‘Ah, yes, your leisurely trip to the inn.’
‘I had to wait until the cakes were finished.’ None of it was true, but Rhain knew Nicholas understood that. They carried a conversation that would be heard by the other men. His men he paid well for their loyalty for the last five years. A long time for mercenaries to stay together, even longer to keep loyal.
As far as he knew, they were still loyal and he’d trusted them up until two months ago.
Now because of his own actions in London, he could trust Nicholas because they fostered together at Edward’s court.
As for the rest of the men, and as was true with any mercenary, they could be bribed. Consequently, he trusted them up to a point. For now they travelled north to meet with King Edward’s men collected there. Then they would part ways. If he was killed before then, he trusted Nicholas to pay them well for their services. He didn’t expect them to mourn. They were not friends; he wanted no friends.
At first, he had tried to get rid of Nicholas, who joined him a year into his travels, but finally gave up. He allowed him some privilege into this life, but not everything. Trust, loyalty, friendship could only go so far since the life he lived was a lie. That was something he wouldn’t burden Nicholas with.
A lie and a quest. When he set out five years ago from his home in Wales, he burned with hatred and with a vengeance to set the past right. To find his father for answers.
He didn’t know who his father was. The irony was he hadn’t known who his true mother was until five years ago either. It had been a terrible and deadly secret. All his life, Rhain had thought himself the second son of William, Lord of Gwalchdu, and Ellen, his wife, and the younger brother of the current Lord of Gwalchdu, Teague.
It was a gifted life, wealthy, privileged and, as a second son, one without responsibilities. One he had always reveled in. It was his older brother Teague who had to make the difficult choices. When Rhain was born, their mother, Ellen, had died in childbirth and his father, William, had been killed only moments before.
So at the age of five Teague became Lord of Gwalchdu and a Welsh Marcher Lord. When Teague was betrayed by a Welsh prince, he went to the English King Edward and gave him his loyalty.
Rhain was too young to make such decisions, but he worshipped his older brother and never questioned his loyalty, which was always to his family and to Gwalchdu. Therefore, Rhain fostered with King Edward before he returned to Gwalchdu and his brother, who was being threatened by an enemy.
Only after much adversity was it revealed that Sister Ffion, Ellen’s sister, was the one threatening his brother. Sister Ffion, who suffered from episodes of madness, of fervency, of seizures. Such illness she’d been fighting all her life with rumors that the Devil’s blood ran through her.
After being caught, Sister Ffion had died, but not before she revealed the terrible secret. That she was Rhain’s true mother. In her dying words, she did not say who his father was. Only telling him the clue was in a necklace she gave him.
And that was what he had been doing for the last five years: finding clues along the way. That his father, most likely, was the captain of the former Gwalchdu’s soldiers. That from a piece of needlework the necklace was not only links of silver, but that a large inlaid pendant had once belonged to it.
Thinking his father had taken the pendant, Rhain attempted to discover in which direction he’d travelled. When that trail went cold, he followed the jewelers who could make or sell such a necklace and pendant. Spain, France, further along Wales and London.
Along the way, he’d earned money and a reputation by his sword. He’d earned men, who followed him when his reputation increased. All the while, he asked questions. He wanted, needed answers. Why was Sister Ffion his mother; why did his father abandon her? Did his father know the Devil’s blood ran through her veins? And—the one question that plagued him, that drove him on—did his father suffer from seizures, too?
Simple questions. A golden life turned to rusting iron in one moment. A privileged carefree life. Where he had no worries on money, or family. Where because of his looks, because of his wealth, he had friends, he had women.
Now, he had no family. His brother wasn’t his brother, his mother was dead.
He was alone. Because of his Devil’s blood, he would remain alone.
His life had been forfeit since that fateful day when he realized his mother was Sister Ffion, a woman plagued by seizures. Though he’d never suffered a seizure, he was all too aware the blood flowed through his veins as well. That he was tainted.
As a result, there would be no wife for him, no children. No future. But he’d carved a life for himself, such that it was. Until London.
Only Nicholas knew what stupidity he had done in London two months back. Only Nicholas would ever know because he had been there when he denied Guy of Warstone his services and then in one rash act had killed him.
Now, Guy’s brother Reynold was after him. Rhain had a price on his head from one of the most powerful families in Europe. One reckless moment and he forfeited what was left of his life and jeopardized the lives of his men.
So that carefree man he was before was no more and the purposeful life he’d made for himself was also gone. All he could do now was to set things right by getting his men under the protection of Edward’s camp. As for Nicholas, who knew everything and most likely had a price on his head, too, he hoped he lived long enough to protect him as well.
This village was small, but was on the main road and would have travelers. He and his men took all the spare lodging and some of his men were in different accommodations. His priority was to Nicholas, but even now his enemy could be circling the village and setting a trap. He could stay here to protect, but it wouldn’t give them enough time for the advantage he liked to have.
Rhain stood. ‘I’m more restless than I thought. I’m going to walk the outer village first if you watch the men here. I’ll return shortly.’
Nicholas raised one brow, but nodded his head. There was no good reason to search this sleepy village. It would take more than one man to take down their mercenary troop, but it would take only a trained assassin to take down one man. His life might be meaningless, he might be plagued with the Devil’s own blood. But he would get his men to Edward’s camp and do one good deed before he died.
Helissent wrapped her shawl tightly against the cool breeze. It was spring and warm, but this time of night always brought a chill, which cut through her skin after the fires of the kitchens.
It was the one pain she welcomed in her day. In the beginning, those fires and her skin’s sensitivities had almost kept her away from the ovens. But she knew how to protect herself now and had got used to the sting because it brought her joy. Like now even though she was exhausted after completing half the cakes requested.
Cakes she’d made almost completely in the dark. She had to make all fifty of them before tomorrow, but Rudd was meticulous when it came to the kitchen supplies and that included the use of candles to see by. She couldn’t risk Rudd’s wrath with the use of too many candles. He only gave her a small allowance to operate the kitchen and the food she fed to the travelers in the inn. It was all she had, but it was a matter of pride that she made the best food around.
She knew these cakes, slathered in honey, were some of her best. She could stay up later, but she risked the ovens overheating. Best to have them cool. They’d be warm enough to heat to the right temperature when she rose.
She stumbled and righted herself. Exhaustion didn’t describe how tired her bones were. A full day’s work. Not to mention she was up early making the original twenty-five cakes this morning. She was exhausted and Rudd wasn’t letting up on her either. Since he arrived a few months ago, he’d worked her twice as hard as his parents had though they had been old