Page 9 of Lion of Thunder (De Lohr Dynasty: Sons of de Lohr #5)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Hell’s Forge

“T hat is what my cousin tells me, my lord. De Lohr has arrived and rumor is that there is to be a wedding.”

A cowering man stood in a small, circular chamber, with a fire blazing in the hearth that filled the room with smoke and cloying heat. He’d just delivered news that he hoped wouldn’t set off the man seated near the hearth, a cup half filled with wine in his hand and sweating in the profuse heat of the chamber.

When it came to Samson Fitz Walter, anything was possible.

“Be calm, Alend,” Fitz Walter said. “Truly, be calm. There is no need to be fearful. Start from the beginning and tell me how you came by your information.”

Alend, short and wiry and bald, had served Samson for many years. He knew that tone and it terrified him. When Samson told him to be calm, it was a ruse. He wanted the man to relax so that when he finally did explode, the look of fear in Alend’s face would fill him with joy. Some men took pleasure from food or drink or women.

Samson took it from fear.

“You know my cousin serves Marius du Nor,” Alend said slowly, trying to show that he was calming down. “Olan is his name. You have paid the man in the past for information about Marius.”

“I am aware of Olan.”

Alend nodded nervously. “He sent word to me yesterday to meet him in Poolbrook, as it was an urgent matter,” he said. “I met with him earlier today and he told me that the Earl of Hereford and Worcester arrived yesterday with his son. The rumor around Massington is that there is to be a wedding soon.”

Samson simply sat there and chewed his lip. He was looking at Alend, but he wasn’t seeing the man. He was pondering what he’d just been told, his mind elsewhere as he thought of the lovely daughter of Marius. The one he’d been denied. A louse bit him on the thigh, infesting the breeches he’d not had off his body in years, and he scratched it furiously. He scratched so much that he was perpetually covered in sores. All the while, through the scratching and grunting, he continued to gaze at Alend.

Thinking.

“So the man himself has come,” he finally said, setting his cup down on the nearest table. “I do not believe Christopher de Lohr has ever been to Massington.”

Alend shook his head. “I do not think so, my lord,” he said. “We would have heard.”

“Aye,” Samson said. “We would have heard, indeed. But this time, he comes for the betrothal with the fair Elysande.”

Alend watched the man stand up, an enormous fellow dressed in black rags—black breeches, black tunic, black robe that had seen better days. It had belonged to his father, a vicious man with a lump of coal where his heart should have been. That kind of man had turned Samson into a similar character, a wraith of a human who lived a solitary life and cursed the world around him because he could not control anything outside of Hell’s Forge. The last of the glorious Fitz Walter clan was coming to an end in a most inglorious way.

With the lack of an heir.

It was slipping away before his very eyes.

“Is there anything to do, my lord?” Alend said. “To prevent the marriage, I mean. Could we send word to a magistrate and protest it?”

“On what grounds?” Samson said. “We would have to have serious grounds to protest it.”

Alend shrugged thoughtfully. “We could lie and say that Marius promised you the girl,” he said. “We could fabricate… something. It would be your word against his.”

Samson shook his head. “You forget that he has Hereford on his side,” he said. “All de Lohr would have to do is produce the betrothal contract between him and Marius and any magistrate would show us the door.”

Alend sighed with resignation. “Mayhap,” he said, still thinking on a way to help his liege. “Would it do any good to summon a priest and ask for their intervention?”

Samson shook his head again. “Again, we would have to have grounds for such a thing, and I have none,” he said. “The only thing to do is to go to Massington and formally lodge my protest with Marius. At least I could delay the marriage. Mayhap it would give Marius time to consider my offer.”

“What offer?”

Samson looked at him. “That I will not attack Massington if he breaks the contract and gives Elysande to me.”

Alend stepped back because Samson was pacing the room and he didn’t want to get too close to the man, because things like fists and feet tended to fly around if he was particularly unhappy—and this subject was one that was bound to make him furious.

“But Hereford is at Massington,” he said hesitantly. “You said yourself that he will support Massington. And his army is larger than ours. Much larger.”

Samson was by the chamber door when he came to a halt and lifted his head as if an idea had just occurred to him.

“Yet this is one more thing Christopher de Lohr has stolen from me,” he muttered. “He killed my uncle. Now, he steals the woman who will give me a son and continue my family line. The man is a murderer and a thief. Long have I vowed vengeance against him and his kind. I wonder… I wonder if Marius realizes the character of the man he has so willingly done business with.”

Somewhere over by the hearth, an old raven awoke from the nap it had been taking and began to squawk, demanding food from Samson, who had tamed the thing long ago. It would bite anyone else but Samson, so Alend hated the creature. When it began to fuss, he moved over near the wall, away from it, as Samson made his way over to his pet.

“Even Morrigan knows this,” he said as he petted the bird affectionately. “Did you know that our feathered friend is named after the goddesses of old who protected the warriors on the battlefield?”

“Nay, my lord.”

“They also chose who would be slain,” Samson said, finally reaching into a cup near the bird to give him a dried pea. “Mayhap that is what needs to be done, Alend. I must go to Marius and make him aware that I will choose to slay him should he not break the betrothal with de Lohr. For certain, that is my only recourse now.”

“How may I help you, my lord?”

“Summon my guards. We must plan our visit to Massington.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Alend said. But he paused before leaving. “And… my cousin? May I promise him a coin for this information?”

Samson glanced at him. “You may promise him that I will not kill him when I attack Massington,” he said. “And I will not kill you if his information turns out to be correct.”

Alend blanched. “Kill me ?” he said. “But I’ve done nothing.”

Samson snorted, a nasty sound. “Men like you are worthless,” he said. “You cower at my feet and follow me around like a dog, eager for scraps. Why do you think you are here, Alend? It is because you have a cousin at Massington. Did you think otherwise?”

Alend wasn’t sure how to answer. “I have been with you for some time, my lord,” he said. “I am loyal to you.”

“You are what I say you are. Now, go away.”

Alend didn’t push, nor did he ask further questions. Samson’s answer had frightened him, but he knew the man meant it. He meant every word out of his mouth, including his hatred for de Lohr and his need for vengeance.

And that was what this was all about.

Revenge .