“Of course, of course,” Robin said eagerly. “I will be returning home very soon. My wife and daughter will be thrilled with this news.”
“How old did you say she was?”
“She is two years younger than your son—she has seen eighteen years.”
“I’m assuming she fostered in a fine home.”
“One of the finest,” Robin said. “Carisbrooke in Devon.”
“Ah,” Roi said. “With de Redvers. Then she knows something of politics if she’s been at Carisbrooke.”
Robin nodded. “I’ve not seen her in a year, but the last time we met, she was able to carry on a very astute conversation about the political climate of England,” he said proudly. “Your son will not be disappointed, Roi. Diara will make a fine wife.”
Roi simply nodded before resuming his march toward the gathering English. “Beckett has been at Selbourne Castle in Hampshire,” he said. “That is the home of the Sheriff of Hampshire, you know. My son has been well educated in law and order, which was the main reason I sent him there. He is to be a proctor in the king’s council when he comes of age, so his education in the laws of the land has been intense. I received the very same education.”
Robin was rushing after him again. “I know,” he said. “Why do you think I have pursued this betrothal? I know your background. I know that the king relies on you for law interpretation and order. I know that is why you are here, Roi. You are not simply a knight sworn to the king. You help him create the laws and treaties and you have advised him, legally, throughout this campaign. You are a very important man.”
Roi grunted, glancing up at the castle again. “And this one went awry,” he said. “We tried to solve it with negotiations, but the French would not listen. Poitiers’ men seem to be under the impression that they can win this battle.”
It didn’t appear that they could, given the state of the castle, but Robin didn’t comment. He had what he wanted, and that was all that mattered to him at the moment. He ran to catch up with Roi and tried to put his arm around his neck, a difficult task considering how tall Roi was. He settled for putting it around his shoulders.
“Forget the French,” he said. “We have something to celebrate tonight, you and me. I shall finally have the son I have hoped for in Beckett de Lohr, and you… you will have a daughter you can be proud of.”
Roi glanced at him. “I already have two daughters I am proud of,” he said. “But I know what you mean. We shall welcome Diara with open arms.”
Robin was beside himself with glee. A de Lohr husband for his only child and a legacy that would continue with the de Lohr name behind it. Six months of pestering Roi de Lohr had finally come to fruition, and he was thrilled to death. He needed to have a contract drawn up as quickly as possible and executed because he didn’t want Roi to change his mind. Men had a habit of doing that if something more attractive was presented, and Roi had made no secret of the fact that he wanted a prestigious marriage for his son. Diara le Bec brought the Cheltenham earldom with her as well as lands in Bedfordshire, so she was as good as it got. At least, on the surface.
If her reputation didn’t reach Roi’s ears before the contract could be signed.
Robin had every reason to rush the contract.
And he would.
CHAPTER ONE
Pembridge Castle
De Lohr outpost, Welsh marches
Two years Later
“Where is he?”
A knight with a growth of dark beard and pale blue eyes asked another knight a question in a tone that conveyed pain. At Pembridge Castle, the last day had been one of excruciating pain and agony. No one was spared.
It was a castle on edge.
Pembridge was the southernmost outpost of the de Lohr empire, a castle built halfway down a slope amongst the verdant hills of the Welsh marches. Oddly, it didn’t see much action from rebelling Welsh or English feudal wars, but when it did see conflict, it had historically been heavy and long. The situation it found itself in at the moment wasn’t a conflict between adversaries, but rather an emotional conflict that was going to become worse before it became better.
Ifit ever became better.
The knight who had asked the question knew that. They all knew that. Sir Kyne de Poyer, a big knight with big hands and an immovable spirit, had asked the question of his associate, SirAdrius de Gault. A mountain of a man with a shiny, bald head and, strangely enough, gold earrings in both ears had listened to the question with great sorrow.
“In his solar,” Adrius replied quietly. “Why do you ask?”
“Has anyone spoken to him this morning?”
“Haven’t you?”
