Rafe suffered an uncomfortably restless night and had no trouble laying the blame firmly at Adele’s door. Put quite simply this whole thing was driving him to distraction. He hated uncertainty, and Adele inspired uncertainty in almost all of their dealings. He had suffered enough. He would speak plainly to her and set matters straight. If she found such plain speaking embarrassing, it was just a feeling she would have to endure.
And so Rafe found himself once more inside Adele’s tent. However, he found his determination had once again under gone a perceptible change. He felt as though he had somehow mislaid the confidence he had been so full of just moments before.
Adele was gazing into the flames with unseeing eyes. She stood as he entered; looking very much as though she wished she could be somewhere else.
“Good morrow, Lady Adele.” He bowed.
She replied in kind, curtsying before him. He had the sudden startling recollection of the first time he had seen her at the fort. He remembered the way he had looked her over and dismissed her scornfully as a foolish child.
The thought was an unwelcome distraction, and had the unfortunate result of pushing his reason for seeking a private word with her from his mind. Adele glanced up at his face and surprised a faraway look in his eyes. His fingers were gently tracing the rough edge of the sword belt he wore, with the absentminded distraction of deep thought.
Her first flutterings of nervous tension died away as she realised that he was not angry or exasperated. Yet, he was not relaxed either. She wound the loose end of her plait around her fingers, wondering what this new mood of his portended.
“Perhaps you would care to sit down, my lord?” she asked at length.
His expression told her that there was nothing he wanted to do less, but he seated himself just the same.
What could have possessed her, wondered Adele. She well knew that he disliked the confines of a chair at any time. When his mind was as preoccupied, as it was now, it was his custom to pace. She sneaked a look across at him, wondering why he had sought her out, and was disconcerted to find him looking at her. With great strength of will she managed to prevent herself from averting her eyes guiltily.
“Adele, yesterday...”
“You need not explain, my lord.”
Rafe paused, momentarily knocked off balance. It was true that he had come here to make explanation, but experience had taught him that their minds worked in very different ways. He doubted they were talking of the same thing. Rafe sought to keep his impatience in check. Her interjections were preventing him from coming to the point, and nothing irritated him more than interruption.
“Yes I do, so please let me.”
“Very well, my lord.” She folded her hands in her lap and Rafe took a deep breath.
A steadying breath.
For a moment there was silence between them as he tried to think of the best way to broach the subject. However every time he opened his mouth to speak, his pride choked the words in his throat.
Adele had not raised her gaze from the contemplation of her joined hands. He took the opportunity to study her, taking in the curve of her cheeks and the thick gleaming hair plaited neatly over her shoulder. Unbid his hand reached out and pulled at the thin leather string that held the hair tight.
Adele looked up sharply, but Rafe’s eyes were concentrated on freeing the knot. It came loose eventually and he allowed the leather string to drop to the floor, before running his fingers through her hair, loosening the plait.
Adele cleared her throat nervously and Rafe, called back to his surroundings, snatched his hand away from her. An awkward redness stained his cheeks. Adele watched him, her breathing a little uneven, as he stared down at his hand in something approaching horror. She felt a slow smile curve her lips in understanding.
That hand had betrayed him.
It had betrayed his feelings, the emotions she had felt in the gentle caress of his fingers in her hair, the impulse that had led them there.
“Adele…” He paused, swallowing with difficulty. “I know that our betrothal is not easy. Its purpose was that you should be kept safe.” He looked up, seeking a sign that she had followed the thread of his words. “If it is your wish, that purpose is achieved.”
Adele gazed at him blankly.
“My lord?”
“I mean that if it is your wish, I will release you from our betrothal.”
Adele’s eyes dilated in shock.
“I hope that you will be happy with Rand,” he continued with difficultly, oblivious to the look of consternation on Adele’s face.
“You hope I will be happy with Rand?” repeated Adele, suddenly finding her voice. “How can you hope such a thing when I am betrothed to you?”
“Because I wish only that you might be happy.”
“Oh.” Adele looked slightly mollified, then a frown touched her brow as she ran his words over in her mind. “Why do you mention Randwulf so particularly?”
Rafe gritted his teeth and gripped his hands tightly together.
“It is obvious that you hold him in much affection.”
“That is true.” Adele conceded, her voice still perplexed. “But I do not precisely see what that has to do with our betrothal.” Her eyes darkened slightly. “Unless you see it as a disloyalty on account of the battle of Calis.”
“It has nought to do with the battle, or anything save yourself,” replied Rafe. “This concerns only your happiness.”
He saw a flicker of understanding in her eyes, and they opened wide as his meaning became clear to her. To his great astonishment, she leaned forwards and slipped one of her small, soft hands into his.
“Rand will marry Eda, Finn,” she said gently. “He has always wished to, although I do not think he knew it until he felt her beyond his reach.”
Rafe started at her words.
“And you never...” The thought had escaped his mouth before he could stop it.
Adele shook her head decisively.
“No, I am promised to you; I always knew I would like you,” she confided easily.
Rafe felt an extremely foolish smile curve his lips, but was powerless to remove or restrain it. His hand had tightened around hers, pressing her fingers into the calloused skin of his palm.
“Then you wish our betrothal to proceed?”
“If you are agreeable to it, Finn.”
Rafe felt a chuckle well up within him. It seemed that she did not intend that he should escape voicing his own wish that the betrothal would continue.
“I should like very much for us to be wed, Adele,” he responded, lifting her hand to his lips and tentatively pressing a kiss on her fingers. Adele blushed and there was a slight pause as both of them wondered what to do next.
“Finn, is it true that you will face Lord Kyule tomorrow?”
Rafe looked up, surprise written on every feature.
“How came you to know of that?”
“Druce told me.”
“How came he to know of it?” muttered Rafe in exasperation.
“You will be careful, Finn?” Adele’s voice was uncertain, and looking into her eyes Rafe saw that they were clouded with worry.
Worry for him.
The thought spread warmth through his soul. His eyes remained fixed so intently upon Adele that she blushed, swallowed nervously, and tried to withdraw her hand from his. He held her still, preventing the escape.
“Adele?”
She did not meet his eyes, and Rafe stretched out a slightly unsteady hand to touch her softly flushed cheek with his fingertips.
“It matters to you that I am careful?” he asked quietly. Adele’s flush deepened and she raised painfully self-conscious eyes to lock unwaveringly on his.
“It matters greatly.”
Rafe continued to stare at her for some time after she had made this declaration.
She cared.
His fingers trailed a light path from her cheek to her jaw and from there travelled to the nape of her neck, tan
gling themselves in the silky tendrils that he had loosened. He paused, waiting to see if she would accept the gesture. She smiled, a rather inviting smile to Rafe’s way of thinking, and leaned fractionally closer to him. He kissed her lightly, softly, hoping she would not reject the intimacy of the gesture. He felt her lift one hand to rest on his shoulder in acceptance and pulled back a little, searching her face.
“Adele, I want you to know it is the same for me.”
Adele’s eyes were slightly dazed, and she seemed to have trouble concentrating on his voice.
“What is the same for you, Finn?”
“I care for you also.” The words were not said easily, but they were more precious to Adele for that very reason. Her hand slid from his shoulder to his neck, were it was joined by its twin, and she edged a little closer to him.
“You make me very happy, Finn…” she paused. “Will you do it again?”
Rafe looked unsure.
“The kiss, I… I liked it very much. I thought that, if it was no great trouble to you, we might try it once more.”
Rafe smiled and gripped her waist, pulling her from the chair to perch on his knee.
“So did I.” He grinned mischievously, an enthusiastic and robust gleam entering his eyes. Adele found herself laughing, wondering what slumbering beast she had awakened.
Leofric entered the tent a moment later and was confronted by the unexpected spectacle of Lady Adele of Berron seated upon Lord Rafe of Valrek’s knee. They were engaged in a somewhat prolonged kiss that both seemed to be enjoying with equal ardour. With a smile he withdrew silently and turned his steps toward Finan’s tent, beginning to whistle a merry tune to himself.
-------
Rafe stood in the centre of Rand’s tent listening to Finan’s never ending cautionary list with patience that would have surprised many who knew of his temper. The truth of it was that he was feeling rather sorry for his friend. Finan had been in charge of Rafe’s safety for too long to be easy in sending him in to battle without his support.
Adele knelt at Finan’s side, smearing ointment on his wound. The sight almost caused Rafe to laugh. He had never thought to see his friend acquiesce to such treatment from a woman, much less be so used to the circumstance as to hardly notice it.
“Do you hear me, Rafe?” demanded Finan.
Rafe pulled himself back from his musings.
“I mean it; Lord Merrodon is not to be trusted, not by any measure.”
“I have no intention of placing any trust in him at all, Finan.” His words did not seem to have any heartening effect on his foster brother.
“Rand will stay here with his men to see that you and the ladies are kept safe.”
Rafe bit his lip as Finan’s face showed plainly his chagrin. What had possessed him to lump Finan in with the ladies? It was Adele who came to his aid.
“It is a great favour to me that he should do so.” She laid her hand on Finan’s arm. “Rafe would not see it as a necessity of course, but it puts my mind at ease.”
Rafe blinked down at her in astonishment. She had not lied, but her words clearly gave the impression that such protection as Finan was to receive was at her request. Finan would accept such concern from her, as Adele well knew, but from Rafe it would be unpalatable. She had saved both Finan’s pride and his. Adele turned to him, her face as innocent as ever, and smiled guilelessly. He had always known that her expression hid much, but he was constantly surprised by the sharp and downright devious way her mind worked. He grinned at her.
“Anything to set my lady’s mind at rest.”
Adele’s lips twitched into a mischievous smile.
“Reminds me why I never wed,” remarked Daegmund disgustedly to Anlaf. “Never did see a man caught and he did not smile revoltingly all the time. ‘Tis enough to turn a man’s stomach.”
Rafe scowled but Daegmund had not finished, he nudged his brother in the ribs and turned to Adele.
“Did Valrek ever tell you the story of his family’s sword, Lady Adele?” he asked.
Adele looked at Rafe to find he was pinning Daegmund with an icy glare.
“I do not believe so, Lord Gradock.”
Daegmund nudged Anlaf again, a fact that was not lost on any of the occupants of the room.
“Every man that carries it, inscribes the blade with the name of his lady wife.” Daegmund turned to Rafe, a lazy challenge in his smile. “Why not show her, Valrek?”
Rafe gritted his teeth but could not ignore the challenge. With an impatient movement he pulled the sword from its sheath at his side, and handed it to Adele. His eyes never left Daegmund’s and he knew with certainty that Daegmund knew what Adele would find. She held the sword in both hands and read the inscription aloud.
“ ‘Always together, never apart’.” Her eyes moved down to the names listed below. “Ethal, Aisly, Charlotte, Ebba… Adele.” She continued to stare at the blade for some time before handing it back to Rafe.
“I think the gesture to be a gracious one. Surely there could be no greater honour for a woman than that her husband would wish to carry the thought of her with him into battle?”
Daegmund grinned.
“I rather thought you would think so, Lady Adele.” He turned to Rafe, his manner still superior and teasing. “Come, Valrek, let us be gone. I begin to find myself plagued by boredom.” He strode from the tent, Anlaf close behind him.
“Leofric…” began Rafe.
“’Tis already done,” replied Leofric, heading for the opening in the tent and flinging a few soft words over his shoulder, accompanied by a sweet smile. “Rest well, Finan.”
“And you see that no one takes exception to that silly grin of yours, Fricka, and endeavours to sever your head from your body!” growled Finan in parting.
Rafe caught Adele’s hand.
“See that you stay close to Finan and Rand.”
Adele nodded.
“You will be careful?” she asked anxiously. Rafe pulled her towards him and set a light kiss against her lips.
“Do not fear for me, sweetheart, all will be well.”
Another kiss, a grin, and he was gone.
“Rafe knows how to look after himself, Lady Adele.” assured Finan after a moment. Adele said nothing, but kneeled back at his side and replaced his bandage. It was only Finan who saw how badly her hands shook.
-------
The trap had been set, Rafe could only hope that their wait would not be long. He had travelled with Daegmund and Lord Merrodon to the house itself. Anlaf and Leofric were hidden within the forest, their armies ready to surround Merrodon and Lord Kyule’s army. Rand and his men were protecting the ladies; not only Adele and Eda, but also Lord Merrodon’s wife and daughters. Rafe tried not to think of them, of the fear that somehow they would get hurt.
“Another goblet of wine, Lord Rafe?”
Lord Merrodon stood before him, a supercilious smile upon his lips. Rafe frowned and refused the libation. Lord Merrodon filled him with disgust, his treachery was only equalled by his toadying ways. He was scared of them, terrified of the repercussions of his actions, and his manner toward them was sickeningly ingratiating. He wished he could rid himself of the fellow’s pestilent presence, but it was necessary to their plan that he be here with them.
Rafe watched as Lord Merrodon offered Lord Gradock refreshment. Daegmund refused and, as Lord Merrodon turned away, aimed a kick at the seat of his trousers. Lord Merrodon jumped and scowled angrily. He retired across the room to rub the offending area gingerly, whilst casting black looks to both of the occupants of the chamber. Daegmund laughed, and Rafe found that he had to suppress a grin. There was something refreshingly entertaining about Daegmund of Gradock’s brand of frankness.
Rafe stirred in his chair; all of the inactivity was frustrating him. He stood and began to pace the length of the Hall restlessly. How he wished Lord Kyule would arrive and put an end to the insufferable wait. For some minutes Daegmund watched him s
ilently.
“Valrek, the house shakes with your impatience,” he remonstrated languidly. “Save your energies for Lord Kyule.”
Had Daegmund known him better, reflected Rafe, he would know that he had tried ever since childhood to marshal his restlessness. He had only ever had partial success. When in situations of great stress his control always slipped, and he found he could do little to prevent it. Kenric entered the room, his breathing coming in short gasps.
“Lord Kyule approaches, Master!”
Rafe offered up a silent prayer of thanks and turned to Lord Merrodon. He had risen to make his way to the courtyard. They had agreed that he would greet Lord Kyule, and lead him into the Great Hall.
“I hope you understand the penalty I will exact from you if you do not obey the instructions you have received.” Rafe’s voice was cold; even Daegmund felt slightly intimidated by it.
Lord Merrodon quailed before the look, beads of perspiration on his brow and upper lip. He opened his mouth to speak, but words were not forthcoming. He settled for nodding jerkily.
The room was quiet when he left. Rafe fingered the sword at his side but did not pull it from its sheath. Daegmund had his sword drawn, as had Kenric, it was not necessary that he do the same. He didn’t want violence, he just wanted to know why Lord Kyule wanted to kill him. He need to understand what he had done to inspire such vengeful hate.
The heavy door creaked as Lord Merrodon returned and time seemed to slow as it swung gently open. Lord Kyule stepped into the room first, Lord Merrodon following and closing the door behind him.
For some seconds Rafe and Lord Kyule stared at one another in silence. Rafe felt as though he was seeing Kyule, a man whom he had known so long, for the first time. The lank straight hair and beard were just the same, but his bearing was somehow different. The quiet subservient slant of his shoulders was gone. He held himself tall, a man who had power and was prepared to use it with devastating effect. Lord Kyule’s eyes bored coldly into Rafe’s, and suddenly he knew that this man was truly dangerous. The hate in Kyule’s pale blue eyes was icy and controlled. Rafe felt a strange feeling of horrified fascination that, even in this dire situation, Kyule could be unruffled and calm.
Lord Kyule had just walked into an ally’s house to find that he had been betrayed. His enemy, instead of being dead as he had been promised, was very much alive. Why was he so calm?
Why was his confidence not shaken?
Kenric had stood against the wall on which the door was situated. As Lord Kyule had stepped into the room he had brought his sword up to rest where Lord Kyule’s neck met his shoulder.
Still there was no panic, no fear, no uncontrollable flash of anger, to break Lord Kyule’s composure. Rafe moved his hand so that it rested against the hilt of his sword. The cold jewel encrusted familiarity gave him some reassurance as he looked into the face of evil.
“Lord Kyule.”
“Lord Rafe.”
The polite salutation seemed foolish in the circumstances.
“As you must have guessed, we are aware of your plans. Your men are surrounded, as are you. Do you yield?”
Lord Kyule was silent for some time, his eyes remote.
“You have no idea what I would be yielding,” he returned quietly, moving away from Kenric’s blade without fear of retribution and sitting in the chair Daegmund had occupied a few short moments ago. “I am not beaten.”
“Your men are surrounded by three armies; I assure you that you are. Yield or I shall be forced to kill you.”
Lord Kyule said nothing, but touched his fingertips together. It was a gesture Rafe had seen him make many times before, but this time it seemed sinister.
“Always the same, are you not?” Lord Kyule sneered. “Cocksure, intemperate, and insufferable in the belief that, as a Valrek, you must be right. You were a spoilt, cosseted child; now you are a spoilt, cosseted man.”
“What did I ever do to you that I should deserve such hate?”
“What did you ever do?” repeated Lord Kyule slowly. “What an excellent question, one I have asked myself constantly over the years. What did you ever do to deserve all that you have? The answer is naught, but you did have the good fortune to be born a Valrek.” He allowed himself a thin smile. “How I hate all things Valrek! Your family has worked itself into a position of unparalleled trust for the last four generations. You yourself are no exception; how many times have you saved Prince Aedelred from the consequences of his own idiocy?” He paused looking Rafe over with a venomous glare. “I remember the first time... do you?”
Lord Kyule paused, obviously waiting for a reply, and so Rafe nodded abruptly.
“Of course you do; it was in the battle for Calis.” Lord Kyule’s lips tightened. “I wonder if you ever pause to remember that you would both have died that day if it had not been for me?”
Rafe nodded again. He remembered it vividly: Prince Aedelred falling, the struggle to get him back on his feet whilst keeping the press of men from overwhelming them. Then the relief when young Lord Kyule had descended upon them, his white horse splattered with mud, sweat, and blood. The rescue had been timely indeed.
“Well you are the only one. Prince Aedelred conveniently forgot, and delivered all praise and glory to you,” Lord Kyule spat out bitterly. “Your father credited with Targhe’s defeat, you glorified for Prince Aedelred’s rescue, and the rest of us left to hang!”
Rafe was startled by such injustice and angry words sprang to his lips.
“As I recall we were all honoured for the part we played in recovering Calis. For your courage you were given a place as King Ine’s adviser. You are even now entrusted with protecting this kingdom.”
“I wonder if you would have felt honoured if you had been in my place instead of yours,” returned Lord Kyule dismissively. “The worst was yet to come, for your father managed to secure Lady Adele’s hand for you. Ha! I had to sit and listen to him blether on and on about her safety and how he felt he had a responsibility toward her. He told King Ine that he felt the only honourable thing for him to do was to care for her and take her into his own family.” Lord Kyule laughed mirthlessly. “Lies! Filthy, deceptive, cunning, obsequious lies! His only thought was for her lands! He saw, just as we all did, that her lands would be controlled by her husband, giving him great power. He was determined that power would be Valrek’s!”
“My father wished to keep Lady Adele safe!” returned Rafe hotly. He could stand whatever slurs Lord Kyule saw fit to throw at him, but he could forgive nothing said regarding his father.
“So naive,” jeered Lord Kyule. “Always so ready to believe in honour, pride, and unselfishness. When will you realise that they are just words that we use to hide the truth. They allow us to do as we wish, and yet present our actions to the world as an illusion we call nobility.”
Rafe felt sick as the words, twisted and soiled, left Lord Kyule’s lips.
“Your father knew all this, and used his position to secure the greatest thing of all: power.”
Rafe could stand it no more, he felt his rage tremble to a peak and something within him snapped. His anger levelled, and suddenly he no longer trembled. His hands were steady, gripping the sword firmly as he pulled the blade free of its sheath and sprang forward toward Lord Kyule.
Lord Kyule was ready for the action and somehow managed to place the chair between them, his own sword in his hand. Rafe’s eyes met his and saw them gleam with excitement, then he kicked the chair from between. The swords touched with a scrape and clang of metal; the jolt travelled up Rafe’s arm painfully. Lord Kyule stepped to the side, swinging his sword low. Rafe blocked the blow and with a grunt Lord Kyule stepped back and brought his sword crashing down, aiming for Rafe’s head. Daegmund had taken a hesitant step forward, and Rafe could hear him shouting encouragement and instruction and then, as he almost failed to avert Lord Kyule sword, heard him berate him vilely.
Rafe allowed Lord Kyule to attack, let him control the fight
and push him around the room. He blocked the blows but didn’t seek to land any of his own. It had always been his practice to allow his opponent to believe that he held the upper hand, to allow him to display his full arsenal, to study his movements and form, the blows he favoured, and then use the knowledge against him.
Kyule was good, Rafe had to admit, his blows showed skill and he was very strong. However, he was nowhere near his own standard. Since youth Rafe had been used to training with Leofric whose skill with any kind of blade was unparalleled. It had been a long time since Rafe had been able to best Leofric but, when training together, their fights had always been fierce. He had learnt much from them. His standard had risen to match that of his friend, giving him a stamina to carry on fighting, enabling him to hold off his opponent for an infuriatingly long period of time.
The fight continued; Rafe watched as a different light enter Lord Kyule’s eyes; he suddenly seemed to realise that Rafe had been holding back. Then a flame of anger lit his expression as he became aware of the fact that he was not good enough to keep Rafe at bay for long.
Rafe heard a crash, the splintering sound of wood, and Daegmund’s hoarse cry of warning. He couldn’t turn to see what was amiss but was aware that Lord Kyule’s expression had changed again, becoming smugly triumphant. As the ring of metal against metal filled the room, Rafe realised that something had gone wrong. Somehow Kyule’s soldiers had managed to evade Leofric and Anlaf. The sweat stood cold on his brow, and with grim determination he forced Lord Kyule, inch by painful inch, into a corner.
“Valrek, behind you!”
Daegmund’s call of warning pierced the sound of battle, and Rafe dropped to the ground. His outstretched leg tripped Lord Kyule and the momentum of his strike span him round to face the opponent who stood behind him. He had brought his sword over his head to block the blow that he knew would fall, and reached for his dagger. The blade plunged into the warrior’s unprotected stomach with sickening ease. With a groan the man staggered back and fell to the floor.
Rafe turned back to Kyule only to see him making his way to the door that hung broken on its hinges. Kyule was unarmed; his sword had skidded away into the middle of the room where the fighting was most fierce when he’d fallen.
Rafe couldn’t think how he had not noticed the door before, and then saw that it had been covered by a large tapestry. He stepped forward, ready to engage with Lord Kyule again, but as he pushed through the crowd he found it necessary to dodge a blow to the head.
Rafe wielded his sword and just managed to prevent the blow from falling on his shoulder. He staggered as the force rippled up his arm. For some seconds he struggled with the warrior and, as their blades became tangled again, Rafe raised his fist and landed a hefty blow on the soldier’s jaw. The warrior reeled back, shaking his head dazedly, but his place was taken by two more men.
The fighting was frantic, the room crowded with men swaying unsteadily together, filled with hoarse shouts and grunts of effort, along with bellows of agony as swords and daggers found their marks.
They were packed too tight, thought Rafe, as he stumbled against a fallen man and was saved from tumbling when he fell against a soldier standing just behind him. Yet there was still men pouring through the open door that led into the courtyard.
Rafe found himself beset by two of Merrodon’s soldiers, and was engaged in repelling their attack when he heard the swift movement of air as a dagger flew over his left shoulder. The hand that had grabbed him from behind released him; he heard the sound of a sword drop to the ground, and the dull thud of a body making contact with the floor. Rafe took a deep breath of relief; he would have to remember to thank Leofric later.
The fighting wore on, desperate and vicious, until one shout was heard above the general tumult.
“Yield or your master dies!”
It was Leofric’s voice; he stood on a chair, one arm around Lord Merrodon. His sword reached across Lord Merrodon’s chest, the blade resting in the ample fat of his neck. There was silence, and a moment later the metallic ring of weapons as they fell to the ground.
Rafe kept his sword raised, ready to employ it at a moment’s notice if need be. Many was the man he had seen felled just as hostilities had ended. Rafe pushed through the soldiers as they were herded out of the door, and into the courtyard, until he reached Leofric’s side. Pulling Lord Merrodon from the chair, he pressed the jewelled dagger that he had pulled from his erstwhile opponent, whom Leofric had dispatched, in to Lord Merrodon’s neck.
“Where is Kyule?” he demanded. “Quickly, cur, before I choke it from your deceitful throat!”
Lord Merrodon’s hands tore at Rafe ineffectually, his eyes widening in panic.
“I do not know!”
Rafe shook him vigorously.
“You had better know, swine, or a great many vastly unpleasant things will befall you!”
Lord Merrodon began to gibber foolishly.
“I do not know... I did not plan that far!”
“Then tell me how far you did plan.”
“I only... the men... that they should enter from the back. I swear I did no more!”
Rafe gazed into the terrified eyes of his quarry and knew him to be telling the truth. His hands tightened on Merrodon’s collar drawing him closer to hear his softly menacing words.
“You will find that, of all things, I despise betrayal more than aught else. Be assured that when I return I shall devise many imaginative punishments for you.”
Lord Merrodon sagged, seeming suddenly to deflate.
“You will mete out punishment to me, he would not have been so kind. His anger would have consumed my family also.”
Rafe released him in surprise. He held no illusions as to Lord Merrodon’s character, but he felt that the older man was speaking the truth.
“If that is the case fear no punishment from me; your family deserve your loyalty more than I.” Rafe paused. “However, for the rest you must answer to King Ine.” He turned, blurting out an impatient order.
“Kenric, fetch Valiant for me and assemble some men, be quick!”
Kenric nodded and disappeared into the courtyard. Rafe held out the gem encrusted dagger to Leofric with a grin.
“You have my most heartfelt thanks, Fricka; a more timely intervention I cannot imagine.”
Leofric held his hands up, palms outward.
“I wish I could take the praise for so excellent a throw, but I fear I cannot. T’was Anlaf.”
Rafe turned to the youth, surprise and respect filling his eyes.
“My thanks, Anlaf, I am indebted to you. If ever you have need of help, I am yours to command.”
Anlaf received the dagger with a grin and placed it in its sheath.
“’T’was a fine throw, lad,” agreed Daegmund beaming. “Especially in the heat of battle.”
Anlaf remained silent, not through modesty, he was after all a Gradock, but with the air of a man who accepted such praise as his just desserts.
Kenric returned, telling Rafe that Valiant was ready.
“May I accompany you, Rafe?”
“No, Fricka; when Finan finds out all that has happened he will refuse to stay abed.” Rafe mouth was set grimly. “I do not think that Rand will be able to restrain him, but you will know what to do.”
“You will take someone?” Leofric’s voice was urgent.
“A handful of men and…” Rafe raised his eyebrow in Daegmund direction. “I would feel easier if you accompanied me also, Daegmund.”
Daegmund nodded, looking pleased at the prospect.
“Then that is that.”
Rafe bid Leofric a hasty farewell, but turned just before he stepped through the door.
“Put the ladies at the heart of the camp, Fricka, be sure that they are guarded at all times.”
“You think he might come back to harm them?”
“I think that I have no wish to find out,” his foster brother replied, and then he was gone.
&
nbsp; A few moments later Leofric heard the beat of hooves as they left the courtyard. He turned to Anlaf, a faint smile touching his lips.
“About that throw...”
Chapter Thirty