“Thank you for taking that risk,” he whispered sincerely, then glanced at Keller. “And thank you for taking that risk, also. I realize you do not know me, but I am grateful nonetheless.”
Keller, humorless at times and awkward socially, could nonetheless have moments of true warmth. He crossed his arms and shook his head.
“I am not so certain that at times like this there is room for old fears and doubts,” he said. “Much like Chris, I cannot deny a father the chance to see his daughter grow up and marry. I, too, will make sure you live to see it. But you will do me a favor.”
Jax nodded. “Anything you wish.”
Keller scratched his head, eyeing the big man with the two-toned eyes. “Continue to beat de Lohr in Nine Men’s Morris,” he said. “He is too cocky as it is.”
Jax laughed softly. “Agreed,” he said, sobering. “Now, we must make plans to march on Cloryn. There is a man holding my daughter hostage and I want her back. She has been his prisoner long enough. Let us meet after the evening meal to lay out our plans of victory.”
The tone was set. What lay ahead of them now was a battle march to regain Lady Allaston, and the three of them broke from their huddle, each man moving off to make preparations for the war council that would take place later that evening. But as Jax and Keller went about their business, Christopher went over to John Morgan, still standing where they had left him, and motioned the man with him. Obediently, John Morgan followed.
“My lord?” he asked Christopher, curious as to where they were going.
De Lohr didn’t say anything for a moment. He kept walking and Morgan kept following, heading towards a section of Lioncross Abbey that they called The Cells because it was part of the original Roman structure. There were cubicles where the Roman soldiers had slept, later converted to cells for the monks who followed when the structure was converted into a Benedictine abbey.
It was quiet and private, and Christopher wanted to speak with Morgan to explain why he had been beckoned. He thought it only fair. As they neared the narrow stairs that would lead down into the cold, dark realm of The Cells, Christopher looked over his shoulder to the big, bald man following him.
“I would like to tell you why you have been summoned,” he told him. “And I would like to tell you what I know about you.”
Morgan was confused. “Know aboutme?” he repeated.
Christopher nodded and led the man down into one of the cells where they proceeded to have an hour-long conversation. Morgan heard about his life before his service to de Vesci, something that both puzzled and frightened him. Christopher also told him about Berwyn and how the man had not been attacking him, but merely glad to see him. He was, in fact, Morgan’s father.
The last part of the conversation dealt with Bretton and what was happening on the Marches. Christopher told the manas much as he dared, fearful that too much information would scare him off. The man had a very simple understanding of even the most basic things due to his head injury and Christopher took that into account, and by the end of the conversation he ended up sending the man off with Max, instructing Max to not let the man out of his sight. It would not do them any good to locate Morgan de Llion only to have him run off because he was confused or scared about his true identity. So much hinged on a man who could hardly comprehend what he had been told.
With John Morgan being monitored, Christopher headed into the keep to see Berwyn and Rod. When Christopher explained to Berwyn that John Morgan had now become their primary bargaining chip with Bretton, Christopher had never seen such sorrow in a man. To have found his son only to risk losing him again was something the old knight was having trouble reconciling. In fact, he was having difficulty with the entire experience, very badly wanting to speak with John Morgan but Christopher wouldn’t let him. John Morgan had his own issues to deal with at the moment. It was better if both men calmed down before addressing each other.
Therefore, Christopher had Rod take Berwyn to the chamber they had been sharing and put the old man to bed. What his old bones needed most, at the moment, was rest.
The worst was yet to come. By sunrise, they were on the march to Cloryn Castle.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cloryn Castle
Allaston had watchedthe army returning from Comen Castle from her chamber high in the keep. They had been gone almost nine days, a much shorter time than when they had gone off to Rhayder, and she was curious to know why they had returned so soon. She certainly hadn’t expected it, but rather than race down to see the returning army for herself, she remained in the bower, waiting, watching for her first sighting of Bretton.
He wasn’t difficult to spot. Astride his charcoal charger, he entered the gates of Cloryn when about half of his army was already into the bailey. In the colors of sunset, the hues of orange and yellow flashed off the armor, creating bolts of lightning in the growing darkness. Allaston stood at the window, watching, until the rest of the army came through and the provisions wagons brought up the rear. When one wagon lost a wheel right at the gatehouse and got stuck, she decided to make her way down to the entry of the keep and watch from there. Somehow, she wanted to be closer to Bretton that way. She wanted him to know she was there.
Dressed in one of Lady Miette’s surcoats, a brocaded blue silk that was extraordinarily fine, she smoothed at her hair, making sure it was properly braided and neat, before heading down the narrow inner stairs and ending up at the keep entry. As she opened the heavy oak and iron door, watching the commotion outside, Blandings mounted the steps and met her at the top.
“My lady,” the old man greeted, eyeing the soldiers in the bailey. “What should we do for their supper? No one told us the army was returning until a half hour ago. Uldward has chicken carcasses stewing in a pot and he is baking bread, but it will not be ready right away.”
Allaston looked at him. “We had a good deal of cooked mutton left,” she said. “What about that?”
The old man shook his head. “It has gone sour,” he replied. “We cannot serve it to the men.”
Allaston sighed distantly. “Unfortunate,” she said. “It was fine yesterday when I checked it. We were storing it in the coldest part of the vault.”
“Would you like to check it for yourself, my lady?”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “I trust you. If you say it has gone sour, then I believe you. But now we must figure out what to cook for the men on a large scale that does not take too much time.”
Thoughts of greeting Bretton pushed aside for the moment, Allaston headed down the steps with Blandings in tow, both of them heading around the keep towards the kitchens to the rear. Once inside the kitchen yard, she met up with Uldward and had a discussion about the stewed chickens and how they could possible stretch it to feed hundreds. Allaston eventually came up with an idea that they had used at the priory to feed great groups of people. Dividing the stewing chickens into three large pots, she added more water and a mixture of rye and wheat flour and butter, which thickened up the liquid in the stew and madeit richer and more filling. Then, she had Uldward pour precious white wheat flour into a bowl and she added water and salt to it, making it into a massive pile of dough.
Uldward carried the heavy dough out to the pots, simmering away with their stew, and Allaston began to break off little pieces of the dough, roll them into balls, and toss them into the simmering pots to make dumplings. She also tossed in chopped onions, carrots, peppercorns, and lots of salt into the stew to flavor it. Soon, both Uldward and Blandings were making little dough balls and putting them into the stew to cook.
