Emelisse looked at him in horror. Truly, she didn’t know how to respond. She’d never been this close to him, never in all of the years she’d lived at Hawkstone. Of course she knew the name; he was the Lord of Winterhold, Baron Darliston, a man who had been incredibly quiet until three years ago when he decided that he wanted what Hawkstone had.
As Emelisse looked at him, she found herself wishing that she had a dagger. She wished she had a verysharpdagger and she wished that her hands were not bound, for surely, she would plunge the dagger right into Covington’s fat, blobbish chest. His whole body was blobbish and round, his jowls jiggling, his body as soft as his morals and his standards.
It sickened her to be this close to him.
“Why?” she finally hissed, her guard going down. “Why have you done this to us? We have always been peaceful. We never troubled you. We were good neighbors. Why did you do this to us?”
Covington was undisturbed by her pain. “I am told your brother is holding the keep,” he said, completely ignoring her questions. “You will tell him to surrender.”
Emelisse stiffened. “I willnot,” she hissed. “Have you no heart, no compassion? We have done nothing to provoke your aggression. Release me immediately so I may see to my father.”
His gaze lingered on her. “As I mentioned, I have not seen you in many years,” he said. “I can see now that you will make a fine prize for my son. Marius will be most pleased. Truly, your father should have accepted my marriage offer in the first place. It might have avoided these… unpleasantries.”
“Marriage offer?” she gasped. “What marriage offer?”
“The one I sent to your father. Surely he told you about it.”
Emelisse stared at him a moment, baffled, before her eyes suddenly widened. In that split-second, she realized what he was saying.
“You mean…” she sputtered. “That missive we received about three years ago?”
“It is the only missive I have ever sent to your father.”
A creeping sense of horror filled Emelisse. Covington was correct; it was the only missive he’d ever sent to Hawkstone. A few sentences about discussing the possibility of a marital alliance between Emelisse and Covington’s son, Marius.
It had been quickly read, quickly forgotten.
It hadn’t seemed like a serious situation at the time. The missive had been very casual. There had been no demands, only a polite suggestion to open a dialogue. But Emelisse’s father had swiftly refused, informing de Wrenville that his daughter was not accepting marital prospects at that time. It had been the truth.
But de Wrenville clearly had been carrying a grudge about it.
Is that what had caused these three years of hostilities?
After three long years, the realization hit her like a hammer.
“Isthatwhat this is about?” she demanded, straining against her bindings. “A rejected marriage proposal?”
Covington regarded the wine in his cup before replying. “When my men told me that they’d captured you, I immediately sent word to my son,” he said. “He will want to inspect you forhimself. Now, tell your brother to surrender the keep so we may be finished with this madness.”
“I told you I will not.”
“Please, my lady. We do not want this situation to become any more barbaric than it already has.”
She was so angry that she was trembling. “That isyourfault,” she said. “You are the barbarian, not I. Not my family. We are defending what is rightfully ours. All because my father refused a solicitation of marriage? Why did you not speak to him about it rather than immediately going to arms?”
Covington didn’t reply. He looked to the battle-worn knight standing across from him. “Show her what I mean.”
The knight turned away, heading over to Rupert as he lay face-down on the ground. Flipping the man onto his back, he stood over him, watching for any hint of life. He could see what Emelisse couldn’t see– Rupert’s face. He could see how badly the man had been beaten, his nose broken, teeth knocked out. All from the breach of the gatehouse that the old man had no business defending.
“Hallam,” Covington said, his voice stronger. “Showher what I mean.”
But the knight shook his head. “It would not do any good, my lord,” he said. “The man is dead.”
Emelisse yelped, throwing herself onto the floor, trying to roll or squirm her way over to her father.
“Nay!” she cried. “He is not dead. Let me see him. Let me help him!”
Covington walked past her as he headed for Rupert’s supine form. In fact, he stepped over her as she writhed on the floor, trying to get to her father. As Emelisse struggled for every inch gained, Covington stood next to Hallam, both of them looking down at the still form of Rupert de Thorington. Covington just stood there, looking at him, and it was Hallam who calledover one of the physics in the hall attending the de Wrenville wounded.
