CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Due to the fact that he’d been kept in near darkness for months on end, Clayton shied away when men bearing torches entered his cell. The light hurt his eyes and he pressed back into a corner, trying to get a look at who, exactly, had come for him.
He didn’t even know what time it was much less what day. He’d tried to keep track for the first month but, after that, he simply lost interest. Nothing held interest for him anymore and when he saw armed men entering his cell, he was quite certain he was about to be executed. When he saw Dashiell standing in front of the group, he was positive.
This was to be his last day on earth.
“Well?” he demanded. “What do you want, du Reims? I’ve no time for your idiocy so if you have come to taunt me, be gone with you. You bore me.”
Dashiell couldn’t even muster the energy to shake his head at the man’s belligerent attitude; this is to be the next Duke of Savernake, he thought with disgust. With a heavy sigh, he fixed on Clayton.
“I have not come to taunt you,” he said. “I have brought men of power with me. We have a message for you and you will listen.”
Clayton snorted, keeping his face turned away from the bright torches. “Get out,” he growled. “I do not want you here.”
“Edward is dead.”
That drew a reaction from Clayton. Suddenly, he wasn’t so belligerent. Lifting his head, his weakened eyes squinted in the torchlight as he looked at Dashiell.
“He is?” he asked, astonished. “What happened?”
“He choked to death.”
Clayton’s mouth popped open in surprise. “My… God. Is it really true?”
“It is.”
“I am sure all of Ramsbury is in mourning now.”
Dashiell had absolutely no patience for his mock-sympathy, or whatever he was displaying. He turned to look at Langton, standing beside him.
“This is the Archbishop of Canterbury,” he said. “This is Stephen Langton. He has something to say to you and you will listen closely.”
Clayton stared at the man in the darkness.
“My lord,” he greeted warily. “What do you want of me?”
There was suspicion in his question and Langton took a step closer, eyeing the weasel of a man who would now shoulder a very powerful dukedom. He’d spent all night agonizing about it but, in the end, he still maintained his original decision.
Either Clayton or John…
“I have come to discuss a life choice with you,” he said frankly. “I want you to look around your cell at the men who are here and understand that I am supported in what I shall say to you. If you do not recognize these men, I will tell you who they are – the Earl of Hereford and Worchester, Christopher de Lohr. The Earl of Canterbury, David de Lohr. Sir Marcus Burton, Lord Somerhill. Sir Gart Forbes, Lord Tivington. Sir Gavin de Nerra, the Itinerant Justice of Hampshire. We also have Sir Bric MacRohan, Captain of the Guard for the House of de Winter. You will further recognize men you serve with here at Ramsbury – Viscount Winterton, Dashiell du Reims, Sir Bentley of Ashbourne, and Sir Aston Summerlin. Do you know and recognize these men?”
Clayton was looking around the cell now that his eyes were adjusting to the torchlight. “I do,” he said.
“Excellent,” Langton said. “Then when we speak to you of issues, you will understand the seriousness of it.”
“What issues?”
“Be still and I will tell you.”
Clayton backed down from his usual abrasive manner. When Langton saw the subdued behavior, he continued.
“You are in this vault because of an act of attainder,” he said. “You are charged with attempted murder against the Duke of Savernake. Do you understand these charges, le Cairon?”
Clayton didn’t want to admit anything, but he found himself staring at the Archbishop of Canterbury, perhaps the greatest ecclesiastical mind of his time. The man was also well versed on the laws of the land. That being the case, Clayton was careful in how he proceeded.
“I understand that du Reims has brought these charges against me,” he said. “But I’ve not had a trial. I have been kept in this filthy hole to rot at his whim.”
Langton had little patience for his denials. “Everyone knows what you did in order to gain the marriage to Savernake’s heiress,” he said. “And everyone knows you have been trying to murder the duke since that very day. There is no use in denying the charges, for every man in England knows them to be the truth. I could very easily have de Nerra order your execution based on the testimony of many witnesses. You do understand that, don’t you?”
Clayton was starting to feel cornered. “If you are going to do it, then get on it. Why carry on so?”
Langton cocked an eyebrow. “Because we are here to strike a bargain with you.”
Clayton thought that sounded both strange and encouraging. “What bargain?”
“With Edward dead, you are the new Duke of Savernake,” Langton said. “It is your right, as the husband to the heiress. But given you have committed an act of attainder, that right can just as easily be stripped from you. If you do not agree to our bargain, it will be, without hesitation. Therefore, you will listen carefully, le Cairon.”
Now Clayton was bloody curious about all of this. “I am listening.”
Langton continued. “We will restore you to your full title, but with conditions. Firstly, you will not have freedom of rule or of decision. You will answer to the Earl of Hereford and Worcester, the Earl of Canterbury, Gavin de Nerra, Dashiell du Reims, or myself. You cannot make a move or a decision without our approval. That is the first condition. Do you understand and agree?”
Clayton frowned. “But I am the duke.”
“Only under our good graces. As I said, we can strip that from you at any time for the crimes you have committed. Either you accept our terms, or you lose the dukedom. It is that simple.”
Clayton realized this wasn’t going to be an easy thing. He could see that these men, some of the most powerful in England, intended to control him one way or another.
He fully understood that they had evidence against him; although he would never admit it, he knew they had enough evidence against him to execute him. However, he wanted his freedom. He wanted to be the Duke of Savernake, and these men were willing to strike up a bargain with him so that he could be.
But he was coming to see that it wouldn’t be on his terms.
“Go on,” he grumbled. “What else?”
“You have no command or power over the army or over your wealth,” Langton said. “Du Reims will continue to command the army and de Nerra and I will administer your wealth. If you want to spend money, you must gain our permission. If you want to raise taxes on your lands, you must gain our permission. If you want to do anything that has to do with administering your lands or wealth, you must gain our permission. Are we clear so far?”
By this time, Clayton was turning red in the face. “But I am the duke!”
“In name only. You shall be powerless. If you want your freedom, these are the conditions.”
Clayton was outraged. When he forced himself into a marriage with Lily those years ago, this was not what he had anticipated. He’d anticipated wealth and status. He’d fought and schemed for three years to get what he wanted, only to fail at the end. Now, just when it seemed as if he would finally receive his due, it was an empty version of his most ardent desire. What he was getting was a title with nothing behind it.
No glory, no power. Just the title.
“You cannot do this to me,” he said through clenched teeth. “It is my right.”
Langton lifted an eyebrow. “Who are you going to complain to?” he asked. “John? He would laugh in your face and strip you of your title, leaving you penniless. Do you know how badly he wants to get his hands on the Savernake fortune? Go to him and complain, and you will discover just how much he wants it. Now, if you want the title, as you so badly do, you must agree to our conditions. You have no choice.”
Clayton could see that. Now, he understood why all of these powerful men were crowding into his cell – it was a show of force. They were showing him what he would be up against should he refuse their bargain or, worse still, accept it and go back on his word.
He knew he was cornered, but for a man whose ambition had clouded every aspect of his judgment, he couldn’t admit it. To agree to their terms would be to surrender everything. But on the other hand, he was a smart man. He could agree to their terms yet still carve out a measure of power and wealth for himself. He was good at that, wasn’t he? Fooling men and getting what he wanted in the end? It had worked with Edward de Vaston – it would work with this group.
They thought they had him where they wanted him, but Clayton would prove differently.
He would win in the end.
“Very well,” he finally spit out the words. “You have my agreement.”
Langton could see in his eyes that he didn’t mean it, not in the least. There was something glittering in Clayton le Cairon’s eyes that bespoke of a man who would lie, cheat, and steal to get what he wanted. He’d already done that, and if Langton was any judge of character, he was going to do it again.
He knew, in that instant, that they were going to have trouble with the new Duke of Savernake.
“Swear your oath to me,” Langton said. “Swear to me on God’s holy name that you will adhere to the terms of this bargain.”
“I swear.”
The glitter in Clayton’s eyes was still there. He was taking a vow he never intended to keep. But Langton didn’t refute him; he wouldn’t lower himself to argue with a liar.
But he knew, in that instant, that something would have to be done.
“The army is departing in less than hour,” he said as he turned away. “Your horse will be prepared, and your armor and weapons will be brought to you here. You will dress and ride out with army.”
Clayton looked at the group with some concern. “Where are we going?”
“You will be briefed on the way.”
With that, the men filtered out of the dank, damp cell, leaving the new Duke of Savernake locked inside, yelling after them how unfair they were for keeping him there.
But he was ignored. They’d accomplished what they had set out to do, but instead of feeling satisfaction, all most of them could feel was depression that such a man now held a prestigious dukedom.
But none was more depressed than Langton. He was coming to wish he’d never made the proposal, that he had come up with another solution. But there was no other solution. As the group trickled out of the vault and into the early morning beyond, Langton hung back, motioning to Christopher and Bric as he did.
While the others continued on, including Dashiell, Langton came to a halt and pulled Christopher and Bric into a huddle.
“That man is lying upon his oath,” Langton said quietly. “We are going to have trouble with him. I can see it in his face.”
Christopher cocked an eyebrow. “If you believe that, then we will not release him,” he said. “He can remain in that cell and rot.”
Langton shook his head sadly. “It is an unpleasant business sometimes when dealing with a man who would deliberately ruin the lives of others,” he said. “My dear friend Edward was a great man. He deserves a better heir than the one he received. If only for Edward’s sake, and the sake of his children, I should like to right what has been wronged.”
“What do you have in mind?” Christopher asked.
Langton simply shook his head, seemingly miserable over the situation. “Mayhap… mayhap it is time for an intervention. Dashiell said it best – le Cairon came to Ramsbury looking for hospitality and should have been met with a sword to the gut. Had he done that, we should not be facing the situation we are now. Mayhap, it would have been the best thing to do, for all concerned.”
Christopher and Bric glanced at each other, suspecting the solution that Langton had in mind, but he was unable to be plain about it. As a man of God, men’s souls were his business. So was the protection of the righteous.
But even Langton could see that there was only great suffering ahead if Clayton le Cairon assumed the dukedom. It would be hell for all of them and, sometimes, in a situation like that, there was only one choice to be had, for the good of all. Bric actually voiced what they were all thinking.
“We are heading into battle, my lord,” he said casually. “Many things can happen in battle, in fact. A man can enter into a fight and never emerge from it. I have been known to make sure of such a thing.”
Langton and Christopher looked at Bric. “Then… such a thing is possible with le Cairon?” Langton asked seriously.
MacRohan’s silver eyes glittered in a deadly fashion. “Not only possible, but probable,” he said. “As you said, the wrongs should be righted. Edward de Vaston deserved better. Everyone at Ramsbury deserves better.”
An understanding settled, one that had great impact on the three of them. A plot. Nay, not a plot… justice.
“Le Cairon is married to the heiress,” Christopher said, looking at Langton. “The title rests with her. She can always marry again should her husband die.”
Langton closed his eyes, refusing to acknowledge that they were discussing outright murder. “She can marry someone worthy,” he said softly, “for this man is not. I can see Satan in his eyes.”
“I’ve thought the same thing at times.”
“Dashiell must never know about this conversation. He must be blameless.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“In fact, no one must know about this conversation. MacRohan, be on your way.”
“Aye, my lord,” Bric said quietly.
With that, he turned away, heading off into the night. The High Warrior wasn’t afraid of the nasty, but the necessary jobs. Rather than let anyone else dirty their hands, Bric MacRohan was willing to assume the risk and pay the price.
He was a man with the true heart of a warrior and, in this case, he was willing to do what needed to be done to save all of them from a man who had been trouble all of his life. Most importantly, he’d be saving his friend, Dashiell, from a continued hellish existence. Poor Dashiell had spent three years living with a serpent, but if Bric had anything to say about it, that serpent was about to be quashed.
In truth, Bric had seen how Clayton had responded to the terms put forth, and he, like every man there, knew Clayton had been lying when he’d agreed to them. There had been no question. He knew that Clayton would do all he could to push his boundaries and assert himself. The struggle of Savernake, and the struggle of the rebels in general against a king they did not support, was bad enough without conflict from within.
Therefore, he felt no remorse in offering to eliminate a liar, a cheat, and a man who had tried many times to commit murder.
No remorse at all.
She was awakened with a kiss.
Belladonna opened her eyes to the sight of Dashiell leaning over the bed, his face outlined in the dim light of the hearth. She smiled sleepily.
“Have you come back to me already?” she asked, reaching up to pull him down to her. “How long has it been since you left me?”
He grinned as she tugged on him, bracing his arms on either side of her as he kissed her again.
“It has only been two hours,” he said. “The army is ready. We are riding out and I have come to say farewell.”
Her smile vanished, and she was suddenly quite lucid. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up. “Already?”
“Aye.”
He pulled her from the bed and into his arms, trying not to jab her with what he was wearing. He wished it was his flesh against hers but, unfortunately, he was in full battle gear. All he could do was put his arms around her and embrace her with the things on his body meant for death.
But Belladonna didn’t care about the mail or the weapons, although his sheathed broadsword smacked her in the leg when he hugged her. She only cared for the fact that this was the moment she had been dreading.
He was leaving.
“Oh, Dash,” she breathed, gazing up into his face and trying sincerely not to weep. “I do not want you to go.”
He gave her a gentle squeeze before releasing her, cupping her face in his two big palms. “I know,” he murmured. “I do not want to go, either, but I must. We knew this moment would come.”
Belladonna nodded sadly. “We did,” she said. “Will you at least write to me? Will you let me know how you are and what is happening?”
He sighed heavily. “I am not sure if that is wise,” he said. “I will be in the heart of what is happening, privy to information and locations that we will not want John’s loyalists to know. If they capture a messenger from me to Ramsbury, it is possible they will torture the man for information.”
Her heart sank, but she understood. “Very well,” she said. “Then… you will not send me any word at all?”
“I fear that I cannot, lamb. You will simply have to assume that I am well and that I shall be returning home to you as soon as I can.”
Belladonna struggled against the depression that provoked. “As you say,” she said. “But before you go, have you thought about what we are to do about Lily and her problem? I must know what you think we should do.”
He nodded. “I have, somewhat,” he said. “The good news is that Clayton is going with us. He is now the Duke of Savernake, but with severe restrictions on that position. He must answer to a committee of men, and he truly cannot make any decisions on his own, so the title he wanted so badly is completely empty. All that aside, he is going with the army and he will be away for a goodly while. That means you do not have to do anything immediate with Lily. If she wants to go away, she can, but there is no rush for her to do so. She will have time to plan and find a place that suits her.”
Belladonna was relieved to hear it. “God be praised,” she muttered. “Clayton will be away from Ramsbury and Lily will have room to breathe.”
“At least for a while.”
“How long do you think you will be gone?”
“It is difficult to say, but my suspicion is that this will be the last great push between the king and those who oppose him. I do not see this ending for several months, at least, mayhap even long enough for her to have the child and send it away.”
Belladonna felt better that her sister would have some time to determine what she truly wanted to do, but saddened that it meant Dashiell would be away from her for an unknown length of time.
Several months, at least.
“Then I will help Lily determine what needs to be done,” she said. “And I shall pray every day for your safety.”
He kissed her, deeply this time, before gently releasing her. He just stood there a moment, looking at her, drinking in her beautiful face. There was so much sorrow in his heart that it was difficult to contain it. All he knew was that his heart was breaking to have to leave her so soon after their marriage.
He missed her already.
“You are my adored one,” he said softly. “Never doubt for one moment that my love for you is stronger than the ages. I swear to you that I will return to you, Bella. Nothing can keep me from you, not even death.”
She smiled tremulously. “I love you so,” she whispered, standing on her toes to kiss him one last time. “There will not be one moment of the day when I am not thinking of you and praying for you.”
When he kissed her one last time and moved for the door, she followed. But he quickly stopped her.
“It has started to rain again,” he said. “I do not wish to remember you standing in the rain as I ride away. I want to remember you here, warm and safe. It is a memory I will hold dear.”
Belladonna couldn’t reply for the lump in her throat, but she nodded simply to please him. Dashiell touched her face one last time before quitting the chamber, shutting the door softly behind him.
It was then that Belladonna let the tears come, collapsing on the bed to weep softly at the thought of her beloved Dashiell riding into battle yet again. It was far too much for her to take.
But in the same breath, she realized that she hadn’t given him a favor, something for him to remember her by, so she suddenly leapt up from the bed, rushing to her wardrobe and flinging open wide the doors. She had to give the man something of her, something to hold close on the cold nights ahead. On the peg nearest her was a yellow brocade gown, with a pattern of decorative ovals woven into it. Yanking it off the peg, along with the shift that went with it, she tossed them both onto the bed.
Quickly, she stripped off the robe she was wearing and pulled on the shift. It had long sleeves, snuggly fit for warmth, and over that she pulled on the yellow gown. It was heavy, with sleeves that draped to the ground, an elegant gown fit for the wife of a viscount and the daughter of a duke.
Her hair was already somewhat dressed, as she still had the golden circlet in her hair from her wedding hours early, so she did nothing more than run a brush through the golden-red waves, quickly, all the while hunting for her shoes. She found a pair of red slippers in the wardrobe, so she pulled them on hastily. The last thing she grasped was a red silk scarf, putting some of her scented oil on it, before making haste down to the bailey.
The sun was just starting to rise as she rushed from the keep and out into the wet bailey, which was swarming with men. It wasn’t raining at the moment, and the men were all moving in an orderly fashion out of the gatehouse, in columns that marched solemnly into the wet-shrouded land beyond.
Unfortunately, she didn’t see Dashiell. Belladonna was distraught that he might have already departed the gatehouse but she couldn’t be certain since there were so many mounted men still in the bailey, so she dodged her way through the masses, heading straight for the gatehouse itself.
The west side of Ramsbury’s gatehouse had steps and a raised entry, so Belladonna ran up the stairs, putting her in a perfect position to watch the men streaming beneath the raised portcullis and out onto the road beyond.
Anxiously, she watched for any sign of Dashiell, but so far all she had seen were infantry. So many men passed by her, some of them lifting a hand to wave to her, as the duke’s daughter, and she lifted a hand to wave back. In days past, she and her sisters would perch themselves right on this staircase and watch the men depart Ramsbury. It was almost a tradition. But this morning, she was here for one man and one man alone.
And then, she saw him.
His helm was on, the lance in his right hand flying a standard of the amber and yellow Savernake colors. He was also wearing a heavy cloak against the inclement weather, a garment that was also of the dark amber background with small, yellow Savernake tridents embroidered into it. He was bringing up the rear of a group of mounted cavalry, and she waved the red silk scarf in the air, wildly, until he saw her. Then, he spurred his fat dappled-gray warhorse in her direction.
“Bella?” he asked, concerned. “What are you doing here, lamb? I told you that it was wet and I did not wish my last memory of you to be…”
She cut him off as he came near. “I know,” she said quickly. “But I remembered that I forgot to give you a favor, something to keep by your heart, always. I could not let you go without a piece of me, Dash.”
With that, she looped the red silk scarf around the upper portion of his left arm, tying it on tightly. Dashiell had pulled his excited steed to a halt, watching her face as she tied the favor on and made sure it wouldn’t slip. She seemed determined to secure it tightly and he let her. He simply remained still while she fussed with the tie until it was to her liking.
“There,” she said, lifting her eyes to his. “Now, you may go. Godspeed, my love.”
He smiled faintly at her as the bright red scarf waved on his arm. “Thank you for this glorious gift,” he murmured. “I will treasure it always.”
With that, he spurred his warhorse onward and Belladonna watched him trot out into the cold morning beyond. A good portion of the army filled in behind him and she watched until she could no longer see him.
But it didn’t matter. He was in her heart as surely as if he were in her arms. She could still see him, feel him, and taste him, and it was something she would hold to her for the rest of her life, come what may.
Godspeed, my love…