There was a smell in the air, of the ugliness after a battle and the rotting dead. But the knights of le Bec’s corps were used to the stench; they lived with it daily. The knight didn’t even flinch as he stepped over someone’s rotting hand, coming to a halt next to his towering liege.
“We’ve found them, Ken.”
Only in private did the knight known as Conor de Birmingham address his superior informally. Having known Kenton since they were newly knighted, he was the only man who could get away with it. Kenton looked away from the walls of his latest acquisition and focused on the big, red-haired warrior.
“Where?”
“Hiding in the cellar beneath the kitchens.”
“How many?”
“Lady Thorne, her three sons, and four servants.”
“No sign of Gaylord?”
“None.”
“Did you ask Lady Thorne?”
“She will not say a word.”
Kenton’s gaze moved in the direction of the keep; it was impossible to read his thoughts, but they were easy to guess. Conor followed his focus.
“Gerik and Ack are with her,” Conor said. “Their manner is, shall we say, easier than yours or mine. Mayhap they will wrest something from her.”
Kenton pondered that advice and promptly ignored it. He started towards the keep. “Gaylord Thorne’s whereabouts continue to be unknown and he, along with this castle, are my objectives. Henry wants them both.”
“So you intend to interrogate his wife yourself?”
“I intend to do what is necessary.”
Conor thought of admonishing him to go easy on the woman, considering she was a delicate lady and knights of the realm were sworn to uphold the code of gentle treatment towards any female, even an enemy. But he bit his tongue; if the wench was foolish enough to resist Kenton, then she deserved whatever she received.
Kenton entered the cool, musty keep and found his way down into the kitchens. Located in the sub-level, it was a low-ceilinged room smelling of smoke and dung, and it was moderately warm. Off to the right, almost hidden behind a table, was an open trap door, and seated against the wall next to the door were several women and three small boys. Soldiers were tying the last of the bindings on the servants. Ducking under the low ceiling, as Kenton was several inches over six feet, he went over to the group.
Two of his knights stood hunched over, their heads brushing against the ceiling. The first man was bear-like with a head of thinning brown hair, while the other man was tall, able, with dark blond hair. Sir Gerik le Mon and Sir Ackerley Forbes, respectively, greeted Kenton with formality. They always greetedhim with such manners, though they had served at the top of his command hierarchy for several years. It was the degree of respect that le Bec demanded.
“My lord,” Gerik indicated the frightened, huddled people against the wall. “The elusive Lady Thorne and her household.”
Kenton’s piercing eyes gazed at Gerik a moment; if the man had anything to tell him, he was silently suggesting that now was a good time before he took matters into his own hands. He was weary from battle and in no mood to play games. But Gerik had nothing more to say and Kenton turned his attention to the terrified mass. The diplomacy of their captivity, brief though it were, was about to end.
The first thing he noticed was three little boys gazing back at him; the eldest was perhaps around five years of age, while the other two were identical twins and perhaps around three or four. They were all sandy-headed, well-formed, and regarded him with such challenge that Kenton nearly laughed. He might have, if he had remembered how to do it. To their left sat four cowering women, servants by their clothing, and to their left, it occurred to Kenton, sat the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He regarded her a moment, studying her porcelain features and the long, honey-colored hair that clung to her slender neck and spilled over her pale shoulders. She wasn’t particularly young, nor was she old, but caught in that timeless limbo of a woman who is truly ageless. Were he to guess, he would suspect she was somewhere around her twenty-fifth year. But he had never seen a woman with her maturity look so positively perfect.
The woman gazed back at him with the emotionless expression of someone who had seen much in a lifetime. He knew she was terrified, but he admired the fact that she didn’t show it. Wisdom had taught her that. Her magnificent eyes were the palest shade of green and her lips and cheeks were kissed arosy hue. He had no idea how long he had been staring at her and suddenly felt very foolish that he had been doing so.
“You’re le Bec?”
Kenton blinked, realizing the woman had brashly spoken first. But her voice was soft, soothing, like the pelt of a gentle rain on a warm summer night. He deliberately didn’t answer her, slowly removing his gauntlets and tucking them into the elbow of the armor on his left arm.
“Your name, Madam?”
She was intentionally slow in replying. “Lady Nicola Aubrey-Thorne.”
“Where is your husband, Lady Thorne?”
Her gaze lingered on him a moment before lowering. Kenton watched her long, thick lashes sweep her cheek defiantly. If nothing else, she was brave. Stupid, but brave. He would waste no more time with her. Kenton glanced at Conor and, with an imperceptible nod of his head, had the knight yank Lady Thorne to her feet.
