Lords of the Kingdom

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  She nodded and he climbed out of the bed carefully, pulling her up. With a lingering glance at the sleeping toddlers, they slipped from the room and silently closed the door.

  The children’s chamber was next to theirs and they went inside; it was cluttered with neat piles of clothes thanks to Esma and Neilie, and the two little beds were covered with fluffy furs and linen coverlets. Toys littered the floor, little wooden carts and poppets made from rags.

  “It never occurred to me that we would ever leave Hedingham, although I suppose it should have,” Amalie turned to look at him. “This is the only home I have ever known. I had hoped our children would grow up here.”

  He watched her reach down and pick up a toy, pensively moving to put them on their daughter’s bed.

  “I understand,” he said quietly. “But with my grandfather’s passing, all of his titles and lands become mine. They should have been my father’s.”

  She looked up at him as he spoke the last sentence; there was something sad to his manner, contemplative, as he leaned against the windowsill. His dark blue gaze embraced the Essex landscape beyond as she watched him, seeing the depression in his manner. She was coming to realize that it was time for truth between them.

  “West,” she said softly. “I have never once asked you about your father or mother or that mess involving your grandfather. You spoke of it once, years ago, and we never discussed it again. But I think you need to tell me everything so I understand the dynamics of your family. All I know is that you hate your mother and, other than your brother, there is no one in your family that you are close to.”

  Arms folded across his massive chest, he turned to look at her. “There is really not much more to tell,” he said. “My mother fell in love with my grandfather and left my father for the man. My father killed himself as a result.”

  “But surely there is more to it than that.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps there is, but it does not matter to me,” he said. “All I know is that my mother’s actions drove my father to suicide.”

  She watched him, his tense body language, as she carefully chose her words. “May I speak freely on this subject, sweetheart?”

  He cocked his head. “Of course you can. Say what is on your mind.”

  She smiled timidly, formulating her thoughts. “I do not want to offend you because I certainly do not know exactly what happened between your mother and father, but we both know that my situation was dire when you met me. Is that a fair statement?”

  He wasn’t quite following her but he nodded. “I would say so.”

  “Yet you did not judge me,” she said softly, coming towards him. “You knew the situation, as horrible as it was, and you accepted me and loved me in spite of everything because the truth of the matter was far more complex that the public perception.”

  “What are you driving at?”

  She stopped when she came to him, reaching out a soft hand to rest on his big forearm. “All I am saying is that your perception of what happened between your parents and your grandfather was from a child of five or six years old,” she said softly, gently. “The truth of it, the complexity of it, could have been much, much different. I am not saying anyone is innocent and I am certainly not saying that it is not as bad as you have perceived; did you ever, as an adult, ask your mother what truly happened?”

  He was torn between defiance and some remorse. “Nay,” he said. “There was no reason to. My father is dead because of her.”

  Amalie pressed herself against him and he unwound his arms from across his chest, putting his left one around her shoulders.

  “Was your father a wise and reasonable man?” she asked.

  “Of course he was.”

  “Did your mother put the sword in his hand and force him to fall on it?”

  He unwound his arm from her and moved away. “She may as well have,” he insisted. “It is her fault.”

  Amalie could see he was growing agitated again. “Sweetheart, I am not trying to upset you,” she insisted. “All I am saying is that there is probably more to the story than a six year old child was told. As you did not judge me harshly even in my dire situation, perhaps you should give your own mother that benefit as well. You told me once that you thought perhaps God had expressed to you that compassion was the greater glory; does that hold true for everyone or just me?”

  He had been pacing away from her, suddenly turning to her with a taut and angry expression. His big hands worked and his jaw flexed. She could tell he was gearing up for harsh retort but he bit his tongue, unwilling to be cruel when she was only trying to help. Besides, she was so soft and sweet and beautiful that it would have been like lashing out at a helpless kitten. He simply couldn’t do it.

  “You are my heart and soul, Ammy,” he said softly. “But I cannot extend that same compassion to my mother. After all of these years, the hatred is deeply ingrained. I do not know if I can undo what years of anger have done.”

  She went to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly; Weston clung to her, feeling her soft body against his, drawing strength from her.

  “I am not asking you to undo anything,” she whispered, kissing him on the cheek. “I am simply asking questions to better understand what has happened. And if we must go and live at Netherghyll Castle, then I look forward to it. It is where you were born and is therefore my home as much as Hedingham is.”

  He smiled weakly at her, kissing her soft mouth. “I am a baron now, after all.”

  Her smile grew. “Of course you are, sweetheart,” she said encouragingly. “And you must live at your seat. Aubria and Colton will know many wonderful years there. And so will the next child.”

  He cocked his head. “If we have any more,” he said thoughtfully. “I am already the most blessed man on earth. One or two more children would only add to that bliss.”

  She smiled and kissed him again. “If we go to Netherghyll, let us leave while the weather is still good. I do not wish to travel with a large belly and two small children.”

  It took him a moment to realize that she had been telling him that another child was on the way. His dark blue eyes widened. “We… we are expecting a child again?”

  She laughed softly at his reaction. “It is still early, but I believe so. I have not been wrong yet.”

  His shock grew. “And you are only telling me this now?”

  She shook her head helplessly. “I have only come to suspect in the past day or so,” she said, putting a hand on his cheek, something that always without fail calmed the man. “I am telling you of my suspicions as soon as I have them. I pray we have another strong son, like Colton, in the exact image of his father.”

  He wrapped her up in his enormous arms, hugging her tightly. “And I pray that you come through unscathed,” he whispered, kissing the side of her head. “Although you and I have had two children together, it still scares the wits from me to watch you go through such pain.”

  She smiled warmly, pulling back to look at his strong face. “If I am not afraid, you should not be either. We have such intelligent and beautiful children.”

  The shock, and apprehension, was fading from Weston’s face, being replaced by unadulterated joy. He hugged her again, picking her up off the floor and spinning her around a couple of times. He listened to her squeal, laughing with her. When he set her down, he kissed her happily, lovingly.

  “My life is already so wonderful,” he murmured. “I cannot imagine that it would become more magnificent than it already is but I see that I am wrong. Every day with you, Ammy… every day is a treasure.”

  She kissed him softly. “I love you, West,” she murmured, then fixed him in the eye. “I am looking forward to going to Netherghyll, only….”

  “Only what?”

  She shrugged, trying not to dampen the moment. “What will become of Hedingham if we leave?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing will happen to it,” he said. “It will remain here, strong and secure.”


  Thoughts of her brother came to mind, thinking of the time he would return from exile to claim his castle. He was, after all, a favored of the king and as everyone knew, men fell out of and in to favor all of the time. It was the way of things.

  She didn’t say anything about her brother because the subject of him was much like the subject of Weston’s mother; it was best not to discuss it. For four years, they stayed away from the subject of their respective families altogether and had never regretted it.

  “So,” she moved away from him and bent down to pick up yet another toy, pretending to occupy herself. “When will we leave for Netherghyll?”

  He shrugged. “I am not sure,” he said. “I must speak with my brother and find out what I can about my grandfather’s passing and the state of his properties.”

  She picked up a few more toys, her arms now full of them. “Will Sutton go with us?”

  Weston nodded firmly. “Absolutely,” he said. “I am looking forward to serving with my brother again. He will be my right hand, the commander for my troops.”

  “How many troops does your grandfather have?”

  Weston could see that she was busy cleaning up the floor so he moved for the door, eager to get back to his brother. Things were right between them again and he was relieved; not that they could ever stay upset with each other for long. They were too rational to let arguments or misunderstandings get out of hand.

  “Usually around a thousand men,” he said. “That is something I must speak with my brother about.”

  She waved him off as she deposited her armfuls of toys onto Aubria’s bed. “Go on, then,” she said. “I will see you later.”

  He paused by the door, watching her blond head as she straightened up. “Ammy?”

  She paused, looking up at him. “Aye?”

  He smiled faintly at her. “I love you, my angel.”

  She returned his smile. “I love you also.”

  He flashed a brilliant grin at her and slipped through the door, leaving Amalie grinning in the wake of his departure. She felt like the most fortunate women in the world and she thanked God yet again for her husband, the new Baron Cononley.

  Weston had just made it down to the great hall when a soldier suddenly burst in through the entry, moving right to him. Weston paused, halfway to the banqueting table where his brother still sat, as the soldier came upon him. They had a few exchanged words and then the soldier quickly ran out the way he had come. Weston looked at Sutton and motioned to him.

  “Come on with me,” he said to his brother. “We have apparently received a royal messenger.”

  Sutton, feeling stuffed and lethargic from his meal, nonetheless bolted up from the bench.

  “A royal messenger?” he repeated, confused. “Why would the king be sending you a missive?”

  Weston shrugged as his brother joined him and they made their way to the forebuilding of the entry.

  “I would not know,” he replied. “I have lived here for four years, in the castle of a man who is the king’s lover, and the king has never even acknowledged the fact that Bolingbroke has acquired Hedingham. I am, therefore, curious.”

  They trotted down the stairs to the upper bailey. “Do you suppose the king is demanding you vacate the castle?”

  “I suppose we shall find out.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I was leaving, anyway.”

  The corner of Sutton’s mouth twitched. “When do we leave for Netherghyll?”

  They emerged into the bright September day and headed for the gatehouse as Weston wriggled his eyebrows wryly. “Ahead of the king’s troops, who are probably heading in our direction as we speak.”

  Sutton laughed softly as they crossed the bridge and continued into the lower bailey, which was busy at this hour. Peasants brought supplies, the blacksmith was shoeing an unhappy horse, and several dogs ran about and barked at people. It was the usual chaos on any given day. The gatehouse was already in view and they could see several soldiers milling about as they approached. As they drew near, Heath broke away from the group and jogged towards them, his mail and armor jingling.

  “A messenger from Richard, West,” he said, flipping his long red hair out of his eyes. “I kept the man at the gatehouse. I did not know how comfortable you wished to make him so I held him there.”

  Weston nodded as he continued towards the gate house with his brother, now with Heath in tow.

  “A royal messenger?” he repeated.

  “Aye.”

  “Did the man say what his message was?”

  Heath shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “He said it was a message for Lady Amalie de Vere.”

  Weston passed a glance at Heath, at his brother, wondering what message the king could possibly be sending to Amalie. As he reached the great stone gatehouse, the soldiers cleared away and the royal messenger came into view.

  It was a knight in fine armor, a big man, young, with hazel eyes and a handsome face. He stood by the portcullis, relaxed and seemingly unconcerned with all of the Bolingbroke men milling around him. Weston walked up to him without delay.

  “I am Sir Weston de Royans, Baron Cononley,” he used his title for the first time, feeling the satisfaction of it. “I am the garrison commander for Hedingham. I understand you have a missive for the Lady Amalie.”

  The knight nodded. “I am Sir Range de Winter, my lord,” he introduced himself. “I come from the king directly with a message for the lady. Is she available that I might deliver it personally?”

  “I am Lady Amalie’s husband,” Weston told him. “She is occupied with our children at the moment. You may deliver your missive to me and I will ensure that she receives it.”

  The knight didn’t argue or question. He simply nodded, passing a glance at the soldiers surrounding them.

  “Then perhaps I may deliver the message to you in a less traveled area,” he said. “It is rather sensitive in nature.”

  Weston nodded, once, and motioned the knight to follow. De Winter followed him, a big man with long legs. Heath and Sutton also followed at a distance, their curious eyes on de Winter. The four of them made their way towards the keep but as they crossed the bridge to the upper bailey, Weston suddenly came to a halt and turned to de Winter.

  “I do not wish to go to the keep where my wife is,” he told him. “No one can hear your missive here. You will tell me what message the king has sent to my wife.”

  De Winter spoke without hesitation. “The king wishes to inform the Lady Amalie de Vere that her brother, Robert, was killed in a hunting accident,” he said. “The Duke of Ireland’s body is due to arrive in London sometime next week and the king thought that his sister would like to attend his funeral.”

  Weston struggled not to show his surprise. “A hunting accident?” he repeated. “Where did it happen?”

  “In Leuven, my lord,” de Winter replied. “He was hunting wild boar and was gored.”

  Weston stared at the man a moment before finally shaking his head, turning away as he absorbed the information. “So he was in France?” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “We thought he was in Ireland.”

  De Winter continued with his missive. “There is more, my lord,” he went on. “Aubrey de Vere has been granted the title Earl of Oxford by the king and Hedingham has been restored to the de Veres. Lord Aubrey will be arriving next month to take charge of Hedingham. If Bolingbroke does not surrender peacefully, the king has assured the Earl of Oxford the support of crown troops in his quest to regain the castle.”

  Weston turned to look at him, piecing together what he’d been told. He couldn’t decide if he was insulted by the king’s threat of military action or not. Maybe he was even relieved by it because now there would be no choice for Amalie to go to Netherghyll. In an odd way, his path had been set in stone now. His new life was about to begin and he wasn’t the least bit sorry. Already, Hedingham seemed like a distant memory.

  “So the king’s chamberlai
n and uncle to Robert and Amalie, having fallen out of royal favor with Robert’s behavior, is now suddenly back in the king’s graces and granted the earldom of Oxford, including Hedingham Castle.” He took a few steps towards de Winter, closing in on the big knight. “And you are here to tell me that if I do not vacate my troops from Hedingham, then the king and de Vere will lay siege to Hedingham to regain it?”

  “That is the gist of it, my lord.”

  “Does Bolingbroke know?”

  “This I would not know, my lord.”

  Weston studied the man a moment before turning away, digesting the surprising information. This day had been full of surprises all the way around.

  “He probably does not know,” Weston muttered to himself as his dark blue gaze lingered on the great pond of Hedingham. “He has returned to Vilnius and would therefore not have received the news yet. But it would be my assumption that he will relinquish the property rather than risk a battle at this point. Things have been peaceful for the most part for the past few years and a battle for a holding would only cause problems for Bolingbroke.”

  De Winter stood there, watching de Royans, feeling the stare from the knights behind him. He wasn’t afraid; he knew he wasn’t in any danger. But he was not insensitive to the political and family dealings going on; there was an abundance of it.

  “I have been requested by the king to receive Lady Amalie’s answer, my lord,” he said.

  West looked at him. “Answer to what?”

  “If the lady will be attending her brother’s funeral and also if Bolingbroke intends to relinquish Hedingham without bloodshed.”

  Weston didn’t have to think on his answer; he already knew what it would be. “My wife will not be attending the funeral of the man who fled England like a coward and left her to the mercy of the enemy,” he said flatly. “As for the surrender of Hedingham, tell the king that Aubrey de Vere can have it. I will pull Bolingbroke’s troops out of here before the week is out.”

  It was less of a battle than de Winter had expected; he was, frankly, astonished that Bolingbroke’s garrison commander gave up without a fight. Saluting smartly, he turned on his heel and returned to the gatehouse. As the man’s bootfalls faded off down the road, Heath approached Weston as Sutton watched de Lara walk away. Heath’s manner was timid.