Everyone fell silent for a moment, assessing the possibilities. Jax had made a very good point. Behind Keller, William Wellesbourne cleared his throat softly to gain their attention.
“If I may, my lords,” he said, leaning forward on the table so he could better look those around it in the eye. “If John Morgan is not de Llion’s father, we still have a man related to him within our grasp– his grandfather. Mayhap Berwyn would use himself in exchange for de Velt’s daughter.”
Christopher nodded. “It is as good a plan as any,” he said. “I will approach Berwyn with it when the man has sufficiently calmed. Until then, let us enjoy this wine and this food and entertain further possibilities. I, for one, am more interested in learning about Keller’s terrible cousin that he was going to have to kill. Keller, you have my interest. Who was this awful man? Did I know him?”
Keller didn’t want to discuss his terrible cousin as wine was passed around and bread was distributed. The serious meeting had loosened up and soon they were speaking of things other than war and destruction. Christopher had just launched into a story that involved himself, his brother, a knight named Sir Kieran Hage, and an encounter with an angry potentate in The Levant when Edward suddenly entered the hall.
“Chris,” he called gravely. “You had better come.”
Christopher knew that tone and he didn’t like it. He set his wine cup down and turned to Edward.
“What has happened?” he demanded. “Is Berwyn well?”
Edward was oddly pale, avoiding the question about Berwyn.
“We just received two riders,” he said. “One rider is the messenger we sent to Northumberland those weeks ago, and the second rider is a man he brought with him from Northumberland by the name of John Morgan.”
Everyone at the table stood up at that moment, including Christopher. The air was instantly full of anticipation, offoreboding, as the entire future hung in the balance with the course of the next few words. They all knew the stakes. They all knew what this moment would mean. Now that it was upon them, the air was fairly crackling with anxiety. Christopher could hardly spit the words out.
“Where is Berwyn?” he asked.
“He was in the bailey when the men rode in.”
“Has he seen the man?”
“Aye.”
Christopher was ready to explode. “And?” he demanded, charging away from the table as he headed for the keep entry that led out to the bailey beyond. “Damnation, what has happened? Is John Morgan missing a finger?”
Edward grabbed Christopher before the man could storm past him, an unusual gesture but one wrought with the emotion of the moment. All eyes were on Edward as the man, his hands on Christopher’s big arms, looked him squarely in the eye. The next two words sealed the fate of the future.
“He is.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Christopher’s first glimpseof what should have been a happy family reunion was, in fact, not happy at all. By the time Christopher and the other knights raced from the hall and reached the bailey, they saw Rod picking Berwyn up off the ground several feet away. Standing in front of Berwyn was a very big man with a bald-shaved, scarred head and brilliant blue eyes. Once Rod picked Berwyn up, the old man ran at the bald man again and, as it had happened before, the bald man shoved the old man away, causing him to fall to the ground. Berwyn lay there and wept.
Christopher ran up, putting himself between Berwyn and the big, bald warrior so that Berwyn wouldn’t charge him again. Jax, who was right behind him, walked up to the bald man and caught his attention.
“John Morgan,” he said. “I am de Velt. Do you remember me?”
The bald man’s attention shifted from Berwyn as he studied Jax for several long seconds before nodding. “I do, my lord.”
Jax glanced at Berwyn, who was now being held up by Rod. “Why did you push that man down?” he asked.
John Morgan looked at Berwyn as if confused by the question. “He attacked me, my lord.”
Rod, holding on to his grandfather, grunted. “He did not attack him,” he said quietly, with great remorse. “He ran to hug him.”
Berwyn was weeping into his hands. “My son,” he cried softly. “My Morgan. He is alive!”
So it was true. John Morgan was, in reality, Sir Morgan de Llion, only he had no knowledge of it and no idea that Berwyn was, in reality, his father. There was no recognition there whatsoever. Looking at the scarred head of the man and listening to his slurred, simple speech, it became clear that John Morgan was a dense and damaged individual.
Christopher sighed heavily, thinking the circumstance to be tragic on so many levels. Now, he had his answer about John Morgan but it didn’t turn out as he’d hoped. He faced the big, bald man with the brilliant blue eyes.
“I am Christopher de Lohr, Earl of Hereford and Worcester,” he told the man. “It was I who summoned you from Alnwick. Do you understand what I have told you so far?”
Morgan nodded. “Aye, my lord.”
