn't care about that.

He just wanted the damn ship.

Sinclair sat and watched the cousins argue over the ship, over who was more helpful to whom, and then over something that happened in their childhood that St. Abelard still wasn't over. They were veering off the subject at hand, which didn't sit well with Sinclair.

Finally, he'd had enough.

"For the past three years, I fought a mighty battle in Toxandria," he said loudly enough to shut them both up, which was quite a feat. He looked straight at St. Abelard. "If you do not know where Toxandria is, then I will tell you that it is near Brabant and borders France. I tell you this because one of my rewards for fighting for the rightful heir was a title and lands, which are profitable because they produce grapes and wine. Lord Abelard, I will give you this title and these lands if you will help me find de Fernandez so that I may ask for his help in recovering my lady. They are worth more than the cog in the lake. Do we have a bargain?"

Both St. Denis and St. Abelard were taken aback by not only his tone, but by the offer. In fact, St. Abelard looked at St. Denis even as he pointed to Sinclair.

"Is this man sincere?" he demanded. "Does he think to toy with me? Does he think I am stupid?"

St. Denis held his hand up to calm his cousin. "Sinclair de Reyne does not lie," he said. "He is indeed serious. Aren't you, Sin?"

Sinclair nodded. "Upon my oath, as serious as I have ever been," he said. "I was gifted the title of Lord Brexent. My lands produce a good deal of wine and you would have your own supply of wine should you agree to my offer. I have the documents that give me this title and property. I will hand them over to you if you will only help me find de Fernandez and gain me audience with the man. Please, my lord, I am begging you."

St. Abelard gazed at him, clearly trying to determine if he was, indeed, serious. Since his vocation didn't involve elite knights and men whose word was their bond, he was naturally suspicious of any man. Every man. But he knew his cousin put enormous stock in his Blackchurch trainers, of which this man was one. One of his best, St. Denis had said. A trainer who had fallen in love with a woman who was abducted by her own family to marry someone else. It was complicated.

But, then again, so was he.

"I want the cog," he finally said, looking at St. Denis. "If your trainer is serious, then mayhap he'll give you the Brexent lordship in exchange for the cog, which he will then give to me. That is the only offer I make and the only one I will accept."

Sinclair looked at St. Denis. "Of course I will give it to you in exchange for the ship," he said. "The documents are in my cottage. I will retrieve them at this moment."

St. Denis was furious at St. Abelard for driving the bargain. "Sin, I—"

Sinclair cut him off. "Please, my lord," he said. "The property is worth ten times what that ship is worth. You can sell it and buy yourself a new ship."

St. Denis threw up a hand to silence Sinclair, his gaze moving back to St. Abelard. "You are despicable," he muttered, shaking his head in disapproval. "I have asked you to help a man who has served me well and all you can do is taunt him with bargains that involve me."

St. Abelard folded his big arms over his chest. "That is how I get what I want," he said. "Well? When do I get my ship?"

St. Denis cocked his head. "I am not entirely sure," he said. "Mayhap I should visit your wife and ask her. After I tell her how I have been sending eighty pounds a year to a woman you impregnated not once, but twice, and begged me to support the children because your wife sees your ledgers and you did not want her asking questions about it. Now, tell me… when do you get your ship?"

St. Abelard's eyes widened. "You would not dare ."

"Are you willing to wager on that?"

St. Abelard bolted out of his chair furiously. He lifted the wine bottle to smash it against the wall in his rage but realized it still had some wine in it, so he drank it first and then smashed it. He then proceeded to kick over a table, throw a chair, and take every book off a shelf near St Denis' table and throw each one on the ground.

"I want that ship!" he boomed. "Give it to me or I'll not help your man in the least!"

"Help him, give him what he asks for, and I will consider it when this is over."

"I want it now!"

St. Denis scratched his chin thoughtfully. "If I leave today, I will be in Minehead by the morrow," he said. "Sweet Mary will be very glad to see her husband's favorite cousin."

Scowling, St. Abelard picked up the books he'd thrown to the floor and threw them down again. Then he stomped on them. Enough to leave a footprint, but not hard enough to really damage them. The man was throwing an epic temper tantrum as Sinclair tried not to react to it and St. Denis yawned, bored with the scene.

"Well?" St. Denis said. "I do not have all day. Will you help Sinclair or not?"

St. Abelard stomped over to Sinclair and jabbed a finger in the man's face. "I hope Santiago cuts your feet off and forces you to row for eternity!"

Sinclair didn't back down, nor was he afraid. After the tantrum, it was quite honestly difficult to take St. Abelard seriously. "I am not afraid, my lord," he said. "Will you help me?"

St. Abelard huffed and puffed. But he eventually sat down again, refusing to look at either of them.

"We depart at dawn for Minehead, where my ships are docked," he muttered. "If you are not ready at that time, I will leave you here."

"I will be ready, my lord."

"He has just come back from a long time away. He may be too busy to talk."

"I am willing to take that chance, my lord."

With that, he stood up and marched out of the chamber, all flowing robes and flowing hair and a particular hatred for his cousin at the moment. St. Denis and Sinclair watched him go.

"Where is he going?" Sinclair asked.

St. Denis waved a dismissive hand at him. "Probably to look at the cog he wants," he said. "You'd better go and warn Kristian. Abelard may try to take it over and Kristian will have a fight on his hands."

Sinclair nodded and headed toward the door, but before he reached it, he paused and turned to St. Denis.

"I really will give you the Brexent title and lands for the cog," he said. "It seems that Abelard very much wants it, and I do not want to have to face an angry pirate every day until he gets what he wants. He will blame me."

St. Denis grinned. "And that concerns you?"

Sinclair cast him a long look. "I am asking the most feared English pirate who sails to help me parlay with the most feared Castilian pirate who sails," he said. "I am walking on very thin ice, my lord. It would help if one of them was not furious with me."

St. Denis laughed softly. "Do not fear," he said. "I will give him the cog if he wants it that badly, but I will expect you to help me replace it from your Brexent revenue."

Sinclair nodded with relief. "Gladly, my lord," he said. "May I tell St. Abelard?"

"Nay," St. Denis said flatly. "Let him stew for a while. Not everything can be so easy for him."

Sinclair nodded, smirking as he quit the chamber. The relief, the satisfaction he felt, was indescribable. He felt like he'd just been through purgatory with the devil and lived to tell the tale. At least now, there was hope.

He clung to it.

As he headed down to finish his class for the day, he made note to send a servant for Kristian to warn the man about St. Abelard. As soon as he exited the castle, he came across a few soldiers whose duty was to guard the keep and do St. Denis' bidding, and he sent one of those men on the run for Kristian. Sinclair had his own class to attend to, now with the knowledge that he would be leaving in the morning. That meant he wouldn't be here to teach his class for an undetermined amount of time, and he had to make arrangements for that.

Quickly.

Coming down the hill, he could see his class in the distance with Anteaus at the helm. The man had stayed true to Sinclair's teaching, never varying, since Sinclair had returned. He'd been respectful and diligent, the first man to the class in the morning and, other than Sinclair, the last man to leave, and Sinclair knew it was because he was trying to prove his worth. Sinclair hadn't worked with him for any length of time like the others had.

But that, too, was going to have to wait.

Sinclair was going to have to trust his class to someone he didn't really know.

Reaching his class, he stood at the top of the slope and watched the men work on another move that he had introduced yesterday. This was an offensive move, and Anteaus ran them through it for the rest of the day as Sinclair walked among the group and watched men repetitively thrust the sword. If he saw someone not doing it correctly, he helped them.

Over and over again, all afternoon, until the approach of sunset for men who were ready to drop. Arms were aching, backs were aching, and Sinclair finally called a halt to the class. Dismissing them to return to the cloisters, he held Anteaus and Thomas Ram back. Once the class had cleared away, he turned to the pair.

"I have been called away by Abelard de Bottreaux," he said. "If you do not know the name, you should. He is the leader of Triton's Hellions. I do not know how long I will be gone, but I will be entrusting my class to the two of you. Anteaus, you are clearly an excellent swordsman and you have a gift for teaching. You will continue my class until I return and later tonight, after sup, I will go over the moves you will continue with until I return. Is that clear?"

Anteaus nodded, but he appeared puzzled, as Sinclair turned to Thomas.

"And you," Sinclair said to the big farmer. "You do not have the skill that I need to teach, but you have drive and determination and I believe you will be of great help to Anteaus. Listen to him, learn from him, and if he needs you to walk among the ranks and encourage men in the midst of their training, then you will do so. I have seen you with the men. You have a good manner about you and they like you. Will you do this?"

Thomas nodded solemnly. "I will, m'lord," he said. "I'm sorry we are losing you."

"Only temporarily," Sinclair said. "For now, make sure this field is picked up of any weapons left behind, and after sup, you will join Anteaus in my cottage to go over the future lessons."

"Aye, m'lord."

"Be on your way."

Thomas moved away swiftly, heading down the slope to make sure the servants collected all of the weapons.

Sinclair and Anteaus watched him go.

"You," Sinclair finally said to the man. "Walk with me."

"With pleasure, my lord."

Sinclair headed off toward the village with Anteaus walking beside him. Overhead, birds flew in formation toward the west, looking to find shelter for the coming night, and they were loud enough that both Sinclair and Anteaus looked up to watch them go.

It was a still, cool evening.

Peaceful.

Perhaps the last peace for Sinclair for what was to come.

"I'm afraid I've not been here long enough for you to form an opinion about me," Sinclair said. "I spent six long years at Blackchurch before I went to Toxandria, and now it seems I must depart again."

Anteaus looked at him. "That is because your skills are much in demand, my lord," he said. "That is quite admirable."

That wasn't exactly the truth, but Sinclair gave the man a lopsided smile. "Possibly," he said. "But the point is that we've not had much opportunity to truly become acquainted, but I want to compliment you on how you teach the class. Your manner is good, as are your skills."

"Thank you, my lord."

"Do you want to be a Blackchurch trainer?"

Anteaus shrugged. "I did not come here with the intention of being one."

"Why did you come here?"

"Because I wanted to accomplish something my brothers have not," he said. "I come from a very old family, my lord. My eldest brother is Sheriff of Westmorland and my middle brother has taken duties from my father due to the weakness of his heart. The physic suggested he was too burdened with overseeing our home, Castle Keld, so my middle brother has taken up the mantle."

"Where is Castle Keld?"

"Very far to the north, near the Scottish marches."

"You must have a good deal of experience fighting Scots."

"More than my share," Anteaus agreed. "For quite some time, I've been splitting my time between Berwick Castle and Pelinom Castle, where my sister is married to Lord Blackadder."

Sinclair thought on those castles because they sounded familiar. "Pelinom," he repeated. "Is that not the demesne of de Velt?"

"Aye," Anteaus said. "My sister married the heir, so they live far to the north, but the Scots still fear the name of de Velt. They avoid Pelinom when they will attack other castles."

"And splitting your time on the Scots marches has afforded you a good deal of practice with your sword," Sinclair said. "It makes sense now why your skills are so polished."

"Mayhap, but a man can always learn more," Anteaus said. Then he cast a glance at Sinclair. "It was an honor fighting alongside you at the Black Cock. I can easily see where you have earned your moniker."

Sinclair sighed faintly. "That was not the norm here at Blackchurch," he said. "In fact, the past week has not been the norm at all, at least not with me. I'm the man who does his job, goes to bed, and repeats the process the next day. There is nothing much exciting that happens in my life other than teaching recruits. But the past week… it has been different. I hope you will not judge me by it."

Anteaus came to a halt, causing Sinclair to stop as well. When Sinclair looked at him curiously, Anteaus seemed quite serious.

"I am in no position to judge any man, least of all you," he said. "May we be honest, my lord? I know you are suspicious of me, but I swear to you, I do not want your position. I am helping because I have been asked to help, because I am well trained, but usurping you has never been my plan. However, I would like to ask this—if you are truly leaving tomorrow with the pirate, will you consider taking me with you? Creston and Cruz can teach your class again until you return, but I feel as if you and I have not had a chance to get to know one another, and I should like the chance to earn your trust if I am to be part of Blackchurch."

Sinclair's eyebrows lifted. "And you want to earn my trust working alongside me with pirates?"

Anteaus shook his head. "Do not forget that I was in the chamber when you told Lord Exmoor about your plan to seek the pirates to help with the return of the lady," he said. "I heard what you said so I know that is why Lord Abelard is here. He is going to help you rescue the lady."

Sinclair cleared his throat softly, averting his gaze. "He is going to try," he said. "But much depends on Santiago de Fernandez. He is the one whose help I truly want."

"Then please take me," Anteaus said. "I know that a Blackchurch trainer can never take sides in a battle. I heard the arguments about it. I know that the other trainers cannot go with you for fear of losing their positions, but I am only a recruit. I am not employed by Blackchurch, nor am I sworn to Lord Exmoor. You may need help and it seems logical for me to go with you."

Sinclair shook his head. "It is a generous offer, but you should know that Payne has already asked to come," he said. "These are extraordinarily dangerous men, de Bourne."

"I fought with, and for, Ajax de Velt," Anteaus said. "The Dark Lord himself. My sister married his heir. That being the case, I have served with the most dangerous man in a generation, so pirates do not frighten me. Can Payne say the same thing?"

Sinclair could see that the man was serious, but it baffled him. "Payne is one of the most capable knights I've ever seen," he said. "He can handle himself. But you… you would go simply to earn my trust?"

Anteaus nodded. "I can think of no better test. Can you?"

Sinclair couldn't. "I suppose it makes sense if you are to assist me in my duties," he said. "But most assistants remain with the trainer. They do not go through the rest of their classes, meaning your training will stop with me."

Anteaus shrugged. "Strangely, that does not distress me," he said. "I've thought about it. I came to Blackchurch to prove something to myself and mayhap even seek out a new adventure. I had a few reasons, I think. But nearly since I arrived, I've been helping with the swordsmanship class and I like it. There is satisfaction in seeing a man discover his combat talents. Mayhap this is where I belong for now."

"And going with me and the pirates will be quite a new adventure."

Anteaus grinned, giving him a shrug. "Mayhap I'll discover a new love for piracy in the meantime."

"If you fought with de Velt, I think piracy might be too tame for you."

Anteaus laughed softly. "Possibly," he said, sobering. "Will you at least think about allowing me to go with you?"

"I will think on it."

"Thank you."

Sinclair merely nodded, but there was warmth in his eyes that hadn't been there before when dealing with Anteaus. He left the man and headed back to his cottage, amused that first Payne wanted to go with him and then Anteaus. Payne he could understand, because the man still had an emotional attachment to Elisiana. But Anteaus' reason was different—as he'd said, they'd hardly worked together, certainly not enough to build trust, and Anteaus knew he was suspicious of his motives. Sinclair didn't think he'd been that obvious, but he evidently had been. So Anteaus, like any good colleague, wanted to walk through fire with him as a means of building trust. And have an adventure. Sinclair didn't blame him on that account. Life, in and of itself, was an adventure.

This would just be another part of Life.

By morning, Creston had agreed to teach Payne's class and Fox had agreed to teach Sinclair's.