Lady of the Moon (Pirates of Brittania Book 1) Page 3

  Ever.

  “Come in, my son,” he said, waving Rhodes in. “I was simply resting. I seem to do a lot of that as of late.”

  Rhodes eyed his father; quite honestly, he didn’t look sick to him. He still looked strong and healthy, but he’d had two physics tell him that his father was not long for this world. He still wasn’t sure if he believed them. His father had been known to throw money at people to make them do his bidding, so he wasn’t sure this wasn’t some kind of ploy by his father to gain his sympathy and force him to his will.

  “What did you wish to speak with me about?” Rhodes asked politely, although he knew full well what it was.

  Henry looked up at his boy; strong, tall, handsome, Rhodes was the perfect man, the perfect warrior. The Lancastrians knew it and they’d used his boy for their petty wars. Truth be told, Henry was terrified to lose his boy to a war between a mad king and a usurper. Even if Rhodes wasn’t happy to be here, at least he was home. That gave Henry a certain amount of peace.

  “Sit down,” he told his son. “There is brandywine in the pitcher on the table.”

  “I do not want any, thank you.”

  “It is from Spain. You know the Spaniards can produce a very fine product.”

  “Truly, Father, I do not want any.”

  “Will you bring me some, then?”

  Rhodes sighed faintly, with resignation, before going to the finely carved table near the hearth and reaching for an alabaster vessel with a stopper that contained a golden-brown liquid which he proceeded to pour into a matching alabaster cup. He almost put the stopper back in but thought better of it and poured a second cup for himself. Taking both cups, he went over to his father and handed the man one. The old man took it, raising the cup to his son and uttering a toast before downing the contents.

  “Il n’y a pas de boisson apres la mort,” he muttered.

  There is no drinking after death. Rhodes gave his father a rather disapproving expression of the morbid toast before downing the contents of his own cup. The drink was very potent and sweet, setting his throat on fire with the strength of it. Smacking his lips, he went to pour himself more. If this conversation was going to be about his father’s death, then he was going to need it.

  “What did you wish to speak about, Father?” he asked yet again.

  Henry watched his tall, proud son as the man poured himself more alcohol. He knew, and Rhodes knew, what he wished to speak of.

  The time had come.

  “I received a missive from August de Sansen sometime before you arrived last month,” he said. “I will show you the missive if you wish, but I am sure you already know the contents.”

  Rhodes looked at the man with great displeasure. “So now it comes,” he said. “I knew something had precipitated your missive to me telling me that you were ill and demanding my immediate return. When I finally came home, you had every opportunity to tell me the truth but you did not. You have waited until I am here almost a month before you tell me why I have really come home. Very well, Father; out with it. What did August de Sansen say?”

  Instead of appearing remorseful, as everything his son said was true, Henry was defiant. “If I had not summoned you home with news of my ill health, which is truth in fact, then you would not have come,” he said flatly. “It is your own fault I had to lie to you.”

  Rhodes rolled his eyes. “So it is my fault you are a manipulator?”

  “It is your fault that you evidently want nothing to do with your family. How else am I to bring you home?”

  Rhodes knew this could deteriorate very quickly and he didn’t want to get into a battle with his father. It wouldn’t do any good. Therefore, he folded his big arms across his chest expectantly.

  “Very well,” he said. “Your lies have brought me home because I am a bloody stubborn ass. What do you want of me?”

  Henry frowned. “Can you not even be pleasant to me as I sit here, dying?”

  Rhodes eyebrows lifted. “You are the healthiest dying man I have ever seen. I am sorry to stay that I do not believe you. You could have very well paid those physics to tell me what you wanted them to tell me. You are not beyond bribing or buying off people to get your way, so until I see you in your grave, I am reluctant to believe that you actually have a cancer.”

  “You hurt me, Rhodes.”

  “And you treat me like an imbecile. Are you going to tell me what de Sansen said or not?”

  Henry was growing angry. In a huff, he stood up from his bed with effort and shuffled in the direction of the massive oaken table that held all of his business dealings.

  “August was very pleased to reiterate his excitement in the coming marriage between you and his daughter,” he said, picking through the pieces of vellum on the table as he hunted for the de Sansen missive. When he finally found it, he read from it. “He is also offering you two hundred marks of silver, five hundred men, and the small castle of Lamorna. You would control the entire western edge of the de Sansen lands. That is a vast area, Rhodes. All tribute paid from those lands would be yours.”

  It was, in fact, an extremely generous offer. Rhodes had to admit that he was surprised to hear it.

  “Lamorna,” he said, a hint of suspicion in his tone. “Those lands are said to be haunted.”

  Henry cocked a bushy eyebrow. “You are too old to believe in ghosts.”

  Rhodes cast his father a long look. “Not if you’ve seen some of the things I’ve seen over the past ten years,” he said. “You have only remained here, but I have traveled the world some. I can tell you with some certainty that there are ghosts, curses, and witches. I believe in them implicitly.”

  “Lamorna is very rich land,” Henry spoke with shades of sarcasm. “You can pay off the ghosts if they are too bothersome so they will go somewhere else. Rhodes, the point is that this is a very generous offer from de Sansen. He is happy to welcome you into the family, lad, and he is showing his joy. That is an offer any sane man would take.”

  Rhodes knew that. He actually felt rather badly that he would have to refuse it, but not badly enough to rethink his position. He sighed heavily.

  “Da,” he said, trying to soften what was sure to be an explosive exchange. “I have told you before where I stand on this. You know very well that I do not wish to marry Lyonette de Sansen. It is nothing personal against the girl – I simply do not want to marry her and stay in Cornwall.”

  Henry began to turn red around the ears. “This marital contract was made when you were very young. It is expected of you.”

  “Mayhap it is, but I will not do it.”

  “Would you shame me so?”

  “Would you force me, knowing how unhappy I would be?”

  Henry looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “Marriage is not about happiness, lad,” he said. “It is about doing your duty. When you marry Lyonette, you will have a great piece of property gifted to you at your wedding and when I die, and August dies, you will control Cornwall from Penzance across to St. Ives. The entire area of Land’s End will be yours. You are ambitious enough that such a prospect should soften the distaste of marrying against your will.”

  Rhodes knew his father was right but he simply couldn’t bring himself to agree. They’d had this conversation many times over the years but now, it was about to become gritty. The situation had reached a critical point. Rhodes wasn’t going to back off and neither would Henry. But Rhodes had to make his father understand his perspective.

  “Da, listen to me for once,” he begged softly. “For once in your life, try to see this from my perspective. It is not an unattractive offer. In fact, it is a very attractive one. But I do not wish to spend my life here in the wilds of Cornwall. I serve the Earl of Bristol, Bastian de Russe, and Bastian serves the king. My life is with de Russe now and it is my duty and my privilege to go where he tells me to go and fight whomever he tells me to fight. Here in Cornwall… it is like a distant dream to me. Nothing I know or love is here, other than you, and to marry Lyonette
and remain here couldn’t be further from what I want in my life. Please try to understand.”

  Henry sighed sharply. “I understand that I have raised a selfish son,” he grumbled. “Thank God your mother is not alive to see how you have disrespected your family and, in particular, me. No matter how you try to say it, what you are telling me always comes out the same way – you will only do what you want to do, not what is right for your family. You do not care how this shames me so long as you can do as you please. Well, I will not stand for it. I am your father and it is my right to do as I must for this family and that includes your marriage to Lyonette de Sansen. She and her father are on their way to Tyringham at this very moment and there is nothing you can do about it. I am sorry you have forced me into this position, Rhodes, but had you only understood how important this is, I would not have to assert my authority. You will marry Lyonette and that will be the end of it.”

  Rhodes simply stood there, staring at his father, realizing this was a situation that would never resolve itself. His father saw the situation from his perspective and that was it. There was no middle ground. In any case, he was going to have to make some hard decisions now. His father had effectively cut off any chance of keeping their relationship peaceful from this point forward.

  “I am sorry you feel that way,” Rhodes said quietly. “You are not making this easy for any of us.”

  Henry cast him a pointed look. “I do not have to make it easy,” he said. “I must do my duty to ensure this family survives and so shall you. Now, if you must hate me for it, then get on with it. But you will marry that girl.”

  Rhodes was surprisingly calm. Calmer than he should have been, mostly because he knew this was the moment of truth. He would either bend to his father’s iron will or he would follow his own iron will. There was no question that his choice would be the latter, which would lead to consequences he was prepared to face. Knowing that he would be disowned for this, and this might be the last time he ever saw his father, softened his manner considerably.

  But he would do what he had to do.

  “I do not hate you,” he said. “I could never hate you. But you may very well hate me by the time this is over.”

  Henry had made his way back over to his bed; his back was hurting and he was feeling weakened. Strong emotion always did that to him these days. He sat heavily on the bed.

  “You are my son,” he said. “I may become angry with you and I may even want to knock some sense into your thick skull, but I could never hate you. I love you more than my own life. I wish you could say the same about me.”

  Rhodes watched his father as the man lay down on his bed, grunting as he struggled to get comfortable. The more he looked at his father, the more he was coming to think that maybe he didn’t look as healthy as he had originally thought. Somehow, he seemed older and more frail in just the time they’d been together in the solar. Arguing with a beloved son would do that to a father. As bad as Rhodes felt about that, it wasn’t bad enough to give in to his father’s demands.

  He knew what he had to do.

  Silently, he quit the solar, leaving his father trying to rest on his over-stuffed mattress. But Henry wasn’t resting as he should have been. In fact, he waited a nominal amount of time before summoning Bogomil and, together, the two of them made their way up to the battlements, hiding out from the activity in the small courtyard below, watching and waiting. If Henry knew his son, and he was fairly sure he did, the man was about to make an escape.

  It wasn’t long in coming. A little more than an hour after the conversation in the solar, Henry and Bogomil watched as Rhodes thundered from the castle astride his leggy silver horse and out into the countryside beyond. No farewells, no long moments of parting. Rhodes de Leybourne had behaved as predictably as his father knew he would.

  In this matter, Henry would get the last laugh.

  He could only pray that the Lady of the Moon was just where she was supposed to be.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dusk, later that day

  The village of Tolvadden

  He came just as his father said he would.

  In a heavily forested area just south of Tolvadden, Samarra and her men had been waiting for two days, ever since the meeting with Tyringham at The Blackbottom Tavern and the bargain that had been struck. Samarra had been quick about taking her place along the main road that bisected Cornwall, mostly because she was concerned she might miss her target and all of that lovely money she’d been paid would have to be returned. So, she set out with eight of her trusted men, men with names like Howler and Four-Fingers and Rat, and made way to the southern end of Tolvadden to wait out the knight on the big silver war horse.

  Fortunately, the weather had been decent while they waited; no gales blowing off of the sea, no storms. The moon was even in its three-quarter phase, which provided a goodly amount of light to see by at night. There was a river that ran through this area, called the Red River, and the heavily-forested area around it was called the Red Forest, not only for the river but also because it was known to house murders and thieves.

  It wasn’t a safe place at any time of night or day, and travelers on the road that passed through the Red Forest tended to move very quickly. Since Samarra’s arrival the day before, she’d been watching from the trees as travelers spurred their horses down the road or, on a couple of occasions, she’d watched farmers pulling heavily-laden carts make a run for it. Beyond Tolvadden was the market town of Treleigh and it was the unfortunate truth that farmers had to pass through the Red Forest in order to get there.

  The cost of business, at times, could be high.

  But Samarra didn’t fear those who made their homes in the forest; the men she had with her were some of the dirtiest, most ruthless men imaginable, men who had originally served her brother but men who had sworn an oath to her because they preferred the land over the sea. These were men that even the forest-dwellers feared. But in truth, she’d had to best every one of them to earn their respect and now she had a group of men who feared nothing, who would do what she commanded, and who showed no remorse to anything they’d ever done in life. There was a lesson to be learned from men like that – life without guilt and take what you could get.

  That was the mantra that Samarra lived by.

  Even now, she was preparing to do a job for a father with little remorse for what he had to do in order to force his son to wed a woman the son evidently had no interest in marrying. Samarra really had no interested in this job other than just how quickly she could finish it. She was very much looking forward to collecting double the money she’d already been paid upon delivery of the reluctant bridegroom and she was quite confident that she and her men could subdue the son without trouble. Even though Tyringham seemed to think his son would fight back, Samarra was unconcerned. Whatever the spoilt lord’s son wanted to throw at her, she could handle it.

  She’d learned by living life the hard way.

  As the sun began to set on a day that had been as brilliant as diamonds, Samarra and some of her men were in the trees along the side of the road – literally, up in the branches, watching from the shield of the canopy. That was how they usually worked, up in the trees where they couldn’t be seen because men on foot, or even on horses, usually didn’t look up when searching for danger. They tended to look at their eye level.

  Therefore, Samarra was about eight feet up in a tree that was next to the road while Howler, a rather squirrely man who was quick with his blade, was in the tree in front of her. The rest of her men were further up the road, as a piercing whistle from Howler would alert them when their victim had passed by. They were ready to charge out of the trees and capture him. As Samarra leaned in against the tree trunk, seriously thinking about coming out of the tree because she needed to relieve herself, Howler began hissing.

  “Missy!” he hissed. Her men called her “Missy” because she refused to let them call her by her name, or even “lady”, so “Missy” had become the compr
omise. “A rider! Missy, do ye see him?”

  Samarra sat up, leaning sideways to look around Howler so she could see the road from the south. “I do,” she said. “Back off, you fool. He’ll see you!”

  Howler stopped waving his arm and he pressed himself against the tree trunk, well out of sight as the rider came closer. They’d had a few false alarms between yesterday and today, men on horseback who didn’t turn out to be the man she was looking for, so Samarra didn’t get excited about this one. She watched the distant figure come into view, closer and closer, and even with the setting sun, she could see a rather big knight astride a silver horse.

  A silver rouncey with long legs that can outrun any horse in Cornwall.

  So it was him. Samarra felt a sense of satisfaction that her quarry had finally been sighted. She couldn’t help thinking that Tyringham knew his son very well; he’d known the man would flee and he knew the direction the man would take, so everything could be set up properly for the ambush. Feeling smug in the confirmation of her victim, she pressed close to the trunk of the tree as the knight passed by, her sharp gaze sizing him up.

  The first thing Samarra noticed was that Tyringham failed to tell her just how big his son was; the knight, wearing armor, was positively enormous. She caught sight of the hilt of, more than likely, an equally massive broadsword but it was sheathed on the left side of the horse so she couldn’t see the entire weapon. She did, however, see various weapons strapped to the saddle and it was clear the man was prepared for battle.

  Although Tyringham had warned her that his son was a seasoned knight, Samarra didn’t realize how seasoned until he rode by. His level of preparedness concerned her. Although her men were rough and seasoned at fighting, going up against a highly-trained knight with a very large sword might be a bit of a challenge, even for them. Samarra was coming to understand why Tyringham had not been hesitate to double her payment when she had demanded it. Clearly, he was well aware of his son’s battle capabilities.