“I want Keir,” she whispered, tears trailing down her temples. “I want him here, with me.”
Cassandra stroked her head. “Kurtis went to fetch him,” she murmured. “He will be here soon.”
“When?” Chloë breathed.
Cassandra looked up at her mother as she replied. “Kurtis left for him four days ago,” she told her sister. “He should have already found him by now and I am sure they are on their way back. You must have faith, Chloë. Keir will be here.”
“My lady,” the physic was trying to get her attention, standing at the base of the bed. “Will you move your toes for me, please?”
Shaken, disoriented, Chloë gazed at the strange man fearfully. “Why?”
“Please do it.”
As the man tossed off the coverlet, Chloë wriggled her toes. The physic sighed when he saw the movement, looking to Lady Blanche.
“Praise the saints,” he said. “She is able to move her toes. That is a good sign.”
Blanche was visibly relieved, displaying perhaps the most emotion her girls had seen in quite some time as she put her hand on Chloë’s head in a comforting gesture.
“Thank God,” she whispered.
Having no real idea why everyone seemed so relieved, Chloë kept wriggling her toes, eventually moving her legs about. But the movement brought pain in her torso so she stopped moving around. Everything on her body hurt at the moment, from her head to her knees, so she simply stopped moving and closed her eyes, feeling the drag from the physic’s powerful potion pull at her.
“Cassie,” she whispered. “Please… I want Keir.”
Cassandra kissed her cheek. “I promise he will be here soon.”
Chloë faded off, into the painless realm of sleep. When Cassandra was sure she was asleep, she looked up at her mother.
“What do we do?” she hissed. “If Keir cannot return, what do we do?”
Blanche lifted a thin eyebrow. “I would stake my life on the fact that the man will return, Cassie,” she said. “My bigger concern, however, is Ingilby. We sent him a missive agreeing to his terms. If Chloë does not remember coming to Aysgarth, then I doubt she remembers the missive from Ingilby. I must seek counsel from Lord Coverdale in this matter.”
“Not father?”
Blanche waved her off. “The man is too foolish to give sage advice. This was proven by his decision not to allow Chloë to marry Keir before he went to Wales. You stay with your sister while I attend Coverdale.”
Cassandra watched her mother as the woman swept from the chamber. Feeling fearful and sad, her gaze moved back to her sister, lying so still and pale upon the coverlet.
The situation with Chloë did not seem to be improving.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Keir was stone-faced as they cantered along the road that would take them through the small village of Corwin on the Welsh Marches and straight on to the road to Wrexham. From Wrexham, it was a matter of hours to Chester. It was the road that the Army of the North had taken from Chester into Wales and the road that Michael had taken to find Keir. The Marches was a wild place and few roads traversed the mountains region. This one was the road most traveled.
They had been riding hard since mid-morning, when Keir had emerged from the keep of Dolwyddelan with an expression that suggested had had just emerged from an argument with the devil. He had promptly ordered his charger saddled and upon collecting his gear, rode swiftly from the castle.
Michael, riding hard beside him, deduced what had happened. Keir was clearly upset, silently riding as if to put great distance between himself and the Army of the North. Moreover, Lucan had been left behind, which would not have happened unless Keir had been forced to make a decision based upon his emotions and not his orders. Lucan was left behind so he would not get caught up in Keir’s disobedience. The man could plead ignorance to Keir having disobeyed a direct command.
So they rode hard, like madmen in flight, thundering along the rocky road and hoping the chargers didn’t come up lame from the bad terrain. The weather had cleared from the nasty storm that had blanketed the area for the past several days, so they didn’t have to deal with rain or wind. The roads, however, were muddy and difficult to pass.
They continued for the rest of the day, passing through the burgh of Corwin towards sunset and continuing on even after that. They had already paused twice to rest and feed the chargers, big beasts that functioned on great mouthfuls of wet grass, and as the sun set to the west and a blanket of stars came out in the night sky, the horses were growing weary again. Michael’s charger was beginning to bleed from the mouth so they reined the horses into an easy trot until they came to the next village.
Llangolen was a fairly large town, one that inhabited the Welsh Marches to the east of the Cambrian Mountains. There was one massive street that ran through it, the Street of the Church, and no less than five taverns lining the avenue. There were probably more that they didn’t see because there seemed to be a lot of drunk people walking through the street, disappearing down alleyways or into other taverns.
There was light and music wafting into the dark night, and Keir and Michael dismounted their weary chargers in front of one of the larger taverns. They tethered the beasts and scoped out the area before moving into the tavern, Keir inspecting the room as they walked through the door and Michael covering their back. It was usual when they traveled together that they were on high alert. Trouble was everywhere, especially for men who carried weapons.
Keir went straight to the barkeep and demanded that their horses be tended. The barkeep, a big man with long, thin hair on his balding head, barked at a boy who was working in the kitchen behind him, and the lad bolted from the structure and out into the dark night. As the boy ran off, Keir ordered a meal for himself and Michael.
Michael was already wandering the main room of the tavern in search of a suitable table. It was full of people, drinking and eating and laughing. A blazing fire belched smoke and sparks into the room. Michael found a table near the door where a pair of traveling merchants sat, promptly kicking the men from the table and confiscating it. He tossed the remainder of their meal onto the floor, waving Keir over.
More exhausted than he would admit, Keir removed his gloves, slapping them down to the tabletop as he kicked a chair away from the table and lodged it up against the wall. He sat heavily, pulling off his helm and peeling his hauberk back so he could scratch his scalp.
Serving women began to swarm the table, bringing wine, brown bread and slabs of mutton in gravy. Keir set the helm down next to his gloves and poured himself a healthy measure of wine.
“When did you eat last?” Michael asked as he poured his own wine.
Keir simply shook his head, his handsome face stubbled and weary. “I cannot remember,” he admitted. “It seems like years ago.”
Michael smiled faintly as Keir drained half his cup in one gulping swallow.
“I heard during my travels that your army took a sound beating north of Harlech,” he said. “I cannot imagine that you have had much rest during the past several days.”
Keir sighed with exhaustion. “The Welsh were waiting for us,” he muttered. “Five days of hell just north of Harlech, struggling to make headway so we could make it to the castle. We were boxed in and never budged, at least not until I convinced de Lacy that we needed to call a retreat. Then, and only then, did the Welsh decide to let us go. That is why you found us at Dolwyddelan, licking our wounds.”
“So Harlech is in trouble?”
“From what we know, she has been badly compromised with a very long siege.”
“Where is Edward?”
Keir wriggled his eyebrows. “We have sent messengers out, hoping to slip past the Welsh, but I have not heard anything as of yet. The last we knew, Edward was moving up from the south to aid Harlech. It is quite possible that he met the same resistance we did.”
Michael took a healthy drink of wine before following Keir’s lead into the food. They tore of
f great hunks of bread as they delved in to the meat.
“How was Chloë when you last saw her?” Keir asked, his mouth full.
Michael’s mouth was also full. “She was well and happy,” he replied. “However, I will say that she misses you a great deal. After you left, it took her almost four days to get out of bed. She was quite emotional.”
Keir sighed faintly, with regret. “She is a very emotional woman,” he said. “She put on a brave front the day I left, for my benefit I am sure, so I am not surprised to hear she suffered after I had left. I suspected she would. I suffered, too, although I had no bed to crawl into. I miss her so much that I feel it in my very bones. There is not one minute of one day since we have been apart that I have not longed for her.”
Michael shoved bread in his mouth as another serving wench brought a great bowl of boiled carrots to their table.
“I thought that the missive from Ingilby might send her back to bed again, but surprisingly, she was very strong about it,” he told Keir. “She seemed very resolute and determined to do what she felt best for you and for Merritt. Kurtis had a devil of a time keeping her at bay.”
Keir shook his head, feeling some frustration. “My brother is weak when it comes to women,” he said. “He will let Chloë do as she pleases, afraid to upset her if he protests.”
“He most definitely protested,” Michael countered firmly. “Do not have any doubt for a moment that your brother was not quite upset about Chloë’s determination. He was furious.”
Keir seemed to be drinking much more than he was eating, already well into his second cup of wine. “Tell me more about the missive,” he said. “Who delivered it?”
Michael started in on the carrots. “One of Ingilby’s men, who we promptly threw in the vault,” he replied. “The missive was read in the presence of Coverdale, Lord de Geld, Chloë, Cassandra, Kurtis and myself. Ingilby was clear in his demands. Chloë made her decision to comply but everyone fought her on it, including her father. But your betrothed would not be convinced. Even now, I am positive your brother is sitting on the woman to prevent her from doing anything foolish until you arrive. He is probably counting the minutes.”
“Does Chloë know I am coming?”
“Aye.”
Keir sighed heavily again, drained his cup, and poured himself another. Michael watched him take big swallows from his third cup of wine.
“Eat something,” he shoved the trencher at him. “You will be useless if you drink too much and we still have many miles to go yet before we are at Aysgarth.”
Keir lifted an eyebrow at him but refrained from a snappish retort, knowing he was right. He set the cup down and stabbed his knife into the mutton, bringing it to his mouth.
“It was bad enough being separated from her,” he muttered, his mouth full. “Now with this… how in the hell would Ingilby simply come across my son? I am so confused that my brain is threatening to burst in all directions. But I do know one thing; it seems all too damn convenient for my taste.”
Michael shrugged. “I asked Ingilby’s messenger about that.”
“Asked him?”
Michael gave him a knowing look. “Well, perhaps a bit more than ask. Kurtis beat him soundly and then I asked.”
“What did he say?”
“Very little, I am afraid. He simply said that Ingilby found the boy but would not elaborate. I took him to the vault before your brother could pound him again. A dead man can tell us nothing.”
Keir was still chewing on the tough mutton. “So we are led to believe that Ingilby, a man who has ravenously pursued Chloë for two years, finds out she is betrothed to me and now, suddenly, he has my son and wants to use him in a trade? Chloë for the boy? How did he know about Merritt in the first place?”
Michael shook his head. “As I told you before, I do not know,” he said. “Ingilby’s messenger was not forthcoming with information.”
“Is he still in the vault at Aysgarth?”
“Indeed.”
“Then I will see this man when I arrive and find out what he knows. He will be very sorry he did not speak with you or Kurtis. It would have been much better for him if he had.”
Michael knew that. “He cannot tell us anything if he is dead,” he reminded him quietly.
Keir ignored him, sopping up gravy with his bread. “Damn Lady de Geld for sending out those wedding announcements,” he mumbled. “This is her fault. What did she think was going to happen when Ingilby found out that Chloë was betrothed? Did she think he was simply going to bow out like a chivalrous man? God’s Beard, the man was willing to raze a castle to get to Chloë. How did she think that madman was going to react?”
The wine that Keir had so quickly imbibed was going to his head, making his manner loud and agitated. Michael shoved more carrots in his mouth.
“We shall be at Aysgarth in four days, God willing,” he replied. “Hopefully we will have more answers at that time.”
Keir continued with his food while Michael slowed down and focused on his drink. As they ate and drank, lost to their own thoughts, the door to the tavern opened to admit a big, older knight and a lovely young woman with long dark hair. Michael’s attention was drawn to the young woman as the knight perused the room for a quiet table.
“My, my,” Michael murmured. “What have we here?”
Keir glanced up, seeing the big knight before ever noticing the young woman. He perked up.
“That is de Moray,” he said. “I have not seen him in quite some time.”
“De Moray?” Michael cocked his head thoughtfully. “I have heard that name but I cannot place it. Who is he?”
Keir was already on his feet. “Baron Ashington,” he replied. “His seat is Ravendark Castle far to the south in Dorset. They used to call his father The Gorgon. Have you not heard of the de Moray family? The whole clan has built a reputation on the tournament fields. They are related to Baron Lulworth of Chaldon Castle.”
Michael nodded at his faint recollections. “I seem to remember my father speaking of The Gorgon when I was young,” he said. “I think he said that the man was invincible on the tournament field.”
“So is his son,” Keir held up a hand to the man and his daughter. “De Moray!”
The big knight turned around and all Michael could see was black eyes set within a tired, weathered face. But the features warmed in recognition of Keir and the man smiled faintly as he collected the young woman next to him and made his way to Keir’s table. He was a very big knight with very big hands, evidenced as they rested on the lady’s slender shoulder.
“St. Héver,” Garran de Moray greeted Keir amiably. “I thought you would be dead or in jail somewhere by now. How is it I find you here on the Welsh borders?”
Keir grinned. “I have just come from Wales,” he told him. “There is nasty business afoot there. Edward had need of me.”
Garran lifted a dark eyebrow; he was an older man with black hair streaked with gray. “It is the one time I thank God that I am too old to fight any longer,” he said. “The king has seen enough of my sorry hide. Now he has younger, stronger men like you to do his fighting for him.”
Keir simply smiled, nodding, his attention inevitably turning to the young woman in Garran’s grasp. De Moray looked at her as well.
“I do not believe you have met my youngest daughter,” he said. “This is the Lady Summer de Moray. Summer, this is my old friend, Keir St. Héver.”
The Lady Summer was a slender girl with dark hair and big green eyes. She was quite pretty as she smiled modestly and curtsied crisply.
“My lord,” she said. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Keir smiled in return. “And you, my lady,” he replied, indicating Michael to his right. “This is Sir Michael of Pembury.”
Lady Summer turned her gaze to Michael and went through her practiced curtsy again. “My lord.”
Michael was gallant. “My lady,” he greeted. “Your name is quite lovely and quite unique.”
Michael’s interest in the young lady was evident. “Lovely,” he said, meaning both her and the name. Keir shot him a rather quelling glance and Michael took the hint. He indicated the table. “Will you both sit? Keir and I were just finishing our meal but we would welcome your company.”
Garran pulled out a chair for his daughter, seating her before accepting the chair that Keir handed him over his head. Garran set the chair down next to Summer and plopped his bulk upon it.
“So,” he wearily removed his helm. “Where have you been keeping yourself, Keir? The last time I saw you was in Chippenham, about a year ago. Do you recall?”
Keir nodded, returning to his drink. “I do,” he replied. “At the tournament they held celebrating the fall harvest.”
Garran didn’t stand on formalities; he helped himself to the bread and handed some to his daughter.
“You did not compete,” he cocked his head thoughtfully. “You were with Coverdale’s men.”
Keir nodded faintly, thinking on that particular time. “I did not,” he agreed. “I had not held a lance or sword in a couple of years and did not want to injure myself or someone else. I attended to give support to my comrades.”
Garran’s dark eyes appraised Keir, remembering something he had heard at the tournament, whispers from the knights about Keir St. Héver’s misfortune with his family and the true reason behind his refusal to compete. Tournaments, if nothing else, were ripe fields for gossip.
“I seem to remembering hearing of the loss of your wife,” he said, his deep voice somewhat softer. “I did not have the opportunity to convey my sympathies. I have lost a wife, Keir. I know what it feels like.”
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