“Stop,” he commanded. “You know a battle between us cannot end well, so lower your sword and order your men to do the same. Your lord attacked us first. By God’s word, I swear that is the truth. Tell your men to lower their weapons.”
St. Héver didn’t hesitate. He knew Kellen de Lara well enough to know that the man wasn’t shy about striking the first blow or even attacking his own guests. He’d seen it before. Moreover, he’d seen how Kellen had treated the de Sheras when they first arrived. Immediately, he lowered his sword and emitted a piercing whistle, one that the de Lara men evidently recognized because they all seemed to slow their assault. When St. Héver saw that he had his men’s attention, or at least most of them, he held up a big fist.
“Cease,” he roared. “Gather the wounded and dead in the hall!”
It was a simple command but one the de Lara men followed. They simply lowered their weapons and walked away from the de Shera men, who were quite confused by the abrupt cessation of hostilities. Maximus called out to his men.
“Gather at the gates!” he bellowed. “We leave!”
Weapons lowered or sheathed, the de Shera men did as they were told by their commander. They began picking their wounded up from the ground, carrying men back to their horses. The de Shera knights, including Gallus, had heard the command and they began to emerge from the kitchen gate and out into the bailey. Gallus, without a scratch on him, headed for Maximus.
“What happened?” he asked his brother as he drew near. “How did you convince them to stop?”
Maximus pointed to St. Héver, who was over near the entrance to the great hall. “See that knight?” he said. “That is Kirk St. Héver, de Lara’s knight. I sought him out and told him what happened. He is the one who gave the cease command to de Lara’s men.”
Gallus sighed heavily, wiping some sweat off his brow as he sheathed his broadsword. He looked over the bailey, seeing that there were several wounded and perhaps just as many dead. It was quite a bit of carnage for so short a fight.
“We had better leave immediately,” he said. “We must return for Lady Courtly and….”
“Nay,” Maximus cut him off, looking at him. “I am not returning her to Kennington, Gal. I am marrying her first thing in the morning.”
Gallus closed his eyes softly, briefly, in a gesture of great regret. “I knew it would be too much to ask you to wait,” he muttered. “If you marry the woman without her father’s consent, this could get ugly. Surely you know that.”
“I know that.”
Gallus eyed his brother in the dim light of the bailey. “You know that I would never deny you your heart’s desire, Max, but are you sure about this?” he asked sincerely. “Do you truly want to travel this path or can you wait until the lady’s father has calmed sufficiently and seek his permission?”
Maximus was serious. “You heard what the aunt said,” he replied, lowering his voice so the de Shera men gathering around them wouldn’t hear. “Kellen will never give his permission. This is a chance I must take, Gal. I am as sure about this as I have ever been, about anything, in my life.”
Gallus wouldn’t argue with him but it was clear that he was disappointed. He was disappointed that de Lara was so resistant, disappointed that Maximus was so determined. It would make the entire situation quite edgy for years to come, and they would forever be at odds with Viscount Trelystan when the man should be their ally. Nay, it wasn’t a good situation at all. But he knew if he denied Maximus that his brother would do it, anyway. He might even do as he had threatened and flee the country. If that happened, Gallus would be devastated.
“Very well, then,” Gallus said, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder and turning him for the horses gathered near the gate. “Then let us return to the inn and retrieve the women. We must find another place to stay this night, as de Lara knows what inn we are housed in. He could very well regroup his men and come after us.”
Maximus nodded, relieved his brother was not going to fight with him on the matter of Courtly. Gallus may not have agreed with his decision but at least he wasn’t going to argue with him. He would support him, no matter what.
“I will send Stefan out to find us new accommodations,” he replied. “Let us leave this place now before something else happens.”
Gallus didn’t have to be told twice. He and Maximus and their men mounted their horses and fled into the night, leaving Ellice watching from the corner of the kitchen yard.
God’s Bones, how she wished that the man she had loved those years ago had been determined to have her as much as Maximus was determined to have Courtly. She was happy for her niece, at least as much as she could be, but she was also jealous. Jealous that her time for such things had come and gone.
As the de Shera men headed north towards Oxford, Ellice didn’t even bother to go and check on her brother. She was more concerned with Isadora, as the young girl was now quite alone with her sister being taken in marriage. Ellice had never felt very maternal towards her nieces but she found that she rather felt that way now towards Isadora. The child would miss her sister greatly.
Ellice, for the first time in her life, would attempt to give the girl comfort but, more than that, she intended to give her brother counsel. It was time for him to stop feeding on old fears because it was clear that his burden was beginning to affect them all; first Ellice, now Courtly, and soon Isadora. The man had to be made to understand that what happened to his wife had been an isolated incident. The women in the family had to be allowed to have lives and loves of their own. If they didn’t, they would grow to be just as bitter as Ellice was, and Kellen had to be convinced of that fact.
Beating some sense into her brother’s head would be the most difficult task of all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The room was quiet and dark but for a glowing fire in the hearth. It also smelled heavily of rosemary, that crisp fragrance that assaulted one’s nostrils in a most glorious way. Jeniver was very fond of it, as the scent seemed to help her pregnancy-related illnesses. It soothed her. As Gallus entered the chamber he shared with his wife at The One-Eyed Raven, his gaze eagerly sought the woman out. When he finally found her in the darkness of the chamber, what he saw was not what he had expected.
Jeniver was dead asleep on the bed. He knew this because she was snoring softly and she always snored softly when she was exhausted. Courtly was lying on the bed, too. The woman’s lower half was in a chair next to the bed but the upper half of her was lying down next to Jeniver. She, too, was sleeping soundly, weary from her exhausting day with Maximus.
Maximus was standing behind Gallus as the man lingered with the door half-open, surveying the room. Maximus opened his mouth to speak but was immediately silenced by Gallus when the man put a finger to his lips. Gallus pointed at the bed and Maximus slipped in behind him to see what he was indicating. What Maximus saw brought a smile to his lips. Silently, the pair slipped out and softly shut the door.
“We cannot allow them to sleep much longer,” Gallus whispered. “As soon as Stefan returns with new accommodations, we must be ready to leave. I fear that de Lara is already amassing men to come here and wrest his daughter from us, so time is of the essence.”
Maximus rubbed his bearded chin, thinking on the situation. “It is,” he grunted. “But it concerns me greatly that there will be no defense from an attack of armed men if we go to another inn. No walls, no moats, no measures of defense – de Lara can simply walk into the common room and from there, we will be left defending doors that any normal man could kick down.”
Gallus was forced to agree. “I am not entirely sure we have much choice,” he said. “But I will admit that I am worried that my wife will be caught up in the maelstrom. She would not be able to take such excitement in her present condition.”
Maximus knew that was true and he was coming to feel the least bit guilty about everything, but only for Jeniver’s sake. “Mayhap it would be best if I take Courtly and go,” he said. “At least take he
r out of Oxford. We can meet up with you later in London. That way, Kellen will have no cause to go after you and, subsequently, put your wife in danger. I would never wish that upon her, Gal. You know that.”
Gallus nodded. “I know,” he said. “But even if you flee, de Lara will still have cause to move against me. That does not solve the problem.”
Maximus struggled with increasing guilt. “Then I will marry Courtly tonight,” he said. “That way, even if Kellen manages to get to her, he cannot take her. She will be my wife and the Church will side with me in any dispute.”
It was a technicality that Maximus was relying on. Gallus knew it was foolish to assume such a thing and, deep down, Maximus did, too, but he was not going to admit that he had perhaps acted rashly in all of this. He had made his choice, and his decision, and he would stand by it.
“Possibly,” he finally said. Then, he slapped his brother on the shoulder. “In any case, let the women sleep for a little while longer while you and I share a meal. I am famished. De Lara provided absolutely nothing by way of a meal. He was a terrible host.”
Maximus snorted as he allowed his brother to direct him back downstairs to the common room. “That is because he did not have his daughter there to cook for him.”
Gallus grinned, moving with his brother down to the common room where Tiberius and the rest of the knights were already congregated around their usual table. The inn was rather full this night, as a storm was rolling in from the east, and many people were seeking shelter from the coming rains. Gallus knew this would make Stefan’s job more difficult of finding another place for them to stay, but he remained hopeful. Still, they would have to discuss other options in case Stefan was unable to locate something suitable.
As they took their seats at the table below, Jeniver’s chamber door quietly opened. Courtly poked her head out, looking to see if Maximus or even Gallus were anywhere nearby. She had awoken nearly the moment Gallus had opened the chamber door and she had heard what was subsequently said. She heard everything.
As she knew, her father had not been receptive to Maximus’ offer of marriage. That was no surprise. But the attack Gallus and Maximus spoke of was indeed a surprise, at least against the two de Shera brothers. Her father was aggressive, that was true, but he usually was careful with his aggression. He picked fights that he knew he could win. Clearly, the man could not win against the de Shera war machine, but she could imagine how irate he must have become when the question of marriage had been introduced. She had no doubt that he was indeed amassing a raiding party to come and claim her.
Closing the door quietly, she looked at Jeniver, sleeping heavily upon the bed. The woman had been good to her, at least in the short time she had known her. She liked Jeniver a great deal and after Jeniver had fainted in the common room, she was greatly honored that Gallus allowed her to sit with his wife and tend her. Jeniver had come around, briefly, but she had fallen back asleep again and even now, remained sleeping heavily. It was clear that the day in general had been very taxing for the woman.
But a party of armed men would tax her even more, de Lara men that were after one thing – Courtly. They would come for her and even though Courtly was positive that Maximus and Gallus and Tiberius could fight them off, it would not end the situation. Her father would come and come again in his attempts to regain her. It would truly never end until one of them was dead – her father, or Maximus, or even Courtly. Kellen de Lara would never give up. She knew her father well enough to know that.
Therefore, there was truly only one solution – she had to return to her father of her own free will. Only then would Kellen consider the matter settled, as he would have no reason to continue his aggression against Maximus. Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought of the situation and of her life with Maximus that would never be – no sons in his image, no life of love and joy in the de Shera household. Much like Ellice, Courtly was destined to be a spinster because of Kellen’s unnatural fear of men who would pursue the women in his family. At the moment, all she could do was hate her father for it. God Bones, she hated him so much. She hated him because he did not want to see her happy or in love, with Maximus or with anyone else.
She stifled a sob as her gaze fell upon the new possessions that Maximus has purchased for her that day. She would take none of it, of course, except for the garment she wore. She had nothing else to wear so there was little choice. Dear God, was this really to be her life? Living alone and unloved, without the man she had very quickly fallen in love with? Aye, she loved Maximus. There was so much to love about the man that her heart was full of it. They had shared special moments and a kiss that had spoken of untold passion, quickly ignited between the two of them.
But it would be passion unrealized. It would be love unrealized and un-nurtured, but she knew her love for him would never die. It was a part of her, permanently, as he would be. She wished she could tell him that before she left, but she knew she had to leave without his knowledge. He would never let her go and that would only cause his family great pain. She didn’t want to be the cause of great pain to people who had been quite kind to her.
As she wiped at her eyes, her gaze fell upon a small table that contained pieces of vellum, an inkwell, a quill, sand, and a seal of some kind. She knew that Gallus had been conducting business from the inn so she assumed they were the earl’s possessions. Given that Courtly could both read and write, it occurred to her to borrow a scrap of vellum and leave Maximus a note. She had to. She simply couldn’t leave without telling the man what he meant to her. She couldn’t leave without begging him not to pursue her for the good of all. She hoped he would obey her wishes. There were things in life that simply weren’t meant to be and, because of Kellen de Lara, this was one of those things. Her love for Maximus was over before it began.
Quickly, she pulled forth a small scrap of vellum and dipped the quill into the inkwell. Carefully scripted letters began to appear on the page, a short note for Maximus that would be the only thing left from a marriage that was not to be. She tried not to weep while writing the note, keeping her attention focused on Lady de Shera to make sure the woman remained deep in slumber. Courtly didn’t want to explain what she was doing or why she was leaving. It would have simply been too painful.
She finished the note without sanding the vellum. She was in too much of a hurry, too fearful that her plans would be discovered. As Jeniver snored softly on her rented bed, Courtly opened the shutters to the window that overlooked a livery and alleyway behind the tavern. The ground was uneven here and a portion of the yard backed up to the wall, meaning that the drop between the window and the ground below was eight feet or less. In her new lavender gown of heavy brocade, Courtly climbed from the window and hung from the sill by her fingertips, finally letting herself drop to the ground below.
She landed awkwardly and fell over, but she was able to regain her footing quickly and run to the stable where her borrowed palfrey was stabled. The little gray mare they had acquired at the livery near the Street of the Merchants was in her stall, fat and happy, and Courtly collected the animal, putting a bridle on her but nothing more. She didn’t want to take the time to put a saddle on the little beast, so she quickly mounted the animal bareback and proceeded from the livery, losing herself in the collection of buildings of the town before finally finding the road south.
As the storm finally rolled in and the rain began to pour, Courtly made her way towards Kennington House, praying she was in time to prevent her father from doing something very, very foolish. The rain poured and the thunder rolled as if reminding her of that which she would never have: the Thunder Warrior in the flesh. He would be hers only in memories now.
Farewell, Max… my love….
St. Héver wasn’t sure he was seeing correctly.
Standing at the gates of Kennington House, he had been called forth by a soldier who swore he saw something moving in the darkness along the road, something small and distant. The storm had fully engulfed the la
nd with whipping winds and lightning, and St. Héver stood out in the elements with several other men, watching the road for signs of the mysterious wraith he had been told of. He stood there for several long minutes, waiting, until the lightning flashed again and, for a brief moment, he could see what the soldier had been indicating – there was something approaching.
Whatever it was, it was a solitary figure. St. Héver saw no threat in that, so he continued to stand by the gates, those oddly built, iron slat gates, and waited until the figure drew close. Then, and only then, could he see that it was a small figure astride a sopping palfrey. As it drew closer still, a flash of lightning illuminated it yet again and he realized it was Courtly. In a panic, he ordered the gates opened.
Soldiers threw the bolt and began heaving the gates open, made difficult because of the mud build-up from the rain and further made difficult from the rusting joints on the hinges. But it opened enough so that St. Héver managed to get through, racing to Courtly and realizing she was without a cloak or any protection whatsoever. She was soaked through and through. He pulled her off the palfrey and carried her in his arms back through the gates as another soldier went out to capture the palfrey and bring it in. By the time St. Héver reached the great hall, he was bellowing for food, wine, blankets, and servants. His loud cries woke up the entire house.
St. Héver set Courtly down on a bench near the hearth with only a few burning embers in it. She was half-unconscious and so cold that her skin was nearly blue. St. Héver began to stir up the fire, coaxing forth a blaze, as Courtly sat there and shivered. As the heat from the fire began to reach her, she began to come around a bit.
“Wh-where is my father?” she asked, teeth chattering.
St. Héver was working furiously to build up the blaze, which was growing fairly large the more he stirred it. Sparks flew into the air, drifting out into the great hall. “In his chamber, my lady,” he replied. “The last I saw of him, he was sleeping off too much drink.”
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