Page 137

It was the truth that none of them could dispute.

“While you are speaking with her, ask her why there have been no patrols sent out from Four Crosses since the battle,” Thad reminded him.

“The Welsh could be building up over the next hill and we would not know anything about it until it was too late.”

Jamison simply nodded his head, his thoughts now on the lack of patrols and Roald de Llion’s absence. It was an increasing mystery that needed to be discovered. As he finished securing his brecan , Jamison left the warm, stale solar and proceeded out into the freezing dawn.

The moisture on the ground had turned to ice overnight, creating a thin layer of it on the mud as Jamison headed for the gatehouse.

Ice crunched beneath his big leather boots and his breath hung in the air, creating big puffs of fog as he went.

As he passed through the bailey, his gaze moved over the gray granite walls of the fortress and the history of the place popped to mind.

As told to him by Chris de Lohr himself, Four Crosses Castle, other than being a bone of contention between Welsh and English, had something of a dark and sinister past.

Nearly one hundred years ago, the castle had been part of the de Velt conquest that swept the Marches during that time.

Ajax de Velt, a barbaric knight who fed on bloodlust, captured six castles along the Marches and put the occupants of those castles, and anyone resisting him, on stakes.

Men and women alike were impaled alive, left to die of exposure and blood loss as de Velt stole their castles.

But twenty years after that, another bloodthirsty warrior came through and did the same thing, stealing the castle from de Velt.

That man was a de Llion and the family that still manned the castle were his descendants, Havilland and her sisters included.

Given the barbaric and violent history of the castle, Jamison wasn’t particularly surprised, in hindsight, that the de Llion women fought as men. Fighting was in their blood.

What these walls have seen , Jamison thought as he neared the gatehouse.

If walls could talk, he supposed that Four Crosses would have a great story to tell.

He was thinking on that story when he neared the guard room of the gatehouse and, coming around a corner, plowed into someone who was just emerging from the guard room.

Startled, Jamison stepped back, putting his hands out as a purely reflexive action only to see that he had Havilland in his grip.

Startled green eyes gazed back at him but when she realized who held her, she pulled away, quickly.

He lost his grip and she nearly lost her balance in her haste to step away from him.

“I did not see you,” Havilland said, having difficulty meeting his eye.

Jamison had no intention of letting the woman out of his sight now that he’d found her, unexpected as it had been. “No harm done,” he said. “Did I hurt ye?”

Havilland’s brow furrowed as if the question either offended or confused her; it was difficult to tell. “You did not,” she said. Quickly, she averted her gaze and tried to move past him. “If you will excuse me, I have duties to attend to.”

Jamison wouldn’t let her go so easily. “Wait,” he called after her, watching her come to an unsteady halt. “I was coming tae the gatehouse tae speak with ye. Can ye spare me a moment before going about yer tasks?”

Havilland didn’t seem too willing. Dressed in heavy woolen breeches, three woolen tunics, and a heavy cloak with a fur collar, her dark hair was braided and pinned to the top of her head.

She looked every inch the soldier this morning but Jamison found himself wondering what she’d look like in a fashionable dress.

He could only imagine she would be the most exquisitely beautiful woman in all the world.

“I… I suppose I can spare a moment,” she said. “But quickly. There is much for me to accomplish today.”

Jamison suspected it was a dodge. “Like what?”

She was surprised by the question. “Many things,” she said, scrambling to come up with a list of things but then realizing it was none of his affair. “Is that what you wished to speak with me about?”

Jamison shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Have ye broken yer fast yet this morning?”

Havilland nodded. “I have.”

Jamison simply wriggled his eyebrows. “I havena,” he said, moving towards her and reaching out, taking her by the elbow and politely pulling her with him. “Mayhap ye can spare me a moment or two while I eat.”

It wasn’t as if Havilland had a choice. He was pulling her along toward the great hall and, like a dumb animal, she followed.

She kept eyeing the hand around her elbow, thinking that it was, perhaps, one of the biggest hands she’d ever seen.

But it wasn’t the size of it as much as it was the sheer touch; it was as if she could feel his heat through her clothing, a heat that made her knees weak and her heart race.

Sensations that were both curious and frightening.

Truth be told, that was why she had been avoiding the man since their conversation in the great hall.

He had her attention; she didn’t want him to have her attention.

She’d never had her attention on a man in her life.

Therefore, she thought that if she avoided the man and kept her thoughts off him that she would soon forget whatever infatuation she seemed to have with him. It simply wasn’t healthy.

But here she was, being dragged along with him as they headed for the great hall.

She didn’t want to go into the great hall with him.

If she did, then she’d never get over this foolish interest she had in him because she’d be forced to sit and stare at him, drinking in that handsome Scottish mug.

Heels dug in, she came to a halt and broke his grip on her elbow.

“Wait,” she said. “I do not need to go into the hall whilst you break your fast. You can tell me now what you wish to speak with me about so I may be along my way. What did you wish to say?”

Jamison came to a halt a foot or so away from her, his gaze moving over her in an appraising manner.

He could see that she really had no desire to spend any more time with him than necessary and the thought rather shot holes in his male pride.

He’d spent his entire life fighting women off but now there was one who evidently had no use for him. Was such a thing even possible?

“Ye can answer a question for me,” he said.

“And that is?”

“I thought we had made peace between us,” he said. “’Tis clear that isna the case. Will ye tell me what I did tae offend ye again?”

Off guard, Havilland eyed him. “You have done nothing,” she said. “I… I am simply busy, ’tis all.”

Jamison nodded his head as if he did not believe her. “I see,” he said. “Is there anything I can help ye with since ye’re so busy?”

She shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “But I would appreciate it if you would come to the point.”

He cocked his head. “Ye dunna like speaking wit’ me, do ye?”

Now, she looked startled by the blunt question. “I… I do not know what you mean.”

He shrugged, averting his gaze in a somewhat resigned manner.

“’Tis not tae worry,” he said. “I thought after our discussion in the hall… I thought we might be able to speak civilly. Since I have charge of the castle and yer father is the commander, I had hoped tae learn a great deal from ye about many things.”

Havilland was curious no matter how much she fought against him. “What things?”

Jamison shrugged, his gaze moving around the vast inner bailey.

“I’d hoped tae learn of yer Welsh neighbors,” he said, turning on a bit of his natural charm.

“I am expected tae lead fighting men but I dunna know much of the area. I was hoping ye could tell me. Do ye have any Welsh neighbors that ye’re friendly with?

There are things only ye can tell me and since yer father has made himself scarce, then I need tae learn them from ye.

Unless ye’ll permit me tae speak wit’ yer father. ”

Havilland’s gaze lingered on him. He had a point and a very good one.

He could learn a lot from her about Four Crosses and the surrounding area, and she certainly had no intention of letting him speak with her father.

She supposed there was very much a necessity to speak with someone and that someone needed to be her. Her need to resist him was softening.

With a faint sigh, she lowered her gaze and walked past him, heading for the hall. Jamison, however, didn’t move; he just watched her walk away until she suddenly came to a halt and turned to him.

“Well?” she said. “Are you coming? I thought you wanted to break your fast.”

Fighting off a victorious grin, Jamison followed.

There were still wounded in the hall, crowded back into a warm corner as the hearth blazed furiously.

Dogs slept on the warm stones before the blaze and under the tables as Havilland led Jamison to the end of the big feasting table.

The rough surface, old and with splinters, had seen generations of de Llions.

Havilland sent one of the servants for food for him before silently indicating for Jamison to sit. He did before she followed suit.

“We have never been particularly friendly with our neighbors,” Havilland said, seated on the very end of the table as he sat on the right corner.

“Lord Preece is the closest. He lives about a morning’s ride away at a place called Elinog.

He is not violent against us but he is also not particularly friendly.

Years ago, our families were friendlier and I believe Madeline and Amaline still speak with Lord Preece’s children, but I do not. He has two sons and a daughter.”

“And ye dunna know the sons? Are they men grown or children?”

“Men grown,” she replied. “We exist alongside the family but nothing more.”