Kyne shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “He was so drunk last night that I thought he would sleep longer than he did. I was going to seek him now, in his chamber, but he was gone.”
Adrius nodded his head, sighing heavily. “I saw him go to his solar,” he said. “He has the missive in his hand, still.”
“He slept with it.”
Adrius simply shook his head sadly, his gaze moving to the castle around them as he pondered his thoughts. “Christ, Kyne,” he muttered. “What are we going to do? What ishegoing to do?”
“There is nothing he can do,” Kyne muttered. “There is nothing we can do, at least between the two of us, but help is arriving.”
“What do you mean?”
“I sent word to Lioncross Abbey yesterday after we received the news,” Kyne said. “Our scouts spotted a contingent from Lioncross Abbey on the perimeter of our lands.”
“The earl himself?”
“Aye,” Kyne said. “I’m sure Christopher de Lohr is coming along with his wife and one or more of Roi’s brothers. The entire family is coming, and I was looking for Roi to tell him that. He will not be alone in this.”
Adrius pointed in the direction of the solar. “Go,” he commanded quietly. “Go and tell him before he starts drinking again and is a drunken mess before midday.”
Kyne didn’t have to be told twice. He passed through a shadowed portion of the bailey, cool and damp from morning dew, before continuing into the keep, which was part of the outerwall. Pembridge was built from the red sandstone so prevalent to the area, a solid and imposing castle that guarded the main road out of southern Wales into the midlands of England. The castle had belonged to Roi for many years, ever since his father’s army had wrested it from a Welsh prince who wanted to use it to launch raids deep into England. Once de Lohr captured it, he had to wrest it further from the Earl of Gloucester, who made the argument that it was closer to his lands than it was to de Lohr. But that wasn’t the truth.
De Lohr got what de Lohr wanted.
Yet the beautiful castle set within the bucolic hills of the marches had not been an entirely happy place for Roi. He’d been delighted when he was appointed the garrison commander. He’d brought his wife and son there, and both of his daughters had been born there. But his wife had also died there.
And now this.
Pembridge had become Roi’s personal monument to tragedy.
The interior of the keep smelled of smoke and rushes, familiar smells in most castles. Kyne made his way to the solar door, which was in the entry, listening carefully to what might be on the other side of the door before rapping on the panel softly. When he received no answer, he rapped again and pushed the door open.
Even though it was midday, the chamber was mostly dark. No fire in the hearth, no glowing lamp. The only sounds were those from the bailey, filtering in on the soft spring breeze. Kyne finally spied Roi sitting near the darkened hearth, his head in his hands.
Kyne cleared his throat softly.
“My lord,” he said quietly. “Our scouts report a party from Lioncross Abbey on the approach. They should be here within the hour.”
Roi didn’t stir. Unsure if the man had even heard him, Kyne took a few steps in his direction and tried again.
“My lord?” he said gently.
Roi twitched, which at least indicated he was alive. After several long moments, his head finally came up.
“My father?” he asked hoarsely.
“I would assume so, my lord,” Kyne said. “I sent him word yesterday about the missive from Selbourne. I thought you would want him to know.”
Roi sat back in his chair, staring at the wall. He just sat there, staring, his ashen face set like stone.
“My father has never lost a son,” he finally said. “He will not know how to comfort me.”
Kyne was very careful in what he said, unwilling to provoke the man at this time. Roi was known for a quick temper, and Kyne didn’t want to find himself on the wrong end of a grief-driven sword.
“Would you prefer he not come, my lord?” Kyne said. “I can ride out to meet him and tell him to return to Lioncross if that is your wish.”
Roi simply shook his head. “Nay,” he muttered, sounding defeated. “Did you tell him what happened?”
“That is your privilege, my lord,” Kyne said. “I simply sent word that there was an accident and your son had been killed.”
