AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Six
“And I tell you, the wench was more than happy to bed with me that night,” Taegan argued with his brother.
“Hah . . . as if you could remember you were even capable of the deed, you were so far gone into your ale,” laughed Turquine, thumping his mug on the wooden table to be filled by a nearby serving maid. The replenished brew sloshed in his mug when the girl jumped to miss his eager hands but still managed a squeal of protest as his palm landed affectionately on her bottom with a smack. “’Twas with me the girl had such a memorable night to remember! Believe me, mate’s, when I tell you, she was not complaining!”
Bertram wiped his mouth on his tunic sleeve and gave a loud belch of approval of his meal. “You, and the entire company, had her boys!” he chimed in, and laughter resounded from several of Dristan’s knights.
“Aye, I seem to remember plenty of noise coming from the stable’s loft that night. She was a feisty wench that one was, despite her saying she was a virgin!” Ulrick reminisced with a chuckle.
“Virgin my arse!” Morgan yelled out.
Dristan laughed along with his men whilst the squabbling continued, in between bites of food and swigs of ale and mead. The fare had been the best he had eaten in some time and he was more than pleased with the cook of the keep. Pushing back his now empty trencher, he wiped his hands on his tunic, grabbed his goblet of wine, and rose from his chair.
Riorden and Fletcher joined him as they made their way to stand by the hearth with their own mug of ale in hand to quench their thirst.
“So will you marry the youngest maids off?” Fletcher asked quietly, taking a long pull of his brew.
“Perchance you might take a fancy to one of them and take her to wife yourself,” Riorden added.
“You know that is not my intent with the younger girls, so why do you even bring up such a notion?” Dristan growled, looking at his captain with anger.
“Mayhap he thought you changed your mind,” Fletcher suggested. “’Tis rumored no man will have the oldest, she is such a shrew!”
“As if I had a choice in the command I have been given.” Dristan dragged his fingers through his hair, showing his frustration. “This time, the price is almost too high for the taking of this keep.”
“I daresay you could tell the king nay,” Riorden proposed.
“You must believe you are speaking to some other fool if you think I would just sit back and watch whilst I forfeit everything I have worked for and have it be stripped from me. I do not relish having to justify my actions to an angry king in order to keep what I have gained from the strength of my arm and sword!”
“Lands, wealth, and title are not everything, Dristan,” Fletcher said lightly.
“Aye, ’tis not, but I do not wish to have my head sitting on yonder pike outside these gates either! I have cheated death one too many times to have my head lopped off because of King Henry’s whim.”
Riorden took a sip of ale. “Surely ’twould not come to that, mon ami. Are you not in good standing with our king?”
“Aye, today I am such . . . who knows what the morrow shall bring,” he declared gruffly, hoping any further conversation regarding his decisions was closed. He watched the hall and his men with the eye of an eagle and thought mayhap he had been too lenient with them, that they indulged in drink too readily. A little time in the lists will change that, he thought smugly to himself.
A commotion on the stairway brought his attention to the group following Aiden as they made their way to Dristan’s side. “Mon dieu, I am saddled with mere babes,” he whispered in despair to Riorden.
“They hardly look related, they are so unalike,” Riorden said just as faintly.
The family came to stand afore Dristan, and with a slight word from Aiden, they knelt together, giving him their pledge of fealty. One by one, they rose as they were commanded whilst Dristan took his time inspecting each of the children. He watched as the young woman with dark hair gazed at him as if he were a tasty meal about to be devoured. He had seen such a look afore on many a maid and knew this girl to be trouble. He dismissed her with a stern look whilst she lowered her head, even though she continued to do her own inspection of her new lord through lowered lashes.
The youngest boy could barely stand, he trembled so in fear. Perchance ’twas best if he started with him.
“So, young Patrick, you, too, have remained with your laird it seems. He did not wish to see you fostered at another keep and learn the duties of page?” he questioned with a scowl.
Patrick quaked in fear at the sound of his lord’s voice and, most likely, had wild thoughts of being roasted alive by a fire breathing dragon running fiercely through his mind. He reached for his older sibling’s hand. Instead of finding it, Dristan watched as Aiden gave the boy a gentle nudge, forcing Patrick to take one step forward closer to his new lord. “Na-Nay, my lord,” was all he managed to yelp.
Dristan crossed his arms on his massive chest and looked down upon the boy. “Perchance he did not feel you capable of the job, do you think?” He saw the stubborn Scottish pride rise up in Patrick’s small body and a spark light his eyes at Dristan’s words.
“Nay, my lord; I could do it and do it well if but shown how!” he replied, with a confidence he probably only half felt.
“Hmmm . . . I am not so sure,” Dristan replied as he stroked his chin, giving it further thought.
Dristan could only imagine what was going through the young boy’s head, as Patrick stared at him with frightened eyes, assessing his liege’s height. He hid a smile when the lad gave a mighty gulp, attempting to shake off the panic surely about to set in. But he had to give the boy some credit as he watched the boy’s chin raise, as though he did not wish his recently deceased sire to think poorly of him.
“You could teach me,” Patrick announced, and clapped his hands over his mouth in sudden alarm. ’Twas perfectly clear even the boy had not meant to have such words escape his lips.
Startled gasps of surprise came from his sisters and those other souls standing nearby. It echoed in the once quiet hall. Dougal even went so far as to suggest mayhap a curse had unknowingly been placed upon Patrick to so foolishly suggest such a thing to the Devil’s Dragon. Devon frantically whispered he had heard from one of the passing serfs just this morn that the dragon afore them ate little boys to break his fast and young Patrick was doomed!
Dristan dismissed the gossip running rampant in his hall and held up his hand to silence those around them. His gaze leveled on the boy, who stood trembling afore him. “’Tis possible I suppose, and has merit. I have not taken a page in some time, however. ’Tis a big responsibility,” he pondered. “What think you, Riorden? Mayhap the lad will serve me well?”
Riorden reached down and firmly took the boys chin as though to examine him further. “Well my lord, he will fit in with the rest of your men with his dark hair and eyes . . . we could not take him otherwise now could we?”
Dristan placed his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels. “’Tis true, Riorden, and a trait required of any man who would ride with me. Hmmm,” he mused with a scowl, as if deliberating the worth of the issue. He slapped his hand on his thigh with his decision. “’Tis done then . . . I will take you since you yourself made such a convincing proposition. You’re training begins now, Patrick. Do not fail me!”
“Aye, my lord,” came the weak reply as the lad stepped back next to his sisters.
Dristan took in the rest of the group, who stood there with nothing but shock showing on their faces. He looked down, feeling the youngest daughter’s gaze come to rest upon him. “You are Lynet?” he asked gruffly.
“Aye, my lord,” she replied quietly but with a smile upon her youthful face. “Do you have some task that I could also perform to aid our home?”
Dristan folded his arms again upon his chest and noticed how the girl seemed eager to also be assigned some small service to her new lord. “Perchance some mending. Can you sew a straight seam, Lady Lynet?”
“Aye, my lord, I can.”
“Then mayhap you could assist with mending some of my soldiers clothing and blankets. That could keep you busy for some time, and would be most useful especially with winter upon us soon.”
“I will see to it, my liege,” Lynet replied most satisfied, knowing she, too, could serve her new lord to his liking.
He nodded his head and placed his arms behind his back. “The morrow brings us a new beginning,” he addressed not only the family but the serfs also gathered in the Great Hall. “Obey me, and you will find me agreeable to most things. Do not mistake any kindness I may show for weakness, as I will punish those who go against my wishes and commands. A messenger will be sent to Edinburgh to fetch the eldest daughter home where she belongs. ’Til then you, Sabina, as the next female descendant, will serve as chatelaine of the keep ’til your sister’s return. I expect the place to be kept in order enough to please our king if he deems to visit such a remote lowly place as this. A warm meal to fill the stomachs of my hungry men should also be at the ready. Do you feel capable of such a duty as this?” he asked, with authority.
Sabina looked him full in the eye and gave him her most seductive smile. She was obviously more than pleased with her new role. “Aye, my Lord Dristan. I have been well trained,” she answered, and her voice, as she spoke his name, sounded like that of a caress.
Dristan ignored the implied invitation and continued to speak to the family afore him. “Your meals will now be taken in the Great Hall. If you feel you cannot break bread with me, then you can go hungry, as I will not cater to your whims of dining alone.”
He turned his full attention to the oldest lad, who hovered in the shadows. A frown marred his features whilst he looked at the boy. Merde! ’Twas it just his imagination, or did the lad seemingly look more womanly with each glance he took? Perchance ’twas the lighting of the hall or he was just overly tired. Aiden’s training could not begin soon enough, he decided.
“Follow me,” he ordered to all within his hearing. He grabbed a torch from a wall sconce and strode from the hall into the cool evening night.
Clansmen and serfs alike walked outside not knowing what was to come as they followed their lord to the outer bailey. Villagers had also been summoned and had already gathered. Smoking torches had been lit and illuminated the area with a golden flickering glow. They watched as several of their lord’s guardsmen stood in a long line and, as they parted, they saw Hugh of Harlow stretched out on a pole with back bared. ’Twas then they knew what they would witness this night.
Dristan motioned for Aiden to step forward to stand beside him whilst he handed a coiled whip to one of his men. The rope was released with a mighty snap that cracked into the evening air, causing those within its hearing to cringe and flinch. They stared in horror at the rope made of many lengths of braided leather, each holding a ball of metal tied to its end. ’Twould ensure that hideous pain would be inflicted on one’s back. Only a fool would not learn his lesson after even one taste of such a lash landed upon one’s flesh.
Dristan watched the boy’s face turn ashen whilst his man readied his arm, awaiting his command. “Someday, you, too, shall have to issue the settling of scores so all under your care are treated fairly,” he whispered for the boy’s ears alone.
“Stand forth and witness the punishment of this man and understand justice will be swift,” he bellowed loudly. “Know whether you are English or Scot, in the eyes of my laws I set forth, all will be dealt with equally. I expect loyalty of my subjects as I claim these lands in the name of King Henry II. You are now subject to the King of England. As you serve me, remember you are serving him, as well.”
Dristan took a moment to rest his eyes upon his people to ensure his meaning was clear to all. “Hugh of Harlow, I find you guilty of one of many transgressions; speaking on my behalf without my leave, not following directives in the taking of this keep, and striking one of my vassal’s with no right, to name but a few,” he declared, so all could hear his words. “A score of lashes.”
The Devil’s Dragon of Blackmore gave a brief motion with his hand and the whip unleashed with the first blow. Hugh remained tight lipped, yet fury at this public display blazed in his angry eyes. As the leather struck Hugh’s flesh for the fifth time, he finally gave way to the agony and began to scream in a torment that echoed eerily into the cool night.
When the last stroke had been laid, Kenna was allowed to see to the man’s back. For Hugh, it made no difference by that time what the count had been. Long afore the executioner’s whip had made the halfway point in its lashing of his flesh, Hugh had succumbed to the torturous pain being inflicted on his bleeding, raw skin. Beyond caring, he had slipped mercifully into a total state of unconsciousness where he felt the sting no more. The same ’twould not be said with the rising of the sun the next morn.
