“And I shall get you your money,” Ciaran said. “If you’ll not take my daughter in payment, will you take her as collateral until the debt is paid? That has been done before. She is quite valuable.”
King Dagda was still frowning. He looked at Benedict. “What is he speaking of?” he said. “What does he mean?”
Benedit sighed heavily. “He means that he used my sister to settle a debt with Chester de Long,” he said. “The man owns Aphrodite’s Feast in Bristol. Have you heard of it?”
That brought a look of surprise from King Dagda. “Of course I have,” he said. “I have visited there, many times. Are you telling me that your sister has a position there?”
“Aye,” Benedict said. “She has for three years.”
That information fed the possibilities in King Dagda’s mind. “Is she a muse?” he said, referring to the general term for the women who had positions at Aphrodite’s Feast. “She must be beautiful and accomplished, indeed. Aye, I will take her in payment for the debt. I will take her immediately.”
“Wait,” Benedict said quickly, holding up his hand in a quelling gesture. “Before we take such drastic steps, please give us time to sell property to pay you what we owe first. My sister is an accomplished woman, as you have said, and should not be used for barter like a mare. I will tell you quite honestly that my father was wrong to do so in the first place. To do it again would be a sin of the greatest magnitude.”
King Dagda stared at him a moment before breaking into laughter. “What do I care about a sin?” he said. “It is not as if the church and I are on speaking terms. Nay, lad, I care about money.Mymoney. And your father owes me money. I will happily take a woman who has worked at Aphrodite’s Feast in payment. She will make my men very happy.”
Benedict tried to keep the look of disgust off his face but couldn’t quite manage it. “You’ll not have my sister,” he said,his voice low and threatening. “I will make sure you have your money, but you must give me a fortnight. Return at that time and I will have it for you.”
The humor on King Dagda’s face faded. “You speak as if you are sure you can get it.”
“I am.”
King Dagda held his gaze for a moment, contemplating that reply, before finally conceding. “Very well,” he said. “But not a fortnight. I’ll return in a week. But if you do not have the money, then I will take everything you own, including your sister, and you will have no say in it. Any resistance and I’ll kill you and your father. Do you comprehend me?”
“I comprehend.”
“Good.”
King Dagda began to move toward the door of the chamber, pulling his men with him. They’d been spread out around the sparsely furnished room, one that had once been a solar of lavish means until Ciaran took over. After everything came into his possession, he’d started selling possessions off, a little at a time, to fund his gambling habit. Now, there was nothing left but the house itself and his children. Desdra had already been used for a substantial debt, and Benedict, though a knight, refused to be used by his father as barter.
Pity,Ciaran had once thought.
Benedict could have been worth a lot to him.
But now, it was Benedict trying to protect the last vestiges of his inheritance as his father tried to ruin everything. Only he stood between Ciaran and complete destruction. His gaze tracked King Dagda as the man stood in the doorway, ushering his men through, until he was the only one left standing there. He pointed right at Benedict.
“A week,” he said, his tone deadly. “I will see you then.”
Benedict simply nodded, watching the man depart. He waited a nominal amount of time for the gang of men to leave the manse, waiting for the sounds of horses moving out in the ward until he turned to his father to speak.
“Again,” he growled. “You did it again.”
Ciaran had his head down. “And you had no right to take away my ability to bargain,” he said. “Iam your father.Iam the lord of the manor and you are not in command here.”
“I am the only one in command here,” Benedict nearly screamed at him. “You are a pathetic excuse for a father, one I am deeply ashamed of, so remember that. Remember that for the rest of your life your son does not respect you and your daughter hates you, you worthless cretin. God, howworthless!”
Ciaran wanted to shout at him in return, but that wouldn’t get them anywhere. They’d already shouted at one another. For years, they’d shouted at one another. They’d screamed and yelled and berated each other. But it always came down to Ciaran giving in to his gambling urge and Benedict trying to get him out of it. The same old dynamics.
The same old heartache.
“So I am worthless,” Ciaran muttered. “If you do not pay that man, I will be dead.”
Benedict was so frustrated with his father that all he could do was wave at the man in a sharp gesture. “If it were not for me, you would have been dead a long time ago,” he said. “Mayhap we would have been better off. At least Desdra would have been better off. I would have found her a husband who would not sell her off to pay a gambling debt.”
Ciaran didn’t have a retort for that because it was true. “If I had not used her to pay the debt, I would be dead,” he said. “Chester de Long would have sent men after me.”
Benedict snorted with the sheer irony of his father’s defense. “Chester de Long is not the killing kind,” he said. “You’re lyingabout that, too. You lie and you cheat and you gamble and then you blame everyone for your woes. Well, no more. This is going to end. I am going to go to Bristol and talk to Desdra about all of this. Mayhap she has some ideas as to where to come up with the money.”
Ciaran simply sat there, in a chair that was cracked, staring at the floor and knowing that the verbal browbeating he was receiving was nothing undeserved. There were times when he hated himself, too, but he couldn’t admit it.
