“I know we cut off your water supply,” he said. “And after a month of a siege, your food supply should have been equally low. Why do you still have chickens? Why did you not eat them?”
“Because they are pets,” Melusine answered. When Elle hissed at her, she looked at the woman. “Thearepets. The ponies, too. You would not let the men eat them. You told them that you would force them to eat each other before the animals.”
Curtis couldn’t help the grin that flickered on his lips as he looked at Elle. “Did you truly tell them that?” he asked.
Elle didn’t find the question humorous. “We have a garden,” she said, gesturing toward the northern section of the baileywhere the keep was. There was another wall there with an arch. “There were plenty of vegetables in the stores to eat. We did not have to eat the animals, not yet.”
“We ate eggs and turnips,” Melusine said with disgust. “At least, the men did. I only saw Ellie eat the eggs and nothing more.”
“That is because the men needed the food,” Elle snapped back. “We could have made it last for another month at least. We would have held had the Saesneg not built that terrible platform, because then… then it was over.”
She was growing agitated. That wasn’t what Curtis wanted. He wanted her to show him the castle, to give him a guided tour, but he was coming to see that it was too much to ask, no matter how he or his father tried to rationalize her loss. She had asked for time to mourn what had happened, and he simply hadn’t given it to her.
He was treating her like a man.
The men he knew, the enemies he knew, were seasoned men. They accepted loss as part of the cycle of battle, but Elle clearly didn’t have that attitude. She was viewing it as a death, as having something she cared about now torn from her. It wasn’t her life she was mourning as much as it was the location—the castle. Given everything he’d been told, he understood that she was holding the castle for the Welsh. Welsh rule, a Welsh castle. No interference from the English.
But here they were.
She simply wasn’t coping.
“Come,” he said, turning on his heel. “We will return to my father. He has sent for the priest, so we must be ready. We can do this another time, when you are feeling more able.”
“Priest?” Melusine said, looking at Elle. “Why?”
Elle shook her head at the woman, simply grasping her by the arm and pulling her along. “Let us return to the tents,” she said. “I am famished. Aren’t you?”
Truthfully, Melusine was. Something was amiss, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but she let Elle drag her back through the gatehouse as she followed Curtis. Truthfully, Melusine was inclined to be cooperative because she didn’t want to be separated from Elle again. She might have to return to the Spanish knight who had been rough with her. The one who had terrified her.
Nay, she didn’t want to go back to him at all.
Therefore, she kept silent.
Elle seemed to have fallen silent herself as she followed Curtis back to his father’s tent, where others were gathering. Big knights with big swords, dressed in mail that was rusting or bloodied or both. Men who had fought the battle of Brython Castle and had emerged the victors. That’s what the tent was full of—victors.
Melusine could smell it in the air.
Once inside, Elle dragged her over to the table where an empty pitcher and a platter with crumbs sat, but Curtis saw that there was nothing for the ladies to eat, so he sent a servant for something. Soon enough, they had bread and cheese and cold meat along with cold, boiled carrots and cabbage. More watered wine came also, along with more boiled eggs, and Elle and Melusine delved into the food as if they’d never seen food in their lives. There was a great deal of slurping and drinking and swallowing going on until, closer to midday, the priest finally arrived with one of Curtis’ brothers.
Then Melusine found out what the priest was for.
A marriage.
CHAPTER NINE
“And then Islapped her,” Amaro said, relishing the moment. “Not where anyone could see the mark, of course, but she should have a perfect handprint across her left breast. Unless she strips to show someone, no one will ever see it. But she understands that one word of it and I will kill her. I do not care where she is—I will find her and I will kill her.”
Twilight had come to Brython, and a clear sky promised cold temperatures. Amaro and Hugo were in the encampment, at the tent they shared, in fact, milling around a campfire whilst preparing for night duties. But as they donned their weapons, Hugo was listening to Amaro’s boasting with some concern and struggling not to show it.
“Curtis has warned you about striking women,” he said. “If he finds out…”
“He will not,” Amaro assured him. “The Welsh chit is terrified of me, so she will not say a word.”
Hugo sighed heavily. “He just married that woman’s cousin,” he pointed out. “You saw it yourself. We both did. He just married Gwenwynwyn’s daughter, so if I were you, I would not strike Miasma again. Or whatever her name is.”
“Melusine.”
“Melusine, Miasma,” Hugo said impatiently. “The fact remains that she is now Lady Leominster’s cousin, and if Curtis finds out what you’ve done, you will be in for punishment.”
