“It is not the same thing, you idiot.”
Lucan smirked as he began removing his heavy mail gloves. “You only saw her a few days ago,” he said. “What can you possibly write about?”
Keir just shook his head. “I am going to ask her to come to Beeston.”
Lucan froze midway from removing his remaining glove. “Are you serious?”
“I am. I cannot stand being without her.”
Lucan resumed removing his glove, tossing it thoughtfully on to the bed. “I thought you told her that it would not be safe for her here,” he reminded him. “You told me that you told her that when she asked to come to Chester.”
“I did.”
“It was the wise response, Keir. It would not be safe for her here. Too many men and too few women make for a disastrous recipe.”
“She will be with me, always. She will be safe.”
“And when you leave for Wales? What then? Does she come on a battle march with you?”
Keir didn’t say anything but his quill slowed. With a heavy sigh, he set it to the table and sat there, staring at the missive. Lucan continued undressing, watching Keir as the man stared at the words he had written. He began to feel some remorse for being blunt, even if it was the truth.
“You go through what every man goes through when separated from the woman he loves,” Lucan said quietly. “But the answer is not to bring her to Beeston. That would be a mistake. You cannot take her into Wales and once again, you would be separated from the woman and going through the same anguish you are going through now. Send her a missive and tell her that you love her and long for her, but do not bring her to Beeston. Leave her where she is safe.”
Keir scratched his scalp and sat back in the chair, wrought with sorrow and overwhelming love. He was a man torn. He laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back.
“I miss her so much I can taste it,” he admitted. “I never imagined I could hurt so badly for anyone.”
Lucan pulled off his mail hood. “Do you remember many years ago when we were forced to leave Pendragon because Coverdale had promised support to Mt. Holyoak in Yorkshire?” he looked over at Keir. “We were gone for a little more than a week and I had to listen to you whine daily on how you missed Madeleine and Frances. It got so bad that I wanted to take a dagger to my eardrums just so I would not have to listen to you any longer. Am I going to face that same dilemma again? Must I take a dagger to my own ears or risk going mad?”
Keir gave him a reluctant grin. “If you recall, Madeleine had just given birth to Frances and I was eager to be with my family,” he reminded him. “I do not think that is too much to ask from a new father. But with Chloë… it goes beyond that. There is such longing in my heart that it threatens to consume me. I have never known anything like it.”
Lucan shook his head and began to peel off his damp under-tunic. “Leave her at Pendragon,” he reiterated. “Besides, she will be in good hands with Pembury. That is, if he does not make attempts to woo her from you.”
Keir’s smile vanished and his relaxed demeanor stiffened. “Why do you say that?” he demanded. “Did he say anything to you?”
Lucan put up his hands. “It was a jest, Keir, I swear it,” he assured him, seeing that his attempt at a joke had failed. “Good Christ, man, do you really think he would do anything so outrageous? He respects you too much. And, he fears you even more.”
Keir’s jaw was ticking as he forced himself to ease, his mind turning to newly horrific thoughts of Michael showing interest in Chloë when he was not around to prevent it. He trusted Chloë implicitly, but Michael was a bit of a wolf. That much was well established. Although he sincerely could not believe Michael would ever do such a thing, still, the unsettling idea gave him one more thing to anguish over. Visions off Michael with Chloë in his arms now haunted him. He glared at Lucan.
“I ought to punch you in the mouth for that suggestion,” he growled. “Jest or not, do you think it helps my state of mind?”
Lucan was coming to think his jest was ill-timed and was properly contrite. “Nay.”
Keir shook his head with disgust at the man and picked his quill up again. “You have moments of brilliance, Lucan, peppered with moments of complete stupidity,” he dipped his quill in the ink. “I am going to write a missive to Chloë and I want for you to arrange for the swiftest messenger at Beeston to deliver it.”
Lucan nodded. “Aye, my lord.”
“Now, leave me alone,” he began to write. “I must concentrate on what I am going to say.”
Lucan didn’t know when to shut his mouth; he could not resist taunting him. “‘Oh, my darling, my sweetest little tasty chick, I cannot breathe for want of you….’”
Keir threw the nearest thing he could find at him, which happened to be the small bag of sand that would be spread upon the vellum after he finished writing to blot up the ink. It was heavy, hitting Lucan in the thigh as the man moved to dodge it. Sand scattered everywhere.
“Shut your mouth,” Keir barked. “Another word and I will throw you from the window.”
“I will not fit.”
“I will make you fit!”
Lucan shut his mouth but he couldn’t help the smirk on his lips as he turned away and continued undressing. Keir St. Héver was not a man to hold back his feeling and he suspected the letter to Chloë would be something sickeningly sweet that she would probably sleep with next to her heart. But then he, too, began to think about Pembury and the man’s reputation as a rake. He hoped the man wasn’t stupid enough to set his sights on Chloë now that Keir was away.
He stretched out on his bed as Keir scratched a missive against the rough vellum, eventually dozing until a sharp rap at the door awoke him. As he bolted up from the bed, Keir was already up and answering the door. Two soldiers stood in the doorway, announcing to Keir words he did not want to hear. A message had arrived from Harlech Castle describing a swift and terrible siege by Welsh rebels. The king was already on his way into Wales and ordered Keir to march to Harlech, whether or not all of the armies they had been expecting from the north of England had joined them. There was no time to waste if Harlech was going to survive.
At dawn the next day, Keir and his army of three thousand, four hundred and thirty two men marched off into the wilds of Wales en route to the siege of Harlech Castle. The missive he had written Chloë went north via messenger.
As Keir rode at the head of his army, loaded down in full armor and an array of weaponry, he prayed it would not be the last message he ever sent her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Chloë and Cassandra had been packing for most of the afternoon, carefully rolling garments and securing them snuggly into the trunks they had at their disposal. Since all of their possession from Pendragon had been stored in one big trunk, Cassandra took a big trunk from her mother to take with her to Alnwick.
The afternoon was filled with conversation and packing, and at mid-afternoon, Blanche joined her daughters in Chloë’s chamber. Blanche had never packed anything in her life, always having servants to do such mundane things, so she was not of much help with her daughter’s preparations. She took her needlework near the window, sat down, and worked steadily while her daughters filled up their trunks.
Cassandra was disappointed that Chloë would not be accompanying her to Alnwick but she understood the woman’s reasons. She kept up a steady stream of chatter as they piled things away. Kurtis joined them eventually and she made her husband shove the lid of the trunk closed while she tied it off. It was stuffed to the rim and only his strength saved the day. Then she informed him that she wanted to do some shopping before they reached Alnwick, a suggestion to which Kurtis was rather resistant. The dark clouds began to gather over the happy newlyweds.
“You have enough clothes,” he told her. “You are stylish and lovely, and I am very proud of you. You do not need anything more.”
Cassandra frowned while over her shoulder, Chloë fought off a grin. She packed a satchel, watc
hing her sister face off against her husband. Truth be told, they had only known each other a couple of weeks and now would come the time for them to truly come to know one another, both the good and the bad. Although Chloë loved her sister very much, the woman liked to spend money. Kurtis was in for a battle.
“Chloë and I must divide the soaps and oils we purchased last week,” Cassandra pointed out. “I must have my own things to take with me.”
“Like what?”
Cassandra threw up her hands irritably. “I told you,” she said. “Soaps and Oils. Since Chloë is going to be in a more remote area, I am insisting she take the majority of the goods because there will be less opportunity to readily purchase such things. That means that I will be left with very little.”
Kurtis sighed, scratching his head. “How much will this cost?”
Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “The cost will depend upon what I need,” she told him. “And you will not bicker with me over this. You want me to be happy, do you not?”
He wasn’t going to fall for her attempt to guilt him. “Of course I do,” he said. “But your happiness is not dependent upon the goods you purchase. I will give you an allowance that you may use, but once that is spent, your shopping is finished.”
Cassandra’s eyebrows flew up in outrage. “I have never heard of anything so stingy!”
“Take it or leave it. It is your choice.”
Chloë couldn’t help it; she burst into snickers as she closed up her last satchel. “Cassie, for Heaven’s Sake, the man is giving you money to spend. Must you have his entire treasury at your disposal?”
Cassandra wasn’t happy in the least. Scowling at her husband, she went over to her mother and knelt at the woman’s feet.
“Mama?” her tone was considerably sweeter than it had been just moments earlier. “I must have some items and Kurtis does not feel they are at all necessary. Will you please provide me with coinage to ensure I have all I need?”
Blanche didn’t look at her eldest and she didn’t miss a stitch as she answered. “I am sure whatever he provides you with will be most generous,” she replied steadily. “Your father has already provided him with your dowry. He is your husband now and if you want money, you will have to get it from him.”
Grossly unhappy, Cassandra returned to packing with a pouty face. Kurtis watched his wife, showing some uncertainty for the first time as he looked to Chloë for reassurance that he wasn’t being an ogre. Chloë simply grinned and shook her head.
“Not to worry, Kurtis,” she told him. “She will survive.”
That didn’t help Kurtis’ indecision at all. He went to Cassandra as she finished securing a small satchel. “Alnwick has a very large merchant street,” he told her. “I know many of the vendors there. Perhaps I can convince them to give us very good prices on the items you need.”
Cassandra largely ignored him, sitting down on the bed and struggling not to burst into tears. “All I want to do is purchase some items for my skin and hair,” she sniffed. “And perhaps some fabric for a new surcoat. Is that too much to ask?”
Like any husband, her tears undid him. “It is not,” he assured her softly. “I will buy you whatever you wish, I swear it.”
The tears disappeared and the sun came out from behind the clouds as she turned her bright smile up to him. “Truly?”
Kurtis wasn’t a fool. He could see that he had just been grandly manipulated and he cocked a disapproving eyebrow at her.
“Truly,” he said begrudgingly.
Cassandra happily hugged him as Chloë snickered softly at her conniving sister. Outside, they could hear alerts from the sentries high on the walls and Chloë, curious, went to the lancet window to see what the commotion was about because Kurtis was being joyfully strangled by her sister and could not see for himself. Aysgarth’s great gates were open and there was much activity on the gatehouse. She could see a rider passing beneath the portcullis being swarmed by Coverdale soldiers but it was relatively uninteresting so she turned away from the window and back to the last of her packing.
“What do you see?” Kurtis asked, his mouth partially muffled because Cassandra’s arms were around his neck and her face was pressed up against his.
Chloë fiddled around with a few belts on the bed. “I cannot tell,” she shrugged. “A rider, I think. The portcullis was up.”
Kurtis moved to the window with his wife wrapped up around him. He had his arms around her as he peered from the window while Cassandra peppered his rough cheek with kisses.
“Hmmm,” he grunted as his spied the rider. “No colors. I wonder who it is?”
“Kurtis,” Chloë said casually from her position over near the bed. “I do not think the oils and soaps will serve me very long at Pendragon. Will you buy me some more, also?”
Kurtis looked over at her. “I will not,” he said flatly. “My brother is wealthier than I am. Let him buy them for you.”
Chloë bit her lip to keep from giggling. “But that is not fair,” she insisted. “Keir would buy them for Cassandra if she asked. Why will you not buy them for me as well?”
Kurtis could see the twinkle in her eye, realizing she was more than likely teasing him. But he could not be sure. He didn’t know the woman that well to know for certain. In case she wasn’t, he thought it best to leave the room before he was cornered by the both Chloë and Cassandra and ended up in the poor house.
“My lady, I would kill or die for you,” he said as he moved towards the chamber door with Cassandra still in his arms. “I would do anything in the world for you. But I will not buy you excess that you do not need.”
“How do you know I do not need it?”
“If you do not stop harassing me, I am going to write my brother and ask for permission to spank you.”
Chloë burst out into laughter and collected the nearest belt, snapping it at him. “Is that so?” she threatened. “Your brother is far away and unable to help you. I will have Cassandra hold you down while I spank you myself and call it self-defense.”
Cassandra started to giggle and Kurtis peeled her hands off him, moving for the door. “You will have to catch me first.”
The women squealed as they bolted after him, Chloë leaping over the bed to block his path to the door. But Kurtis was fast and he made it to the door before she did, yanking open the panel and then slamming it shut to prevent them from following. He held the door fast, grinning as they yelled at him from the other side of the door, banging on it and demanding he open it.
“Are you still going to spank me?” he called to them.
“I am going to beat you within an inch of your life and take all of your money!” Chloë yelled. “We shall leave your carcass for the dogs!”
“Then I am not opening the door.”
He laughed softly as the women kicked the door and tried to pull it open. Finally, he let it go and raced down the stairs, listening to the women as they yanked the door open and began to pursue. By the time Kurtis hit the first floor of the keep, he was laughing so hard he could hardly run. Chloë barreled down the stairs right behind him, laughing and swinging a heavy copper belt at him. Kurtis broke through the entry door and raced down the wooden steps into the bailey, almost tripping at the bottom in his haste to get away from them.
“I will tell my brother what you are doing and you will be sorry,” he threatened as he dodged Chloë’s swinging belt. “I will tell him what a mean woman you are.”
Chloë laughed and half-heartedly swung the belt at his head. “Give me your money, St. Héver,” she demanded. “Surrender!”
Kurtis dodged Cassandra as she came at him with another belt with heavy tassels on the end. “Never,” he announced. “You evil wenches, go away from me.”
Chloë and Cassandra were laughing uproariously. Kurtis was so out of breath from laughing that he couldn’t go much further. Eventually, he grabbed his wife and pinned her arms, planting a warm and delicious kiss on her mouth. Chloë watched the pair, her laughter fading
as it reminded her of Keir to watch the affection between them, and her good mood dampened. Lowering the belt, she struggled against the sadness that threatened to swamp her. As Cassandra and Kurtis lost themselves in sweet kisses and giggles, she turned away only to run head-long into Michael.
He grabbed her by the arms to steady her as she bashed in to him. As Chloë looked up to apologize, the words died in her throat at the expression on Michael’s face.
“Michael?” she asked, concerned. “What is wrong? Why do you look so?”
Michael let go of her once she had her balance. “A missive arrived for Keir,” he told her. “You had better come.”
She cocked her head curiously. “A missive? From who?”
Michael didn’t soften the blow. “From Ingilby. Coverdale has the missive and he is in his solar.”
Chloë felt as if she had been struck. For a moment, her balance left her and she reached out, grasping Michael so she wouldn’t topple over. Her face was a mask of shock.
“Ingilby?” she gasped. “Why on earth would he send Keir a missive?”
Michael could only shake his head, taking her hand as he began to lead her back towards the keep. “I do not know,” he said honestly. “But Lord Byron has asked that I bring you. What concerns Keir more than likely concerns you, especially if it is from Ingilby.”
Chloë followed him on shaking legs, trying to come to terms with the astonishing happenstance. “This makes no sense. Why would Ingilby do this? And how did he even know that Keir was at Aysgarth?”
“We will soon find out.”
Chloë wasn’t satisfied with that answer and her mind began whirling with possibilities as the shock began to wear off.
“None of this makes any sense,” she said, growing increasingly worried. “He must know that Keir threatened him if he ever tried to contact me again. When Keir saved us from Exelby, Keir told one of Ingilby’s soldiers that Ingilby would have to personally answer to him if he ever made another move against me. Do you suppose that Ingilby is threatening Keir in return?”
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