CHAPTER NINE
Selborne Castle, Hampshire
Seat of the House of de Nerra
“Aye, I knew about John’s movements into Scotland. He will push all the way up to the Hebrides if he is not stopped.”
Two days after the return from Marlborough, Dashiell was sitting in the lavish solar of Gavin de Nerra, Itinerant Justice of Hampshire. A big man in his fourth decade, he was a wise man with a great reputation, much like his father, Valor, who had had been a much beloved and respected man in England. Valor had passed away the year before, leaving a great legacy for his children to follow, and Gavin was a fine tribute to his father.
He also happened to hate the king deeply, much as his father had. Even as he spoke of the king, his hated for the man glistened in his eyes. Dashiell could see it, like shards of steel ready to cut John’s heart out.
“We heard rumor of the king’s movements as we were returning home after the battle south of Scarborough,” Dashiell said. “It was the de Lohr messenger at Ramsbury that confirmed it only yesterday. He also said something else – that Jax de Velt was killed near Berwick. Have you heard that also?”
Gavin nodded, his movements laced with sorrow. “Archers brought him down.”
“Has this been confirmed?”
“I’ve not heard official confirmation by those who were there, but I have heard de Velt was brought down.” He shook his head sharply, as if frustrated. “What was he doing in range of the archers? Ajax de Velt had no need to prove himself in battle any longer. The man is at least twice my age. Who in the hell let him ride into battle?”
They were questions that Dashiell had no answer for. “It is possible that this is only rumor,” he said. “It is possible that de Velt is not dead at all.”
Gavin looked as if he didn’t believe that. “Mayhap,” he said. “But rumors of his death are fueling the rebellion. If our allies hated John before, with the rumor of de Velt’s death, they hate him even more. This will not bode well for him, Dash. It will mean his end.”
It was an ominous prediction, but one Dashiell found hope in. Was it possible these wars would soon be over, spurred by the death of a legend?
“My cousin is calling a meeting of the warlords at Canterbury Castle in May and your participation in it will be key,” he said. “I have been told to issue you an invitation and I am quite certain that Chris will speak on this very subject. He and de Velt are friends, you know.”
“I know.” Gavin nodded seriously, pausing as if looking into the future to see that meeting and all it would entail. “And what of Savernake, Dash? What of your mighty war machine?”
Dashiell knew what he meant in asking that question; it was a mighty war machine with a senile old man in charge. “Mors in Victoria,” he muttered. “Victory over death. That is our mantra. The Savernake army stands as strong as it ever has.”
“What of Edward?”
So much for Dashiell trying to pretend nothing at all was amiss in the world of Ramsbury. “The duke will insist upon coming, even if he cannot understand what is happening,” he said. “I will bring him and try to keep him from disrupting the meeting. You know that everyone will want to see him, my lord. There has not been a battle in the past forty years that Savernake has not played a significant role in, so the warlords will wish to see him. Call it sentiment.”
Gavin sighed faintly. “Sentiment, indeed,” he said. “I tried to speak with him when we were at Northampton, you know. All he wanted to do was give me communion.”
Dashiell smiled, though it was without humor. “He takes his duties as Paul the Apostle very seriously,” he said. “We have all been given communion many times. I have personally been baptized at least six times.”
It was rather humorous, even if it was tragic. Gavin chuckled softly. “My father adored Edward de Vaston,” he said. “I can remember visiting the man in my youth. He was always very kind to my brothers and me, insisting we ride his ponies as the men went into meetings. That made me love going to Ramsbury. I even fostered there for a time.”
Dashiell couldn’t help but feel saddened by de Nerra’s fond reflection of a man who was only a shell of his former self. “I suppose it could be worse,” he said. “He could think himself Lucifer and we could all be serving the Fallen One. If the man has to believe he is someone other than who he is, he could do worse than Paul the Apostle.”
Gavin planted himself in a big chair near the hearth. The winter weather was cold this day, but it hadn’t snowed for weeks, making that land simply appear dead from the freezing temperature. He rubbed his hands together, chilled even in the moderate warmth of the solar.
“Dash,” he finally said as he stared into the fire. “I sense that you came here for another reason.”
Dashiell eyed the man. “What other reason could there be than to relay the message I was given?”
Gavin continued to rub his hands. “Because I know you,” he said. “I have known you for years. You are worried, else you would not have come personally. Why did you make the trip from Ramsbury in the dead of winter to see me?”
It was perceptive of him. But Dashiell only shrugged. “I am worried about Clayton but, then again, he is always a worry.”
“Is he growing worse?”
“Worse? Nay. But his ambition is showing, more than ever. That, indeed, causes me worry where the duke’s life is concerned.”
Gavin turned to him. “Explain.”
Dashiell sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “It is the same concern I have always had,” he said. “I have shared this with you before. Clayton hungers for the dukedom as a starving man hungers for food. The only thing standing between him and his dream is, in fact, Edward de Vaston. The duke is old, that is true, but his health is good even if his mind is not. He could live for ten more years, but if it is up to Clayton, I would not give him such good chances.”
Gavin cocked an eyebrow. “You believe Clayton will try to kill him?”
Dashiell drew in a long, thoughtful breath. “That has been on my mind, aye,” he said. “He has been known to encourage the duke to walk the battlefields, blessing the dead and wounded.”
Gavin grunted unhappily, closing his eyes briefly. “God, did he do that again?”
“At Scarborough.”
“And you are here? Who is watching over the duke?”
Dashiell held up a calming hand. “Not to fear,” he said. “Before leaving Ramsbury, I dismissed one of the men paid to mind the duke, a man I am quite certain Clayton is controlling. I also posted guards outside of the duke’s chamber to monitor anyone coming or going.”
“I knew you would be diligent, Dash. I did not mean to question you competence.”
Dashiell smiled to let the man known he wasn’t offended. “The truth is that I would not put it past Clayton to make a move against the man while I am away.”
“The situation is that bad?”
“It is.”
Gavin pursed his lips in a manner that suggested the entire idea disturbed him. “God help us all when Edward passes,” he muttered. “Clayton le Cairon, Duke of Savernake. If ever a man walked the earth who did not deserve such a thing, it is Clayton.”
Dashiell sat up and reached for the wine that Gavin had poured for him when he’d first arrived. “More than you know,” he muttered. Taking a drink, he licked his lips and continued. “I have recently been informed that he has taken up with one of his wife’s sisters. He is apparently bedding the woman.”
Gavin’s brow furrowed. “Which one?”
“Lady Acacia, the middle sister.”
Gavin sighed, as if relieved. “So long as it is not the youngest.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Clayton would be a dead man.”
Dashiell didn’t even ask him to clarify the remark, for he knew what the answer would be. He was starting to feel a bit foolish, realizing that his feelings for Belladonna hadn’t been as concealed as he’d hoped. Men like de Nerra had visited Ramsbury often, and they knew the family well. They knew Dashiell well. He supposed that he’d made it easy for them to figure out where his attention was. It was probably the worst-kept secret in all of Wiltshire.
In fact, he snorted.
“Then you know.”
“I know that you have had your eye on Lady Belladonna for a few years.”
Normally, Dashiell would have denied such a thing. He’d gotten into the habit of denying anything personal when it came to Belladonna, but he knew there was no use in doing so. He was able to acknowledge it now because she felt the same way. As he’d once told Belladonna, he wanted to shout his happiness from the battlements.
Besides… it felt good to confide in someone, for once.
“Not only do I have my eye on her, but she has agreed to marry me,” he said quietly. “Unfortunately, Clayton also has a husband selected for her. Let us be frank, my lord. If Edward dies before I can marry Belladonna, then she will be taken from me. But if I can marry her before that event, then Clayton can do nothing about it. You said that I seemed worried? I am. I have never been more worried about anything in my life.”
Gavin was looking at him with astonishment. “Is it true, Dash?” he asked. Then, he broke out into a smile. “God’s Bones, I never thought I would hear you speak of the woman in this manner. I was convinced you were going to go your entire life keeping your feelings for her all to yourself. Well done, old man.”
Dashiell grinned in spite of himself. “It has only come about recently,” he admitted, “but I could not be happier. In fact, I never knew such happiness existed in the world. But all of that is for naught unless I can marry her before Clayton assumes the dukedom.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Because Edward is not in his right mind. He cannot consent to the marriage.”
Gavin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Indeed, that is true,” he said. “Have you gone to the church with this? Mayhap, the priests can help. You certainly cannot petition the king for her hand, which would be the proper procedure in the absence of a father with the ability to consent.”
Dashiell was well aware of the facts. “I thought to go to Winchester Cathedral when I leave here and speak to the priests there. Mayhap, they can offer advice.”
But Gavin shook his head. “Not Winchester,” he said. “That is John’s church and the priests are loyal to him. Nay, my friend. You will have to go to another source.”
“Who?”
Gavin finished warming his hands and stood up. “Stephen Langton,” he said as he moved away from the hearth. “The Archbishop of Canterbury is the man you must see. He hates John, and he wields much power, and I am certain he can help you with this issue. Do you know the man?”
Dashiell shook his head. “I only know of him,” he said. “Do you suppose he will see me?”
Gavin poured himself wine. “I am going to Canterbury next week, in fact,” he said. “I have business with Langton. I would be honored if you would allow me to present your case to him. Mayhap, I can convince him to approve the betrothal, given the circumstances.”
Dashiell stood up, his eyes wide with surprise. “You would do this?”
Gavin smiled when he saw the astonishment in Dashiell’s face. “Of course I would,” he said. “Before you leave, give me the details of what you wish me to say and I shall do it. And do not look so surprised. Of course I will help you. You are the most respected knight in all of southern England, Dash. Everyone knows what you are up against with a mad liege and a viper like Clayton. If a man was ever facing a tribulation, it is you. Let me see if I can help you. We can do nothing about Clayton, but we can give him one less pawn to use by marrying Lady Belladonna to you.”
Dashiell was truly humbled by the man’s offer. “I care not for Clayton’s delusions of grandeur,” he said. “All I care about is Belladonna. I cannot see her married to another, my lord. It would… destroy me.”
Gavin could hear, simply by his tone, that he meant it. It was surprising coming from a career warrior like Dashiell. Clearly, the man had deep feelings. He came up beside Dashiell, putting a hand on the man’s broad shoulder.
“Then let me see if we cannot prevent such a thing,” he said quietly. “I will do what I can, Dash. Meanwhile, you need to keep the duke safe from Clayton’s ambition. That is key.”
Dashiell nodded solemnly. “I have protected the man with my life for over ten years,” he said. “I will continue to do so until the last breath in my body.
Gavin’s smile faded, an intense look coming to his dark eyes.
“Let us hope it does not come to that.”