Brooke pulled free of Dallas and threw herself against Braxton. Her arms went around his neck.
“Braxton,” she wept dramatically. “I thought you were dead!”
He hugged her, trying not to quash her big belly. “Nay, sweetheart,” he kissed her on the side of her head. “I am not dead. I am very much alive. And you are pregnant.”
He said it with such surprise that her sobs turned into weepy giggles as she pulled back to look at him; he looked healthy and whole, just as she remembered him. Like a vision from a dream, she could hardly believe what she was seeing.
“I am,” she said, seeing his amazement. But it didn’t deter her terror and grief and the tears returned with a vengeance. “Where is my mother?”
Braxton realized what had her so upset; he took her by the arm, passing a glance at Dallas and smiling at his son-in-law.
“I can see you are taking great care of her, Dallas,” he grinned. “And you are looking well yourself.”
Dallas smiled broadly. “As are you, for a dead man,” he said, moving up behind Brooke and putting an affectionate hand on Braxton’s shoulder. “You have no idea how glad we are to see you.”
Braxton wriggled his eyebrows as he began to lead Brooke and Dallas toward the approaching wagon. “As I am very glad to see you,” he said. “There is much to tell.”
Before Dallas could respond, Brooke looked up at him with her big, watery eyes. “What happened after we left Elswick?” she wanted to know. “Dallas sent a missive every week asking for information on you and Mama. We never received an answer. We did not know what happened to you.”
Braxton held her hand, squeezing it gently. “I know,” he said. “There was much going on at Elswick. I was much occupied taking care of your mother.”
Brooke started to well up again as they approached the wagon. “Where is my mother?” she wept, pleading. “What happened to her? Why was she so sick?”
“Because your brother was making himself known.”
The soft, female voice came from the wagon as it came to a stop. Startled, Brooke’s tears vanished as she gazed into the wagon bed and immediately spied her mother. But Gray wasn’t alone; she was propped up against the side of the wagon, holding a downy-haired infant in her arms. Gray smiled at her daughter as Brooke nearly came apart.
“Mama!” she gasped. “Wha… what….?”
Gray laughed softly. “Slow down, sweetheart,” she looked at Braxton. “Help her into the wagon so she can see her new brother.”
Both Braxton and Dallas lifted Brooke up into the wagon bed and it was Gray’s first glimpse of her daughter’s advanced state of pregnancy. She reached out as Brooke scooted over to her, putting her hand on Brooke’s belly and biting off tears of her own. She felt the warm firmness of her daughter’s belly with the greatest of reverence, startled in her own right at the sight of her daughter.
“Look at you,” she gasped, gazing up into her daughter’s rosy face. “Are you well, sweetheart? How do you feel?”
“She is fine,” Dallas was standing at the edge of the wagon, beaming from ear to ear. “She eats more than I do, runs around like a madwoman, and refuses to slow down. I have my hands full with her. She is as healthy as a horse.”
Gray laughed softly, tears finding their way onto her cheeks as she returned her gaze to her daughter. “You really should ease up,” she said softly. “You must take care of yourself and my grandchild.”
Brooke waved her off, peering at the tow-headed baby in Gray’s arms. “I am fine, truly,” she smiled at the round-cheeked, blue-eyed infant. “Oh, Mama, he is wonderful. He looks just like Braxton. What is his name?”
Gray looked down at the baby, cuddled and content in her arms. “Meet your brother,” she murmured, stroking the velvety cheek. “This is Deston de Nerra, a big and healthy boy who very nearly drained the life from me.”
Brooke was cooing and touching the infant, who smiled back at her. She crowed in delight. “He is beautiful! Can I hold him?”
By this time, Braxton and Dallas had moved to the side of the wagon where the women were sitting. Dallas helped his wife to sit on her bottom while Gray handed the baby over to her. Brooke happily cuddled the boy with the white-blond hair.
“He is so sweet,” she crooned, then looked to her mother. “Is this why you were so sick?”
Gray nodded, peeling back the swaddling from the baby’s head and exposing him to the warm sunlight. “He made me ill day and night,” she replied. “I could not eat and could barely keep water down. He was just starting to announce himself when the Gloucester soldiers took us from Creekmere and when I fought with them, I very nearly killed myself from the strain.”
Brooke nodded in understanding, turning back to look at the baby. “It makes sense now,” she said. “But why did you not send word to us before now? We did not know if you or Braxton were dead or alive.”
Braxton’s big hand came to rest on Gray’s shoulder. “Your mother was quite ill for the duration of the pregnancy,” he said. “I spent my time at Elswick keeping both myself and your mother alive. I could not attempt escape because she could not be moved, so my only choice was to stay with her. Moreover, I did not have the type of relationship with de Milne where the man would allow me to send missives; we were, essentially, prisoners. But that all changed when Deston was born. De Milne’s wife, who helped me tend your mother for the duration of her pregnancy, convinced her husband to let us leave. As soon as your mother was strong enough and the baby old enough, we did.”
It explained a great deal. Brooke realized she wasn’t perturbed about it any longer; she was just grateful to have her mother and Braxton back. All of the anguish and grief she felt over the past year suddenly vanished as she gazed at her mother.
“I am so glad you have come home,” she looked at Braxton. “It simply was not the same without you.”
Braxton kissed his wife. “I have always been a wealthy man,” he said softly, his gaze moving to his beloved son, the one he had seen once reflected in Gray’s eyes. “But suppose I never truly understood what it was to be truly rich. If happiness and a family makes a man rich, then I am indeed the richest man in the world.”
Dallas clapped him on the shoulder. “You are very rich,” he agreed. “And we are glad to have our liege back.”
Braxton wriggled his eyebrows. “My time in captivity has taught me something, Dallas,” he looked at the young man. “It has taught me that it is my time in life now to enjoy my wife and children and leave the warring to the younger men. I have put in my time as a knight and commander; now it is my time to enjoy the fruits of my labor.”
Brooke looked at Braxton. “Dallas has been commanding your army for the past year. He has done a wonderful job. He has made a lot of money.”
Braxton grinned. “And he can keep on commanding it, for I am going to stay home and grow fat and lazy with my wife by my side.”
Brooke laughed softly, returning her attention to the infant in her arms. She kissed his little cheek happily.
“I have never had a brother,” she murmured, watching the baby grin. “Welcome home, Deston. Soon you will have a little playmate.”
And soon he did. Fat, healthy Matthew Aston was born on a cool September night, so easily that it was over almost before it began. Brooke hardly broke a sweat while her husband’s light-headed reaction was decidedly different. The following year, Deston was joined by brother Auston and Matthew was joined by twins Andrew and Alexandra. Erith, once a place of doom and hopelessness, was now a place with joy and children. The old de Montfort castle began to live again.
Life went on. Dallas went on to assume the mantle of commander of Braxton’s army but with three little ones at home, he mostly sent Geoff and Niclas out instead, carrying on the legacy of the great de Nerra mercenary army. Like Braxton, Dallas wanted to watch his children grow up. In the years to come, he and Braxton would sit in the great hall of Erith before a roaring blaze, watching five tow-headed youngsters play and gr
ow, thinking that these were the best years of their lives. But then Deston would clobber Matthew, Auston and Andrew would squabble, and screams would fill the air. After the fathers broke up the fights, they still thought it was the best time of their lives. There was no doubt about it.
Sometimes, when all was still and peaceful and the children were in bed, they would discuss that day at the falls of Erith that changed their lives forever. A happenstance on that day turned out to be platform through which greater things were achieved. Dallas admitted once that he thought, as he held tight to the girl clinging precariously on the wet rocks, that he was certain he would lose his grip on her. He even remembered at the time feeling her wet flesh slip away from him, increment by increment, and thought for certain that her life was about to end.
But it didn’t end. He had no idea at the time that his, in fact, had just begun.
* THE END *
KINGDOM BY THE SEA
A Dark Ages/Viking Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
Book One
PROLOGUE
~ In a Kingdom By The Sea ~
Present day
2 km north of Sunderland along the Northumberland coast – Dark Ages settlement site
The wind was whipping up something fierce from the North Sea, sweeping across the sand and rocks and sea grass, kicking up dry flotsam and blasting it through the damp, salty air. Those standing several hundred yards away from the rocky beach were getting pelted by the wicked winds like the scatter of a shotgun blast. It made it difficult to listen to what the tour guide was saying.
“… and, as you can see, archaeologists from the University of East Anglia have excavated a massive portion of this settlement,” the middle-aged man with the thick glasses was practically shouting to his huddling group. “Carbon testing has concluded that most of what you see is from the eighth and ninth century, but local records and lore tell us that this settlement was badly devastated by Viking raids around the beginning of the eleventh century. In fact, this entire area was its own kingdom during that time called Hendocia and ruled by a man who kept his people fairly isolated. Even the Vikings had a name for this place – Havetrike. The sea kingdom.”
As the wind howled and people who had paid good money for this tour began to look around, a tourist in a green windbreaker tentatively raised his hand.
“How is it there was a kingdom here when England united when William the Conqueror came in 1066?” he asked above the wind. “Wasn’t all of England united at that point?”
The tour guide was nodding his head even before the man finished his question. “That’s very true,” he said as the wind whipped his thin gray hair on-end. “William the Conqueror made it up this way in about 1068 A.D. and managed to subdue all of the north, but this area here was ruled by a man named Eathesfed. He came from a long line of Anglo kings who had married into Norse families, so much so that the family was probably more Norse than Anglo, but the point was that he acted as a buffer when the Northmen came and was known to protect the Anglos in this area. Therefore, even before William came to conquer England, Northumbrian kings had left Eathesfed’s family alone for centuries.”
Another hand went up, this one from a small woman with a bright yellow slicker. “So what happened to his kingdom?”
The tour guide began to walk, waving his group to follow. “We’re not really sure what the dynamics were behind it,” he said, “but eventually, the Vikings turned on Eathesfed and through a series of attacks and raids, wiped out the kingdom. Let me show you something over here.”
The group followed him through the rocky paths, between the foundations of homes that used to stand tall and proud against the sea, and down an embankment. Down here, the dunes provided some shelter from the vicious wind as they entered a flattened area with several mounds dotted about it. The mounds were rocky and man-made, but over the centuries grass had grown over them. The tourists began to disburse as they studied the rocky mounds.
One young woman in particular separated herself from the group. She was rather tall with long, red hair tied up in a messy ponytail that was being battered by the wind. She wandered down one branch of the rocky path, examining the big, grassy mounds.
Behind her, she could hear her boyfriend and his parents, chattering in that annoying fashion that seemed so exclusive to their family. She’d never even met his parents until they joined them on vacation here in Britain, and then it became all about them and their desire to seek out their roots. Gone were the plans she and her boyfriend had made. Now, it was all about Mom and Dad, and the boyfriend went right along with them.
She was genuinely trying to be patient and flexible, but Mom and Dad apparently didn’t have the same attitude, hence ending up at this Dark Ages site on a tour that was taking them to every sand dune and grassy swamp in Northumberland. The old folks had taken over. Boyfriend had turned into a pussy. She was thinking that an abrupt return to America was looking pretty good right about now – alone.
“Everyone,” the tour guide was calling above the whistling wind. “Come over here, please. I would like to show you some of the local lore.”
The young woman glanced over to her right, seeing that the tour guide was standing near one of the big, grassy mounds. She wandered over in that direction, realizing that the mound didn’t look like the others; it seemed kind of big and box-like whereas the other mounds were round. More than that, there was a pillar-like rock positioned next to it, worn down over the centuries of taking a beating from the elements. The tour guide lifted his hands to get the group’s attention.
“Here we have the basis for some local folklore,” he said, pointing to the box-shaped mound. “It is said that a fair maiden died young and was buried in this tomb. The pillar next to it is reputed to be her lover, who was so distraught at her passing that he stayed next to her tomb and refused to move, eventually turned to stone by the sand and sea salt. Do any of you recall the poem by Edgar Allan Poe entitled Annabel Lee?”
A few people nodded but most shook their heads. The tour guide continued. “It is rumored that Poe wrote that poem based on this tale of a young maiden’s death and her lover’s refusal to leave her side.” He reached into his pocket and began to pull out pieces of green copy paper, cut into quarters, and handed them out to the tourists. “Here is the poem in full, but when you read the last stanza, I think the impact of this tomb and its lonely pillar becomes more poignant. A woman who died young and the young man who refused to accept it.
‘For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: –
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling – my darling – my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea –
In her tomb by the sounding sea.’”
Everyone was reading the paper, talking amongst themselves and jockeying to get a better look at the tomb and pillar. The boyfriend and his domineering parents pushed through some people to walk right up to the pillar and touched it with their greedy hands. At least, that’s what the girlfriend was thinking as she watched them. She was thinking they didn’t have a right to touch it. She was really coming to hate those people.
Turning away, she walked along the backside of the boxy tomb. Grass was mostly grown up all around it but here on the backside, there had been some protection from the driving wind and sand that came up off the ocean. The backside wasn’t as grassy. In fact, there were patches of stone that were visible through the growth. The girlfriend knelt down next to a particularly exposed patch near the bottom, peering at what looked like some kind of carvings.
It was a swirly pattern, she thought. No…not swirls, petals. Yes, definitely petals, shaped like a dome. As she dared to reach out and brush away some of the accumulated sand and dirt, she could clearly see flowers etched into the stone. A
s she brushed away a little more dirt, she caught the flash of blue out of the corner of her eye.
Bluebells. They were growing wild amongst the sea grass, tiny bells of blue among the vastness of the grayish-green grass that flowed so sleek and shimmery as the wind blew. A glimmer of an idea came to her as she watched the bluebells dance and she looked back to the etchings on the tomb. Indeed, she thought they might be the bluebells all around her. The glory of life carved on a monument to death. The more she gazed at the bluebells, the more certain she was that those were the flowers on the stone. The fair young maiden had undoubtedly loved them.
Standing up, she brushed the sand off her knees and moved around the front of the tomb. The tour group including the pushy Mom and Dad had moved off to another series of tombs towards the north. The boyfriend trailed behind them. The girlfriend’s gaze lingered on the tour group a moment before turning her attention to the pillar. It was just a stark piece of rock, worn in the elements and, just like the handsy Mom and Dad, she found she couldn’t resist putting her hands on it, too, but in her case it was different. As her hands drew near, it was as if she felt she had a right to touch it. It wanted her to touch it. She could feel the pull like a moth to the flame. The girlfriend put her hands on the stone.
A strange sense of warmth immediately enveloped her. Shocked, she yanked her hands away. She stared at the pillar as if seeing it through new eyes. Over to her left, the tour guide was calling his group. The settlement is this way! She could hear him yelling but she was reluctant to respond.
Impulsively, she put her hand on the stone again and the same sense of warmth swarmed over her, like the embrace of a lover. She gasped and yanked her hand away. Maybe she was going crazy. As the tour guide called to the herd again, she knew she didn’t want to go but if she didn’t, it was a long walk back to civilization. There was something about the mysterious pillar, this ghost of a romantic legend, that made her want to stay.
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