Now that the information of Henry’s movements was settling, the subject drifted to the families Chad had just mentioned. Women and children. No one wanted their wives or children involved in a battle. Gallus and Maximus looked at each other, silently dealing with that very fact. It was Tiberius who finally shook his head.
“De Moray wants to take my wife with him to Ravendark,” he said. “I told him that she is heavy with child and cannot travel, but given this missive from de Serreaux, I may have to re-think that decision. I do not want her giving birth in a castle under siege.”
Gallus sighed heavily. “Either they all go or no one does,” he said. “Do you think that de Moray will escort all of them back to Ravendark? My wife will not want Douglass to go alone.”
Tiberius turned his attention to the keep as if seeing his pregnant wife through the dark stone walls. He didn’t want to be separated from her; none of them wanted to be separated from their wives and children. But it would be better to have the women safe should Henry unleash hell. Evesham was only the beginning; now, the war was coming to Isenhall.
They could all feel it.
“I will go inform de Moray of the missive,” Tiberius finally said, “and I will ask him if his offer still stands to take my wife to safety.”
“Do it,” Gallus said. “Get him out of here. I do not want de Moray within these walls if Henry unleashes hell against us. Moving the women to safety will give him a reason to leave.”
There was a distinct sense of foreboding in the air now, uncertainty for what was to come. The situation was growing more complex, and dangerous, by the day, now with Henry evidently determined to test the loyalty of those close to the House of de Shera. It was a situation that, when finally faced, would determine the course of the future for all of them.
As Tiberius turned for the keep, with Maximus behind him, Gallus and Chad faced one another.
“Lioncross is very close to Isenhall,” Chad said quietly. “I will ride personally and seek Curtis’ support. I cannot believe he would refuse you, especially in light of the information from de Serreaux.”
Gallus nodded, weakly. It was as if the man were lost in thought, perhaps pondering the far-reaching implications his confrontation with Henry would bring. After a moment, he put a hand on Chad’s wrist.
“If I asked you to take Lady Alessandria to The Paladin, would you do it?” he asked.
Chad was caught off guard by the question. “Why?”
Gallus squeezed his wrist. “I have told you this before,” he said. “I know you would risk your life by taking up arms for me, but this will affect you and your family for years to come. This is my fight, Chad, and….”
Chad reached out and grabbed the man by both arms. “Are you attempting to be rid of me just as you are trying to rid yourself of de Moray?”
Gallus shook his head but something in his eyes told Chad that he was, indeed, trying to remove him from the coming storm. He was trying to do something noble for those who would support him.
Leave Isenhall!
“Alessandria should go home,” Gallus said. “Aurelius can protect her better there. It is unfair to the woman to be in a castle under siege.”
Although Chad knew that wasn’t the reason Gallus had ask him to take the woman north, he, too, was unhappy with the thought of her remaining at Isenhall with Henry on the approach.
“If that is what you are truly worried about, then she can go with de Moray, also,” he said. “I do not need to take her north.”
“But….”
Chad cut him off. “We have been through this before, Gallus,” he said. “I stand with you, as does my father. You cannot get rid of me so easily by telling me to take Lady Alessandria to The Paladin. In fact… mayhap you will consider allowing me to marry her before… well, before the situation turns dire. I intend to send her with the other women to safety and I would like to send her as Lady de Lohr. It will give me something to live for, to look forward to, if I know she is my reward through the tribulation.”
Gallus could see that there was no way he could remove Chad from Isenhall, and he was touched and saddened at the same time. Chad was a loyal friend to the end, now intending to stand against the madness of Henry. Gallus wondered if he could live with the guilt if something happened to his loyal friends who were taking up arms on his behalf, but as Maximus had said, it was a much bigger situation than simply the House of de Shera remaining loyal to de Montfort’s ideals. An entire world was wrapped up in family loyalties and bloodlines.
And Henry was coming to destroy it all.
“Then take her into Coventry to St. Mary’s Cathedral and marry her,” Gallus said hoarsely. “It is the very least I can do for you considering the risk you are about to take on my behalf. You have my blessing.”
Chad’s eyes glimmered with the first bit of joy and relief that Gallus had seen since the missive from Henry arrived. “Thank you, Gallus,” he said sincerely, his hand on the man’s arm. “I will make her a fine husband, I swear it.”
Gallus simply nodded, patting Chad on the cheek as the man flashed him a grin before breaking to the keep. Alessandria was in there, somewhere, and he wanted to give her the good news. Gallus watched him go, the smile fading from his lips, feeling as guilty as he possibly could. He loved Chad; he loved all of them – de Moray, de Winter, and the de Lohrs. They were family, they were brothers, they were comrades-in-arms. But most of all, they were friends.
Was his stubborn pride worth all their lives?
He wondered.
*
“But my father says that Arthur is the greatest Briton of all,” a young lad with dark hair and dark eyes was saying to Alessandria. Bhrodi de Shera, Jeniver and Gallus’ eldest son, was quite serious at nearly eight years of age. “My father says there is no one greater in all of history.”
Alessandria was seated in the small hall of Isenhall, a larger feasting room that was directly across the entry from the small, low-ceilinged feasting hall where so much of Isenhall’s business was conducted. The larger feasting room had a floor covered with straw, not rushes, and it was where the children of the de Shera brothers usually played when the weather outside wasn’t mild enough for them to enjoy it. It had become something of a large playroom, in fact, complete with an old black dog that slept by the fire.
Even now, Maximus’ two eldest sons played near the dog with their wooden soldiers and cart, and Tiberius’ pregnant wife, the tall and elegant Lady Douglass, sat on a soft chair near the fire with a young girl sleeping on her lap while another girl, a little older, played at her feet. Lady Courtly, Maximus’ wife, was trying to pick a sliver out of a two year old’s finger, and Lady Jeniver sat at the table, sewing on some tiny breeches, while her son listened to Alessandria recite Biblical stories.
As the women and children of Isenhall had quickly come to realize, Alessandria had a talent for telling stories and this particular tale had been about Samson, the strongest man in all the land, but young Bhrodi wasn’t having any of it. His father had told him that Arthur was the greatest and strongest man in the land and he wanted to make that clear to Alessandria.
Alessandria, to her credit, was very patient with the lad. She smiled to his assertion that Samson wasn’t, in fact, the strongest man of all.
“God made many strong men, Bhrodi,” Alessandria said to the lad. “These men lived in different times. Samson lived in the time of the Bible, when men of God walked the earth. Arthur lived much later than that, and he was a very strong and great man himself.”
Bhrodi cocked his head curiously; he was a handsome lad, very sharp, the pride and joy of his parents. “But Arthur was the king of all Britons long ago,” he said. “Did God not make him king?”
“He did.”
“Was Samson a king?”
“Nay, he was not.”
“Then Arthur was greater because he was a king!”
It was young boy’s logic and Alessandria was trying very hard not to laugh at his insisten
ce. She did the only thing she could do; she surrendered. “Aye, that must be true,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she was watching Jeniver snicker. “Kings are the greatest in all the land.”
Bhrodi shook his head. “Not always,” he said seriously. “Not Henry. He is not a great man.”
Jeniver’s head came up. “Bhrodi,” she admonished softly. “We do not speak so of the king. You have been listening to your father too much.”
Bhrodi turned his innocent face to her. “But Papa does not like the king,” he said. “He will not fight for him. I heard him say so.”
Jeniver sighed in exasperation. She didn’t want her young son growing up with such an attitude of rebellion towards the English crown. Even though she was Welsh, and Bhrodi was half-Welsh, rebellion, in her mind, only led to problems. It wasn’t that she had disagreed with her husband’s stance all of these years, for she supported him whatever he decided, but she didn’t want her son thinking it was normal and right to choose rebellion over obedience to a king.
It was a difficult subject in the de Shera household, especially since Evesham. The wives, all of them, sincerely wished their husbands would simply swear fealty to a king that was now clearly in control of the country, but the de Shera brothers didn’t seem inclined to do it so the women kept their mouths shut, at least to their husbands. To each other, however, it was much different. There was fear in their manner every time they whispered words to each other, fearful for the men they loved, men who were trying to take a stand for what they believed in.
It was a difficult situation, indeed.
“Bhrodi,” Jeniver said as she set her sewing to the table. “You must understand that your father makes decisions he feels are right and true for all of us. That does not mean the king is a bad man. It simply means your father is trying to do the right thing for his family and for your legacy.”
Bhrodi went to his mother, leaning against the table as she ran her fingers through his dark hair. “When I am the earl, I will not fight for Henry, either,” he said boldly.
“You may not have a choice if you want to keep your lands.”
Bhrodi frowned, puzzled by his mother’s attitude. It was different from his father’s. Jeniver watched her son’s expression as the child turned for Alessandria, who was watching the boy with some curiosity. He would be the Earl of Coventry someday and it was clear that he was a strong-willed child. That would serve him well when the time came, especially with the de Shera name. He would need that fortitude.
“Were there great kings in the Bible?” he asked Alessandria. “Were there great warriors?”
Alessandria nodded. “Indeed, there were,” she said. “There were many.”
She was precluded from saying more as Tiberius and Maximus suddenly entered the keep and their respective children, seeing their fathers, began to squeal.
The two little boys playing in front of the hearth made a run for Maximus, plowing into his groin area. He grunted in pain, picking up the children, as Tiberius made his way to his very pregnant wife and inquired about the location of her father. Douglass thought he might be in his chamber and Tiberius smiled sweetly at the woman, taking the toddler from her and then pulling her up to stand. He left the room with his wife and two children as Maximus went to see to his own wife, who had just managed to remove the sliver from the screaming two-year-old child. Maximus comforted the baby, the gruff brother turning soft in the presence of his children.
Alessandria watched the interaction of her cousins with their families, hoping that she and Chad would one day be blessed with children. The past two weeks at Isenhall had been a lesson in family love and devotion; as fierce as the Lords of Thunder were, they were kind and gentle fathers. There was much family warmth within the old stone walls of the ancient fortress.
Alessandria couldn’t help but hope for her own warmth someday as she watched the men with their wives, seeing the devotion between them all. To have Chad look at her the way Maximus was looking at Courtly, or the way Tiberius looked at Douglass, was almost more than she could hope for.
“I suppose my husband will be coming in from the ward soon enough,” Jeniver said, breaking Alessandria from her thoughts. The woman stood up, collecting both her sewing and her son. “I will go now and see to the nooning meal. Thank you for entertaining my son today. He enjoyed your stories very much.”
Alessandria smiled at Jeniver, at Bhrodi. “I enjoyed telling them,” she said, looking at the boy. “Tomorrow, I will tell you about Noah and the boat he built at God’s command. He put many animals on the boat to save them when God punished the evils of man.”
That had Bhrodi’s interest. “I have a pony,” he said eagerly. “His name is Henry. My father named him that so that I could ride Henry and force him to my wishes.”
Alessandria bit off a smile, seeing Jeniver shake her head reproachfully from the corner of her eye. “I am sure he is a very fine animal,” Alessandria said.
“Would you like to see him?”
“Indeed, I would.”
“Later,” Jeniver said, steering her son away from Alessandria. “We have tasks to accomplish first.”
Alessandria stood up. “May I help you, my lady?” she asked. “I would be more than happy to help you oversee the meal.”
Jeniver smiled. “Of course you may,” she said. “I am always happy to have your company.”
Pleased that she wouldn’t be left behind and bored without anything to do, Alessandria scurried after Jeniver and Bhrodi as they left the feasting room. She and Jeniver had become good friends, in fact, and she enjoyed the woman’s company. They were just to the entry door leading out into the ward when the door jerked open again on its heavy iron hinges, spilling forth Chad into the keep.
A steady breeze blew in behind him and he struggled to shut the door, his gaze on Alessandria. He barely acknowledged Jeniver and Bhrodi before speaking to Alessandria. “My lady,” he addressed her. “I have a need to speak with you. Will you indulge me?”
Alessandria nodded eagerly, excusing herself from Jeniver, as Chad took her arm and politely led her into the small vaulted feasting room that was just off the entry. Alessandria had become very familiar with that room, as they ate most of their meals there and it seemed to be the favorite gathering place in the keep for its warmth and intimacy.
As Jeniver and Bhrodi went outside and shut the door, and Maximus was in the other room with his wife and children, Alessandria and Chad moved to a corner of the room where they would have more privacy. The stone walls were heavy here and three long, thin lancet windows were situated nearby, providing light and ventilation for the chamber. Certain that Maximus wasn’t anywhere close to see his movements, Chad took Alessandria’s hand in his own and brought it to his soft lips.
“I have missed you today,” he murmured as he kissed her flesh. “How long has it been since I have last seen you?”
Alessandria grinned, her heart fluttering wildly as he nibbled her fingers. “Not long,” she said. “You were with me when you were summoned to the gatehouse not a half-hour ago. Do you not recall?”
He made a face. “We were surrounded by chaperones, as we always are.”
She laughed softly. “They are simply protecting my virtue,” she said. “Evidently you are a devil that I need protecting from.”
He grinned. “I would agree with that statement,” he replied. But soon, his expression softened. “I do not like being away from you, no matter if it is a few minutes or a few hours. Any time away from you is too long.”
Alessandria flushed at his flattery. “I feel the same,” she said softly. “Did you finish your business at the gatehouse, then?”
Chad’s warm expression faded; he couldn’t help it. “I did,” he said. “That is what I must speak to you about.”
“Oh?” she cocked her head curiously. “What can it be?”
He grew serious, caressing her hand as he thought of how he would approach the subject. He didn’t want to frighten her bu
t she needed to know how serious the situation was. Something very bad was coming, a mighty storm of swords and men and loyalties. Chad was coming to think that she was so much better off in the convent; he struggled not to let guilt consume him, yet again, for having brought her into this terrible situation.
“When we were at Canterbury, you will recall that Henry sent men to take you,” he said quietly. “Did I ever mention the name of the knight in command?”
Alessandria looked at him, curiously. “I do not believe so,” she said. “Why?”
He lifted his eyebrows at the irony of that question. Why, indeed. “The knight in command is a man named de Serreaux,” he said. “I have known him for many years. We have fought side by side on occasion. In this instance at Canterbury, we were, briefly, on opposing sides because of you. I am not blaming you nor is this something you should feel badly about. It was simply the circumstances.”
In spite of his words, Alessandria couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty over that. “I understand,” she said. “But why do you mention him now?”
Chad sighed heavily and kissed her hand once more before continuing. “Because, in spite of the incident at Canterbury, de Serreaux still seems to have some feelings of friendship or loyalty towards me,” he said. “I went to the gatehouse earlier because a missive had arrived for me. The messenger who delivered it was wearing Henry’s colors, so we all assumed it was Henry who had sent me the missive. It was not Henry, however; it turned out to be de Serreaux.”
Her eyes widened. “The same man we fled from?” she asked. “Did your father tell him where you had taken me, then? He knows where I am?”
Chad shook his head. “My father did not tell him, of that I am sure,” he replied. “Aless, it would not take a genius to determine where I had taken you. You are a de Shera; one could only assume I took you to be with your kin at Isenhall. De Serreaux is not a fool – he knew where we had gone.”
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