Page 5 of Lion of Thunder (De Lohr Dynasty: Sons of de Lohr #5)
CHAPTER FOUR
Massington Castle
I t was actually quite impressive.
That was what Westley thought when Massington Castle appeared in the distance, a great, sandstone-colored fortress that sat gleaming in the afternoon sun. When Westley realized the scope of the size of the place, he began to show just the slightest bit more interest in the situation at hand.
But it wasn’t just the fortress.
It was the land.
They had entered into an area that was particularly rolling. There were hills to the north and hills to the south, and toward the west there was an even larger series of hills that looked like mountains. Even the driver, an old soldier who had seen much in life, pointed out that on top of one of the taller hills was an old Roman fort. Since Westley had a fondness for the history of his country, he found that rather interesting and made a mental note to explore it someday. He wanted to walk where Roman generals had once walked, back when the Great Empire had tried to conquer Britain.
As he looked over the landscape, the carriage driver told him that Massington had been built out of the stones from the old Roman fort, something that piqued Westley’s interest further. Since his home of Lioncross Abbey was once an old Roman temple, he knew what treasures could be left behind and hidden within the walls. As a child, he and his siblings would explore the ruins of the old temple in the bowels of the castle, finding names carved in stone. Once, they’d even found part of an old dagger, or rudis , his father had called it.
That kind of thing had always fascinated him.
Feeling more interest in his new home, Westley mentally prepared himself for what was to come—at least, as prepared as he could be. Prepared to take a wife, prepared to one day assume command of what appeared to be an astonishingly remarkable fortress. As they drew closer, he could see berms and earthwork surrounding the castle, strategic small hills meant to slow down an enemy attack, but what he didn’t see until they were nearly at the gatehouse was that the berms hid a series of moats. There were great ditches in between the earthworks that had been filled with water and sludge so that an enemy would have to not only mount the earthworks, but struggle through the moat before making it to the next berm.
It was truly ingenious.
Westley hated to admit how impressed he was. It weakened the foundation of his resistance narrative. Since he’d been told about this betrothal years ago, he’d spent all that time loathing the moment he would be expected to fulfill the contract, so the fact that Massington Castle wasn’t an unimpressive fortress with unimpressive surroundings destroyed his rebellion. His father had spoken about how he would inherit the Ledbury title, but it had never meant anything to him until this moment.
He would be inheriting something quite substantial.
But he wondered if the price he had to pay would be worth it.
It was clear that the gatehouse was expecting the party from Lioncross Abbey because the substantial drawbridge was already down and the portcullises were lifted. There were two, and as they passed beneath them, Westley found himself looking up at the massive iron grates and noting how imposing they were. The gatehouse in general seemed to be quite strong, and once they entered what was an outer bailey, he began to get the full impact of the interior of the castle.
He didn’t see anything he didn’t like.
“My lord?” A knight with bright blue eyes and a Teutonic accent approached the carriage. “I am Harker of Kent, servant to Lord Ledbury. Are you Sir Westley?”
Westley nodded as he climbed down from the driver’s bench. “I am,” he said. “How long have you served here, Harker?”
“More than twenty years, my lord.”
Westley was still looking around the sand-colored walls as if he could focus on nothing else. “This place is extraordinary,” he said, sounding awed. “I’ve never been here. I cannot imagine why not. I had no idea this even existed.”
He was so caught up in the sight of the castle that he failed to remember his father was in the carriage. One of the soldiers had to help him out, and as he came around the side, heading for the front of the cab, Westley caught sight of him. Chagrinned, he went to meet him.
“My apologies, Papa,” he said.
Christopher eyed him. “For what?” he said. “Ignoring me? You should apologize. I raised you better than that.”
Westley was properly submissive. “You did,” he said. “We have been greeted by Harker of Kent.”
He indicated the big man behind him, hoping that would deter some of his father’s irritation. Fortunately for him, it worked. Christopher straightened the heavy, knee-length leather and fur coat he was wearing and approached Harker.
“I’m Hereford,” he said. “Where is Marius?”
Harker bowed respectfully. “My lord,” he said. “Lord Ledbury is indisposed at the moment and begs your forgiveness. His wife will receive you in the great hall, if you will follow me.”
Christopher did. Westley was right behind him, but the man hadn’t taken four steps when he heard what he thought was a shout behind him and, abruptly, an armed opponent was in his path. A sword, very real and very sharp, swung in his direction and he had to jump back to avoid being sliced in the belly by it.
Suddenly, the polite greeting at Massington wasn’t so polite.
“Ella!” Harker shouted as he saw what was going on. “Cease this moment!”
The warrior slowed down but didn’t come to a halt completely. He, or she, began to pace back and forth, sword leveled, blocking Westley from following his father or Harker. Westley wasn’t sure what was going on, or who Ella was, so he backed up, snapping his fingers at the de Lohr soldiers, one of whom provided him with a broadsword. Westley wasn’t wearing any protection or mail because he’d been riding in the carriage, but he didn’t need it.
He was already sizing up his opponent.
“Ella!” Harker came rushing up, almost in a panic. “What are you doing?”
The attacker lifted the faceplate on the helm and Westley found himself staring into an utterly exquisite, absolutely female face. Somehow, the eyes seemed familiar to him—beautiful pale hazel eyes that he’d seen once before. A very long time ago.
Suddenly, it occurred to him who it was.
“Elysande?” he said incredulously. “Elysande du Nor?”
She looked at him, seemingly startled for a moment that he should remember her or say her name, but that surprise quickly vanished. “You still smell, Westley,” she said. “I can smell you over here.”
Westley frowned at the hostile response, looking between Elysande and Harker. “What is going on here?” he demanded. “What is the meaning of this?”
Before Harker could reply, Elysande answered. “Is that not obvious?” she said imperiously. “You intend to marry me and I intend to chase you off. I do not want to marry you.”
Westley scowled. “And I do not want to marry you,” he said. “None of this was my idea.”
“But you are here.”
“Because my father forced me to come,” he nearly shouted. Then he looked her up and down. “Now that I see you again after all of these years, you’ve not improved in any fashion. You’re still the same little gutter rat you were those years ago. I could do much better.”
Elysande’s eyes widened in outrage at the insult. “You’re no prize, either.”
“I’m more of a prize than you are.”
“What a ludicrous statement!”
“At least my father is an earl,” Westley snarled. “What’s yours? A no-name warlord with a madwoman for a daughter?”
The emotion Harker had warned Elysande against made an appearance. With a growl, she charged Westley, who easily moved out of her way because she was heavy with mail and he wasn’t. As she stumbled past him, he reached out a hand and spanked her, hard, right on the bottom. That caused her to lose her balance and pitch to her knees as a chorus of laughter rang up from the men around them, men who had been drawn to the conflict. They’d been watching the entire thing, and with Elysande being whacked, they found it amusing.
Elysande found her feet quickly as she faced Westley.
“You’ll not say that about my father,” she said through clenched teeth. “And there’s nothing great about you except the de Lohr name. You haven’t earned anything yourself except to ride on the achievements of your father and brothers.”
That wiped the grin off Westley’s face. “At least my father and brothers have achievements,” he said. “What do yours have?”
Elysande’s face was turning red with rage. “Prepare yourself, de Lohr,” she said, lifting her sword. “You’ll pay for that remark.”
“No one is paying for anything.” Christopher was suddenly between them, holding up his hands to prevent either one of them from charging. “You’ve both managed to get off some good insults at each other, but it stops now before things are said that cannot be forgotten. Lady Elysande, where is your father?”
Elysande faltered as a very big man thwarted her plans of vengeance. She knew who he was, however. Showing contempt to Westley was one thing, but showing contempt to his father was quite another.
She wasn’t that stupid.
“In the keep, my lord,” she said.
“What is he doing there when he has guests?” Christopher asked.
Elysande looked at Harker, reluctant to tell the truth, but Harker could only shrug. He’ll find out soon enough, the man’s gaze seemed to say.
Elysande sighed with resignation.
“He is drunk, my lord,” she said frankly. “He is sleeping off the wine.”
“So your father is a drunk, is he?” Westley said, unable to keep silent. “I was right. A no-name, lowborn warlord with a no-name, lowborn daughter. I’d do better marrying a pig.”
With that, he tossed the sword to the ground and stormed off, heading back into the carriage as Elysande stood there, embarrassed at the entire situation. She truly thought Westley would rise to her challenge and she could force him to retreat. A foolish thought, but she was desperate. She tried to assert herself to control the situation, but instead, she had only humiliated herself and her family as the tide had turned quickly against her.
She couldn’t even look at Harker.
“Lord Hereford, my mother is waiting for you in the great hall, I believe,” she said, unable to look at Christopher, either. “Mayhap… mayhap you would be kind enough not to tell her what I have done.”
Christopher could see that the young woman was embarrassed. “How am I to explain Westley’s absence?” he said. “If I do not tell her, West probably will. Or any one of the fifty men that witnessed the situation. It would be better if she heard it from you first.”
Elysande’s gaze lifted. Her eyes locked with his for just a moment before she reluctantly nodded. Without another word, she headed off toward the hall, passing Harker as she went. He made sure to confiscate the sword from her, which only embarrassed her further. Christopher watched her go before turning and heading back to the carriage. Trying the door, he found it locked.
“West,” he said quietly. “Unbolt the door.”
“I will not,” Westley said from inside, his voice muffled. “I’m not coming out until we return home.”
“That was not a request. Unbolt the door.”
A few moments passed, during which the de Lohr soldiers glanced at each other apprehensively, before the door finally opened. That brought relief for the entire escort, but they were in a holding pattern before they could move. Either they were turning for home or they were proceeding inside for good.
Time would tell who had the stronger will.
Christopher or Westley.
The odds, at this point, were even.
But not as far as Christopher was concerned. He didn’t feel any differently than he had when they first arrived. When Westley unbolted the door, Christopher shoved it open and hit his son with the force of his actions. He didn’t even apologize.
He motioned Westley out.
“Come with me,” he said.
But Westley stood his ground. “Papa, I mean no disrespect, but I am not going with you,” he said. “It is clear the lady and I do not wish to marry.”
“I do not care what you want.”
“Would you truly cause me such misery?”
Christopher did something then that he rarely did with his children. He set his jaw and glared at Westley with an expression that had sent many an enemy to cower. The Defender emerged, the man who had been at King Richard’s side throughout the Levant, the same Defender who had gone head to head with Prince John. He was an immovable man, one who wasn’t about to let his youngest son refuse his wishes.
This was a man of legend.
“Listen to me and listen well,” he said through clenched teeth. “This is the last time you are going to refuse my command. There will not be a next time because if there is, I will turn this carriage around without you in it and head home. You, my son, will not be welcome there. You will not be welcome at the homes of your brothers or sisters or any of our allies. I will ensure they know you are to be turned away, wherever you go, and that includes the royal household. All doors will be shut to you, including my own, and you can fend for yourself for the rest of your life because that is all you deserve. Your rebellion and refusals are no less than slapping me in the face, in public, and showing everyone how much you disrespect your own father. If that is the truth and you truly do not respect me or my judgment, then tell me now and let us get on with it. Tell me where I stand with you, Westley, so there is no mistake in my own mind. Well?”
Westley stared at him. Hard. He’d never known his father not to be a man of his word, so he took the threat very seriously. Was his future misery worth risking his relationship with his father? It wasn’t. But in the years to come, when he was truly miserable, then his father would have to expect to shoulder all of the blame. Perhaps that would affect their relationship anyway, but in any case, their relationship as father and son was about to change forever. One decision would see Westley exiled.
One decision would see Christopher as the cause of his son’s pain.
Either choice would make Westley extremely unhappy.
“As you wish,” he finally said. “I will go with you. But in the years to come, when I am so miserable that I want to drive a sword through my own neck, remember this conversation. Remember what you did to me.”
With that, he climbed out of the carriage and, in silence, followed his father to the hall.
Things had changed, indeed.