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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lioncross Abbey Castle

H e was relegated to the wall.

That was all Amaro was doing these days. Stripped of any responsibility the moment he departed Brython Castle with Lord Hereford’s army, he’d been ignored and demoted, and these days he was consigned to watching the wall. He wasn’t even in command of the gatehouse, as that was left to a knight who was as old as Methuselah, a Teutonic knight by the name of Jeffrey Kessler. He had been at Lioncross Abbey during the days of Lady Hereford’s father, and a meaner man had never existed.

Even Amaro had a healthy respect for him.

In fact, he’d been put under Kessler’s command, and the old knight kept track of Amaro every hour of every day. He watched him like a hawk. It wasn’t something that had gone unnoticed by the de Lohr soldiers, who tended to shy away from Amaro because of it. No one wanted to befriend a knight who was managed by Kessler, because he was the one who always handled the men who were down to their last chance with Hereford. Men who were difficult or unruly, disobedient, or plain stupid. When Jeffery Kessler stepped in, that meant there was a problem.

Amaro knew it.

He was well aware that the incident back at Brython Castle had nearly seen him sacked. Hereford had made that clear. Out of respect to Amaro’s father, however, Hereford wasn’t going to send him home in shame. At least, not yet. He was giving him a chance to behave himself and to realize the world didn’t revolve around him and his petty wants. Women were to be treated kindly and orders were meant to be obeyed. He wasn’t permitted to make his own decisions and would leave any and all decisions up to Kessler. Amaro couldn’t even take a piss without permission.

And the resentment was building.

It had been since departing Brython. Resentment toward the Welsh and the two Welshwomen in particular. Miasma, or Melusine, had caused his problems. Of that, he was convinced. But it was Lady Leominster he had a particular hatred for. She had struck him, and when he struck her in return, as any man would have, he was punished for it.

She was the one.

And he would have his revenge.

Almost two months after the fall of Brython, Curtis was holding a great feast in honor of his new wife and new command. Amaro had been at the gatehouse when the missive arrived, and he had been charged with taking it to Hereford, who had been in the keep of Lioncross, in his solar. Amaro had stepped into the grand keep, grander than any he’d ever seen, knowing that this was where he belonged, but as soon as he delivered the missive, he’d been ordered out by Lady Hereford.

Another bitch trying to tell him what to do.

But she hadn’t ordered him out before Hereford read the missive and announced with some glee that Curtis was having a feast to celebrate his new command. That seemed to make everyone happy, including the younger de Lohrs. Amaro was fairly certain he would not be asked to escort the family to Brython, but that didn’t matter. A feast would mean lots of people, and an open castle for the most part.

It would be a simple thing for him to slip in and exact his revenge.

That was where his plan was hatched.

He’d been spending weeks trying to figure out how to punish those two Welshwomen and the entire House of de Lohr besides. All of them deserved his vengeance, and it was something that grew in his heart like mold, clinging to everything, covering everything, turning anything it touched rancid. That was what kind of a heart he had these days.

Rancid.

It was a day-and-a-half ride to Brython, less if a man traveled swiftly enough. The only time Kessler left Amaro alone was at night when he was sleeping. Kessler had his own chamber in the enormous keep of Lioncross Abbey when Amaro was demoted to the lower levels of the wall, where old vaults where located and where some soldiers had taken up habitation. He slept in the dark, where it was damp and moldering and smelled of death, but the blessing was that Kessler wouldn’t come down there because his lungs were weak these days. The dampness made him cough. He was an old man who was going to die soon, Amaro hoped.

But it couldn’t be soon enough for him.

The feast, however, was something to look forward to. He knew he would be left behind to maintain watch over the great border castle. The sad part of the situation was that he more than likely wouldn’t even be in command. It would be some lesser knight from a lesser family, not the son of a great Aragon warlord. It had taken Amaro two months to realize that his career in England was finally finished. He needed to go home and assume his place at his father’s side, and hopefully it wouldn’t be too long until his father passed away, either.

Then the de Zaragosa empire would be his.

But first, there was something he had to do.

When Hereford and his family left for Brython for Curtis’ great feast, that would be Amaro’s last day at Lioncross Abbey. He would also go to Brython, following Hereford’s tracks, and once he reached the castle, he would conceal himself and wait for the opportunity to exact his revenge upon Melusine and Lady Leominster.

Then he’d return to his father a very happy man.

The opportunity came quickly.

A week later, Amaro was part of the group of men who organized the escort for Hereford and his family to take to Brython. Everything was prepared the day before, from the fortified wagon that would take the de Lohr women to the provisions wagons that would go along for the escort of two hundred men. De Lohr never traveled light when his wife and daughters were with him, so Amaro did an excellent job with the wagons and the logistics, leaving Kessler to tell Hereford that Amaro had performed admirably. Amaro had done it on purpose so they would be off their guard when he made his escape. So they would think he was behaving himself.

But the truth was much different.

On the crisp morning the de Lohr escort left for Brython Castle, Amaro was at his post, but before the escort could depart, he reported feeling ill to the sergeant on duty and told the man he was going back to his quarters to rest for the day. He did indeed return to his quarters, but only to make it look as if he was sleeping by making his pallet lumpy. Moving swiftly, he collected his saddlebags and left his quarters, making his way to the stables, where his horse had grown fat and lazy from lack of use. Not trusting the stable servants to keep his departure quiet, he saddled his horse personally and slipped the animal out through the rear yard.

The postern gate was unguarded.

It was a heavily fortified gate, always locked, but because it was so fortified, it was rarely watched. Sometimes, farmers or merchants doing business with the kitchens or with the stablemaster used the gate, but on this day, it was simply unguarded and locked. Amaro unlocked it, slipped his horse through, took the animal down the slope, crossing the small stream at the bottom of the hill, and entered the trees on the other side. The sentries who usually patrolled the walls had been busy watching Hereford and his family depart and didn’t notice him.

That was what Amaro had hoped for.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t seen.

A lad who had been mucking stalls on the other side of the stable had seen Amaro move in and out. Curious, he followed Amaro to see if he needed any assistance, only to see the man depart through the postern gate. The stable servant thought that was rather odd but went back to his work, until the next morning when Kessler came into the stable with another de Lohr knight who had remained behind. They were looking at the warhorses, and when they noticed Amaro’s was missing, they happened to ask the lad if he’d seen the horse removed. The servant had seen Amaro himself remove the horse and depart through the postern gate the day before.

After that, the stable servant wasn’t certain why both Kessler and the other knight began to run back toward the keep, but he had a feeling it wasn’t a good thing. When Kessler himself departed less than an hour later—the old man didn’t normally ride out like that—the stable servant began to realize that Amaro’s departure hadn’t been expected. If Kessler was riding to find him, it must be very bad.

Very bad, indeed.