She opened her mouth to answer but winced when St. John touched a tender spot. “I am well enough,” she said, sounding disgusted. “It was stupid of me, really. I was not watching where my horse was going and she slipped down the embankment. Is she truly well?”
De Winter stood up and went to check on the horse himself for the lady’s peace of mind. Cortez took his place beside her, realizing when he looked at her face that it was covered with pieces of grass. It was in her beautiful hair. Before he could comment, St. John looked at him.
“We must wrap this wrist,” he said. “She must have used it to catch her fall and it is already swelling.”
Cortez was concerned. “Is it broken?”
St. John shook his head. “I do not believe so,” he said. “But we must wrap it just the same.”
Between Cortez and Oliver, they managed to pull Diamantha to her feet as the rain pounded down upon them. She turned to walk back up to the road but Cortez was already in motion. He swept her into his big arms and carried her up to the wagon where Sophie was trying to catch a glimpse of her mother. When she saw Cortez carrying the woman in the direction of the wagon, she popped out from beneath the oiled tarp.
“Mama!” she called. “Mama, what ’tis wrong?”
Cortez set Diamantha carefully down on the end of the wagon bed. “Nothing is wrong,” Diamantha assured her child. “My horse slipped, ’tis all.”
As St. John and Cortez moved to wrap Diamantha’s wrist with items brought around by Cortez’s quartermaster, Sophie plopped herself onto her mother’s wet lap. Diamantha shrieked softly.
“Sophie, nay,” she said, trying to hold her child back with one good hand. “I am all wet!”
Cortez intercepted the little girl and picked her up, taking her away from her mother and tucking her back beneath the oiled tarp where it was dry. When the little girl started to whine, he pointed to her caged pets.
“Have you named them, yet?” he asked, trying to distract her. “I should think you would have thought up many names by now. What have you named the kittens?”
His ruse was working. Sophie turned to look at her little pets, who were sleeping contentedly after their feeding. As Cortez had hoped, she crawled back beneath the tarp and went to the cage, hovering over it and pointing.
“This kitten’s name is General,” she told him.
Cortez shook his head. “You already have a pony named General,” he said. “The kitten deserves his own name. What else have you thought of?”
Sophie’s brow furrowed as she thought on his question. “I do not know,” she said. “I do not know any other names.”
Cortez cocked his head, mulling over the situation. “Well,” he said slowly, “when I was young, my mother had two cats named Edward and Eleanor, after the king and queen.”
Sophie’s expression brightened. “I will name my kittens Edward and Eleanor, too!”
Cortez grinned. “What about the rabbit?” he asked. “Rabbits like grass and clover. Why not name him Clover?”
Sophie squealed happily and nodded her head. “What about the fox?” she wanted to know. “I want to name him after my father!”
Cortez patted her little leg. “I believe he would like that,” he said softly. “The fox shall be called Robert.”
Sophie’s face fell. “But I want to call him Father.”
Cortez bit off a chuckle. He was trying to prepare a reply she would not only understand, but agree with, when Diamantha spoke.
“Sweetheart, your father’s name is Robert,” she told her. “You know that is his name. You cannot name a fox Father.”
Sophie was moving into a pout. “Why not?”
Cortez and Diamantha looked at each other. Why not, indeed? With a shrug, and fighting off a grin, Diamantha replied.
“Very well,” she said. “If that is what you wish, my little love.”
Sophie was back to being happy again and Cortez’s gaze lingered on the little girl for a moment before returning his attention to Diamantha, whose wrist was very nearly wrapped by now. St. John, who usually tended the wounded because it was a great skill he had acquired in the Holy Land, had wrapped it quite neatly. The knight tightened up the bindings to the point of Diamantha wincing.
“There,” he said, inspecting his work. “That should do for now. I will take a look at it tonight to see how it fares. Meanwhile, we should keep it cold. The cold will help with the swelling. Keep the wrist exposed to the rain and let it soak. The temperature is so cold that it will keep it chilled.”
Diamantha had never heard of such a thing but she didn’t argue with him; she simply nodded. “May I ride my horse?”
St. John and Cortez glanced over their shoulder as a soldier brought Diamantha’s mount up onto the road. The horse had bloodied knees. Cortez went over to the animal and ran his hand up both front legs, feeling for injury. After a moment, he turned to Diamantha.
“I feel some swelling in the left front leg,” he told her. “Mayhap you should ride in the wagon with Sophie until we stop for the night. You do not want to put undue strain on your horse right now.”
Diamantha had no choice but to agree. As they tied her horse to the back of the second provisions wagon, next to General, Diamantha moved beneath the oiled tarp where her daughter was. Sophie was excited for her mother’s company and happily pointed out her bunny and fox kit. Diamantha showed interest in her daughter’s pets as she removed her wet cloak, using it as a blanket to better cover her from the rain coming in off of the oiled tarp.
Even as she listened to her daughter speak of Clover and Father, her attention seemed to drift back to Cortez, who was speaking with one of his men about Diamantha’s horse. They were both watching the horse as it walked, making sure nothing else was wrong with it. Diamantha thought it was rather kind of the man to take such an interested in her palfrey. And sweet, aye, it was sweet. He was showing an inordinate amount of kindness and concern towards her.
When he had picked her up and carried her back to the wagon, the power of his arms hadn’t gone unnoticed by her. In fact, she rather liked the hard bulk of the man, his strength radiating out from behind the armor. It was hard to miss. She realized that in those brief few seconds that she felt safe and protected. She hadn’t had that feeling in a very long time. She wasn’t hard pressed to admit that she liked it.
Perhaps she was coming to like him, just a little.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“What do you think of de Bretagne’s new wife?”
The question came from Drake de Winter, proposing the query to either of his two companions. Oliver St. John and James de Lohr were standing just inside the front door of an inn in the city of Shaftesbury, watching Cortez and Andres from across the room. The brothers were negotiating with the fat innkeeper, a man with a great pot belly and big scabs on his knees. They could see them through his torn breeches. Before Oliver could answer the question, James put up a hand.
“Before you say anything, you both should know that I am a cousin of the lady,” he said, watching their surprised expressions. “We discovered that my grandfather and her grandmother were siblings, both children of Christopher de Lohr. So keep that in mind when offering your opinion of the new Lady de Bretagne.”
Oliver grinned faintly. “I was not going to say anything to the negative,” he said. “In fact, she seems rather pleasant. Quiet, but pleasant.”
Drake lifted his dark eyebrows. He was the son of Davyss de Winter, who had been a major player in the wars against Simon de Montfort thirty years earlier. He had his father’s legendary arrogance and his mother’s legendary compassion, a paradoxical combination. He was conceited to the core but a brilliant commander and a deeply loyal friend. He was very loyal to Cortez and, at the moment, he didn’t seem convinced of Oliver’s opinion.
“I was at Corfe when Cortez went to retrieve her,” he said. “Those two have not had an easy start. Rumor has it that George Edlington was very much opposed to the marriage. In any case, she did not
make it simple for Cortez. She fought him every step of the way.”
James looked over his shoulder at Cortez and Andres as they continued to barter with the innkeeper. “That is because she is still in mourning, I am sure,” he said quietly. “God’s Bones, Rob Edlington has only been gone three months. The woman has not yet had time to grieve.”
“She’s had three months,” Oliver muttered. “The man is not coming back.”
James looked at him, pointedly. “Aye, he is coming back,” he said. “Why do you think we are heading to Falkirk? Cortez told me that she wants Rob home for a proper burial, and that is exactly what we are going to do. You all knew Rob Edlington. You know what kind of man he was. It is the least we can do.”
Oliver St. John was another legacy knight from a long line of great knights. His father, Christian St. John, was Lord of Eden, a castle far to the north in Cumbria. Oliver had his father’s blond good looks and a rather ironic way of viewing the world. He was pragmatic to the bone and he saw this entire venture north to retrieve Edlington’s body as a folly. He shook his head to James’ statement.
“We will never find him,” he said quietly, looking between James and Drake. “The man has rotted under several feet of mud and we will never find him. Cortez is doing this just to make the woman happy but it is only going to cause her more heartache when she realizes that Rob is lost to the ages. What are we supposed to do? Dig up the entire battlefield? That is madness!”
Drake waved a hand at him to keep his voice down. “Madness or not, that is what we’ve been ordered to do and we shall do it,” he said, grunting with the same disapproval Oliver had expressed. “But I must say it is bad enough to bring the woman along much less her daughter. Lady de Bretagne has no idea how difficult this is going to be. To drag her child along is stupid at best.”
James eyed his friends. “Be that as it may, keep that opinion between us,” he mumbled. “You do not want Cortez to catch hint of that rumor. He’ll have your head.”
Oliver and Drake nodded reluctantly. The trio fell silent as Cortez and Andres, evidently finished with the barkeep, made their way back over to them. The main room of the inn was moderately full of people and extremely smoky from a malfunctioning chimney. It also smelled like raw sewage, a most unpleasant smell. Andres shoved an old drunkard out of his way as he and Cortez reached the rest of the knights.
“Idiots and drunkards,” Andres sniffed, looking at the rabble in the room. “Could we not have found a more appropriate place to spend the night, brother? Why this dog-hole?”
Cortez gave him a disdainful look. “Because they are all full,” he snapped without force. “I told you that already. This is the only place with availability and we are going to take it. If you do not like it, sleep out in the rain with your horse. I care not.”
Andres was obviously displeased. “We deserve better accommodations than this.”
Cortez didn’t want to hear his brother’s complaining. “Then you are welcome to go and find them,” he said. “I have secured three rooms in this establishment and I’m sure the other knights will not mind if you drag your carcass somewhere else. If you do not, then shut your mouth because I do not want to hear your grumbling.”
Andres simply made a face and looked away, smart enough not to engage his brother in more of a verbal battle. Cortez would win anyway, and if he didn’t, the argument could very well end with the man throwing a punch, and Andres didn’t want a bloodied nose this night. He was exhausted and hungry, as they all were.
Cortez waited for his brother to throw a tantrum but the man wisely remained silent. Andres was unpredictable sometimes, and spoiled, but he wasn’t foolish. He knew when his brother was at his limit. When Cortez was sure there would be no more argument, he turned to his three knights.
“The barkeep tells me there are two barns in the back,” he said, “one for the animals and one that is used for storage with hay and other things. Tell the men they are welcome to sleep in the storage barn if they do not wish to raise their shelters. They are not to have a fire in it, however, for obvious reasons. Whatever they decide, make sure the men are assembled by dawn. I plan to make it to Warminster by tomorrow night and I want to stay on schedule. I will not tolerate late risers.”
The knights nodded and moved out, heading into the rainy night as they began to bellow instructions to the men who were standing out in the elements. When Cortez’s escort began to move, he headed outside to the provisions wagon where Diamantha and Sophie were. Lightning flashed overhead as he walked through the ankle-deep mud, crossing the road and ending up next to the saturated wagon.
Peering inside, he could see Diamantha sitting far back on the pallet with a sleeping Sophie in her arms. She was dry for the most part but he could tell by the color of her face that she was cold and exhausted. Her pert little nose was red and her face pale, indicative of the cold. Turning around in search for some help, he spied his brother and whistled the man over. Unhappy, Andres sloshed through the mud as Cortez turned back to Diamantha.
“Give me Sophie,” he said softly, holding out his arms. “I have a nice, warm bed waiting for her.”
Diamantha shifted, carefully handing over Sophie to Cortez, who took her gently. Diamantha then took her cloak and covered the child with it so the rain would not soak her. As careful as if he were holding the Baby Jesus, Cortez took Sophie and then handed her over to his brother.
“Take her inside immediately,” he whispered to Andres. “We have the room at the top of the stairs, last door on the left. Take her there and try not to get her wet.”
Andres, surprisingly, was very careful with Sophie in spite of his surly attitude. He cradled her as Cortez fixed the cloak so the child would not get wet, and soon he was making haste towards the inn. Cortez watched him go, making sure his brother was well on his way, before turning to Diamantha. He smiled politely.
“Now it is your turn, my lady,” he said, holding out his hands. “Come along, now. Let us get you inside where it is warm and dry.”
Diamantha shifted along the wagon bed but not before she reached out to grab the cage with the animals in it. She tried to hold on to them with her wrapped hand while pushing herself along with the other. Cortez took the cage from her and set it aside as he lifted her out of the wagon bed. Snug in his arms, Diamantha reached over and picked up the cage, and away they went towards the inn.
By the time Cortez got her inside, they were both fairly wet from the downpour, as were the animals, who were now awake and restless. The kittens were crying and Cortez set Diamantha to her feet, politely grasping her arm to escort her up the rickety stairs that led to the darkened second floor above. She moved slowly, seemingly very interested in the room, a smelly, smoky hovel of men and women seeking shelter from the storm.
“Will we be eating down here?” she wanted to know.
Cortez was trying to urge her to move more quickly up the steps. “Nay,” he said. “We will take our meal in our room.”
Her head snapped around to him. “Our room?”
He met her eyes. “Aye,” he said steadily. “There were three rooms available and my knights will occupy two of them. You, me, and Sophie will have one for ourselves.”
Diamantha pondered that with some uncertainty but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t have a right to say anything, after all, she was the man’s wife and it was perfectly acceptable to share a room with him. She continued to follow him to the second floor where a slightly tilted corridor led them to their chamber at the end of it. Even the door was leaning as Cortez shoved it open. Andres was inside, just laying Sophie upon a very small bed pushed over near a hearth that had a bit of heat to it. Diamantha smiled politely at the man as he pushed past her on his way to leave the chamber.
“My thanks,” she said.
Andres was back to his smiling, flirtatious self in an instant. “For you, dear lady, anything at all,” he said, then his smile vanished unnaturally fast as he eyed his brother. “Will there be anyt
hing else, Cortez?”
Cortez hung the wet cloak, the one used to cover Sophie, up on a peg next to the hearth. “Make sure my wife’s cases are brought in,” he told him. “Then you are free for the evening.”
Andres nodded and headed out of the door, winking at Diamantha as he left. Diamantha shook her head reproachfully, disapproving that he would be so flirtatious with his brother’s new wife. She began to unwind the scarf from around her neck with her good hand, thinking on Cortez’s bold brother.
“Your brother is rather… friendly,” she commented quietly.
Cortez moved to stoke the fire. “My brother is pushing the boundaries of my good graces,” he muttered. “If he winks at you again, I am going to gouge his eyes out.”
She turned to look at him, a half-smile on her lips. “So you’ve noticed, have you?”
Cortez pursed his lips irritably. “I would have to be blind not to notice,” he mumbled, working the wood and peat up into a flame. “If you slap him for his liberties, I will not blame you.”
Diamantha burst into soft laughter. “I am sure it will not come to that,” she said, pulling the scarf free and hanging it on the peg next to the cloak. “I am sure he will behave himself.”
Cortez grunted. “If he does, it will be the first time,” he said, reaching over to grasp the cage with the wet animals and moving them near the fire. He peered at the little collection. “This should be warm enough for them. I’ll see if the barkeep has any milk.”
Diamantha looked at the man, thinking that he must be rather soft-hearted if he was worried about little animals. “That would be lovely, thank you,” she said softly. “I am sure Sophie will appreciate that. In fact… thank you for all you’ve done for us. You have gone out of your way to make this as pleasant a trip as possible and I am grateful.”
He stood up, his black eyes lingering on her. “You are welcome.”
Diamantha smiled at him, the first time she’d done so without prompting. It was a genuine smile and one that went straight to his heart like an arrow, piercing it. In fact, he was a bit dumbfounded by it and as he thought of something more to say, she indicated his wet armor and clothing.
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