Medieval 01 - Untamed

loins!”
    A rustling movement went through the room as people glanced carefully at Meg.
    â€œâ€™Tis true,” John said bitterly. “The witch Margaret didn’t grow from my seed.”
    He turned and pointed a shaking hand at the silver-haired woman who was watching him from the side of the table.
    â€œTell the Norman bastard what awaits him,” John said. “ Tell him now .”
    Old Gwyn stepped up to the dais with a grace unexpected in a woman her age. She turned to Dominic, facing him unflinchingly despite the savage expression on his face.
    â€œWhat John says is true,” Gwyn said simply. “My lady was carrying another man’s babe when she married.”
    Gwyn said no more.
    â€œTell him!” John shouted. “Tell him what will happen if he forces a Glendruid witch in order to get a babe of his own!”
    Gwyn was silent.
    â€œOld woman,” Dominic said with fierce restraint, “it would be best if you told me freely.”
    â€œIf you rape Meg in your haste to make heirs, your crops and flocks will fail and your vassals will sicken,” Gwyn said.
    Dominic’s left eyebrow rose in a silent arch of disbelief.
    â€œIf you are skillful enough to give her great pleasure in the marriage bed, you might be granted a girl.”
    â€œContinue,” Dominic said when the silence lengthened.
    â€œIt there is great love, there is a chance of a male heir.”
    A murmuring went through the gathered people, the same two words repeated over and over.
    Glendruid Wolf. Glendruid Wolf. Glendruid Wolf .
    â€œGod rot all Glendruid witches!” John screamed suddenly. “They are as cold as a mountain grave! They never love!”
    With the strength of madness, John dragged himself upright and held his goblet in Dominic’s face.
    â€œSo I give you a toast, enemy mine,” John said with savage satisfaction.
    â€œI give you a life without sons.
    â€œI give you a life in which you cannot beat obedience into your cold wife for fear of your crops and flocks.
    â€œI give you a life in which you cannot set aside your infertile wife for fear that your vassals will quit the land.
    â€œI give you a life in which you will live every minute knowing that your line dies with you.
    â€œ I give you Lady Margaret, witch of Glendruid! ”
    John drank swiftly, turned his goblet upside down, and slammed it onto the table. Abruptly he gasped, staggered, and sprawled forward, sending gold plate flying.
    When Dominic reached him, John of Cumbriland, Lord of Blackthorne Keep was dead.
    And he was smiling.

9
    â€œW HAT ARE YOU GOING TO do?” Simon asked his brother.
    Impassively Dominic looked at the wall hangings in the small room that opened off the great hall. Fire guttered in the brazier, warming stone walls still chilled by winter’s cold. From the great hall came random noises, but no merriment. The tables had been empty of feasters for some time.
    Now servants moved through the echoing hall, clearing away the trestle tables and benches, leaving only the lord’s permanent table standing. The remains of the food were being dispersed among the poorest of the vassals. The scraps were being snarled over by Dominic’s lean greyhounds.
    He wished them good appetite. Certainly no one else had enjoyed the wedding feast.
    At least no one had objected when Dominic had coolly decreed there would be no outward signs of mourning until the funeral ten days hence, for the joy of the marriage took precedence over grief at the death of a man long wracked by pain.
    â€œDominic?” Simon pressed.
    â€œI’ll give the whore’s spawn a Christian burial, what else?” he said curtly.
    â€œThat isn’t what I meant.”
    There was silence. Slowly Dominic’s hand formed into a mail-covered fist. It descended to the table with a force that shook the solid wood.
    â€œI regret not killing the Scots Hammer when I had the excuse,” Dominic said through his teeth.
    â€œWhy?” Simon asked, startled. “He left without quarrel, taking his Reevers with him.”
    â€œI’ll be forced by custom and courtesy to have him back for the funeral.”
    Dominic made a sound that was remarkably like one of his greyhounds.
    â€œBut by then your other knights and mercenaries will have arrived,” Simon said. “The keep will be secure against anything but the king himself.”
    With an impatient movement Dominic