father’s pain over the loss of his favored heir was greater than the suffering caused by the burns that scarred the old man’s body.
“You appear to have sustained fewer cuts than on the day past,” Abel said. “I wager that your awareness of the darkness has sharpened considerably beneath my brother’s tutelage.”
Wondering at the man’s rare attempt to engage him in conversation, Christian said, “My time at Wulfen has been of certain benefit.”
“Then you are pleased.” The knight lifted his goblet and took a long drink.
“I am. Though I do not expect my sword skill will surpass my facility with a dagger, I believe the instruction I have received here will prove more valuable.”
Abel raised an eyebrow. “Indeed,” he murmured, then frowned. “’Tis a curious thing how adept you are with a dagger considering you were promised to the Church at a young age.”
Christian was well aware that he should not be able to easily find his mark, especially at the distances at which he was able to do so, but his relationship with the youngest Wulfrith brother was not such that he felt inclined to explain his skill—that a dagger had been far easier to secrete and practice at without his father’s knowledge.
“It is a curious thing,” he said, then returned the frown. “But tell me, Sir Abel, are you pleased with my progress?”
Something flashed in the man’s eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone. “As well as I can be.” Boredom dragged his words across the space between them. “Certes, you are better prepared to defend your lands and the family you will make with my sister, and that pleases me.”
The mention of Lady Gaenor nearly made Christian smile. “Be assured, I shall keep your sister safe.”
Abel turned his goblet on its stem. “That you shall, lest you know the wrath of the Wulfriths.”
It was no idle threat, and one to which Christian tried not to take offense. But he did.
Holding the knight’s gaze, he said, “You forget, Sir Abel, that the Lavonnes have already suffered your family’s wrath—a wrath that took the life of my brother and for which marriage to your sister is intended to prevent further retaliation.”
Though the light in the knight’s eyes had not been friendly, at least there had been light. Now there was darkness. “Geoffrey Lavonne murdered and murdered again,” Abel said. “For it, he suffered a coward’s death—one for which no retaliation is warranted.”
It was as the Wulfriths and the king’s men told, and as Christian was inclined to believe, but it gave his father no relief. Indeed, it had increased Aldous’s pain. And his yearn for revenge.
“See there”—Abel jerked his head to the right and followed with his eyes—“the knight at the end of the table?”
The man was familiar to Christian, and not only because he was among the esteemed warriors who trained Wulfen’s squires. “I do.”
“He is Sir Rowan.”
Christian returned his regard to Abel, the better to enjoy his reaction. “Aye.”
“Formerly of the barony of Aillil.”
Christian inclined his head. “I am aware he was Lady Annyn’s man ere she wed your brother.”
Surprise glanced off Abel’s face. “Do you also know ‘twas he who delivered the blow that killed your brother?”
“I do—and that your eldest brother first disabled Geoffrey.”
“Hmm. You are better informed than I believed, Baron Lavonne—and surprisingly adept at holding your knowledge close.” He narrowed his gaze on Christian before turning it on Sir Rowan. When he looked around again, his mouth bore the trace of a smile. “Given the chance, you would kill him?”
Christian knew Abel baited him, but the streak of stubborn with which he seemed to have been born was determined to give back in equal measure. “But I have had the chance, Sir Abel, for I have not only recently become acquainted with the man’s identity.”
Abel’s eyebrows drew together. “You are saying you bear him
“You appear to have sustained fewer cuts than on the day past,” Abel said. “I wager that your awareness of the darkness has sharpened considerably beneath my brother’s tutelage.”
Wondering at the man’s rare attempt to engage him in conversation, Christian said, “My time at Wulfen has been of certain benefit.”
“Then you are pleased.” The knight lifted his goblet and took a long drink.
“I am. Though I do not expect my sword skill will surpass my facility with a dagger, I believe the instruction I have received here will prove more valuable.”
Abel raised an eyebrow. “Indeed,” he murmured, then frowned. “’Tis a curious thing how adept you are with a dagger considering you were promised to the Church at a young age.”
Christian was well aware that he should not be able to easily find his mark, especially at the distances at which he was able to do so, but his relationship with the youngest Wulfrith brother was not such that he felt inclined to explain his skill—that a dagger had been far easier to secrete and practice at without his father’s knowledge.
“It is a curious thing,” he said, then returned the frown. “But tell me, Sir Abel, are you pleased with my progress?”
Something flashed in the man’s eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone. “As well as I can be.” Boredom dragged his words across the space between them. “Certes, you are better prepared to defend your lands and the family you will make with my sister, and that pleases me.”
The mention of Lady Gaenor nearly made Christian smile. “Be assured, I shall keep your sister safe.”
Abel turned his goblet on its stem. “That you shall, lest you know the wrath of the Wulfriths.”
It was no idle threat, and one to which Christian tried not to take offense. But he did.
Holding the knight’s gaze, he said, “You forget, Sir Abel, that the Lavonnes have already suffered your family’s wrath—a wrath that took the life of my brother and for which marriage to your sister is intended to prevent further retaliation.”
Though the light in the knight’s eyes had not been friendly, at least there had been light. Now there was darkness. “Geoffrey Lavonne murdered and murdered again,” Abel said. “For it, he suffered a coward’s death—one for which no retaliation is warranted.”
It was as the Wulfriths and the king’s men told, and as Christian was inclined to believe, but it gave his father no relief. Indeed, it had increased Aldous’s pain. And his yearn for revenge.
“See there”—Abel jerked his head to the right and followed with his eyes—“the knight at the end of the table?”
The man was familiar to Christian, and not only because he was among the esteemed warriors who trained Wulfen’s squires. “I do.”
“He is Sir Rowan.”
Christian returned his regard to Abel, the better to enjoy his reaction. “Aye.”
“Formerly of the barony of Aillil.”
Christian inclined his head. “I am aware he was Lady Annyn’s man ere she wed your brother.”
Surprise glanced off Abel’s face. “Do you also know ‘twas he who delivered the blow that killed your brother?”
“I do—and that your eldest brother first disabled Geoffrey.”
“Hmm. You are better informed than I believed, Baron Lavonne—and surprisingly adept at holding your knowledge close.” He narrowed his gaze on Christian before turning it on Sir Rowan. When he looked around again, his mouth bore the trace of a smile. “Given the chance, you would kill him?”
Christian knew Abel baited him, but the streak of stubborn with which he seemed to have been born was determined to give back in equal measure. “But I have had the chance, Sir Abel, for I have not only recently become acquainted with the man’s identity.”
Abel’s eyebrows drew together. “You are saying you bear him
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