It was sunset on a day that had been cold but sunny as spring began to transition into summer. The ride from Pembridge Castle, for Roi, had been a smooth one, and he’d reached Lioncross in record time at the summons of Curtis. But it was Westley who had met him at the gatehouse.
“When did he arrive?” Roi asked. “Christ, Papa has only been returned from Pembridge for a few days. Robin must have received my missive and immediately raced here.”
“Raced?” Westley repeated in disbelief. “I believe he flew. You should have seen his horse when he arrived—the poor thing is still recovering, and Cheltenham has been making a nuisance of himself ever since.”
“I do not know what that man wants from me,” Roi growled as he turned his horse over to the nearest soldier. “I no longer have a son to marry his daughter. What in the hell does he want from me? Blood?”
Westley eyed him with uncertainty. “I probably should not tell you this, but I heard them arguing,” he said. “Cheltenham wants his five hundred gold marks returned, the dowry he’d already paid you when the betrothal was signed. Or…”
“Orwhat?”
“Or he wants another de Lohr son,” Westley said grimly. “One way or the other, that man wants his daughter to marry a de Lohr. He doesn’t care who it is. He’s going around asking every man he sees if he’s a de Lohr. He asked Curtis and then demanded to know if Curtis was already married. Curtis nearly took his head off. Papa has kept me out of the solar for that very reason.”
Roi looked at him, aghast. “Cheltenham wantsyou?”
Westley grunted, perplexed. “He wants one of us—any one of us.” He shook his head. “I have no desire to marry Beck’s betrothed. No offense to Beck or the girl, but I will choose my own bride, thank you.”
Roi stared at him a moment, processing the outrageous situation, before heading off toward the keep with Westley by his side. He’d ridden at a hard pace, concerned with the information in his brother’s summons, but now that he knew the details of Robin’s appearance at Lioncross Abbey, he was growing more furious by the second. How dare the man come and harass his elderly father? How dare the man behave so abominably in the face of their grief? Roi was going to take the five hundred gold marks he brought with him and shove them down Robin’s throat.
Afterhe told the man what he thought of him.
They reached the wide steps that led into Lioncross’ keep, but before they could pass through the doorway, Roi held out a hand to Westley.
“Stay here,” he said. “If the man is spitting venom, I do not want you in his range. In fact, I want you to stay well clear of what I am about to do.”
Westley looked concerned. “What are you going to do?”
Roi’s response was to crack his knuckles before heading into the keep.
Lioncross Abbey’s keep was only a keep in the literal sense—it was the center of the castle and where the family lived—but it wasn’t round or even square. It was a building, like a palace with many rooms, built atop the ruins of an ancient Roman temple, which was why they called it the “abbey.” But the structure itself was vast and wide, with wings and floors, and it was a most fitting residence for the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. In fact, Roi thought he could hear his father’s voice as he approached the man’s solar. But he also heard another voice, talking over him.
Robin.
Roi burst into the chamber.
The first thing he did was point at Robin standing a few feet away from Christopher, who was sitting in a chair with a hand on his head. Seeing this, and the strained expression on his father’s face, Roi boomed.
“You!” he said. “Sit!”
It was perhaps the loudest shout anyone had ever heard out of Roi, but he was positively enraged. Robin, shocked at the man’s appearance, stumbled back as Roi came toward him.
“Roi!” he said in surprise. “You… you have come!”
He didn’t sit fast enough for Roi’s liking, so Roi charged the man and shoved him back into the nearest chair. He shoved him so hard that the chair tilted sideways, nearly toppling to the ground, but both Roi and Robin stopped it from falling completely. As Roi righted it, he got in Robin’s face.
“That will be enough out of you,” he snarled. “Do you understand me?”
Robin was truly taken aback. “What do you—”
“Shut your lips,” Roi barked. “For once, shut your bloody lips. I had to listen to you for two solid years, you and your eternal yapping, never listening to anyone but always making sure your voice was the loudest. I will tell you now that your assault of my father will not be tolerated, and I do not care if you are an earl. One more word out of you, in rage, towards me or my father, and I will gut you where you sit and dump your body out on the road for the birds. If anyone asks, you were killed by outlaws. Do you understand what I am telling you? Your bullying and insults will no longer be tolerated.”
By the time he was finished, Robin was looking at him with both fear and outrage. “Say what you will,” he said after a moment. “But I am still an earl, and you cannot threaten me.”
“I just did.”
“Roi,” Christopher said quietly. “Back away from Cheltenham. Go.”
Roi let his furious gaze linger on Robin for a moment to emphasize that he meant everything he said before moving away, over toward his father. He tore his gaze off Robin to look at his elderly, exhausted father.
