It was a plot to force Bretton to come to de Velt and de Lohr, but it worked. Bretton bellowed to the sentries to raise the portcullis and they did, chains grinding as the iron grate slowly lifted. When it was about three feet off the ground, Bretton darted underneath it and started running, running for that field where the promise of seeing his father waited. He was blind to anything else.
So was Rod. He ran after his cousin, unaware that Allaston, as she tried to duck beneath the grate, was grabbed from behind by Teague. The man slapped a hand over her mouth and spirited her away from the portcullis, but neither Bretton nor Rod noticed.
As a life-changing event was about to take place in the field below Cloryn, a life-or-death struggle was about to take place inside the walls.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Bretton hadn’t runin this manner since he had been a child. He was running wildly, swiftly, so fast that his chest hurt from the exertion. He was sailing across the road, down the slope, and into the field where the four horsemen await in the distance. As he ran, he began to hear the sounds of children’s laughter deep in his mind, sounds of his sister, Ceri, as she would chase him about. That was what running reminded him of; his beloved sister. He’d not thought of her in twenty-five years. Odd how he could hear her laughter as he ran for his life beneath the bright blue sky.
The four horsemen were drawing closer, three of them dismounting while a fourth remained on his steed. As Bretton drew close, the first thing he saw was Berwyn as the man ripped off his helm and moved to intercept him. But Bretton came to a halt before Berwyn could grab him, and he stared at his grandfather, so much older than he had remembered him, as the man broke down into tears.
“Bretton,” he breathed. “Itisyou. Somehow, I imagined that Rod was wrong. Not until this very minute did I truly believe him.”
Breathing heavily, Bretton focused on his grandfather. “It is me,” he said. “It has been a long time, Grandfather.”
Berwyn simply nodded, smiling through his tears, but he didn’t try to hug him as he’d tried to hug John Morgan. That had only ended in heartbreak. So he stood there, wringing his hands and drinking in the face of the grandson he thought he’d lost. Rod, who had been slower to run because of the heavy mail he was wearing, came running up behind Bretton, breathing so heavily that he nearly collapsed.
“I told him,” Rod said, panting, to Christopher and Jax. “He wants to see John Morgan.”
Before anyone could react, the fourth rider, still astride his steed, removed his helm. Bretton caught the movement and turned to look at the man, realizing the moment he removed his helm that Rod had not been lying. Morgan de Llion no longer had his head of dark, curly hair, and he was missing his beard, but the face was the same and the eyes were the same. They were Bretton’s eyes.
The emotion in the field was palpable as Bretton faced down the man he thought he’d lost. There were no words to describe his joy, no song beautiful enough to describe the moment. It was something he’d never thought he’d see again and he was at a loss. He could only think of four simple words, the four greatest words he could have ever used to define the moment.
“Papa,” Bretton breathed, tears coming to his eyes. “Itisyou.”
John Morgan gazed down at the warrior impassively. Stiffly, because he knew it was expected of him, he climbed down off the horse and faced Bretton, a man who looked a good deal as he had in his youth. He had difficulty meeting his gaze at first, that open and emotional stare that made him uncomfortable, but after a few moments, he found that it was nearly hypnotic to look intothose bright blue eyes. There was something in them, something deep inside the depths that made him unable to look away.
“I am told that I am your father,” John Morgan said.
Bretton nodded, tears falling from eyes and onto his stubbled cheeks. “You are,” he whispered. “I thought you were dead.”
John Morgan eyed the man who was coming increasingly more interesting for him to look at. He wasn’t sure why, but something made him study the man who was supposed to be his son. He was still uncertain, however, and nervous. He was surrounded by strangers and struggling not to back away as he normally did.
“I do not know you,” he said. “But you will take me in exchange for de Velt’s daughter. Where is the girl?”
Bretton wasn’t finished looking at his father. All he could do was stare at the man. “Look at me,” he begged softly. “You do not know me? You used to call me Fish Bait. Do you remember that, Papa? You would take me fishing with you and tell me that you would throw me in the water to attract fish, and that they would nibble my toes. Don’t you recall?”
Bretton was moving closer to John Morgan and the man took a step back, uncomfortable with Bretton’s close proximity. “I do not,” he said. Then, he tore his eyes away, looking up to the imposing walls of Cloryn Castle. “But what have you done here? My son would not kill people and abduct women. I have heard that about you. Why did you do such a thing?”
A hint of guilt began to creep over Bretton, an odd sense of shame as his father’s words registered. When he replied, the words that came forth were the truth. “To avenge you,” he said. “I thought you were dead at the hands of de Velt. I am here to avenge you.”
John Morgan frowned. “Did I teach you that?” he wanted to know. “Did I teach you that vengeance is the way to live? I wouldnot teach my son that. Where is this woman? Her father wants her back and you will turn her over immediately.”
Bretton’s joy at his father’s appearance was dashed as shards of disapproval poked holes in his happiness. In fact, he felt as if he’d been slapped in the face, shamed for all to see, scolded by a man he had held up as nothing short of saintly. As he stood there, realizing this joyful event was becoming not so joyful, Jax walked up behind him and put a blade to his throat.
“It was foolish of you to come out here without protection or weaponry,” Jax growled in Bretton’s ear as he grabbed the man from behind. “You will tell your men to bring my daughter forth or this will end very badly for you.”
Christopher hadn’t seen Jax’s action coming and he stepped towards the pair, holding out a quelling hand. He didn’t want to see Jax do anything rash, at least not until they had Lady Allaston in their possession.
“Jax,” he said, calmly but firmly. “Let him go. He will bring Allaston forth of his own free will but if you harm him, I fear what his men will do to her.”
Jax had Bretton by the hair, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. He heard Christopher but he ignored him. “You called forth The Dark Lord and now you have him,” he snarled. “If my daughter is harmed in any way, I will make you pay the price with every bone in your body. What made you think you could challenge me and win, boy? I will filet you as I have fileted countless others, better men than you. I will make you feel pain as you have never experienced it in your life.”
Bretton wasn’t afraid. He was fairly certain de Velt wouldn’t do anything to him with de Lohr so close but, then again, he was dealing with an enraged father so it was impossible to know just how serious the threat was. Still, he kept calm.
“Your daughter is in perfect health,” he told him. “She is at the gatehouse.”
Rod, concerned for his cousin’s life against an angry Jax de Velt, turned to look for Allaston. He had last seen her standing at the portcullis.
