‘My apologies, sir.’
His expression softened and he smiled. ‘I have heard the stories, Cordelia. I even lived some of them. My father is a harsh man -aye, and cruel. I wish I could know of one good deed to set on the side of righteousness. I don’t. It is my hope that I am not like him, and that I never will be.’
‘I do not think you are like him,’ she said, rising from her chair. ‘I do not think you are like any man I have ever met.’
‘I hope that is a compliment.’
She moved in close to him. ‘Have you ever been kissed, general?’
‘No.’
‘Then I think I shall kiss you, Gaise Macon. Unless of course you object.’
He shook his head, and she smiled at the panic in his eyes. Then she took his hand and stepped towards him. Their lips met, and the moment lingered. His arm slid round her waist, drawing her more closely against him.
When at last she pulled away her heart was beating fast. She took a deep breath. ‘Take care, General Macon,’ she said, her voice husky.
For a moment he couldn’t speak. He felt light-headed, his emotions churning. Nothing else mattered, save the sweetness of the memory of her lips upon his. ‘When may I see you again?’ he asked.
Reality sent a cloud across the sunshine in her mind. ‘I don’t know, general. I wish I could stay. But our belongings are packed and our wagon prepared. Father is waiting. ‘
‘No,’ he said, moving close. ‘Not yet. Grant me one more hour.’
They kissed again, this time more slowly. Gaise felt unsteady, and drew her back to the chair. Then he sat and gently pulled her to his lap. His arms were around her, and he could feel the firmness of her body beneath the green waistcoat. For the first time in his life Gaise Macon felt all his worries and concerns melt away. All but this moment seemed insubstantial and meaningless. Wars, battles, enmities became small, inconsequential matters. He felt he had been granted the gift of a great truth. Cordelia lifted her mouth from his and kissed his cheek and his brow. Gaise sighed and closed his eyes. Then their lips met again. In those few moments the castle walls of his secret loneliness crumbled away. The cold disregard of the Moidart, and a life bereft of close physical contact, became a ghostly memory of the past. This was the present, and it was joyous.
In full ceremonial dress of floor length crimson cloak and tunic emblazoned with the Tree of Life, Winter Kay – his head masked by a black full-faced helmet – strode through the corridors of Baracum Castle’s east wing. Behind him came six other Redeemers similarly clad. Two of them were dragging a small, slender man dressed in a nightshirt of heavy white silk. All the Redeemers carried swords. Blood dripped from the blades.
Winter Kay did not look down on the bodies, which lay sprawled in the corridor. He walked on, down the circular steps to the eastern dining hall, and through it to the hidden panel before the broad staircase leading to the lower levels.
Here other Redeemers were waiting. Silently they fell in step behind their lord. Two Redeemers were waiting at the arched double doors leading to a second staircase. As Winter Kay approached they dragged open the doors.
In the Redeemer Hall below – the walls decked with blood red banners – places had been set at table. Crystal goblets of red wine stood in rows, awaiting the assembly.
Winter Kay took his place at the head of the table. Lifting the black visor of his helmet he raised a goblet. Then he waited as the crimson-garbed warriors took their places. ‘The will of the Orb,’ he said, his words echoing in the vaulted room.
‘The will of the Orb,’ they repeated. Then each drained the wine.
Winter Kay raised his hand and gestured to the two Redeemers holding the prisoner. The little man was dragged forward. He tripped and fell to his knees. ‘Lift him,’ commanded Winter Kay. ‘A king should not be made to kneel.’