“What was Lady Honey like?” she asked Jeniver. “I am sorry I will never have the opportunity to meet her. I had hoped to.”
Jeniver’s eyes filled with tears at the thought of Lady Honey’s passing. But her tears weren’t for Honey. The woman had suffered from her cancer terribly in her later days and death had finally put an end to that pain. Jeniver’s tears were for her husband and for Maximus and Tiberius, men who were very attached to their mother. She knew how hard this would be on them. She sniffled, wiping at her eyes.
“She was a small woman who ruled the House of de Shera with an iron fist,” she said quietly. “She was very kind, very loving, and quite intelligent. She is everything you would think the mother of the Lords of Thunder would be. Her death is going to be a tremendous blow to them.”
Courtly already knew that. She noticed that Jeniver was still fighting off tears and she reached out, patting the woman on the hand.
“I am very sorry for all of you who knew her,” she said. “My heart breaks for Maximus. He has spoken quite fondly of his mother.”
Jeniver nodded her head, grasping Courtly’s hand and holding tightly to it. “He will need your comfort,” she whispered. “They will all need our comfort. We have no right to grieve at all. We must be strong for them.”
Courtly nodded. “I intend to be,” she assured her. “Certainly, they will want to return home right away, to attend their mother’s burial. Who was left behind at Isenhall who can make such decisions?”
Jeniver shrugged. “When we left, there were only soldiers, a majordomo, and a physic to tend Honey,” she said. “We also left Gallus’ young daughters behind with their nurses, but the children cannot make such decisions. I would imagine the majordomo has taken charge.”
Courtly’s thoughts lingered on Isenhall, the castle where she would live but had not yet seen. Based on Maximus’ description, she imagined it to be quite a mighty fortress.
“I did not know that Gallus already had children,” she said, eyeing Jeniver curiously. “You never mentioned it.”
Jeniver thought of fair-haired Violet and lovely, little Lily. “Haven’t I?” she asked, thinking. “I suppose it just never came up.”
“They are not your children, too?”
Jeniver shook her head. “I am Gallus’ second wife,” she said. “Gallus’ first wife died in a fall two years ago. Gallus has two daughters.”
Courtly’s heart began to ache for Gallus, now for a bigger reason. “Then he has already suffered great loss of a woman in his life,” she said. “I am very sorry for him. He has much to bear.”
Jeniver nodded, trying not to tear-up again as she thought of her husband and the death he had suffered through. “He is a strong man,” she said. “He has had to be.”
Courtly didn’t have much to say to that so she simply squeezed Jeniver’s hand again, holding it to comfort her. As she pondered the suggestion of playing more card games simply to distract themselves, she noticed a figure on the walkway overhead as Ellice emerged from her sleeping chamber.
Since Ellice’s arrival four days before, she’d not left her niece’s side. She had been strangely comforting to Courtly as she began to experience a new relationship with her aunt, one that she could have never imagined. Ellice had been considerate, thoughtful, and wise, certainly not the bitter spinster Courtly had known all of these years. It was rather strange but also rather wonderful.
Courtly poured Jeniver a measure of boiled fruit juice and then poured some for herself as Ellice came to the table. The older woman eyed Isenhall’s messenger as she sat.
“Good morn to you, ladies,” Ellice said, hungrily reaching for the bread. “I see the messenger is still here. I had hoped, for your sake, that his arrival yesterday was all a bad dream.”
Courtly moved to pour her aunt some juice but Ellice waved her off in favor of watered ale. “Unfortunately, it was not,” Courtly said. “It is all very real.”
Ellice took a big bite of bread. “Has the man you sent on to Warborough returned yet?”
Courtly shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “I fear we are in for another day of waiting and wondering.”
As they sat at the table, resigning themselves to another day of anxiety, there seemed to be a great commotion in front of the inn. They could hear horses, people shouting, and a few startled patrons bolted in through the front door as if the devil himself were chasing them. It was evident that something great was happening out on the street.
The three-man de Shera escort, sitting at the table next to the ladies, stood up, eyeing the door with some concern. The man in charge of the escort turned to Jeniver.
“My lady,” he said. “Mayhap you should retire to your room for the time being. It sounds as if there may be some trouble about.”
Jeniver didn’t argue with the man. She’d been through this drill before. Sometimes loud and obnoxious men came to the tavern and it was safer if the women weren’t in the common room. Therefore, Jeniver stood up and Courtly stood with her, both women making their way to the stairs that led to the upper levels. Ellice, hardly caring if rough men were about to enter the tavern, simply picked up her food and moved to another part of the tavern, back in a corner that was hidden from view. As Jeniver and Courtly reached the bottom of the steps, the door to the inn flew open and a shout from across the room stopped them.
“Courtly!”
Maximus stood in the doorway. When Courtly realized her husband had returned, she nearly fell off the bottom step in her haste to reach the man. She cried out with surprise, with relief, as she ran across the room, being thwarted by tables and chairs and people in her attempt to reach him. Maximus, too, was dodging obstacles, but he met his wife somewhere in the middle of the room and threw his arms around her, lifting her into his massive, warm, and safe embrace.
Courtly wept as she clung to Maximus, her arms wound around his neck so tightly that she was very nearly strangling him. They stood there in the center of the room, holding one another, as Gallus rushed past them, sweeping his emotional wife into his arms as he greeted her. Tiberius entered the room as well, without a scratch, followed by Scott, Troy, and Stefan. Troy was sporting a rather large bandage on his neck but out of all the de Shera knights, he seemed to be the only one who was injured. More men piled into the room, exhausted de Shera soldiers, and began shouting for food and wine. They had returned from battle, safely, and it was time to celebrate the fact.
It was loud and chaotic as Courtly and Maximus held one another, re-affirming bonds, each assuring the other that their beloved was safe. Courtly finally pulled her head from the crook of Maximus’ neck, beaming at him through her tears of joy.
“You are safe,” she breathed.
He nodded, kissing her deeply. “I am,” he confirmed, his lips on hers. “I am well.”
Courtly ran a hand over his bearded face, partially covered by the mail hood he wore. “Did the messenger reach you?” she asked, breathless. “Did he tell you about my father?”
My father. Maximus’ joy diminished somewhat as he set Courtly carefully to her feet, his hands moving to her arms, clutching at her. As he gazed into her happy but concerned face, he struggled to bring forth the words that would tell her all that had happened. There was a great deal to tell and he hardly knew where to begin.
“He did,” he finally replied. “The messenger did not find me until after the battle, however, when it was all over.”
Courtly sighed heavily, with great relief. “God be praised,” she murmured. “Aunt Ellice thought that my father was going to try to kill you because he found out that I had fled the escort assigned to take me to Trelystan.”
Maximus gazed seriously at her. “How did he discover this?”
“A soldier assigned to the escort returned to tell him that I escaped,” she replied. “He also told my father about the de Shera men who had intercepted the escort and tried to take me away. My father could only assume that I had escaped to run off to you and Auntie thought
that he planned to kill you because of it.”
It was essentially what the messenger had told him. Maximus peeled back his mail hood, revealing wet, sweaty hair beneath. He seemed so weary, so very weary, as he grasped Courtly gently and began to pull her towards the stairs. He wanted to take her to their chamber to inform her of her father’s death. He didn’t want to tell her here for all to see where her grief would be public. But as he pulled her towards the stairs, he happened to see a man he recognized sitting at one of the tables. The man was a soldier he had left behind at Isenhall. He knew the man very well. He came to a startled halt.
“Why is Chambers here?” he asked, pointing at the man. He looked at his wife, his brow knitted with both curiosity and foreboding. “When did he come?”
Courtly looked at the Isenhall messenger, who had spied Maximus long before Maximus spied him. The man stood up, moving towards Maximus and speaking before Courtly could answer.
“My lord,” the messenger said, appearing rather strained. “The majordomo sent me. He wants me to tell you that your mother, the Lady Honey de Shera, has passed away. He begs you and your brothers to come home immediately.”
Maximus stared at the man, unable to react to the shocking news. Gallus, standing with Jeniver several feet away, had also heard him, as had Tiberius, who was on the stairs, heading up to a bedchamber because he was so exhausted. But the messenger’s trembling words had all three brothers frozen in time and space, unmoving as they processed what they had been told.
In fact, it seemed as if the entire room had come to a halt, the messenger’s terrible words hanging in the air as the Lords of Thunder were informed that their beloved mother had finally passed away. Months of illness and weeks of anxiety and worry had now come to a close whether or not they were willing to accept it. It was final, as only death could be. As the brothers continued to stand, paralyzed with shock, Gallus was the first one to move. The look of grief on his features was indescribable as he made his way, haltingly, to the messenger.
“When?” he asked hoarsely.
The messenger, too, was wrought with sorrow because everyone at Isenhall knew what Honey meant to her sons. The woman had been so ill for so long but had lasted longer than she probably should have.
“Seven days ago, my lord,” he replied. “It has taken me five days to reach Oxford. I only arrived yesterday. I came as soon as I could.”
Gallus stared at the man, digesting his words. “Was…?” he began, choked, and started again. “Was her passing peaceful?”
The messenger nodded. “She died in her sleep, my lord,” he replied. “She had awoken, briefly, the night before to ask that your daughters be placed in bed with her. Then she went back to sleep and never awoke. She was not alone, my lord. Lady Violet and Lady Lily were with her. She was comforted with her grandchildren.”
Gallus’ eyes filled with a flood of tears. He sat, heavily, in the nearest chair and Jeniver rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his head and neck, holding him to her breast as he wept. Maximus was still rooted to the spot, his gaze on the messenger as if unable to move or speak at all. Courtly was gravely concerned for him but she was distracted when Tiberius, as the news hit him, sat down on the steps leading up to the second floor and openly wept. The Lords of Thunder were crumbling before her very eyes.
“Max?” she whispered, clutching his hand. “Will you at least sit down? Please sit, my love. Sit down a moment.”
Maximus was in shock. His mind was a black, roiling void with only thoughts of his mother filling it. He saw her when he was young, a beautiful woman with a brilliant smile, and he saw her as she took a willow switch after him and Gallus when they had stolen their father’s coins. He saw her holding Tiberius as an infant and then comforting Maximus when he’d been ill with an infection in his chest. So many memories were rolling through his mind and not one of them bad. Everything was joyous. But upon those joyful memories came darker thoughts, those of Kellen de Lara and the man’s attempts to kill him. The man who had given Courtly life had tried to take his, and Maximus began speaking before he even truly thought about what he said.
“Your father tried to kill me,” he said to Courtly, looking down at her with a rather perplexed expression on his face. “I had been trying to avoid your father since we arrived at Wallingford but the man sought me out in battle and tried to put in arrow in my back. Bose de Moray killed your father as your father was making an attempt to kill me. De Moray saved my life.”
Courtly gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock and grief, and the tears began to flow with a vengeance. It was then, and only then, that Maximus snapped out of his trance and realized what he had done. He’d spoken before he really thought about what he was going to say. It just all came tumbling out, his common sense overwhelmed by the news of his mother’s passing. So much death. As a warrior, he was conditioned to accept death but not when it struck this close to home. He was simply having difficulty processing it.
“I am sorry, love,” he said, reaching out and grasping Courtly, his manner deeply apologetic. “I should not have been so blunt. I wanted to tell you in a much more gentle fashion… forgive me, please. I fear that news of my mother’s death has upset my balance. I did not even realize what I was saying until it was too late.”
Courtly was sobbing deeply as Maximus tried to comfort her. “Auntie said he was going to do it,” she wept. “Damn the man for trying. Damn him for his foolishness. What did he think would happen if he failed? He tried to kill you but he was killed instead.”
Maximus didn’t know what to say to her. He was feeling particularly horrible at the moment, comforting his wife over the death of her father which, somehow, helped his own sense of grief. It distracted him by having someone else to worry about. Looking around the room, he could see Tiberius sitting by himself, weeping, and Gallus seated on a chair with Jeniver holding him tightly to her bosom. They were all stricken with sorrow, weeping for mothers and fathers, weeping for those they loved.
With a heavy heart, and struggling to remain strong for his wife, Maximus pulled her over to the table where Gallus was sitting. Setting her down carefully, he then went over to Tiberius and pulled the man up from the stairs and led him over to the table as well. Everyone was so terribly shattered, but in that crisis of grief and strife, Maximus was strangely level-headed, if only to be strong for Courtly.
Maximus stood between his wife and Tiberius, his hand on his brother’s shoulder and his other arm around his wife. He caught Jeniver’s eye as she looked up from Gallus, and he smiled weakly at the woman. All the while, words his mother had once spoken to him, words he had once relayed to Courtly, kept rolling through his mind. Now, more than ever, they seemed particularly appropriate.
“Do you remember what Mother would say when we expressed the fears for our father’s safety when he would ride off to battle?” he asked quietly. “Gal? Ty? Honey would say that we cannot know what will come at the day’s end but that whatever it is, it will indeed come, and then the end will be known. If we saw Father again at the end of that day, then we would smile and embrace him, but if not, then we would not dwell on his ending but on his parting well-made. What did we say to Honey the last time we spoke her? Do you recall?”
Gallus was wiping at his eyes, struggling to focus on Maximus’ question. It had been weeks since they’d last spoken to their mother, weeks since she had been coherent, so it was difficult to remember. As they struggled through the cobwebs of memories, Jeniver spoke.
“I recall one that of the last times we spoke, she spoke of Antoninus,” she said, her hands on her husband’s shoulders. “She told me that she had dreamed of him and that he looked the same as he did when he was young and strong, before age and his health caused him to deteriorate. She said that he stood at the gates of Isenhall but he would not come in. He simply stood there and smiled at her. She was rather perplexed at that but do you know what I think? I think he was waiting for her to come to him and she finally did. Certainl
y, her passing is a sorrowful thing, but we must not be sad for her. She is with Antoninus now and she is happy, so very happy. Should that thought not comfort us?”
Maximus was smiling knowingly by the time she was finished. He looked at Gallus and at Tiberius, seeing that their tears were mostly gone. They, too, were deeply comforted by Jeniver’s words because their parents, who had been quite devoted to one another, were now together for eternity.
“It comforts me a great deal to know that,” Maximus finally said. “She has missed my father every day since his death. Mayhap… mayhap instead of lamenting her death, we should be happy that they are finally together. At least, that is how I intend to view it. She is with him now and that is all that matters.”
Seated next to him, Courtly sniffled. “As my father is finally with my mother as well,” she said, wiping at her eyes. She looked up at Maximus. “That is how I will look at it as well. The man towards the end of his life was not the father I loved. He had changed somehow. But he, too, missed my mother very much. He never remarried, even after all of these years. They are together again and it is what he would want.”
Maximus bent down and kissed her on the top of the head, giving her a gentle squeeze to comfort her. “As I would want to be with you, too,” he murmured. Then, he glanced at the group around him, the table of people he loved best in the world. “But we are still here and we are still intact, and it is up to us to ensure that future generations of the House of de Shera have a country to inherit. Honey would have wanted it that way. That is why she told us to attend de Montfort, to be by the man’s side as he fights for a better England. I will honor what my mother wanted. With the last breath in my body, I will honor her wishes.”
Fearsome Brides Page 93
