Her father, however, did not approve of warmongering, surprising for a man who had spent his entire life on the Marches, and he didn’t like the brash warriors who would come to his home, eat his food, and only speak of violence. Aeron had been one of those, and he had come repeatedly, but not for the fine food and drink.
He had come for another reason.
Gethin had realized early on that Aeron had been interested in his daughter. That had started a few years ago when her womanly curves began to fill out, and when Aeron finally offered for her hand, Gethin had made an excuse as to why his daughter could not be married. Bad fits, he’d told the man, much to Juliandra’s chagrin. But Aeron had been persistent in spite of the threat of “bad fits” and Gethin was forced to tell him that he did not want his daughter married to a warrior.
Still, that had not discouraged Aeron.
He had been relentless in his pursuit of her, more relentless the older she became. Because he had been pursuing her for so long, Aeron saw her as his property. He made sure everyone knew that she was meant for him, which resulted in an astonishing lack of suitors.
It had become an odd standoff – Aeron expecting Gethin to agree at some point and Gethin determined not to. Now that both Gethin and Juliandra were prisoners of the English, Juliandra was certain that Aeron would be made aware of what had happened because Megsy had returned to The Neath and Juliandra knew the old maid would not keep her mouth shut. Somehow, word would get back to Aeron and Juliandra was concerned about his reaction. She didn’t want the man creating trouble for her, for she had made a deal for her father’s freedom and she didn’t want Aeron to jeopardize that.
She was certain that Aeron wouldn’t see it that way.
An hour of reflection and contemplation had ended when a knock on her door roused her from her thoughts. Yanking the door opened, she was greeted by a fully armed knight in Kevin and when they’d first laid eyes on each other, Juliandra had felt a jolt. It was quick, like a lightning strike, and it had the same effect – her entire body was tingling from it. If Kevin felt it, he didn’t let on, and he hardly said a word to her as he led her down to the bailey where the escort awaited. He helped her mount a little palfrey before the entire escort encircled her and moved from the gates.
And that was where she currently found herself.
The ride south had been intensely quiet. Kevin was riding just ahead of her and another knight was riding point. The remaining knight was just behind her, for she could feel the weight of his stare. There was a storm off to the west, with rain and thunder rippling through the sky. It was the only sound to be heard among quiet knights and one quiet lady.
Riding in silence was starting to make Juliandra nervous.
“This time of year brings strong storms,” she commented, loud enough for Kevin to hear her. “I can remember a storm several years ago that nearly destroyed our village. Our pretty little brook became a roaring torrent of water and washed away several cottages.”
Kevin turned his head slightly, though he was wearing a great helm, which made movement difficult. But she saw him nod and return his attention to the road ahead. Undeterred, she spurred her little horse alongside his warhorse.
“You said you wanted to ask me questions,” she said. “Why not start now? We shall not arrive in Pool for another hour and conversation makes travel go more quickly.”
His helmed head turned to her again. “It also gives any outlaws waiting in the trees a beacon by which to strike,” he said. “We remain silent on a march, my lady.”
She frowned. “Is this a march?” she asked. “Are we going into battle and I was not aware? I thought we were only going into town.”
She heard him sigh heavily. “We are not on a battle march,” he said quietly. “But in case you have not realized it, we are enemies in an enemy land. We would make a fine target for a band of marauding Welsh.”
Juliandra looked around at the emerald-green landscape, the impossibly blue sky. “Those are the exact men you wish to know about, are they not?”
He didn’t answer her for a moment. Even though the helm was facing forward, Juliandra sensed that he was contemplating that question.
His response wasn’t long in coming.
“Then tell me who we may expect in this area, should a marauding band attack us,” he said.
Finally, she thought with relief. The sooner I can give him answers, the sooner I can free my father!
“These are the lands of a man named Glynn ap Hywel,” she said. “His home of Pentre Gwyn is not far from here.”
“Which direction?”
“West.”
“And you know this man?”
She shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “He came to visit my father on occasion. Once, my father took a trip to Asturias and Glynn supplied him with some guards in addition to the ones that belonged to him. My father paid well for those additional guards.”
“He is a friend of your father?”
She snorted softly. “My father has no friends who are warlords,” he said. “They are only necessary acquaintances, he says.”
“A wise perspective.”
She turned to look at him, noting the sapphire dragon tunic he was wearing. “I will admit that in addition to his low opinion of the church, my father has a low opinion of not only Welsh warlords, but English knights as well,” she said. “You are as close as I have ever been to an English knight. Do you think men who fight understand what it means to be true and noble friends to others?”
Kevin thought on his Executioner Knights brethren. He thought of Gareth, back at Wybren, as well as his brother and the other knights who formed the inner core of William Marshal’s stable of agents. He thought of their honor, their willingness to die for one another, and the extreme bond they shared.
It was like nothing else on earth.
“Aye,” he said after a moment. “I believe men who fight can be the best and truest of friends. Nothing bonds men like facing life and death together. Nothing endears one man to another as much as a man who has just saved the life of his friend. Bonds between warriors are the strongest bonds I have ever seen.”
She was listening intently. “You sound as if you know these bonds.”
He nodded as much as his helm would allow. “I am fortunate enough to have formed some of my own.”
“Are you a champion, then?”
“Nay,” he said quietly. “But I have served in a company of the greatest champions the world has ever seen.”
He said it so reverently, almost like a prayer. Those words were sacred to him, she could tell. Somehow, the stiff and professional persona of Kevin de Lara seem to take on more dimension because she had just caught a glimpse of the emotion beneath.
The man had feelings.
“Do you still serve with them?” she asked. “These great champions, I mean. Are they still alive?”
He nodded slowly. “They are,” he said. “Although we almost lost my brother a couple of years ago in battle, but he has since recovered. The men I have served with are still alive, still doing their sworn duty.”
“What is that?”
His helmed head turned in her direction. “To protect England, of course.”
That sounded very much like an unemotional, upstanding English knight again, as if he’d realized that he had let his guard down for a brief moment. Even so, Juliandra had caught a glimpse of what lay below the surface, that mixture of knightly honor and a man’s natural emotion.