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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I t had been so very easy to get in.

It had all started when Amaro neared Brython from the south, knowing there were farms along the road, and slipped into one of the farms and stole some clothing that had been out to dry after a washing. Nothing more than a used tunic and breeches, but he’d confiscated them along with a rough canvas cowl and hood that farmers sometimes used to protect their heads from sun or the elements. He traveled further down the road and was able to find more items to wear, an old oil cloak hanging on a barn door and a pair of muddied shoes that were a little too small. But he could accept that for a means to an end.

He headed to Brython looking like a servant.

Because he’d pushed himself and his horse swiftly from Lioncross, he reached Brython before the day was out. But he had a plan—because the village of Rhayader was closer to Brython than the English villages were, and because he wanted to move about undetected, he went into Wales and stabled his horse at a livery in Rhayader. He’d paid the man well to tend his horse and borrowed a smaller, less spectacular horse that the man had at the livery. He used that horse to travel to Brython, arriving just as several important warlords were setting up their encampments, including Christopher de Lohr.

After that, it was a simple thing to blend in.

Because of all of the visitors, the gatehouse of Brython was open. Security was more relaxed than it would normally be. Amaro entered the visitor encampment from the west side, secured his horse in the trees, and made his way into the camp of Bretton de Llion. The man flew a black and red standard, and the knights, squires, and even the servants were wearing those colors. Amaro managed to grab one of the servants by the neck, drag him into the trees beyond, and kill him for the tunic he wore. Leaving the body in the woods, he donned the colors and hastened back into the encampment, picked up a bucket that was on the ground by one of the tents, and continued on toward the castle.

There was nothing less suspicious than a servant with a bucket.

Not strangely, no one stopped him. He kept his head down, hidden by the cowl he’d taken from the farmer’s laundry, so his hair and features were concealed. As he approached the gatehouse, he could see that Christopher had set up his camp right at the mouth of the gatehouse, which concerned him. Christopher had brought some of his senior knights with him, men who would recognize Amaro in a flash, so he kept his head lowered as he passed on the perimeter of the de Lohr encampment and made his way through the gatehouse.

As he’d hoped, no one was checking a man’s identity and no one was paying any attention. Therefore, accessing Brython was fairly simple. Now, he had to conceal himself and wait for that perfect moment.

And the moment, for him, would come.

He’d make sure of it.