Unending Love (29 page)

Daniel had heard enough. “I am going to find
him,” he rumbled threateningly. “I am going to find him and find Adalind, and I
am going to make him pay for what he has done. I sincerely hope the man is
right with God because when I am finished with him, he will wish he had never
heard the name of de Lohr.  In fact, I….”

His rant was cut off by the sounds of heavy
footfalls in the corridor.  Daniel, David, and Christopher turned in the
direction of the sounds to see the hulking figure of Rhys du Bois emerging from
the darkened stairwell. 

They were all startled by the sudden appearance
of Maddoc’s father. The man, so handsome in his youth with the black hair and
brilliant blue eyes that Maddoc had inherited, looked old and gray and
exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept in a hundred years.  There was grief and
sorrow lining every inch of his face, so much so that the physical impact was
unavoidable.  They felt as if they had all been hit in the gut with it.  Christopher
broke away from David and Daniel.

“Rhys,” he said, holding out a hand in greeting.
“It has been a very long time, my friend.”

Rhys took Christopher’s hand, the brilliant blue
eyes already filling with unshed tears.  He could hardly speak.  “My son,” he
said hoarsely.  “Is he dead?”

David cut in, shaking his head. “Nay,” he
assured him. “The physic is doing all he can to heal him.  Come and see him.”

Christopher and David began pulling Rhys down
the hall as Daniel stood by and watched.  He was so consumed with rage and
agony that he could hardly move.  Two young men were with Rhys, emerging from
the stairwell behind him, and Daniel recognized them as two of Rhys’ sons. 

Evan de Foix was another black haired and blue
eyed son but Trevor de Foix resembled his mother to a fault with his reddish
blond hair.  De Foix was the name the family used in France where they lived,
as relatives of the Duke of Navarre, and Daniel extended his hand to the
brothers as they came near.  They looked just as exhausted as their father.

“How is my brother?” Evan asked in a pleading
whisper, gripping Daniel’s hand.

Daniel wasn’t sure how much more sorrow and
grief he could take.  Every man felt it, radiated it, until it sucked all other
emotions out of the air.

 “He lives,” Daniel replied softly. He nodded
his head in the direction they were taking Rhys. “Go with your father and you
shall see for yourself.”

Solemnly, Evan nodded his head and continued on
after his father.  Trevor, very young and quite tall at his age, nodded grimly
as he passed by. Daniel watched them move down the corridor, crowding into the
small room where Maddoc was.  He could hear voices, mostly David and Rhys’,
until he began to hear sobbing. 

Quietly, he moved back down the hallway and
peered into the room where Rhys had Maddoc’s limp body in his arms, sobbing low
and mournfully.  The father rocked his son gently, devastated over the turn of
events.  It was the worst thing Daniel had ever seen.

Turning on his heel, he came face to face with
his mother and older sister.  Startled at their appearance, and the fact that
they had snuck up behind him, Daniel did the first thing that came to mind.  He
threw his arms around them both, hugging them tightly as they began to weep
softly.  He couldn’t even speak; all he could do was hug.   Words, at the
moment, were unnecessary.

 As he hugged his weeping mother, he kept
thinking of the horrid things he would do to the de Royans bastard once he got
his hands on him.  For the man to cause so much grief to his family and friends
was unforgivable. 

He would make him pay with every last bone in
his body.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the
fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

“Why in God’s name did you bring her here?” Came
the plea. “You will bring the entire House of de Lohr down on us, and for what?
To sate your lust with one of their own?”

Brighton stood in the solar of the Earl of
Norfolk, Hugh d’Aubigney.  Hugh was a younger man, of ill health, but with a
good and steady mind. He was the fourth earl in a long line of powerful earls
and perhaps one of the finest of the line. He was well respected. But now, as
Brighton stood before the good earl, he was coming to think that everything
about this venture with Adalind de Aston was going to crush him.  Everything he
had worked for was now at risk.  The good earl was not the bit supportive of
what his senior knight had done, and he did not mince words.

“It was not to sate my lust, my lord, I assure
you,” Brighton replied steadily. “She is a marriageable prospect, as am I. 
Marriage is made in such ways.”

“Wars are made in such ways,” Hugh fired back.
His head was aching and his stomach rolled, paining him greatly.  He sank into
the nearest chair as a dog tried to jump on his lap. “Brighton, we have more
civilized ways of obtaining a bride these days. That is why there are contracts
and negotiations. Do you have any idea what you have done with your barbaric
abduction? You have put me in the sights of the House of de Lohr and they will
crush me to get to you.  Did you stop to think of this before you kidnapped
their kin?”

Brighton stood his ground although it was an
increasing struggle. He was beginning to grow hot, thinking it was perhaps from
the snapping fire in the hearth next to him, so he moved away from the flame. 
He was still hot even after he moved, now with the added discomfort of doubt in
his actions.  He tried not to let uncertainty overwhelm him.

“I challenged her betrothed and I emerged the
victor,” he said. “I did not abduct her. She was the prize.”

Hugh rolled his eyes as he helped the big,
shaggy dog climb up onto his lap.  The dog brought warmth, which he craved in
his slender body. Dogs were often on his lap for that purpose.

“She is
not
a prize,” he snapped softly.
“That woman is a mess, Brighton.   She screams and kicks and fights anyone that
comes near her. That is not the behavior of a prize but the behavior of a
captive.”

Brighton sighed heavily, lowering his gaze to
regroup. “She is unsteady, that is true,” he replied. “But it is her
exhaustion. We have been traveling for ten days. Given time….”

“Given time she will still feel the same way,”
Hugh cut him off strongly, pointing fingers. “Brighton, I want you to listen to
me very carefully.  You are a brilliant young knight and I have always been
very proud to have you in my stable but, at the moment, I fear you have done
something horribly foolish.  The Earl of Canterbury’s granddaughter must be
returned home immediately.”

“She is mine.”

“She cannot stay.”

Brighton didn’t want to argue with the man but
he wasn’t going to return Adalind, either.  He tried another tactic.

“It is my intention to marry the woman,” he
said. “We stopped at three parishes on our way from Canterbury but the lady
would not… that is to say, circumstances did not permit us to be married. I was
therefore hoping Fr. Trudo could perform the mass.  Arundel has been my home
for several years and I would like to be married here and raise my family
here.”

He made it sound soft and sentimental, but Hugh
would
have
[J50]
 
none of it.  He shook his head. “Get that woman
back to her family,” he commanded. “If you refuse, then I will throw you in the
vault and have someone else return her.  Is that clear?”

Harsh orders that had Brighton backed into a
corner.   He had to question himself at that moment – was he willing to throw
away a bright future and an impressive career over a woman who didn’t want him? 
He didn’t want to deliberately disobey the earl, but he was disinclined to
follow a direct order. It would be career suicide if he refused.   After a
moment, he sighed again.

“My lord,” he began carefully. “If I can obtain
her agreement for this wedding, will you allow us to stay?”

Hugh looked at him as if he was daft. “The only
way I will allow her to stay is if you can get written permission from her
grandfather and his assurance that he will not attack Arundel,” he said. “Given
the circumstances, I am not entirely sure such a thing is possible.”

“But you will consider it?”

“It is an impossible task.”

“But you
will
consider it, my lord?”

Hugh met his gaze steadily. He had known
Brighton de Royans for seven
years
[J51]
 
and never in that time had he known the man to
behave stupidly. There was a first time for everything, he supposed, but based
upon the fleeting glimpse of Adalind de Aston, perhaps he did understand Brighton’s
infatuation with the woman just a little. She was exquisite. However, it didn’t
change the way of things.

“I will consider it if you can bring David de
Lohr to my doorstep, in peace, to discuss it,” he said. “But until that time, stay
away from the lady. I am sending Isabelle to tend her and perhaps bring her
some comfort after what you have done.  After that, she will be returned.”

Brighton didn’t argue with him further, mostly
because he was going to disobey him by keeping Adalind at Arundel until he
could figure out a solution to everything. He knew Adalind was wild with hatred
against him, but he hoped that time and his gentle persuasion would see that
situation change.  He would hope for it.  Until then, however, he had to figure
out how to hide a woman who was not exactly the shy and meek type.

He had to hide a banshee from discovery.

***

Arundel Castle was the biggest castle Adalind
had ever seen, and she had seen quite a few castles in her short life.  The
enormous motte had a keep set deep within its crest and a gigantic curtain wall
surrounded the castle using the motte as a center point, creating two baileys. 
On the north side of the castle were structures that housed apartments and
stables, while the south side contained the biggest hall in all of southern
England.  Truly, the sheer size and pageantry of Arundel Castle was
overwhelming to the senses.

Overwhelming for normal visitors, that is; to
Adalind, it was her prison, a corner of hell that she had been relegated to
with her jailor as Brighton de Royans.   She wasn’t impressed with it, or
anything else for that matter.  Anyone that approached her was screamed at. 
She had no sense of propriety or manners.  She was distraught and overwhelmed, seventeen
days after her violent extraction from Canterbury.   She simply couldn’t wrap
her mind around anything other than her grief.

They had arrived at Arundel the day before. 
Brighton had put her in a room on the northern block and had assigned people to
see to her comfort since she would take none from him.  Their travel to Arundel
had been nothing short of hellish because she fought, kicked, scratched, and
bit every step of the way to the point where Brighton was forced to bind her as
they traveled.  There was no other way to accomplish it because she tried to
run every chance she was given and when she wasn’t running, she was trying to
hurt him.  

Moreover, he’d stopped at three churches after
he had left St. Barnabas in the attempt to marry Adalind but she fought him so
much on it, literally, that he had given up by the fourth attempt.  He didn’t
want to marry a woman he would have to restrain during the mass and it was
quite clear that Adalind wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

In her filthy surcoat that she had been wearing
for almost two weeks, Adalind sat huddled in a corner of the decently appointed
chamber she had been consigned to.  Her blood had stained the neckline of the
garment, drying long ago into dark brown stains, and the wound from whence the
blood flow sprang was now a large scab near her right collarbone.   It was
healing nicely but would leave a scar.

Still, she didn’t care. There wasn’t much she
cared about at the moment other than another scheme to escape Brighton.  It had
been hours since their arrival to Arundel and even though there was a bed in
the small, neat chamber, she hadn’t used it.  When someone came in to stoke the
fire, she had screamed at them and threw whatever she could get her hands on. 
Now no one wanted to come into her room, which was how she wanted it.  She
wanted to be left alone with her grief.

Her last vision of Maddoc was of the man
face-down in the bailey of Canterbury.  She could still see the moment Brighton
swung on him and plowed the broadsword into his torso.  She was haunted by the
expression on Maddoc’s face, surprised by the fact that Brighton had actually
gored him.  All of these things assaulted her senses until she couldn’t think
straight and the guilt of her actions was
the
[J52]
 
most damaging thing of all. 

She had caused Maddoc’s death. At first, she
wanted to die, too. She was eager for it. But after days of travel and
reflecting on her actions, she came to realize that killing herself would only
condemn her soul to Purgatory where she would never see Maddoc again.  If she
wanted to see him in the afterlife, then she would have to live out her
worthless and meaningless life until such time as death naturally took her. 
She could only hope it was soon.