“How many men did he have with him?”
“Not many. Hurry and find him.”
A flash of something dark and calculating moved across Nicholas’ features. It was there for an instant and then it was gone; Kaspian never saw it. He was focused on the collection of Welsh and English combatants that were steadily moving in his direction. As he charged towards the crowd of battling men, swinging his broadsword, Nicholas spurred his horse towards the base of the hill where the road led up to Beeston.
There were huge rocks and any number of crevices where men could fight or hide. Nicholas charged towards the mound with several men on his tail, including a few of Kaspian’s men, only to find Cairn and the small group of English soldiers with him being swarmed.
It didn’t look good. They were back in one of the larger crevices at the base of the crag and the fighting was hand-to-hand. Nicholas paused, watching Cairn as the man struggled to fight off the Welsh from atop his roan charger. It was clear that he was struggling, nearly overwhelmed by the sheer number of Welsh, but he was fighting valiantly. He was swinging his sword and his fists, and even his feet. As Nicholas watched, a Welsh fighter grabbed hold of Cairn’s left arm and pulled him off of his charger, back into a cluster of rocks. As the horse bolted off, Cairn was swarmed by men trying to kill him.
This should have been Nicholas’ cue to ride to the rescue, but he didn’t. He simply watched as Cairn fought for his life. What was it St. Hèver had said? We shall be at Lavister until we die. Knights couldn’t live forever, after all. One man falling in battle would not a difference make.
… would it?
That something dark and calculating flickered in Nicholas’ eyes again.
Seeing that the knight was down, the men with Nicholas began to rush in to help him but Nicholas called them off. He held out a big hand, preventing them from charging in.
One man falling in battle would not a difference make….
“Nay!” he bellowed. “I will get to the knight! You clear these Welsh out of here! Get them away!”
It was a command that made little sense but the English obeyed. One man, one of Kaspian’s men, disobeyed the order and ran for Cairn, but Nicholas intercepted the soldier and kicked him in the head, sending the man to the ground, half-conscious. As the fresh English soldiers went to clean up the Welsh beating up on Cairn’s outnumbered and weary troop, Nicholas spurred his horse in Cairn’s direction.
But he didn’t get too close. He simply swung his sword around and looked as if he were going after the men who were overwhelming Cairn. Nicholas knew l’Ebreux distantly; he didn’t know him well. They were not friends. He’d always heard that the man was competent if not a bit too relaxed when it came to his duties. Surely a man like that wasn’t worthy to have a post at Lavister. It was an active and prestigious post that had a lot to do with feasting and soothing the local Welsh warlords. There were opportunities for wealth there, too, in the form of contracts and negotiations. Surely a knight like l’Ebreux didn’t deserve the post. He was a mediocre knight in a land that was full of such fortunate fools. A knight like Nicholas deserved it more.
Therefore, one knight falling in battle would not a difference make.
So Nicholas remained just out of range as Cairn was thrown onto his back, making eye contact with Cairn and seeing the panic in his eyes. Cairn was giving the fight a tremendous effort but it was to no avail. As Nicholas easily dispatched a few Welsh who had rushed him, he made no effort to assist Cairn, who received a dagger to his chest and neck. The Welsh were vicious and relentless, and yanked his helm off, revealing his bright red hair, as they continued to beat and stab him with their crude iron knives.
It would have been a horrific thing to watch for anyone else, but not Nicholas. He was quite detached. When he finally saw that Cairn was beyond help, he rushed in and chased the Welsh off, looking for all the world like a man who had been too late to save his comrade. He even dismounted and picked Cairn up, slinging him over the back of his horse, and looking heroic as he carried Cairn to safety, but by then it was too late. Cairn had bled out from his wounds and there was no longer anything to be done for him. Nicholas took Cairn away from the fighting, back to where the wounded were being tended.
Nicholas also noticed that Kaspian was with the wounded as well, having been felled by a nasty Welsh spear straight to the lower abdomen. With Cairn dead and Kaspian badly wounded, Nicholas took charge of the battle from Thomas Allington-More. Thomas, a seasoned knight with more battle experience than Nicholas, had been swept aside by the brash and arrogant knight. Nicholas was able to take credit for the victory with his fresh men against the weary Welsh, but it was a victory nonetheless.
As a valiant knight in shining armor, Sir Nicholas de Dalyn emerged from the battle of Beeston as the glorious one.
At least, that was what the Beeston commander’s missive to King Edward clearly stated.
The battle at Beeston had a hero, and that hero had a specific request of the king.
Lavister Crag.
CHAPTER TWO
Lavister Crag Castle
Days later
“What shall I tell her?” Mavia hissed. “She will want to see her child!”
An old man in smelly woolen robes and a head of stringy white hair simply shook his head. “She will not,” he said. “She knows her child is dead. He was born with the birthing cord wrapped around his neck. She’ll not ask for him.”
Mavia stood at the chamber door, peeking into the small, cramped chamber beyond where Madelayne had recently given birth. She could see the woman lying on the bed, bundled up and lying on her side. Mavia thought she was sleeping. The child had been big enough, unlike the previous child she had birthed who had been born far too early, but this son had been born with the cord wrapped around his neck and his face shades of blue. It was heartbreaking, truly. Madelayne had feared for this child so and her worst fears had come to light. Mavia sighed heavily.
“My heart grieves for her,” Mavia whispered. “She wanted this child so badly. Why do you suppose such things happen, Dolwyd? Madelayne is a good woman. She is kind to the poor and she is pious. Why should such bad fortunate befall her?”
The old physic shook his head. He, too, could see Madelayne on the bed through the slit in the door. “It is the will of God,” he said simply. “The lass has suffered much loss in her life; her mother dying when she was young, her babes dying last year and this year. Lady Madelayne may have to face the fact that God does not want her to have a child.”
Mavia’s gaze was intense upon the old man. “After you ripped the child from her, it is a wonder she did not bleed to death,” she muttered. “Did you have to be so rough?”
Dolwyd was unruffled by the accusation. There wasn’t much in life that excited or upset him anymore. “The child was wedged in,” he said. “He was stuck. Would you have me lose both the mother and the child?”
Mavia sighed sharply. “Of course not,” she said. “But the way you… God’s Bones, Dolwyd. You literally yanked the child from her body. You tore her to shreds!”
“If I had not, the child would not have been born and Lady Madelayne would have eventually lost her strength and both she and the child would have died. Is that what you would rather see? There is no place for your proprieties, lady.”
“It was not a matter of propriety! It was a matter of your being quite rough with Madelayne. She is not one of the soldiers you tend, you know. You did not need to be so forceful with her.”
As Mavia and Dolwyd whispered outside of the chamber door, Madelayne was very much awake even though she was motionless, facing the wall. She could hear every word spoken, angry whispers from her friend and the calm response of the old physic. As if they thought she couldn’t hear them. Tears trickled from Madelayne’s eyes and onto the pillow beneath her; aye, she knew her son was dead even without the whispers outside her door. She hadn’t even seen the little lad when he’d been born but the way Dolwyd had handed the child off
and the receiving female servant had fled, she knew.
Another dead son.
She didn’t know why she was being punished so. Death had always been part of her life; when she was young, her mother and grandmother died within a few days of each other of a malady the physics could not explain. She’d been raised by house servants after that because her father, a wealthy man, had been too busy with his business to tend to his only child. There really hadn’t been anyone for Madelayne to love or feel close to; with a distant father and no other family, there hadn’t been much to cling to.
But there had been plenty of lost stars in the heavens above to keep her company. That was what her mother had once called dead family members – fathers, grandmothers, and even her mother’s own two brothers had passed on. Lost stars, Madelayne’s mother had called them. Elisabet Gray had been a lost star for many years, too, and was joined by her two grandsons. Madelayne’s babies had become lost stars, now watching over her from above. It gave her some comfort to think that her sons had their grandmother to tend them. That was perhaps the only thing that gave Madelayne comfort, for life on earth was certainly a hellish existence now.
God’s Bones, what was she going to tell Cairn? How was she to face the man and tell him that his second son had died? He had, perhaps, been more excited about the children than she was. He was a man who had married later in life and was thrilled to finally have a family. Only he had no family at all, only a wife who had thus far managed to bear him two dead children. She felt useless, worthless, and sad. The tears began to fall faster onto the pillow.
“Lady l’Ebreux?”
Dolwyd’s dull voice filled the air and Madelayne stirred, wiping at her face as the old man came around the side of the bed to look at her. Their eyes met and Madelayne could feel the weight of the news the old physic bore. Therefore, she spoke first.
“He is dead,” she muttered. “You do not have to tell me. I know.”
Dolwyd simply nodded his head, moving to pull a stool next to the bed as Mavia came to stand at the foot of it. Mavia had a kerchief to her nose and it was clear that she was very upset. Madelayne was somewhat resentful for the woman to be so distraught; it wasn’t her child, after all. It wasn’t her loss. In her grief, she begrudged her friend some grief of her own. At the moment, Madelayne’s grief was the only one that mattered.
“He was born with the birthing cord wrapped around his neck, my lady,” Dolwyd said in his dull, raspy voice. “There was nothing to be done. He had been dead for a while.”
Madelayne looked at the old man, frowning. “But I felt him move only two days ago,” she insisted. “He had been moving the entire time.”
Dolwyd shrugged. “He was more than likely going through his death throes,” he said cruelly, causing Mavia to gasp in horror. “When he was born, there was nothing to be done. ’Tis God’s will that the child be born dead. God has taken him home again.”
Madelayne shifted on the bed, causing herself great pain as she did so. Everything from the breasts down was horrifically sore. She grunted softly in pain as she moved. “Speak not to me of God,” she said. “God is cruel for taking my son away before I was given the chance to feel him tug hungrily at my breast, or before I was able to see the color of his hair. Was it red, Dolwyd? Did he look like Cairn?”
Dolwyd hesitated a moment before nodding his head. “He was a fat baby with Lord l’Ebreux’s hair,” he said. “I had him wrapped carefully and put in the cold of the vault. You may see him if you wish.”
Madelayne thought on that prospect, of seeing the child she had prayed so hard for lying dead in her arms. As ghastly as it sounded, something deep inside her needed to see him and hold him. She needed to see this child she had felt growing inside of her for the past several months. She knew him, when he liked to sleep and when he liked to wake. He was always awake at the oddest hours, kicking her belly in the middle of the night. The thought made her smile but just as quickly, the tears came again. She would miss those little kicks.
She would miss him.
“I will see him,” she whispered. “Have someone bring him to me. I will see him.”
Dolwyd looked at Mavia, who nodded quickly and fled the chamber. She still had her kerchief to her nose. When the woman was gone, Dolwyd seemed to grow serious, which was odd for the usually unemotional physic.
“The birth was difficult,” he said. “The lad was stuck inside of you and I had to fight to free him else you would not have survived. I have sewn you up as best I can but I do not know if you will be able to have more children after this. Mayhap you were not meant to. After two dead sons, mayhap it is a blessing that you cannot.”
He was always frank in his words, lacking the tact to relay them sometimes. Madelayne looked at him, aghast. “How can you say such a thing?” she hissed. “Of course there will be more children for me. How can you so carelessly take away the one ability that makes me a woman? If you take that ability away from me, there is nothing left. I will be useless.”
Dolwyd lifted his eyebrows as if to agree with her. “You have your beauty and your vigor,” he said. “Cairn will not find you useless, I think. He is far gone in love with you so your inability to bear him a son will not matter. I would not worry over it.”
It was a careless thing to say and Madelayne had enough of the man’s tactless manner. He may have been an excellent healer, but he was brash and cruel. At this moment, she didn’t like him at all.
“Get out,” she hissed. “I do not want to see you anymore.”
Dolwyd wasn’t insulted in the least. Women, in his opinion, were often irrational and fickle creatures, especially when it came to childbearing. He simply stood up and pushed his stool over to the wall, tugging on his dirty, smelly robes as he moved for the door.
“As you say, my lady,” he said. “But I will be back later to bind your breasts. Without a child to nurse, they will produce milk and it will become painful for you. Binding them will dry your milk.”
Madelayne didn’t even know what to say. She was overwhelmed with the old physic’s assessment that she may never bear children again and now he wanted to dry up her milk. She didn’t want to surrender to that dismal prediction, not yet. Not now. As Dolwyd quit the chamber, she put her hand to her breasts, which were sore and engorged, and squeezed. Pulling at a nipple immediately brought forth a stream of milk. It stained her gown. She kept her hand on her right breast and began to weep, squeezing the breast and causing more and more milk to leak out. There was something therapeutic in it, something that convinced her that she would still be able to produce a child someday. But if not a child, then this would be the last of it. The last milk she would ever produce.
Milk for a son who was not to be.
Dolwyd could hear Madelayne weeping as he shut her chamber door. He sighed faintly, indeed dredging up the will to feel the least bit sorry for her because after two dead children, surely the woman had a right to be distraught. In time, she would understand that his forthright bedside manner and his inclination to bind her breasts were for the best. As he headed for the narrow stairs that would take him down to the keep entry level, his mind lingered on the lady. He was so distracted with her that he was nearly bowled over by Mavia as she burst out at the top of the steps.
“Great Gods!” Dolwyd hissed, grabbing his chest to still his startled heart. “Are you mad, woman?”
Mavia’s face was white. “The army,” she gasped. “I saw them entering the bailey as I was going to the vault! Dolwyd, they have wounded!”
Dolwyd was on the move.
*
“Is he still alive?”
Thomas was nearly shouting the question at Reece and Ewan. The big de Poyer brothers, grizzled with stubble and exhausted from having transported Kaspian from Beeston, both lifted a hand to Thomas’ inquiry.
“Aye,” Ewan, the older brother, answered. “He is alive, but barely. Did someone send for Dolwyd?”
The bailey of Lavister was chaotic as men poured in t
hrough the gatehouse, both the wounded and the able-bodied. Clouds of dust were kicking up in the air as men shuffled around, disorderly, although Thomas was trying very much to control the throng. Unfortunately, he was more focused on the wagon being driven into the bailey by Ewan that contained not only Kaspian’s, but Cairn’s body as well. Kaspian had been in and out of consciousness, lying next to his dead second-in-command, as Thomas and the other knights returned the army home.
“I will find the old man,” Reece said. He had been in the bed of the wagon, now leaping over the side. “I will see where he is!”
Thomas let him go, watching the young knight rush towards the keep. Meanwhile, he directed Ewan off to the left, over near the stables, to get the wagon out of the way as more wounded were brought in. Out of the nine hundred men Kaspian had taken to Beeston, they’d lost seventeen men and had one hundred and three wounded. Those were fairly significant ratios considering their initial information on Beeston had been that it was a small skirmish. It hadn’t been small in the least and it had been a very costly one.
“Thomas?” Kaspian’s weak voice began to call out to the knight. “Thomas, where is my horse?”
Thomas, hearing his name, bailed from his steed and rushed to the edge of the wagon where Kaspian was squirming about, listlessly.
“Your horse is safe, Kaspian,” he said. “The soldiers are already taking him to the stables to be tended.”
Kaspian kept kicking a big leg, an involuntary action because he had so much pain in his torso that it was radiating down his right leg.
“Have him prepared,” he mumbled.
“Aye, Kaspian.”
“I must go to Chester.”
“Aye, Kaspian.”
After that, Kaspian seemed to drift off again, uncomfortable, feverish, and injured. Thomas simply stood there, looking at the man, before his gaze drifted to Cairn. The big, red-haired knight was wrapped up in a roll of oiled cloth that they used for shelter. He had been dead these two days now and had moved beyond the stiff stage and was now simply limp. He was also changing color, as Thomas could see one of his big hands sticking outside of the material. The bottom of the hand was purple while the top was ghostly white. As he stood there looking at the pair, Ewan came up beside him.
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