Lady of the Moon (Pirates of Brittania Book 1) Page 2

  “Aye. My only son. Do not hurt him in any way; I do not wish to take him to his bride injured.”

  The young woman shrugged. “If he tries to harm me, I will have little choice.”

  Tyringham shook his head firmly. “Do not draw a weapon on him. Hit him across the head if you must, but not a scratch upon him. Is that in any way unclear? I only wish to have him abducted, not murdered. Deliver him to me unharmed and I shall double the money I paid you.”

  That was an extremely attractive offer and, being that the young woman came from a family of pirates and mercenaries, she spoke that language. Money above all. She was sure it was her family motto somewhere back in the lines.

  “He will not be harmed,” she assured him. “Bruised, mayhap, but I will not puncture his skin with anything sharp.”

  Tyringham seemed satisfied by that. “Very well,” he said. “Now… you will tell me something.”

  “What is that?”

  “Your name. Tell me who you are and tell me something of your family.”

  The young woman pondered his question for a moment. “Why is that necessary?” she asked. “You already know where to reach me. Why must you know anything else?”

  Tyringham cocked an eyebrow. “Because I want to know who I am trusting my money and my son’s life to,” he said. “Is that too much to ask?”

  The young woman was still hesitant. “You are the one who sought me out. Obviously, you know enough about me to know that I deliver what I promise.”

  “If you will not tell me your name, then give me my money back. There are other mercenaries about who will not be so difficult to deal with.”

  The young woman didn’t want to return the money. But she knew if she didn’t give the man at least an answer or two, there were eight heavily-armed men with him who would happily separate her from the money their lord had paid her. Therefore, she saw no harm in divulging some information about herself… limited information.

  “My name is Samarra le Brecque,” she said. “My home is Mithian Castle, where you sent your multiple missives asking to meet with me.”

  Tyringham looked at her curiously. “Le Brecque,” he muttered thoughtfully. “I know that name. Why do I know that name?”

  Samarra knew why. Everyone along the western coast of Cornwall and far up into Wales, Ireland, and Scotland knew that name. As of late, most everyone had heard of it for reasons that were not particularly pleasant. Rather than have Tyringham figure it out later and want his money back again, she thought to be honest with him up front. Although she didn’t give her name freely, she wasn’t ashamed of it when she did. Nor did she lie about it.

  “Poseidon’s Legion,” she said, her voice quiet. “It is the name of the commander of Poseidon’s Legion.”

  Tyringham’s eyes widened. “Le Brecque,” he hissed. “Of course! The pirate Constantine le Brecque, the man who commands ships that raid all along the western coast!”

  “That would be he.”

  Tyringham didn’t seem pleased by the revelation. “God’s Bones, I’ve had my share of run-ins with that man. He has raided St. Ives from time to time and my army has done battle with him. Are you his wife, then?”

  Samarra chuckled, bitterly. “I am his sister,” she said. Then, she leaned forward on the table, resting her forearms on it as she focused on him. “I am from a family of pirates, Lord Tyringham, which is why my sword can be bought. My brother rules the sea along with his pirate brethren but my domain is the land. I command more men than my brother and they demand to be paid well, so this coinage you have given me will make me and my men very happy. Have no fear that we will find your son and take him to St. Agnes caves. And when I do, you will, indeed, pay me double. That is the bargain you yourself struck and I never forget a bargain. If you fail to pay, I will give your son over to my brother and let him take him out to sea as a captive. Is that in any way unclear? If you are going to do business with the devil, my lord, then you had better be willing to accept his terms.”

  Tyringham’s mouth was a thin, hard line by the time she was finished. “Damnable pirates,” he muttered. “I should have known that you would threaten me. Be that as it may, I will not hold a grudge. You have my money and a plan of action. Watch for my son the day after tomorrow astride his big silver beast and take him to the caves. If you do not, I will send more men than you can comprehend and burn Mithian to the ground.”

  Samarra looked at him for a moment before breaking down into a grin. “Are we to threaten each other all night?”

  “Do you understand any other manner of conversation?”

  She shook her head, putting her hand to the purse at her waist. “I understand threats and money. Those are the only languages I speak.”

  Tyringham scratched his cheek, thinking that this was an unusual woman, indeed. “I can give you both, fortunately,” he said. “Then we understand one another?”

  “We do.”

  Tyringham stood up, eager to be finished with this unpleasant business. For some reason, Samarra was starting to make him nervous.

  “Then I shall see you at the caves in four days’ time,” he said. “My son’s betrothed and her father are already making their way there, but I must return home to make sure my son flees to the north where you will be waiting for him.”

  Samarra watched the man as he stood up and straightened out his heavy clothing. “If the girl is already heading for the caves, then it seems to me that you have been planning this for a while.”

  “I would not have to plan anything if my son would only be agreeable.”

  Samarra was coming to wonder what kind of man this son was. But it was of little consequence; she liked a challenge.

  “I will ensure that he is most agreeable.”

  Tyringham believed her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tyringham Castle

  Cornwall

  Built by the Lords of St. Austell, the House of d’Vant, very early in the twelfth century to anchor the perimeter of their holdings, Tyringham Castle was given over to the de Leybourne family about one hundred years after it was built, as the de Leybournes became the local sheriffs of the southern tip of Cornwall. A Norman-designed circular shell keep, meaning the castle was circular in design with all of the necessary rooms and chambers built into the interior of the circle with a small courtyard in the center. It was built on a rise overlooking Carbis Bay.

  To Rhodes de Leybourne, it was home. The smell of the sea, the gulls crying overhead, all of it was ingrained in him, as if such things had been carved into his soul. As he stood on the parapet of Tyringham, watching the bay beyond, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been there to simply absorb the sights and smells and sounds. It seemed like forever ago that he’d perched himself on the stone and watched the bay, a bay that could be bucolic and gentle one moment, angry and rolling the next. Like a woman, it was moody, but that’s what he loved about home. Except for this moment.

  He didn’t want to be here.

  “What are you doing up here, Rhodes?”

  The question came from behind and Rhodes turned to see one of his father’s men approach. He didn’t like most of his father’s men but he happened to like this one; he’d known him for most of his life. Smiling weakly, he returned his focus to the sea.

  “I am contemplating throwing myself off of these old walls,” he muttered, looking to the ground some twenty feet below. “I wonder how many distraught men have thought the same thing, Bogomil.”

  Bogomil de Sauster chuckled softly as he came to stand next to Rhodes. He, too, peered down to the rocky ground below. “There have more than likely been a few,” he said. Then, he looked at Rhodes. “What has you distraught, lad?”

  Rhodes rolled his eyes, unwilling to look at Bogomil. “You cannot possibly not know the answer to that question.”

  Bogomil did. He scratched his neck absently. “Your father is looking for you.”

  Rhodes snorted, an ironic sound. “Of course he is,” he said. Th
en, he turned to Bogomil. “I have been home for nearly a month. You know why I came home, don’t you? Because I received a missive saying that my father was gravely ill and that I needed to return home. But when I came home, I found a man who was not nearly as ill as I had been led to believe.”

  Bogomil shook his head. “He has been ill, Rhodes. He has a cancer; you know that. The physics have told you. Sometimes it affects him greatly but other times, he is nearly normal. But those normal times shall soon be gone. Do not lose patience with the man; he needs you now.”

  Rhodes struggled not to feel too guilty about his impatience. He frowned, knowing that what Bogomil said was true but unhappy just the same. “Then I am a terrible son,” he said, turning back to the sea as a breeze lifted his long, blonde hair. “I am simply not ready to return to Tyringham and assume my duties as lord of the castle. There is so much more happening in my life right now and returning to the wilds of Cornwall is not something I am ready to do. I am sorry if that sounds selfish, but it is the truth. I know father wants me to do my duty, to marry the de Sansen heiress, but that is not what I want. What about what I want, Bogomil? Does my father even consider that?”

  Bogomil looked at the man. He was young, at twenty years and five, but in truth, that wasn’t so young. He was of age to assume the responsibilities expected of him, without a doubt. But Rhodes had always been a lad with wanderlust – when young, he couldn’t wait to leave to foster and once he’d become a knight, he involved himself in court and in the mad politics that were currently gripping England as if Cornwall, and his father, did not exist. He was a native son and he had a respect for the land of his birth, but that was where it ended. He felt as if he should be able to lead his own life, not the life that had been destined for him.

  And he was handsome; oh, so handsome. With his shoulder-length blonde hair and eyes the color of the sea, Rhodes de Leybourne’s comely looks had sent many a maiden swooning in appreciation. He was tall, well-built, and had gained a reputation as a fierce fighter for the young Henry VI against those who tried, time and time again, to usurp him. In the rumor mills of London and beyond, Rhodes de Leybourne had quite the reputation as a man of great ambition and the king of many a lady’s bedchamber. Rhodes lived his life as he wanted to but, now, that freedom was in danger.

  It was time for the spoiled man to settle down.

  “You do not want to hear what I am about to say to you, but it is important that you listen,” Bogomil said. “Your father brought you into this world and he has every right to expect that you will do your duty and marry Lady Lyonette. You cannot go your entire life shirking your duties, Rhodes. If you do not do as your father wishes, then the House of de Leybourne will die.”

  “It will not die,” Rhodes snapped softly. Old Bogomil was always good for a lecture or two but he wouldn’t let the man beat him up over duty versus freedom. “I am not saying that I will not ever take a wife but, when I do, it will be a wife of my choosing. It will not be someone I am told to marry. Have you even seen Lady Lyonette? God’s Bones, the woman has teeth coming out all over the place and she is the size of a small child. That is not the wife I wish to take.”

  Bogomil fought off a grin. “The last time you saw her was years ago,” he said. “She was only a young girl at the time. I am sure she has grown into herself and become quite appealing.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I don’t. And neither will you if you turn your nose up at her and run away. She could be the most beautiful woman in Cornwall now and you would never know it.”

  It was a scolding, something Rhodes didn’t take kindly to. He turned to Bogomil, a look of displeasure on his face. “If she was, I would have heard of her beauty by now,” he said flatly. “She is more than likely still a hag and I refuse to marry such a woman. I refuse to marry any woman right now.”

  Bogomil listened to him with more patience than Rhodes had shown for him. After a moment, he leaned against the stone of the parapet, sighing heavily as he did so.

  “I must admit that I do not like what I am hearing,” he said quietly. “As a lad, you were always eager to leave Cornwall and see the world, but you still loved and respected your father. Years away from him have given you the same spoilt attitude that the ignoble Lancastrians have; you have decided that it is best not to follow your father’s wishes at the expense of your own ambitions. I wonder how you would feel if your son would do the same thing to you?”

  Rhodes was not receptive to the suggestion. “Spare me your sermons,” he hissed. “I am no longer a child and you can no longer strike the fear of God into me nor can you make me feel guilty for my opinion.”

  “I am not trying to make you feel guilty. I am simply saying you are without honor if you refuse to follow your father’s wishes.”

  Rhodes abruptly stood up, facing off against a man he was generally quite fond of. He was at least three inches taller than Bogomil and quite a bit larger. It was size he’d used many times to intimidate but, this time, he wasn’t trying to intimidate the old man. He was genuinely angry.

  “I have killed men for less offenses,” he growled. “Even if I have known you all my life, you are not permitted to say such things to me. If I hear that again, I will cut your tongue out. Is this in any way unclear?”

  Bogomil simply looked at him, fighting off a smirk because Rhodes was a seriously frightening fellow when he wanted to be. But Bogomil wasn’t afraid of him. He knew that Rhodes wouldn’t harm him, regardless of the threat. Still, he could see that he’d pushed the young man too far.

  “Then you have my apologies,” he said. “But what would you call a son who refused to obey his father’s wishes?”

  Rhodes hadn’t forgiven him for the insult. “I would call him a man who knew his own mind. There is nothing wrong with that.”

  Bogomil simply shook his head. “Your father made this marital contract long ago, Rhodes,” he said, taking another tactic. “Do you not wish to make your father happy?”

  “Does he wish to see me miserable simply to make him happy?”

  “He wishes to cement an alliance and a strong future for you and your children. Surely you can understand that.”

  The problem was Rhodes did understand that. He knew the alliance would be a smart one, regardless of his stalling tactics or his opinions. In truth, he understood everything Bogomil was saying to him, whether or not he liked it. He backed down a bit, returning to his position on the wall and feeling an overwhelming sense of angst. More than resistance to his father’s wishes, there was the confusion that he honestly didn’t know exactly what he wanted out of life. All he knew was that didn’t want to marry and settle down. He looked out to sea.

  “I have seen a good deal in my short life,” he muttered. “I have seen men happy in marriage and unhappy in marriage. I have seen alliances that have dissolved and those that have remained strong. I am not entirely sure what I want in my life, Bogomil, but I know I do not want to end up in an unhappy marriage to a woman I do not even know simply to please my father and cement an alliance. Surely there are other alliances to cement and other women to marry. Surely there is more to life than simply duty.”

  Bogomil heard the longing in Rhodes’ voice and he knew it well; that was the dreamer he knew, the young boy who wanted to see great things and great lands, the one who was never happy with where he was or what he was doing. He wanted something else. Bogomil put a hand on Rhodes’ back.

  “Still searching for your land of gold, are you?” he asked. “Have you not found such a thing yet, in all of your travels?”

  Rhodes shook his head, a hint of defeat in his manner. “I am not sure it exists.”

  “Mayhap it does, only not where you are looking.”

  “That is possible.”

  They lingered in silence for a few moments, having weathered the storm between them. Finally, Bogomil patted him on the back and turned away.

  “Go and see your father, Rhodes,” he said. “He may not be with us too
much longer. Make sure what you say to him… make sure it counts. Do not have regrets in the years to come.”

  Rhodes simply nodded and Bogomil left him in peace, still gazing out over the sea, still in a mist of confusion about his future.

  Still searching for that land of gold, are you?

  Rhodes had to smile when he rolled those words over in his head. Everyone who knew him had always said that to him, the lad whose mind was always elsewhere as if dreaming for a perfect place for him to do what he wanted and live how he wanted. The older Rhodes became, the more he realized that such a place, more than likely, didn’t exist, but he refused to disbelieve the dream entirely.

  Somewhere, somehow, there was a place where he belonged and where happiness would be his for the taking. Perhaps it wasn’t something obvious, just as Bogomil said – perhaps it would be where he least expected it.

  All Rhodes knew was that he would know it when he saw it.

  Someday, the dreamer with wanderlust in his veins would find his happiness.

  

  “You wanted to see me, Father?”

  Henry had been laying down in his solar, on a very comfortable bed that had been fashioned in the corner by his manservant. Sometimes his health was so fragile that he couldn’t even make it up the stairs to his bedchamber, and there had been many a night he’d spent in his solar bed.

  Hearing his son’s voice, however, he struggled to sit up, coughing because of the cancer in his chest. The cancer had only been discovered because he’d had a cough that would not leave him. He’d had it for a year. The physics told him that he could live another year or another three; they could not be certain. In any case, Henry wasn’t taking any chances. He had business with his son that had to be completed so he could die in peace. Otherwise, he wasn’t entire sure if he could die at all.