“My lady,” his lips were against the side of her head. “I realize that this is more than likely not the most opportune time to speak on this subject, but we have many wounded in the hall that require attention. Though we can hardly expect our needs to supersede your own, I would consider it a personal favor if you could find the strength to tend the men. They are in great need of you.”
Her arms were still around his neck, her face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. When she lifted her head to look at him, Tevin felt a jolt run through him as their eyes met.
“How selfish of me.” Unhappily for him, she slowly unwound her arms from his neck. As he watched her, she struggled for composure. “Your men are injured and all I can do is think of myself. Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
She smiled weakly. “I doubt that is the case, but you are kind to say so.” She wiped at her face, erasing the last of the tears. “I am not usually the dramatic type, but it seems that all you have witnessed since coming to Rochester are dramatics and hysterics.”
It was an effort for him to keep his hands to himself. She was so deeply filled with sorrow and his natural compassion begged to wipe away a tear, or squeeze her hand to ensure some measure of comfort. But he would not. He’d done more than he should have already.
“As I told you yesterday, there is no need for any apology,” he said quietly. “You and your family have suffered a great loss. Your grief is natural.”
Her lavender eyes grew steady. As he watched, she seemed to draw on the last reserves of strength she must have held. But it was a fragile composure. “Grief, indeed. But madness… surely there is no excuse.”
She suddenly stood up, prompting him to also rise. The contrasts in their sizes were pronounced. Tevin was easily twice as wide as the diminutive lady and a head and a half taller. It seemed that she had something more to say to him but could not seem to bring forth the words. After a moment, she simply moved for the door and he followed. But she abruptly paused before opening it and he nearly ran into the back of her.
“May I ask a question, my lord?” she asked.
He was hesitant. The last time she asked a question, he divulged details that had almost driven her to insanity. But he nodded. “Aye.”
“Have you ever lost someone close to you?”
“Many people, my lady.”
“May I ask who?”
“My father, my uncle, my older brother.”
“In battle?”
“I lost my father and brother in the same battle.”
She digested those facts. “When you said that these dark days will pass… will they indeed?”
He nodded, slowly, his dark eyes studying every curve, every delightful contour of her face. “They will appear less so in time.”
“It does not seem like it.”
“I know. But you must trust me.”
She took a deep breath, for strength and for courage, and lifted those magnificent eyes to him. “Your comforting presence has meant more than you can know to me and my family and to that end, I am eternally grateful. To thank you seems wholly insufficient.”
He smiled weakly, feeling humbled. “Your thanks is more than adequate, I assure you.” Then his smile faded. “But you must promise me one thing.”
“Anything, my lord.”
He began to look around as if he’d lost something. Cantia watched as he took a few steps towards the massive wardrobe and reached down to collect the dagger he had thrown. His dark eyes were fixed on her.
“You will never try anything like this again.”
She nodded, embarrassed and ashamed. Opening the chamber door, they made their way down to the hall in complete silence.
Tevin didn’t take any chances. He kept the dirk.
*
Though there were others who were more severely wounded, Cantia’s first patient was Val simply because she happened to be the closest to the door. It took Cantia a matter of seconds to figure out that Val was, in fact, a woman, and her features registered the surprise.
But she said nothing as she examined the patient, determining that she had a few broken ribs and a broken collarbone. Tevin held his sister steady as Cantia and a serving woman bandaged up the ribs and then secured the left arm into a permanent, wrapped position so that the collarbone would heal. It was a relatively simple procedure that had taken less than an hour. But the relief Val, and Tevin felt, was immeasurable.
Cantia had Val moved into the small solar, away from the bulk of the wounded, for the sheer fact that she was female. It was not proper for her to convalesce in a room full of men, even if the woman was dressed like a knight. Oddly enough, Cantia asked no questions of Tevin as to the identity of the female knight. She simply accepted it on face value and moved on to her next patient.
Though Tevin’s attention was focused on settling his sister, he could not help but be distracted by Lady Penden as she moved among the wounded. He was impressed by the fact that she was able to put the needs of others over her formidable grief. It must have been exceptionally wrenching for her to tend men with arrow wounds, knowing her husband had died days earlier in the same manner. But she said nothing, focused on helping those who needed her. From what he’d seen over the past few days from her, he’d expected nothing less.
Tevin eventually accompanied Val into the solar and saw to her comfort there on a bed that the servants had placed near the fire. He was glad that the result of her having been slammed off her charger was just a few cracked bones. In the heat of the battle, it could have been much worse. Val had been given a brew of willow bark that eventually caused her to drift off to sleep somewhere near dusk, at which time Tevin left her alone. He had many others wounded and would use the time to see to them.
The great hall was darkening as evening fell. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, sending ribbons of smoke into the air. As Tevin entered the hall, the first thing he saw was Hunt and his big yellow dog sitting near the fire. The boy had a big piece of bread in his hand and the dog licked at the crumbs on the floor.
“My lord,” Simon Horley somehow had snuck up behind him and he’d never heard him. “How fares Val?”
“She is sleeping,” Tevin replied. “Do you have a casualty report?”
“Nine dead, twenty-seven wounded,” Simon replied. “Considering the fierceness of the battle, I had expected worse.”
Tevin nodded. “Is everyone attended to?”
“Aye,” Simon replied. “Your knights are in the knight’s quarters, awaiting your debriefing.”
Tevin usually gave a small talk after every battle. It was usually to discuss the battle as a whole, how well it was managed, and if there could be any improvements made with skill or manpower or weapons. But tonight, he didn’t feel much like talking about it. Perhaps it was because he had been preoccupied with Val, or perhaps it was because he was too spent. The past few days had been inordinately draining, both physically and emotionally.
“Tell the men to get some rest and we shall speak on the morrow,” he said. “I shall sleep with Val in case she needs anything.”
Simon nodded. “Very good, my lord.”
With a wave of his hand, Tevin dismissed him. At some point, he realized that Hunt was walking over to him, winding his way amongst the wounded on the floor. The yellow dog followed behind. When Hunt reached him, he stood there looking up at him, chewing on his bread.
“Are you hungry?” the child asked.
Tevin shook his head. “Nay, boy. I am here to look after my wounded.”
Hunt took another big bite of bread. “Mam already did that.”
“Where is your mother?”
“In the yard.”
Tevin nodded his thanks for the information and proceeded to the exit of the keep. The kitchens and yard were on the opposite side of the bailey. It took him a moment to realize that Hunt and the dog were trailing after him.
“I thaw the dead men,” Hunt said as they crossed the du
sty ward. “Are you going to give them grand funerals?”
Tevin looked down at him, a disapproving expression across his brow. “Why did your mother allow you to see dead men?”
Hunt had finished his bread, but there were crumbs all over his face. He gazed up at Tevin with blue-eyed innocence. “They were in the ward. I thaw them. One of them had arrowth sticking out of him.”
Just like Brac. Tevin didn’t know what to say so it was best that he say nothing. As they neared the kitchen enclosure, he spied a few women in the yard, bent over a large iron cauldron. It was steaming furiously and they were removing pieces of cloth from the boiling brew with big sticks. Even in the darkness of the bailey, he could see great clotheslines of boiled rags strewn all over the yard.
As he stood at the threshold to the enclosure, Cantia suddenly emerged from the warm, moist kitchen with a tray in her hands. She spoke to the servants stirring the pot, asking them to add more lye to the mixture. The bandages were for the wounded and she wanted to make sure that they were clean. Then she spied Tevin and Hunt at the yard gate.
“My lord,” she headed straight for him. “I was just coming to find you. I thought perhaps you might like something to eat.”
As Tevin gazed at her, he quickly realized one thing; he was glad to see her. “And I was coming to find you to discover the state of my wounded,” he said steadily.
“Perhaps we should go into the keep and discuss it while you eat.”
He merely nodded, allowing her to lead the way. Hunt raced to his mother’s side, holding her hand as they retraced their steps across the bailey. Tevin followed along behind, his eyes alternately scanning the ward and scanning Cantia. He tried not to watch her, the smooth sway of her slender backside, instead focusing on their surroundings. It had long been a habit, as it was the habit of most knights, to be constantly aware of his surroundings. Threats often lingered in the shadows. But no threat this night could capture his attention more than Cantia’s graceful figure.
Somewhere during the day, she had donned a heavy linen apron and tied a kerchief around her head to keep her gorgeous hair out of her eyes. The garments were simple, course even, but she still wore them like a goddess. The woman could wear nothing that made her look bad. But more than that, her spirit seemed much improved. She had greeted him with a clear, even expression and had even smiled, however faint. He was pleased to see that she appeared in a better state of mind.
Entering the cool, dark keep, she took the food into a small alcove directly off the entry. It was barely large enough for three people, but there was a small table and an even smaller hearth that smoked and sparked as she set the food down. Tevin stood just outside of the doorway until he realized that she wanted him to come in and sit down. He did so, silently, as she removed the cloth covering the contents of the tray. A large piece of bread, butter, a pitcher of wine and a knuckle of beef await him.
“I thought you said you weren’t hungry,” Hunt was standing beside him, puzzled, as he eyed the food.
He looked at the boy. “Your mother had gone to much effort to feed me. The least I can do is eat.”
Hunt looked up at his mother. “I’m hungry, too.”
She put her hand on his head. “You ate enough for three people earlier this eve.”
“But I’m still hungry!”
Before Cantia could reply, Tevin tore his bread in two and handed the boy a chunk. “Here.”
“Butter, too?”
Tevin indicated the butter and knife, to which Hunt helped himself generously. The lad pulled up a chair and sat next to Tevin, eventually picking at the beef knuckle. Cantia pulled his hand back the first time he tried.
“Nay, Hunt,” she admonished. “This is his lord’s meal. Consider yourself honored that he has shared his bread with you. Do not ask for more.”
Tevin tore a big piece of beef off the bone and handed it to the boy. His dark eyes looked up at her. “The worst I can tell him is no. There is no harm in asking for more. Most ambitious men do that, and then some.”
She smiled, properly contrite. She put her hands on Hunt’s little shoulders. “Thank you for being so kind to him.”
Mouth full, Tevin watched Hunt stuff his mouth with the beef. “He is easy to be kind to. You have raised your son well.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. “His father deserves a good deal of the credit.”
Tevin’s gaze returned to her, watching a melancholy cloud suddenly drift across her face. He moved to another subject quickly. He said the first thing than came to mind.
“Cantia,” he said, pouring himself more wine. “That is an unusual name.”
She struggled not to linger on thoughts of Brac, focusing on Tevin’s statement instead. “It is the ancient name for Kent.”
“Your family has been in Kent for many generations?”
There was a small three-legged stool in the corner and she pulled it near the table, sitting. “For hundreds of years. In fact, my family had a very specific role in the ancient Kingdom of Kent, something that still carries through to this day.”
“What is that?”
She looked at him, her lavender eyes reflecting the weak firelight. “The firstborn female in my family always married the heir to the throne of Kent. Though the nobility title was passed down through the males, the first born female had the most important role. When William le Bâtard conquered these shores in the days of my grandfather, our role became no less important. But because there is no future king of Kent, I have married into the Stewards of Rochester, traditionally the family that serves the king as the protector of the throne.”
Tevin realized he was watching her mouth as she spoke. It was delightful and captivating. He further realized that she had the same lisp that her son had, though it was barely detectable. He’d never noticed before, but it was something that made her all the more charming. He shoved another piece of meat into his mouth, praying his growing interest in her wasn’t obvious.
“Most interesting,” he said. “In that respect, your family and mine share something in common. We are both of noble lineage predating William’s conquest.”
“May I beg you to tell me of your family’s line, my lord?”
He swallowed the bite in his mouth. “It is rather complicated, but suffice it to say that my grandsire, several generations back, was the second son of the last king of East Anglia. My father held the title Viscount Winterton, heir apparent to the Earldom of East Anglia.”
“How are you related to the seated Earl of East Anglia, then?”
“Geoffrey de Gael, the current earl, is my cousin. My father’s mother was Geoff’s father’s sister. My father inherited the heir apparent title through his mother, as the next eligible male in the line. When he died, I inherited it.”
“I see,” she nodded thoughtfully. “Noble lineages are often very confusing. For example, there is no seated Earl of Kent, which is why I married the stewards of the ancient throne.”
“I know.”
He understood the progression of lineage better than she did but he found it rather touching that she felt the need to explain her position as if he would not have understood the workings of Anglo-Saxon nobility. Reflexively, he smiled at her and she smiled back. It brought him such a feeling of warmth that he just as quickly quelled the gesture by shoving more food in his mouth.
“Something to consider now is the fact that your son has inherited any titles that your husband may have held.” He couldn’t believe he’d brought Brac into the conversation when he’d tried so hard to keep away from the subject. He watched her reaction carefully.
Surprisingly, she didn’t seem to dampen. She merely nodded her head. “Charles holds all of the titles for the time being,” she said. “Hunt will inherit them upon his death.”
“Speaking of which, where is Charles?”
She shook her head. “I’ve not seen him all day. But I am sure he is well, else we would have heard otherwise.”
Tevin eyed her
as he finished the remainder of his beef. “You do not get on well with him, do you?”
She shrugged, careful of what she said with little ears present. “We have always accepted one another.”
Tevin let it go. He could see there was more to it but it frankly wasn’t any of his business. He turned back to the remainder of his food, nodding his head in thanks when Cantia poured what was left of the wine into his cup.
“What is to happen now, my lord?” she asked as she reclaimed her stool. “Are there to be more battles?”
Tevin drained his cup, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I do not know, my lady,” he said honestly. “Since Rochester is closer to Dartford than my own castle, I suspect I will stay here for the time being to protect the crossing. Beyond that, however, I do not know.”
“Do you not have a family that will miss you?” she asked. “Perhaps you should bring them here for the duration of your stay.”
He looked at her, strangely startled by the question. It was a personal inquiry, though he could see by the look on her face that she’d not meant it as such. For the first time since he’d met her, he actually felt uncomfortable.
“No need,” he said shortly, wanting very much off the subject. He abruptly stood up. “My lady, I thank you very much for the meal and conversation. If it would not be too much to ask, I would visit the wounded and be apprised of their conditions.”
He seemed edgy and Cantia stood up with him, wondering what she said to upset him so. Without another word, she led him out of the alcove and into the great hall, full of miserable men lying upon the floor. It smelled of smoke and blood.
As they visited the wounded one by one and discussed their condition, Tevin found himself paying more attention to the sheer grace and beauty of the lady rather than listening to what she was saying. Too soon, they were finished discussing the condition of the men and their purpose for conversation was over. It was growing late.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 47
