Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(113)

A sliver of road could be seen leading up to it, hugging the side of the mountain precariously. The scattered clouds in the sky seemed to be clustering over the castle, great sheets of gray rain falling upon it. The party from Pembroke could see the storm over the castle, brewing for the approaching guests. It made the countenance of the place most uninviting.

Nether Castle was the seat of the Carnedd baronetcy, an expanse of land nestled in the heart of Powys near the Dovey Valley. It was referred to as “The Wilds” because of the dramatic and desolate landscape, far removed from the marcher lordships that dominated the contention between England and Wales.

Nether, however, was a fortress in the center of turbulent lands. Lesser Welsh princes claimed to rule over the lands, which complicated the issue when the Lord of Nether surrendered the castle to William Marshal in exchange for a very small parcel of more prosperous English property. Still, the exchange of lands came with a good deal of haggling in the form of an arranged marriage. The Lord of Nether, Trevyn d’Einen, had made his daughter part of the bargain. It kept a family tie still linked to the property even though it no longer belonged to his family.

None of the Englishmen knew the details of the deal save de Poyer. It wasn’t their business, anyway. But there were various whispers of dread and reluctance from the men. But they knew that the dark and stormy castle was their destination, like it or not. George and Aimery looked to seasoned William, but the blond knight’s gaze was fixed upon the distant castle in a noncommittal manner. They all knew better than to comment within earshot of de Poyer, who continued to ride alone several feet ahead. Knowing the man’s mood as they did, they suspected it was darker than the clouds above.

Little did they know that it was darker even than that. As the army began their ascent up the road, de Poyer suddenly spurred his animal down a small goat path that led off across the base of the hill. It was parallel to the castle. He wasn’t heading away from the structure but he wasn’t heading towards it, either. Wellesbourne watched him go.

“Where is he going?” George reined his charger next to William.

Wellesbourne shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“What should we do?”

“Continue to the castle. He will meet us there.”

“Are you sure?”

Wellesbourne wasn’t. With a lingering glance at de Poyer as the man ripped across the slick green hillside, he turned to the column of men and began shouting encouragement to motivate them up the muddy road.





Chapter Two





“She’ll be greeting her husband with a bruise on her face,” said an older man, well dressed, who was bent over a woman seated at the table in the great hall. She had her hand over the left side of her face as the old man tried to inspect it. He could already see the welt rising and he turned furious dark eyes to the man standing near the hearth with a chalice of wine in his hand. “Why did you do this? She has done nothing to deserve it.”

The man with the wine looked lazily at the older man. “She is a woman, is she not?” he fired back. “That is reason enough. And you’ll stay out it.”

The older man straightened up, his expression nothing short of rage. “I’ll not stay out of it,” he seethed. “She is my daughter. And you are my son. You have no right to strike her.”

Gryffyn d’Einen tossed the chalice into the blazing hearth, hearing the hiss as the liquid hit the fire. His face contorted with anger as he stomped towards his shorter, weaker father.

“Stay out of it,” he repeated, shoving a finger into his father’s face. “It is none of your affair.”

“Strike her again and you will regret it.”

Gryffyn lashed out, striking his father with a closed fist in the jaw. The man went reeling as the woman jumped up from the table, going to the aid of the older man.

“Gryffyn, no!” she cried. “Leave him alone!”

Gryffyn swung on his younger sister. “Have you not learned your lesson?” he reached out and grabbed her hair, viciously yanking the silken blond strands. “If I need to….”

He was cut off by a servant standing in the doorway of the great hall. “My lord,” the old servant delivered in a trembling tone. “We have received a rider.”

Gryffyn’s wrath was diverted from his sister, his dark eyes focusing on the cowering servant. “Who is it?”

“English, my lord,” the servant was moving out of the door even as he delivered the message. Everyone at Nether Castle feared Gryffyn, especially when he was in the midst of a rage. “The party from Pembroke will be here within the hour. They demand their supper and a priest upon their arrival.”

Gryffyn released his sister’s hair, hardly noticing when she ran to their father to help the man off the floor.

“Is the messenger still here?” he demanded.

The servant bobbed his scraggly head nervously. “Aye, m’lord.”

“Send him to me quickly.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

The man fled. Now out of striking rage, Gryffyn’s sister and father watched him with a good deal of trepidation. A big man, Gryffyn was violent and unstable. What happened this afternoon had happened a hundred times before. Gryffyn did not care who he struck in anger or annoyance; his father, his sister or a servant were all the same to him. There was no telling his mood from moment to moment.