The Iron Knight (The De Russe Legacy Book 3) (4 page)

“Go where?” he asked. “You cannot leave when Lord de Saix and his daughter are due to arrive any moment. They will expect you to greet them.”

Lucien came to a halt, mostly because Colton was dragging on him. He turned to look at the blonde-haired knight, a very handsome young man and also a very tenacious one. He knew very well that Colton might hang on to him and not let him leave and then he would find himself in a fight. He sighed heavily, looking at Colton’s hand on his arm.

“Let me go,” he said quietly.

Colton refused. “Lucien, you cannot leave,” he said quietly but firmly. “I know you have no interest in this contract, but Henry himself arranged it. It was Henry who personally sent you the missive about gifting you with a very wealthy bride and because he is taking such an interest in this betrothal, if you run out now, you will not only insult the lady and her entire family, but the king as well. You
know
this.”

Lucien was, indeed, aware. He could feel that formidable de Russe anger swelling in his chest. “I do not need you to lecture me,” he said, jerking his arm and breaking Colton’s grasp. “I am well aware of what is at stake.”

“And yet you would still leave?”

“I did not say I was going forever!”

Colton pursed his lips wryly at him. “You did not say that you were
not
going forever, either,” he pointed out. “Lucien, truly. You simply cannot leave because you do not want to face them. You will have to face them sooner or later.”

Wise words from the young knight that halted Lucien in his tracks. He lost some of his fight then, feeling foolish for having been reminded of the truth from a man young enough to be his son. He visibly relaxed, sulking now.

“I know,” he muttered unhappily, running his hands through his long, dark hair. “But… with God as my witness, Colton, you know that I did not want this. I never wanted it. I never asked for it nor did I ever make any mention of anything having to do with a betrothal. This is all Henry’s idea and, although I know he believes he is rewarding me, the opposite is true. I do not want a wife. I am too old for one and I am especially too old for this one. She is younger than you are and, from what I’ve heard, a spoilt little minx. I do not want that in my midst much less married to it.”

“Who told you that?”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “I have friends. Men who know her father have told me such things.”

Colton wasn’t sure he believed him but he didn’t say so. He knew that Lucien would do anything to remove himself from having to face this unwelcome betrothal. He had been with Lucien when, two weeks ago, the man had opened a missive from the king only to discover he was soon to be a husband. It had not been a happy moment in the life of a man who had known more than his share of unhappiness.

Colton felt a good deal of pity for Lucien; he truly did. The man wanted nothing more than to live a quiet life, alone, and die old and warm in his bed. But that was evidently not to be. The king had other ideas about one of his favorite warriors.

Ideas that this particular warrior was not receptive to.

“Well,” Colton said thoughtfully, “I can always have a horde of soldiers ambush her and her father on the road and chase them home. Would that be your pleasure, my lord?”

Lucien scowled. “It would be, but I would be in a good deal of trouble if I let you do that,” he said. Then, he lifted his dark eyebrows as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Why don’t you charm her, Colton? You are much better looking than I am. Why don’t you make her fall in love with you so that she will not want to marry me?”

Colton saw very little humor in that suggestion. “Not I.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am too young to marry.”

“I could command it, you know.”

“Nay, you cannot. I will refuse.”

“You would refuse a direct order?”

Colton nodded firmly. “I will run straight to Henry and tell him what you have done.” He pointed a finger at Lucien. “You may be able to force me into submission, but Henry shall have the last laugh, Lord Tytherington. Mark my words.”

Lucien’s scowl grew. “Cheeky bastard,” he grumbled. He watched Colton stand there with a rather triumphant expression on his face and it infuriated him. “Do what you like, then. I am going on a ride to clear my head before this… this
succubus
arrives with her father. She is going to bleed me dry, I know it.”

Colton bit off a grin. “She very well may be a nice girl.”

Lucien simply growled and rolled his eyes, turning to quit the chamber. Colton, now grinning, followed.

They were in the keep of Spelthorne Castle, a bastion that had been built much in the style of Sherborne Castle to the southwest. The land in the area, as a whole, was rather flat with great groves of trees and wild growth. There were no hills to speak of, at least hills enough to constitute the high ground, so Spelthorne had been built in the middle of a flat plain, built up on a mound of earth that had been dug out from the moat which surrounded it. Twenty-foot walls surrounded the grounds, which were comprised of a three-storied keep, square and broad, a hall, stables, an enormous troop house, kitchens, and even a garden. The garden, however, was for vegetables and herbs, not flowers, and the kitchen servants tended it. It was fairly extensive.

In all, Spelthorne was the seat of the Tytherington Barony, something Lucien was quite proud of. The king had gifted it to him several years ago as a reward for meritorious service to the crown and Lucien kept the peace for Henry from Shaftesbury to the west and Salisbury to the east, Warminster to the north and Fordingbridge to the south. It was quite a large territory but Lucien had over a thousand men sworn to him alone, plus he also housed another one thousand of Henry’s troops. Combined, he had more than enough men to cover the territory and the Tytherington Barony was one of the most powerful in southern England. Where The Iron Knight reigned, men were naturally respectful.

Men were naturally wary, too, of a knight who was more apt to show action first and talk later. Lucien had that reputation. He always brought might to any disturbance or contention to secure the situation before getting to the meat of the crisis. Lucien had lived too long and had seen too many things to behave in any other fashion. He hadn’t time for men’s foolery or politics. His job was one of service and peace, and he did both admirably.

At the moment, however, he was in a situation where his usual forthright manner or an armed force would do no good, unless he wanted Colton to send out men to ambush his betrothed and her father, which he did not. His hands were tied and he knew it. Purging himself from the innards of Spelthorne’s powerful keep, he made his way to the stables with Colton on his heels.

“Did you hear me?” the young knight called after him. “She may very well be a nice girl and if you leave, you will be insulting her for nothing. Is this really how you want to start off your marriage?”

Lucien came to an abrupt halt and Colton nearly smashed into the back of him. “Enough,” Lucien snarled, holding up an angry finger. “Give me time to digest this situation. I do not need your ridiculous chatter. You are making me angry.”

Colton stepped back, trying very hard not to smile. Lucien wasn’t beyond throwing a punch when riled and the man had a devastating blow. “I am sorry,” Colton said contritely. “I am simply trying to help you see the entire situation, not simply your perspective alone. I do not want you to anger Henry and I do not want you insulting your future relations. They will think you a cad and a boor, and you are neither of those things.”

Lucien pursed his lips irritably; the lad was right and he knew it. He took a deep breath, struggling for calm.

“I will not insult anyone,” he said, less anger in his tone. “I simply want to clear my head and think. If the lady and her father arrive while I am gone, you will simply tell them I had business to attend to and apologize for my absence. But say no more; make them comfortable and I will return… when I feel like it.”

Colton couldn’t help but chuckle, then. He watched Lucien march off towards the stables, wisely choosing not to follow him. He’d already pressed his liege as much as he was willing. In truth, he could do no more. The rest was up to Lucien.

In spite of what he’d told Colton, Lucien wasn’t entirely sure he would return at all. As he made his way into the stables for his horse, he found that he was quite willing to forsake all of this simply to be free of an unwanted marriage. He’d built Spelthorne Castle into a great military might but he wasn’t beyond abandoning it. His freedom and his sanity meant more to him than a few blocks of stone did. Well… not really, perhaps. But his convictions sounded good in theory.

So he had the stable master saddle his big dappled rouncey, the one with the big arse and hairy hooves. It was a formidable beast, one he’d traveled with and taken into battle innumerable times. He had several chargers, temperamental and powerful beasts, but he preferred the company of his old friend, Storm. He and Storm thought alike, acted alike. In fact, the big horse greeted Lucien like an old friend, nuzzling him, licking his shoulder and neck, until Lucien gently pushed the big horse’s head away and vaulted into the saddle.

Thundering out from the big gatehouse of Spelthorne, Lucien headed south under fair skies and moderate winds. It was a warm day, breezy, and as he gently rode along the countryside, he could feel his stress easing. Surely nothing could be so terrible on a glorious day like this. The road wasn’t particularly bad, as the summer season hadn’t been terribly wet, so the ground upon which Storm trod was even and dry. The big horse lifted his hooves in a prancing way as he loped, his hairy tufts on his legs waving in the breeze along with his big silver tail. He was happy to be out and about.

So was Lucien. He felt much like the horse, happy to flee Spelthorne for the moment. The place belonged to him and as much as it was his refuge, it was also his hell. He thought on his prospective new wife and what she would mean to his way of life. He thought of his daughter who, at ten years of age, ruled the house and hold, but not in a good way. Perhaps in a sense, he was running from her, too.

She was, in a word, a terror.

Susanna Isobelle de Reyne de Russe had been born with a weak spine and legs as the result of a difficult birth, a birth that had killed her mother. Susanna was bright and beautiful, but her behavior was atrocious. But it was his own fault; Lucien had made her what she was. He’d catered to her and spoiled her until she was positively unmanageable. There was no one else to blame. Guilt and remorse beat into him on a daily basis because of it.

He couldn’t help the shame… Laurabel’s death, Susanna’s injury. He was the man of the family, wasn’t he? Hadn’t it been his job to protect his wife and daughter? He’d failed miserably. Surely there was something more he could have done.

But there hadn’t been. Even Lucien knew that, deep down, but he still couldn’t shake the guilt. Now he found himself wondering if his new betrothed and his daughter would be able to co-exist. Would a female influence help Susanna’s behavior? Or would it make it worse? He could only imagine that his daughter wouldn’t react well to another woman at Spelthorne and, quite frankly, Lucien wouldn’t react well to it, either.

He couldn’t even control the one he had.

With thoughts revolving around his betrothed and his daughter, Lucien continued to make his way south, enjoying the day, trying to feel some joy for the life and blessings he had. He had many things, in truth, far better than most. A lucrative and powerful command and the respect of all of England. But a pain in his back reminded him of the fact that he wasn’t as strong as he liked to pretend he was; the injury from the battle at Bramham still hadn’t fully healed and rides such as this, and any extensive exertion, quickly exhausted him.

That arrow to his back had nicked a major blood supply vessel and destroyed his right kidney, and his body, at his age, still hadn’t healed correctly, especially from the infection that followed. Poison had taken over his body and damaged his innards badly. He still had pains and weakness because of it.

But he ignored those symptoms. At least, he tried to. He couldn’t submit to anything that made him feel or appear anything other than completely healthy and in control. The truth, however, was that the strong, healthy man known for his iron constitution before Bramham was quite different following the injury in battle. It was simply the way of things, but Lucien hated the weakness. He hated that he wasn’t the same any longer. Still, he did his best to mask that fragility. Only those very close to him knew of it, or could see it, but to everyone else, he was still the same.

Inside, however, so much of him was dying, beaten, or already dead.

So much of him was already gone.

Lost in thoughts of his injury and his destiny, Lucien slowly eased Storm back, slowing the animal’s pace. They were far enough south of Spelthorne now and away from the major road junctions that he was certain to miss the arrival of his betrothed and her father. That had been his goal. Now, he was free to ride about and enjoy the scenery, reconciling himself to what was to come. He was too old to appreciate change these days. That was his primary problem; he didn’t want to change. He didn’t want to assume more burdens than he already had.

The town of Tisbury appeared off to the southeast, a village he was quite fond of and where he was the administrative justice. It was part of his barony. Tisbury was a bustling place and there was prosperity there, something Lucien was proud of. He’d worked hard to eliminate any undesirable element, crime and outlaws, leaving the town for the good folks. The villeins were mostly farmers and tradesmen, although there were a few merchants who imported goods from Ireland as well as the continent. There was a good deal of trade coming in from the ports of Southampton, which was only a day’s ride to the southeast.

The breeze was picking up a little now, stirring the trees overhead, and he caught sight of a fallow deer and fawn off in the shrubbery. He reined Storm to a halt, taking a deep breath, inhaling the placid moment. So much of his world was wrought with warfare or politics or stress, so a moment like this, in the warmth of the day, beneath the shading canopy, was unusually tranquil for him. It was needed. Over to his right was a thick bit of foliage and a small lake beyond. He thought that the shore of that lake looked just right for a nap. So what if the succubus and her father were arriving at Spelthorne at this very moment? He would take his time returning.