Page 82 of Wolfehound
“Nay.”
“Did ye love her?”
He sighed again and averted his gaze. “She simply gave birth to me,” he said. “She gave birth and then she died. My father, dedicated to service for the king, gave me over to the servants to raise, only I was passed from one to another to another. I was put into situations that no child should be put in. When I had reached about five years of age, my father sent me to foster at Fotheringhay Castle, where I was educated, beaten, and abused. But I rose above it and became the knight I am today. Why do you ask?”
By that time, Jordan had stopped fussing with the bandages and was looking at him seriously. “I was told about ye,” she said quietly. “How ye were an Executioner Knight, only ye were too heartless, even for them. Now I understand why.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. He regretted what he’d said already. There were reasons why Tyrus le Mon was the way he was, and that wasn’t something he divulged to many. But he’d divulged it to Lady Warenton because she asked. As she’d said, she’d saved his life, so he reasoned that she deserved to know something about the man she’d saved.
Even though he probably wasn’t worth the effort.
“I have never failed in a mission,” he finally said. “My upbringing has made me who I am. If that sounds harsh, then I suppose it is to you. But not to me.”
“It sounds harsh, but it also sounds lonely.”
“There is safety in solitude.”
“Why do ye say that?”
“Because you cannot be hurt if you are alone.”
Jordan collected the dirty bandages and set them aside, picking up a small container of wine that she’d brought. “I’m sorry ye had a difficult upbringing,” she said. “I’m sorry ye’ve resorted tae an outlook on the world tae protect yerself.”
“I am not protecting myself,” he said. “I simply do not like other people.”
She chuckled, but it was not from humor. It was from irony. “Given what ye do, I’m sure there aren’t many who are fond of ye,” she said. “But it comes tae this—I saved yer life and ye owe me something for it. Would ye agree with that?”
He looked at her. “I would.”
“Do ye believe in honor?”
“It may come as a surprise to you that I do.”
“Do ye believe that ye have honor?”
“It is all I have. I honor my word, my bonds, my agreements.”
“Then if ye believe that ye owe me for yer life, the price ye pay is yer silence in the matter of Gwenllian of Wales,” she said quietly. “If ye dunna honor yer word, and ye tell anyone about it, I have more connections than ye’ll ever know. I’ll make sure ye’re discredited from the top of Scotland tae the bottom of England and beyond. I’ll make sure everyone who matters knows that ye’re not tae be trusted. I’ll run yer reputation intae the ground, lad. Believe me when I say this.”
His gaze upon her was steady. “Not strangely, I have been lying here wondering what I was going to do from now on,” he said. “You may be surprised to know that I have already made the decision not to speak of Lady Cambria.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew you were going to use my wounds against me,” he said. “I am not naïve, Lady Warenton. I knew this was coming.”
She eyed him before she began to use the wine in her hand to cleanse the scabbed-over wounds, which were healing nicely now that the infection was gone. “Then we have a bargain,” she said. “And since ye’ve been wondering how ye’re tae make a living after this, I’ve news for ye on that front.”
He frowned. “What news?”
She was concentrating on the scabs as she spoke. “Ye’re a good knight,” she said. “I saw the fight from the keep, when ye and Liam went tae battle. My son, Scott, thinks ye have an excellent sword. He wants ye for Berwick Castle. Trouble with the clans, lad. I’m going tae send ye tae Berwick Castle tae help.”
He just stared at her. “Berwick?” he repeated. “But… I cannot. I have a contract with the Archbishop of Canterbury at the moment. I am going to have to figure out what to tell the man if I cannot tell him what I have discovered.”
“I have already taken care of that,” Jordan said. “I happen tae know a few priests. My husband and I are patrons of a few churches. I’ve already sent word tae the priest I’m closest to, a man at Kelso who will do anything I want and not ask questions. I’ve sent Scott’s son, Jeremy, tae ask the priest tae send the archbishop a missive, from ye, stating that yer investigation has taken ye far tae the north. That ye’re chasing clues and ye dunna know when ye’ll return, but tae have faith that ye will, someday. That will keep the man from sending anyone else if he knows ye’re still hunting the truth. He’ll simply have tae wait for ye tae return.”
“And I never will.”
“Nay, ye never will.”
