Lord of the Trilaterals.
He’d never had a position of great power. He’d always been more of a man who took orders than a man who gave them, but that was about to change. He was a de Lara and de Laras never failed.
He didn’t want to be the first one.
He was certainly going to find out.
CHAPTER TWO
Two years later
Wales
“You do notbelong here.”
Kevin was standing in the gatehouse of Wybren Castle, a castle he had just acquired as part of the Lords of the Trilaterals empire. Literally, he had only arrived this morning with seven hundred men, who were now spread out all over the castle, investigating their new home. Two of Kevin’s knights were supervising the inspection and inventory, while the third knight was standing slightly behind Kevin as they faced a delegation of incoming Welsh warlords.
And they were not welcoming.
“I have as much right to Wales as a native Welshman,” Kevin said, focused on the two he was facing off against while his knight, Gareth de Llion, kept an eye on the gang of Welshmen behind him, some with deadly crossbows. “My ancestor several generations back was the descendant of a lost Roman legion, somy blood has been in Wales before it was even a country. Do not come to my door telling me I do not belong here, for you would be wrong.”
The two men in the lead seemed taken aback by that suggestion. They were at the head of a self-appointed delegation of local warlords who did not want to see their lands infested with the English. They wanted to make sure that the new Lord of Wybren Castle, or Castle of the Sky some called it for its lofty keep, knew that there would be no local alliance.
No friendship.
No peace.
“You were not born in Wales,” a man with an eyepatch spoke angrily. “You were born with the filth of theSaesnegon you and now you bring that stench into my home, into my lands.”
“Myhome,mylands,” Kevin countered. “If you’ve come here only to tell me that you do not want me here, save your breath. I am here and I am staying.”
With that, he turned on his heel and marched back through the gatehouse. The portcullus dropped, the heavy reverberation causing the ground to shake as the Welsh stood there and watched, realizing that their mission to discourage the new English lord had just come to an abrupt end.
Hearing the English on the battlements as they shouted to one another and went about their business told the Welsh that their presence, from this point on, was being ignored. Unhappy, frustrated, they turned away from the gatehouse and began to head back the way they had come.
But it wasn’t the end of their protest.
“DamnableSaesneg,” the older of the pair grumbled. “Did you see all of the men he had with him? They’ll be dug in like vermin before the day is over.”
The man with the eyepatch was grinding his teeth. “I did not expect him to listen to us,” he said. “He’s a denseSaesneg, likeall the rest. If we are to evict the man from Wybren, then we cannot do it alone. We will need help.”
“What help?” the older man said. “What ally is going to tangle with the House of de Lara? They can bring forth thousands of men and they would burn our homes, kill our women. Nay, Aeron, our protest is at an end. We will not be able to send him home and we will not harrass him. I fear if we do, it will only bring us trouble.”
Aeron ap Gruffudd looked at his companion, Glynn ap Hywel. Glynn was at least twenty years older than Aeron was and he’d see a great many things over the years. He tended to be less aggressive towards the English because he’d been party to battles that had seen many Welshmen killed. But Aeron was young and he hadn’t yet learned the restraint that Glynn had sheerly out of necessity.
The fire of hatred burned deep in his belly.
“De Lara does not belong here,” he said. “I will send word to my cousin to the south. His lands border those of the Earl of Hereford and Worcester, Christopher de Lohr. He has dealth with these English and he keeps de Lohr on his side of the border. Phylip can raise more men and help us push de Lara back into England where he belongs.”
“It is foolish, I tell you!”
“We do not need an English army in our midst!”
When they realized they were shouting, they glanced over their shoulders to make sure their men hadn’t heard them. Some had, but they were pretending they hadn’t. The whole lot of them was moving down the slope from Wybren and into the village that crowded up around the base of the hill where the castle was built. Villagers were looking at the Welsh warlords with some fear, all of them fearful at the turn of tides at the great Castle of the Sky.
Fear that times were changing with an English overlord and they were unable to stop it.
Perhaps they were fearful, and perhaps Glynn was even more fearful, but Aeron wasn’t. He was already thinking ahead to the man he would send south to his cousin’s domain, asking him for help in eliminating the English lord from Wybren. Phylip hated the English as much as anyone but he had tentative peace with de Lohr purely out of necessity.
