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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“D oes she know I have been invited?”

“She will when she sees you.”

Gruffydd had been the one to ask the question of Curtis as they stood on the wall of Brython Castle, something he was quite familiar with. He’d arrived a short time earlier, having received the invitation to the feast as an ally of the House of de Lohr, only to discover his sister didn’t know he had been on the guestlist.

That changed things a bit.

At least Gruffydd knew where he stood. He was to be a surprise. But he could see by the expression on Curtis’ face that it might not be so bad.

Hopefully.

“Don’t you think you should have told her?” Gruffydd said. “Given our history, it would have been the kind thing to do.”

Curtis shook his head. He was already tipsy from the fine wine he’d been drinking throughout the afternoon, and now, as the guests arrived in earnest and great lords were being admitted into Brython while their escorts set up camp beyond the castle walls, the drink had gone to his head a little.

But the entire day had been filled with joy.

So much joy.

It all started when he’d told his father that Elle was expecting their first child and made him promise not to tell anyone until he and Elle could make the announcement together. He and his father had toasted the coming de Lohr heir, and even now, in the presence of Elle’s brother, Curtis could hardly keep his mouth shut. Or his joy contained.

It was a struggle.

“She is a changed woman,” he said. “Trust me, Gruffydd. I think you will find that much of her has changed.”

Gruffydd wasn’t convinced. “I’ve known her longer than you have,” he said. “You will forgive me for doubting this great change.”

Curtis looked at him. “You are a de Lohr ally,” he said. “She is going to have to become accustomed to that. She hated you, in large part, because you sided with the English, but now she is married to an English knight and her child will be half English.”

“True.”

“And it was your grandmother who instilled that hatred in her.”

“Also true.”

Curtis shook his head. “Your sister has learned to see more of the world than what your grandmother narrowly allowed,” he said. “I am not saying she will throw herself in your arms, but I do not think she’ll be as bitter as she has been. With me, she has changed a good deal.”

Gruffydd shrugged. He didn’t know what to make of this situation—his sister or the great feast. But he’d come at the request of Curtis, to celebrate the great alliance with the son of Gwenwynwyn, but also to celebrate the alliance with English marcher lords who were allied with the House of de Lohr.

And there were many.

“I suppose we shall soon discover what she thinks of my presence here,” he said after a moment. Then he pointed to the land beyond the moat of Brython where, two months ago, the de Lohr army had sent up their encampment. Now, it was an encampment for several great houses, all of them setting up their colorful tents with banners snapping in the sunset. “Tell me who has arrived. For a Welshman, it is a bit disconcerting to see all of the English camped out there.”

Curtis grinned, looking over the field as the sun set in the west, bathing the sky in shades of lavender and pink. “Myles and Hugo have been settling them since they started arriving yesterday,” he said, pointing. “The blue and red standard closest to us? You should recognize that one. Sean de Lara, Lord of the Trilaterals. That is Trelystan, Hyssington, and Caradoc Castles.”

Gruffydd nodded in recognition. “De Lara,” he muttered. “My father knew him.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“He was a great knight with King John, was he not?”

Curtis nodded. “He was one of William Marshal’s greatest spies,” he said. “The man is a legend, so treat him with all due respect. Frankly, I am surprised to see him because he is getting up there in age, like my father.”

“I was told once that great knights never die.”

“If that is true, then de Lara shall live forever,” Curtis said. Then he pointed to the larger encampment behind de Lara. “See the green and black? That is the Earl of Wolverhampton, Robert de Wolfe. The House of de Wolfe and the House of de Lohr go back many years. Robert’s father, Edward, was my father’s best friend. In fact, Robert’s full name is Robert Richard Christopher.”

Gruffydd squinted to see the green and black standards. “I’ve never met de Wolfe,” he said. “Warstone Castle, isn’t it?”

“Aye.”

“Who else is here?”

Curtis was looking over the recognizable standards. “I see my brother, Peter,” he said. “Lord Pembridge of Ludlow Castle, he is. To his south is Sherry, Christin’s husband.”

“Who is Christin?”

“My sister,” Curtis said. “Alexander de Sherrington is the most fearsome killer you’ve ever come across. On his way back from the crusade of Richard, he spent a few years in Rome at the Lateran Palace, committing dirty deeds for the pope.”

Gruffydd looked at him in surprise. “Is that so?” he said. “Impressive. But I’ll be sure to stay away from him.”

Curtis snorted softly. “He has become a family man in his old age,” he said. “As he tells it, all of that assassin madness is well in his past. He’s the garrison commander of Wigmore Castle, one of my father’s properties, and my father recently gifted him with the title of Lord Barringdon. It was a title that belonged to my mother’s father, a courtesy title, so my father gave it to Sherry. Being married to Christin, he has earned it.”

Curtis had a grin on his face with what could be construed as slander toward his eldest sister, and Gruffydd shot him a long look. “You have a troubled sister, too?”

Curtis shook his head. “She’s no trouble, at least not these days,” he said. “But confidentially, she was a spy, too, years ago.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. She’s as fearsome as her husband, I think.”

Gruffydd shook his head, returning his attention to the land below. “You English are full of trouble,” he said. “Who else has come?”

Curtis pointed. “The red and white standards are of Caius d’Avignon of Hawkstone Castle,” he said. “Another former spy of William Marshal’s. They used to call the man the Britannia Viper in the Levant. And the group to his right with the crimson standard is none other than the Earl of Wrexham, Tristan de Royans. Yet another agent of William Marshal, not to mention the bastard son of Henry the Second.”

Gruffydd frowned. “Sounds like a powerful man.”

“He is,” Curtis said. Then he squinted off to the southwest. “See that standard of red and black and white? Out there?”

Gruffydd had to lift his head to see it. “Aye,” he said. “I think so. Who is that?”

“That is the husband of Ajax de Velt’s eldest daughter,” Curtis replied. “De Velt has several border properties, castles he acquired through a good deal of blood and mayhem many years ago. Bretton de Llion married Jax’s eldest daughter, and he commands the properties for Cole de Velt, who inherited his father’s empire. I’ve not seen Bretton in many years, so I’m glad he has come. My father and Jax de Velt were close friends.”

“De Velt,” Gruffydd said with some distaste. “I remember the stories about him. My father used to speak of the terror that man brought with him wherever he went.”

“Very true.”

“And your father was his friend?”

“Indeed, he was.”

“Are your friends all made up of spies and killers?”

Curtis laughed. “It would seem like that,” he said. “But there are other warlords camped out there, lesser warlords, who don’t have such terrifying reputations. I will introduce you to those men as they enter the hall, but for now, you know the major lords. These are men who have shaped the history of England, my father included. They are great men, all of them.”

Gruffydd could hear the reverence in Curtis’ tone. “And you grew up with them.”

“I did,” Curtis said. “I grew up surrounded by giants. I can only hope that some of that greatness has rubbed off on me.”

Gruffydd turned away from the edge of the wall. “Your command of Brython will be exemplary,” he said. “You will make a name for yourself, I am certain. But when do you intend to invite Welsh warlords to feast?”

They headed for the tower with stairs that led down to the bailey. “That is an excellent question,” Curtis said. “The answer is soon. What I did not want is to invite many to this gathering with a host of English warlords. I think something like that, even in a social setting, would be a recipe for disaster. One spark and the entire thing would go up like kindling. I must ease the Welsh into the idea of an English knight being in charge of such a legendary castle. Already, I am certain they do not like that I have a castle that holds such significance for them.”

Gruffydd took the stairs first. “You mean the portal to the Otherworld?”

“Exactly.”

“Have you looked for it yet?”

“I have,” Curtis said. “Ellie says it is under a pond down in the vault.”

Gruffydd shook his head. “I do not think that is where it is.”

“Why not?”

“Because that means the Otherworld would be flooded,” he said. “No one can get to the entry if it is buried underwater.”

“Then where do you think it is?”

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Gruffydd looked at him, smiling. “Beneath the stable.”

Curtis’ eyebrows lifted. “What?” he said, incredulous. “Why do you say that?”

“Because there is an old door secured with a chain under one of the stalls,” Gruffydd said. “The door is extremely old, with very old writing on it. So old that no one can make it out. And something is anchoring it shut. We have tried to pry it open, and it will not budge.”

Curtis found that very interesting. He was about to reply when he caught sight of his father heading in his direction. He lifted up a hand, catching the man’s attention.

“Papa,” he called. “Where did you disappear to? I was looking for you earlier.”

Christopher gestured over toward the keep. “I was speaking to your younger brothers,” he said. “Douglas is very unhappy here, Curt.”

Curtis shook his head at the ridiculousness of that statement. “Of course he is,” he said. “And do you know why? Because of the lack of women and the fact that he has to share the attention of what women there are with Andrew, who is a kind and handsome lad. Papa, he’s utterly ridiculous, puffed up like a peacock, thinking he is above everyone else. He harps on Westley constantly, and then I find myself breaking up fights.”

Christopher cleared his throat unhappily. “I was afraid it was something like that,” he said, noting Gruffydd standing next to Curtis. “But we shall speak of it at another time. Lord Gruffydd, it is agreeable to see you again.”

Gruffydd dipped his head respectfully to Christopher. “Lord Hereford,” he said. “It is an honor , fy arglwydd .”

He addressed him formally in Welsh, and Christopher acknowledged the respect with a dip of his head. “Is this your first visit to Brython since Curt married your sister?” he asked.

Gruffydd nodded. “It is, my lord,” he said. “As you are aware, my sister and I do not get on well, but Lord Leominster is telling me that marriage has changed her. I suppose we shall see.”

Christopher smiled faintly. “I suppose we shall,” he said. “Meanwhile, has Curtis told you of everyone who has arrived so far? It is only English this time. We must discuss potential Welsh allies with you first before we invite anyone here to parlay.”

“Agreed,” Gruffydd said. “English alliance is a delicate subject here.”

Christopher waggled his eyebrows in agreement. “Of that, I have no doubt,” he said. Then he turned to his son. “Speaking of delicate subject, I saw that you invited Lord Munstone.”

Curtis nodded. “He is small, but he’s always been a good ally,” he said. “Why?”

“Because I wonder if you know who he married.”

“Who?”

“Larue la Dechy.”

Curtis looked at him in surprise. “He did?” he said. “But he’s old enough to be her grandfather!”

Gruffydd was looking between them. “Who is Larue la Dechy?” he asked.

As Curtis groaned and put a hand over his face, Christopher answered. “A young woman from a very wealthy family who used to be quite sweet on Curt,” he said. “Her father tried very hard to buy his daughter a husband, but in the end, I simply didn’t want her for him. Curtis was destined for great things, not the daughter of a merchant. Even if he did have more money than God.”

“Is that so?” Gruffydd said with interest. “It seems she found a husband after all.”

“One that is very old and quite rich himself,” Curtis said. “Larue was pretty enough, but as petty as a child. She probably married Munstone because she’s hoping he’ll die soon so she can use his money to buy herself a harem of men. She tended to like a few suitors at one time.”

Christopher chuckled, thinking on the young lady who wore the jewels of a queen and demanded the attention of many young men. “Be that as it may, I thought I should warn you that she married Munstone,” he said. “Clearly, she knows this is your garrison, and she knows she is going to see you. I would be on my guard if I were you.”

Curtis lost his humor. “I am hesitant to tell Elle,” he said. “I do not want to upset her. She is already nervous enough about this feast.”

Christopher’s expression suggested that it was probably a good idea not to let Elle know that there was a woman in attendance who once fancied Curtis. There was no use in upsetting the woman. But the truth was that Christopher never told his son how much negotiating went on that he wasn’t aware of, because Larue was used to getting what she wanted. Her father threw half his fortune at Christopher in exchange for a betrothal, but in the end, Christopher wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t consign his son to a woman who, in his opinion, had been ill-mannered and shallow. He’d saddled him with a banshee who was a Welsh princess by blood, but that had been different—Elle was intelligent and a deep thinker. There had been something about her that he had liked. But with Larue… There was nothing he had liked.

He found himself on his guard, as well.

“Papa! Papa! ”

Jolted from his train of thought, Christopher turned to see Rebecca and Olivia Charlotte bolting in his direction. Olivia Charlotte eventually crashed into him, but Rebecca was more poised and in control. At twenty years of age, she was a graceful young lady, while Olivia Charlotte was still in the throes of awkward childhood.

“Greetings, my love,” Christopher said, kissing Olivia Charlotte on the top of her blonde head. “Where is your mother?”

“She is coming,” Rebecca said. “She sent us to tell you that she and Lady Leominster are coming down.”

“Call her Elle,” Curtis admonished her softly. “Lady Leominster is so formal. She is your sister.”

“A sister whom they do not know well yet,” Christopher reminded him. “When Elle gives them permission to address her informally, they will.”

Curtis simply shrugged, but he held out his hand to Rebecca, who took it quickly. With that, he began to lead his family toward the great hall of Brython, which had recently seen repairs, much as the rest of the castle had. With Myles and Hugo at the gatehouse welcoming the guests and directing them toward the great hall, the rest of the de Lohr family, and Gruffydd, entered the hall with its roaring fire and carpet of fresh rushes upon the floor. Servants were already putting out pitchers of wine, and there was a sense of excitement in the air.

The festivities were about to begin.