The messenger waited to repeat the words that he had set to memory, but the Lord of Fulkhurst had no need of them, as he was reading the missive himself—or pretending to, the man thought, smirking to himself. He assumed this since the lord was not reacting properly to his master’s words of challenge. He was no longer nervous either, after witnessing the Lord of Fulkhurst’s clumsiness on the field. The feared dragon of the north obviously depended on his men to win his battles for him.
The messenger was less sure of that opinion when Warrick met his gaze directly with the most chilling gray eyes he had ever encountered. The renowned dragon had a cruel look about him, too, damned if he did not.
“If your lord is so eager to die, I will oblige him, but at my leisure. You will have my full answer anon.” And with a wave Warrick dismissed the man.
Sheldon barely waited for the man to turn away before he asked with lifted brow, “Is it anyone I know whom you mean to dispatch?”
“You do not know him, but you have certainly heard of him. ’Tis d’Ambray, and with a new change in tactics. He now requests we meet at Gilly Field two days hence to end the war between us with individual combat.”
Sheldon whistled through his teeth. “The man must be as lacking in wits as his father was, to think you would not know Gilly Field is a ripe setting for trickery. I had heard the same challenge was issued to Walter Belleme, the old Lord of Tures. But when Belleme rode out to accept, he was ambushed and murdered. ’Twas how the d’Ambrays gained Tures and all it entails.”
“I am aware of that,” Warrick replied. “And I have taken that prize from his collection. I had even entertained the thought of letting him have the peace he sued for—after Ambray Castle is lost to him.”
“So that is your next campaign, his own stronghold?”
“Aye, but obviously I delayed too long in the taking, giving him ample time to consider treachery as an alternative.”
“Mayhap, though you must admit, Warrick, that you arenotan easy foe to stop once you set out to destroy an enemy. ’Tis well known that no one prods the dragon without getting burned. It has made more than one man consider murder instead of fair means to defeat you, especially when Stephen will not lift a hand against you.”
“Why should he? Half my enemies are his enemies, and he delights that I rid him of them without cost to him.”
“True,” Sheldon agreed, then asked curiously, “Were you serious, that you would not have destroyed d’Ambray completely?”
Warrick shrugged, looking again toward the spot where Rowena had stood, but was now gone. “Mayhap I am growing tired of constant war. Too many things have been neglected in the pursuit of it. My daughters have lacked proper guidance, my lands are barely known to me. God’s blood, I traveled warily across Seaxdale to reach Tures and did not even know ’twas my own fief. And I have neglected the getting of a son—”
“Oh, aye, and you are so old that ’tis nearly too late to—”
“Go to hell, Sheldon.”
The older man chuckled before his expression turned serious again. “I am sorry about Isabella. I know you were pleased in your choice of her.”
Warrick waved that aside. “Verily, I should be furious with the lady, and with her father for forcing her into deceit when he knew her heart was well set on another. But instead I feel almost—relief—to have it ended, particularly since ’tis plain that she would not have suited me as well as I had thought.”
“And mayhap you have someone else in mind already to replace her?”
It took a moment for Warrick to realize whom Sheldon referred to, but then he scowled. “Nay, you are mistaken. Never would I honor that little witch with—”
“Aye, you would—if she gives you the son you desire.”
A picture of Rowena with a babe in her arms came to Warrick’s mind and filled him with such longing he was shaken by it. But the precepts he had lived by for half his life had refused to let anyone escape retribution after doing him a harm, much less benefit in the end.
He shook his head adamantly. “’Tis inconceivable that—”
But Sheldon held up a hand, interrupting yet again. “Speak not words that you will then feel forced to adhere to.” And before Warrick did so anyway, he added, “I will see you anon, my friend.”
Warrick stared after Sheldon with his darkest scowl yet. There had been times when he had regretted that his manner kept him almost friendless, except for Sheldon, who had known him from before his tragedies and understood what drove him. Then there were times when he was quite certain ’twas better to be friendless—like now.
Chapter 32
Warrick was not in one of his better moods when he entered the hall late that afternoon. And there was Emma to remind him that he had not yet seen to the matter of her transformation. He called her to him now as he headed for the empty hearth area. There were only two chairs amongst the many stools, reserved only for him and his guests, or for his daughters. That he motioned Emma into one of them as he took the other brought a wary look to her face, and made him realize that she did not consider herself a member of his family any more than he had ever thought of her as such.
That he thought of it now did not bother him unduly. Bastards were a fact of life, and very few ever rose above the stigma of their births or the serfdom of their mothers, unless they had a royal sire—or no legitimate siblings.
Emma was, as far as he knew, his only bastard, if he did not count the one growing in Rowena’s belly. Though she must be nigh six and ten, he had only known of her existence these past few years. Possibly he would have done better by her if he had given her more thought, but he had rarely been home since she had come to his attention, and rarely had he had other than war on his mind—until now.
He stared at her, noting what Sheldon had so easily seen, that she was indeed more like him than either of his other two daughters. There was strength in her face and bearing which the other two lacked. Even her eyes and hair were exactly the shades that his were, except whereas his eyes could be coldly chilling and most times were, hers held a warmth that lent a certain beauty to her face.
He noted also that she did not fidget under his direct regard. Had he stared at Melisant this long without speaking, she would have burst into tears. Beatrix would have started volunteering excuses for whatever she had recently done wrong, without waiting to hear an accusation made. Emma just quietly sat there and stared back at him, though she was nowise at ease. Courage, then, that he had not expected. Mayhap she would do well for young Richard after all.
