“Then this is very important to you, your grace?” he said.
“Very.”
“And you feel that I am the only one up to the task?”
“God help me, I do. I have thousands of men at my disposal, but you are the most capable.”
Cort chewed and chewed. Then, he swallowed and took a big swig of wine to wash everything down.
“I know I am,” he said. “But you want this very badly of me and I am willing to take on Brend’s ugly sister. But I want something in return.”
Over in his chair, Gaston cleared his throat loudly, causing Cort to look over at him. He shook his head, faintly, suggesting his son not be so demanding with the king, but Cort didn’t listen. He returned his attention to Henry.
“Well, your grace?” he said. “I think that a directive like this is worthy of a reward. Don’t you?”
Henry had respect for an ambitious man and, in truth, he wasn’t surprised at Cort’s proposal. As Gaston said, he was brilliant. A cheeky twit, but brilliant. Henry wanted something from Cort; Cort wanted something from Henry.
He chuckled, realizing he had given Cort the advantage.
“What do you want?” he asked with a sigh.
Cort grinned, displaying his father’s big, white teeth with slightly prominent canines. “Both of my older brothers have titles,” he said. “Trenton is my father’s heir and will become the Duke of Warminster. Dane is the Duke of Shrewsbury. I believe I have worked hard enough to earn something, too, since I will inherit nothing.”
Henry averted his gaze, stroking his chin as he thought on Cort’s words. He glanced at the now-empty food table.
“Had you not eaten those eggs purely in spite, I might have granted you an earldom,” he said. “Now, I am not so certain.”
“I can always send for more eggs.”
Henry continued to ponder the request, the situation at large. It was true that Cort had served him flawlessly for years. That is, when he wasn’t being recalled to Deverill Castle by his father. He paused and looked at Cort.
“There is a small castle not too far from here,” he said. “It used to be a hunting lodge and now it is simply a royal garrison. I only remember it because it brings in steady income from a major road that it guards.”
“What castle?” Cort asked.
“Collingbourne,” Henry said. “It comes with the Collingbourne barony, something that reverted to the crown about a hundred years ago.”
Cort looked at his father curiously. “That old place near Andover?”
Gaston nodded; he, too, knew the place because he knew all of the royal garrisons within a fifty-mile radius. “Aye,” he said. “We even stopped there, once, on our way home from Swindon, once. You were quite young, as I recall.”
“Is that the place where the majordomo had a pet owl?”
“The same.”
Cort turned to Henry. “I accept.”
Henry laughed out loud. “I have not offered it to you yet,” he said. “But perform flawlessly with this task and in the end, you shall have it. But not before. Fail and this bargain is null. Do I make myself clear?”
Henry turned the tables on the ambitious knight. He could have the title, but not until he was finished with what he clearly viewed as an unsavory assignment. Cort’s lips twisted wryly when he realized he could not have his reward until he was finished.
“Very well,” he said reluctantly. “I will do what I can.”
“You had better do far more than that if you want the title Baron Collingbourne.”
Cort wasn’t happy when he didn’t have the upper hand, not even with the king. But the man was the king, after all, and Cort wasn’t a fool. He knew when to keep his mouth shut. Therefore, he simply nodded, once, giving Henry and Gaston the affirmation they were looking for.
Henry beamed.
“Good,” he said, moving to Cort and slapping him on a broad shoulder. “Now, send for more eggs. We shall feast and celebrate with your father.”
But Gaston shook his head, standing up wearily from his chair. “I am afraid I shall have to decline, your grace,” he said. “I am weary and must rest. But my younger son Matthieu is here. He will be happy to feast with you.”
“Ah,” Henry said. “Gentle Matthieu. How is it you have sons who behave so differently? Matthieu is one of the most even-tempered, quiet men I know.”
“That may be, but he is a lion on the field of battle,” Gaston reminded him. “I will send for him. I consider it an honor for you to feast with my sons, though I will be here in spirit.”
Henry smiled at him, reaching out to take the man’s hand. “You are always with me in spirit, Gaston,” he said, is smile fading. “I pray for your health. I do not like seeing you like this.”
Gaston smiled weakly. “Nor do I, your grace,” he said. “Your prayers are appreciated.”
With that, he lumbered towards the stairs, waving off Cort when the man moved to help him. Both Cort and Henry watched as Gaston mounted the steps, heading for the upper floors. When he was out of sight, and out of ear shot, Henry turned to Cort.
“You did not tell me he was as bad as this,” he said quietly. “What do the physics say?”
Cort sobered dramatically. He always did when it came to his father’s health. “A cancer in his throat,” he said simply. “He has been suffering for a few years now. We thought we were going to lose him last Christmas, but something quite miraculous happened. He awoke on Christmas morning better than he’d been in years. But since that time… we have all seen a steady decline. That is why I come home so often, Henry. I do not want to miss time spent with my father.”
Henry nodded sympathetically, completely untroubled that Cort had addressed him informally. For Cort, a man he’d known all his life, he would allow it.
“I know,” he said. “That is why I let you go.”
“This situation with de Winter’s hostage – is it as serious as all that?”
“It truly is.”
“Why have you not questioned Brend about this? He is the MacRohan legacy knight, after all.”
“Because Brend has been away from Ireland too long. He may not know what his sister knows. And Cort… rumor has it that she is a great warrior woman. You should be aware.”
Cort nodded, accepting that answer. “Then I will do everything I can,” he said. “But I do not want to be gone overlong from my father. Time is precious with him.”
“I know.”
“I do not want to cause him any undue stress, either.”
“That is understandable.”
“I’m glad you realize that, your grace.”
Henry forced a smile at him. They were speaking of a man slowly dying before their eyes and neither one of them wanted to acknowledge it. Men as great as Gaston de Russe were legends who never truly died, but they were also mortal men with mortal bodies.
No one wanted to think on Gaston’s mortality.
“Come,” Henry finally said, pulling Cort over to the table. “Let us sit and speak. And if you ever eat all of the eggs again, I shall become very angry.”
Cort looked at him. Then, he burst out laughing. It was the same thing he did to soften his mother, which worked on Henry, too.
There was no way of being too angry when Cort de Russe’s smile lit up the room.
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Lords of Eire: An Irish Medieval Romance Bundle Page 117
