Royal Feud

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Feeling as if his own face were carved in stone. Devlin returned Morefy's look before shifting his attention back to the king. The king paced into the center of the room and pointed the knife at Devlin's chest.

"Ishton, you will provide a feast for the wedding and host your new father-in-law and your new brothers-in-law."

Devlin stood rigid, his hands closed into fists by his sides. "Aye, your Majesty." "Now, both of you be gone from here." Henry commanded. With a detached, deliberated move, he threw the knife toward the table, embedding it in the wooden surface.

Devlin pulled his horse to a halt at the top of the hill. He took a deep breath of the frigid air and soaked in his first view of Ishton. Even the sullen, gray sky could not overcast his pleasure in the sight of the castle crowning the hill in front of him. The Mersted River, the source of security and prosperity for his family, flowed at the base of the castle mound. His great-grandfather, when building the castle, had made use of the natural defenses provided by the river by diverting it into the moat surrounding the hill. All was secure and quiet. The drawbridge was upright, just as Devlin had ordered it to be kept during his absence, and he could make out the movements of the guards on the crenellations atop the taller, inner curtain wall.

Calmness settled over him. He had been restless and agitated during the trip back from London. Plans and strategies had been scurrying around in his brain, like rats battling for supremacy. He had marshaled each idea, evaluated, weighed, and finally discarded each as unworkable, leaving him with no alternative other than marriage to his enemy's daughter. Gerald and Percy took after their father and had inherited his greed, his depravity, and his malevolent ways. It was too much to hope that the girl had not done so as well.

How could he bring such a menace into the serenity of Ishton? He had no choice. The threat Morefy's daughter posed to Ishton was outweighed by the destruction the king could inflict on Ishton if his commands were not obeyed. Devlin heard the pounding of horses hooves behind him as Wyham and his entourage, along with the two Ishton guards who had accompanied him to London, caught up with him. 

After informing Wyham that he would ride ahead to prepare the castle to receive him and giving instructions to the guards, Devlin kicked Geneir's flank, setting the horse in motion. He crested the bluff and galloped toward home. The cold wind bit his bare cheeks, the powerful horse thundered beneath him, and the rich smell of the dirt flying from Geneir's pounding hooves filled his senses.

At his command the drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis raised. Devlin nudged his horse into a walk and passed through the outer gate. As Hugh came forward to meet him, Devlin swung his leg over the back of the horse and dismounted. Although his castellan was nearing fifty, there was not an inch of fat on his broad, muscular frame. His weathered face was creased, every one of his wrinkles a testament to the number of times he had laughed with unguarded pleasure or squinted into the sun.

"Welcome home, milord," Hugh called. "Thank you, Hugh. Tis good to be home."

Devlin clasped Hugh's forearm in greeting. He was at least a head taller than the older man, but he had never felt that he overshadowed the seasoned warrior. Both men turned and headed toward the stables, with Devlin leading Geneir by the reins.

"Were there any problems while I was gone?"

"Nay. "Tis been a peaceful fortnight. How was your audience with the king?" Devlin's mouth thinned into a grim line. "I should have known Morefy was behind the summons. Come to the solar after supper, and I shall explain everything to you and Mother."

"Aye, milord. I was just going to inspect the guards, so I will see you later at supper." Hugh bowed and left Devlin's side.

At the stables, Devlin greeted the groom and turned his horse over to the man's care. With one final pat on Geneir's nose, Devlin left and strode rapidly through the inner gate toward the donjon. The weak winter sunlight was inexorably vanishing into twilight. There was little activity in the inner bailey, as most of the villeins had returned home for the night. The huge, square, stone donjon dominated the large inner bailey and was built into the northeast side of the inner curtain wall.

 The door of the donjon was thrown open at his approach. Devlin thanked the guard on duty and entered the great hall, where preparations were underway for supper. He greeted each servant by name when the maids smiled at him and curtsied to him as he strode toward the great fireplace where his mother awaited him. "Devlin." Lucy held out her hands to him. "Tis glad I am you are safely home."

He took both her hands in his and bent to drop a light kiss on each of her cheeks.

"Thank you, Mother. I am happy to be home." Devlin released her hands and stepped back. "I have brought a visitor with me, an emissary from the king. He will arrive shortly." Lucy's brilliant blue eyes met his with serenity. "I shall instruct Renwold to prepare a chamber for him. You had best go greet our guest."

"Aye, Mother."

Devlin smiled at her and bowed, before turning and walking back to the door. He waited on the top of the steps as the guards ushered Wyham forward. "Welcome to Ishton, milord," Devlin said.

He bowed and stood back so the couturier could enter the hall. Glancing around with pride, he tried to see his beloved home as a stranger might. The servants bustling around were well fed and cheerful. The fine white linens and the silver on the lords' table were proof of Ishton's wealth. The fire in the large fireplace dominating the west side and the giant, colorful, tapestries hanging on either side were ample evidence of Ishton's warmth and hospitality.

Devlin looked at Wyham in time to see the stunned expression on the baron's usually impassive face and knew the cause without turning his mother's beauty had felled another victim. Smiling in amusement, Devlin turned to watch her approach. Lucy's clear, unblemished skin glowed with vitality and cordiality. Her striking blue eyes were kind and welcoming. The small amount of her ebony hair that peeked out from beneath her wimple was only slightly freckled with gray.

"Milord, may I introduce to you my mother, Lady Lucy. Mother, this is Robert, Lord Wyham."

Lucy placed her hand in Wyham's. "Welcome to Ishton, milord. "Tis an honor to have you here." "Milady, the pleasure is all mine." Wyham gracefully brought Lucy's hand to his lips and lightly dropped a kiss on the back of it before releasing her.

Devlin had never seen such an extravagant gesture and supposed it must be something they did at Court. He shook his head slightly. Such effete ways were beyond his ken.

"Milord, you must be weary after your long journey," Lucy said. "Renwold will show you to your chamber." She indicated the steward hovering behind her. "Please relax and refresh yourself."