Good thing he’d hurled the first insult in this matter. Otherwise, Belial would be searching the ground for his teeth right about now. However, Valteri wasn’t a hypocrite and wouldn’t attack when he knew the man was only defending himself.
Touché.
He, of all men, knew the bitter taste of superstition to something neither one of them could control. People were idiots and held to their zealotry with an unreasoning mind.
Belial’s laugh rang out. “Come now, don’t look as if your strongest wish is to call me to arms. I was only japing with you, man.” He clapped Valteri on the back.
His jaw dropping, Valteri stared at him in total shock and disbelief. He’d touched him without an invitation? Were all members of their family deranged?
“Forgive my insults, my lord.” Belial turned to face Ariel. He ran a long, thin finger down her cheek and Valteri noted the rigidness of her body, the control she exercised not to cringe in response. “I fear my worry for my sister has overshadowed my common sense.” He glanced back toward Valteri. “And manners. I’m sure you can forgive me?”
Not bloody likely. Honestly? He hated this little trollish bitchtress and wanted to run him through.
However, he acknowledged his own part in the name-calling.
Those words sounded sincere enough, even though Valteri still had his doubts.… Because something about Belial said that this beast was toying with them all for sport.
Aye, the look from the corner of the man’s eye. It reminded him of a cutpurse trying to remain inconspicuous as he carefully watched the soldiers while he wended his way from victim to victim.
There was just something about Belial that was innately sneaky. It set his hackles on edge and left him feeling as if he were in battle, bare-arsed.
Ariel shifted nervously, and looked to him. Her eyes beseeched him for protection.
Valteri stiffened as that familiar look struck a hard chord inside him over the one thing in life he found intolerable—those who preyed on the weak. It was the same helpless, resigned look of dread he’d seen in Wace’s eyes when the boy had been a page and under the control of a monster.
Belittled and abused by those around him, Wace had possessed a profound stutter. And when he’d accidentally spilled an entire pitcher of wine in Valteri’s lap at a banquet, the fear in his eyes had been palpable.
As had the roar of outrage from his master, who’d ordered the boy whipped. Unwilling to see a child beaten for such an innocent mistake, Valteri had done what he’d once sworn he’d never do.
Taken a squire.
No one would abuse a child, or anyone else, on his watch.
Could Ariel’s brother be as abusive as Wace’s former lord? That single thought sent a wave of murder through him. If that were indeed the case, he’d never allow her to leave with Belial.
He’d gut the man first.
Forcing a smile to his lips that was supposed to be friendly, but caused the tiny handful of men who’d remained in the room to visibly cringe and step back, Valteri attempted what he’d been told was civility.
So much for that. He knew better than to try and be like the others. Reverting to his normal grimace and glower, he sighed. “Tell me, Lord Belial, from whence do you come? Where are you headed?”
Belial turned his back to Ariel. “Our home lies to the south. We’re from Brakenwich Valley. Our father’s lands fell to the Norman yoke, and once I realized our cause was lost, I left the battlefield and grabbed Ariel. I thought we’d travel north to our relatives who live in Hexham, where I’ve been told there aren’t as many Normans.” Sadness darkened his gaze and he held his arms out like a supplicant at prayer. “Provided, of course, our family there still retains their lands and home.”
Such was the result of war. Innocent victims always suffered, even in peace. Indeed, life itself scarred the souls of all who traversed its brutal path.
Valteri had the scars to prove it.
Inside and out.
He shrugged. “I won’t apologize for my brother’s actions. ’Twas your own people who started this war when they denied him the throne he’d been promised, while supporting a liar against him.”
Belial smiled at his words. “Ah, loyalty. That noble mistress who leads so many on a merry chase, straight through the doorways of hell.” He let out a small laugh that sent a shiver down Valteri’s spine before he spoke in a low tone beneath his breath. “How I love that treacherous bitch. She so facilitates my job.”
Had he heard that correctly? “Excuse me?”
“It eases my jaw,” Belial spoke louder. “’Tis an old Saxon saying my father used to quote. You know, loyalty makes life easier to live.”
That was not what he’d heard. He was quite certain of it, point of fact. But, unwilling to verbally spar anymore with the beast, or shed blood where he ate, he chose to let it go. “Prithee, how is it two English nobles speak French as if they were born to it?”
