“She’s in her chamber. I’ll take you to her.”
Ram eagerly took the infant from her father, gazing with awe at his beautiful granddaughter. “Leave the child with me. Go to your wife. What are you looking pleased about, Mabelle?”
Ascha led her son to Agneta’s chamber, but declined to enter with him. She sobbed as she embraced him then pushed him to the door. He entered, closed the door behind him, turned slowly and saw his wife standing in the middle of the room, waiting.
If he’d rehearsed his speech to the countess a hundred times, the words he wanted to speak now had gone through his mind a thousand times. They stared at each other and his thoughts fled. All he could think of was how much he loved her, how much he’d missed her.
“Agneta—my Agneta. I’ve longed for this moment, and now I’m afraid.”
Suddenly his father’s words came to mind and the simple truth tumbled out. “I love you more than I can ever tell you. I accept you can’t love me—will probably never forgive me for—”
“Caedmon,” she gasped, rushing across the room to embrace him. “All I care about is that you’ve come back to me. My love for you overwhelms me. I thought I would go mad if you didn’t return. I’ve ached for you.”
“You love me?” he asked incredulously.
She kissed his face, his hands, and then his face again. “I’ve loved you from the first moment I set eyes on you, on the moor at Alnwick.”
He pressed her body tightly to his, burying his face at her neck. “And I’ve loved you since I first saw you in the infirmary. What a fool I’ve been. I’ve wasted much of our lives because of my pride and hatred. I failed you, Agneta. I wasn’t here when you brought our beautiful daughter into the world.”
At that moment, a faint wail came from the corner of the chamber. Caedmon cocked his head, confused as to the source of the sound. He loosened his grip on Agneta.
She took his hand and led him to the cradle where his son was making his demands known.
“Your son wants to be fed,” she said, picking up the baby.
Caedmon was dumbfounded, and it took him a moment to understand.
“Twins?” he murmured with bemusement. “You birthed twins? My grandfather was a twin.”
Agneta nodded and undid the child’s wrappings to proudly show him his son’s maleness.
“My son,” he breathed, touching the baby’s head and stroking his wife’s hair. “The two birds.”
“What?” Agneta asked.
He told her about the dream as she prepared to feed the babe. Watching his child happily suckle on his wife’s heavy breast, he was overcome with emotion and had to blow his nose.
“Your daughter is probably getting hungry too, if you want to go get her and bring her to me,” Agneta suggested with a smile.
He didn’t want to take his eyes off the scene he’d been watching with rapt attention and walked into the door as left. He hurried back to the main hall, where the infant had indeed started to fuss. Ram handed the child to him, beaming as he told Caedmon, “I’ve always been good with babes, but I can’t satisfy her needs at the moment. And I hear I’ve yet to meet her brother.”
Caedmon strode back, holding the child carefully, afraid to drop this speck of life he held in his hands.
“Agneta, no man was ever more blessed than I. You’ve given me a priceless gift, two of them, and I thank you for it.”
“They are our gift to each other,” she replied, blushing. “I can’t take my eyes off this magnificent bronzed warrior in the strange uniform—in case I discover he’s not actually here.”
Caedmon shifted the baby to another position in an effort to stop the wailing. “I’m here, and I’ll never leave you again. What did you name them?”
“We had to choose without your help, for their baptism. I hope you approve of my choices.”
“I’ll love whatever you chose.”
“Our son is Aidan Branton, after my brothers, and our daughter is Blythe Lacey, a Saxon name and a Norman name.”
“Blythe is getting hungry,” he said loudly, over the squirming infant’s screams. He placed her carefully at Agneta’s other breast, brushing his hand lovingly over the milk-swollen globe and experiencing a pleasant erection.
“And so am I. Do you have enough milk for both?” he asked shyly.
“They have a wet nurse, but I wanted us to share this first time together,” she whispered, smiling at his discomfort.
“Thank you,” he said huskily, embarassed that he felt jealous of his own children.
Reconciliation
“You’re still a beautiful woman, Ascha.”
Sitting alone in the gallery, lost in her thoughts, Ascha hadn’t heard Ram enter.
“My lord Rambaud! It’s not—” She slipped from the chair and sank to her knees, bowing her head. She clenched her fists, trying to quell the feelings raging in her breast.
“Don’t worry, Ascha. Mabelle knows we’re speaking with each other. Do not kneel before me. It’s I who should grovel at your feet.”
She looked up at him and could see by the stiffness of his shoulders and the uncertainty on his face, that he too struggled with intense emotions. He was as handsome as she remembered. The silver in his hair made him more attractive.
He seemed unsure. “I would assist you to rise, but it’s as well if we don’t touch. I don’t want to offend.”
“Your touch would not offend me, my lord.”
She offered her hand, hoping desperately she would feel nothing when their fingers touched. It was a forlorn hope, but she determined not to let her reaction show as he helped her to rise.
He let go of her hand quickly. “I thank you for Caedmon. He’s a fine man.”
“He’s like his father,” she whispered.
“I wish you’d told me, but I understand why you couldn’t. You’re a woman of remarkable courage to have survived the journey to Scotland, and to have prospered there, alone with a young child. You never married?”
She shook her head. “There was never anyone I wished to marry. I survived on my memories and on my love for Caedmon. You and your countess are generous to recognize him as you have. You won’t be sorry.”
“I know. We’re immensely proud of him. Caedmon Brice, eh? Clever.”
Ascha reddened and smiled. “Yes, it was my secret.”
Ram laughed and the warm sound rolled through her. “What will you do now, Lady Ascha?”
“I’ll return to Shelfhoc with Caedmon and Agneta and help them with the children. I have nowhere else to go, and Shelfhoc is a comfortable manor, big enough for all of us. I thank you for your stewardship of it for all these years.”
Ram nodded. “I hope you find contentment, milady.”
“I’ve found it already. I’m content Caedmon has found happiness with Agneta, and now knows, and is proud of, his true heritage. I no longer have to keep hidden secrets. I will devote myself to being the perfect grandmamma.”
And I will always love you.
“I too am a doting grandsire,” he laughed, then sobered. “That’s something else we share. They’ll never want for anything. I swear it. I regret the burdens you’ve had to bear alone.”
“You’re an honorable man, Ram, and I’m confident these children will bring more honor to your name and your household. Caedmon was never a burden.”
“Have you talked with him since our return?”
“Only briefly. I couldn’t speak.”
“He’s waiting for you. Will you take my arm and I’ll escort you to him?”
Ascha inclined her head, and placed her hand on Ram’s arm. “Thank you, my lord earl.”
“Caedmon, forgive me.”
He took his mother’s hands and pulled her back to her feet.
“There’s nothing to forgive, mother. Come, sit with me.”
Ascha sat in the chair by the hearth, facing her son. “But I lied to you. It was my wantonness and lies that almost destroyed you.”
He leaned forw
ard and took her hand. “I understand why you did what you did. My father told me what happened after Hastings, what it was like—for both of you. I humbly beg your forgiveness for the way I treated you.”
She looked away. “I deserved it. I was weak.”
He squeezed her hand. “Look at me.”
Ascha lifted her eyes.
“You’ve never been weak. Your courage has made me the person I am.”
She choked back a sob.
“What was your husband like?”
Ascha’s eyes widened with surprise. “He was a brute,” she whispered.
“He beat you?”
She shifted uncomfortably and looked away again. “Sometimes, when he was angry. He was a difficult man to please. I found it hard. My father was a warrior, but he was never a violent man. I wasn’t used to it.”
Caedmon rose, drew his mother up from her chair, put his arms around her trembling shoulders and embraced her. He suspected her husband had not cared much about pleasing her either and his heart ached for her. He understood why his mother had lain with Ram de Montbryce.
“Don’t cry. I should have known brutality is not solely the purview of Normans. I’m glad I’m not the son of such a man. Better he died at Hastings.”
Ascha nodded. “You’re a son to be proud of. I’ve never regretted your birth for one moment.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and held her away from him, smiling. “And you’ve no doubt taken secret pleasure from my middle name.”
She too smiled and blushed. “It was wicked of me. I wanted some small part of you to bear a trace of your real father.”
“It means more to me now. There’s something else you probably aren’t aware of. The thirteenth day of November is Saint Brice’s Day.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s the day the Battle of Alnwick took place.”
“Oh, Caedmon.”
He sensed his mother still loved Ram de Montbryce, and he grieved for her that it was a hopeless love. He silently thanked the saints he was a man whose deep love for his wife was returned in full measure.
Ram gave orders for a special feast to celebrate everything they had to be thankful for—the Yuletide season, their safe return, the birth of two healthy children, and the reunion of Caedmon and Agneta. The hall was filled with the Ellesmere men-at-arms and their commanders, and local noblemen and women. The aging Trésor, still the doyenne of the kitchens, outdid herself and they feasted on roasted lamb, pigeon pie and trout. Trésor always acknowledged her debt for the secret recipe to the now dead La Cuisinière. The ale and wine flowed freely.
Caedmon and Agneta proudly carried Aidan and Blythe around to every table for everyone to see. At the end of the meal, Ram stood and raised his hand. The hall fell silent.
“This day, it’s my honor to recognize, before all, Sir Caedmon Woolgar as my son. He’s a child begotten of my seed and the body of Lady Ascha Woolgar not long after the battle of Hastings.”
He nodded to Ascha, who was also seated at the head table. A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd, and they looked at Mabelle, sitting next to Rhoni, who both continued to smile regally.
Ram came down from the dais to stand at the front of the assembled gathering. Baudoin stood at his side, trying to look serious, a rolled and beribboned parchment in his hands.
“I call Sir Caedmon Woolgar to stand before me.” Ram’s voice was authoritative.
Caedmon obeyed.
Ram looked at this younger replica, the same stance, the same set of the shoulders, the same face.
“Sir Caedmon.” He paused and coughed, momentarily overcome with emotion. “Sir Caedmon, as Baudoin and I travelled with you through many countries this past autumn, we came to know you as a man of courage, honor and fortitude. I’m proud to call you my son, and we welcome you to our family. I bestow upon you the right to bear the name FitzRam.”
He paused, unsure if his son would accept the gesture. Did Caedmon understand the enormous honor he was granting him in Norman eyes? An almost imperceptible nod from Caedmon reassured him, and he continued. “As a token of our love and esteem for you, and your family, I also deed to you the manor houses and estates of Pagham, Tangmere and Slindon in Sussex.”
With a flourish and a smile, Baudoin handed Caedmon the official document, prepared before they’d left on the quest.
“I feel I’ve been struck by lightning, and am perhaps imagining all this,” Caedmon said as he broke the seal and unfurled the parchment. He scanned the document then looked at his father. “You ceded these lands to me and my family before knowing if I would ever return. You wanted to take care of Agneta.”
Ram nodded.
Caedmon whispered, “The Romany spoke true.”
Ram looked at him inquiringly, but his son shook his head.
Caedmon went down on one knee and his father held out his right arm, palm down, fist clenched. Taking a firm hold on Ram’s wrist with his left hand and placing his right hand over his heart, he swore his allegiance, keeping his eyes fixed on his father’s face.
“Since my lord Earl of Ellesmere has asked me to acknowledge to him my fealty and homage for the manors with which he has today gifted me and my heirs, in the name of the Lord, I, Caedmon Brice FitzRam, knight of Ruyton, in the presence of my mother, Lady Ascha, my son Aidan and my daughter Blythe, and my wife, Agneta, my brother, Baudoin, my sister, Rhoni, my lady Countess Mabelle de Montbryce, and of the nobles and other honorable men here gathered to honor our return, and the birth of our children, I acknowledge to you, my lord Rambaud de Montbryce, Earl of Ellesmere, that you are my liege lord—and my father, and I am your loyal man.”
He took out his sword and handed it, hilt first, laying the blade across his arm. Ram nodded, took it from him, held it up, turned it and gave it back, never once averting his eyes from Caedmon’s.
“Let the feasting begin,” the earl commanded.
Applause and cheering filled the room.
“Lady Agneta FitzRam, please come forward.”
Still floating on a cloud of pride after watching her husband acknowledge his father, Agneta felt sure everyone in the hall must have heard her gasp as her head shot up in surprise. The Earl of Ellesmere had summoned her to the dais as the remains of the meal were being cleared away. She turned in her seat to look at Caedmon for some clue, but he seemed as surprised as she. She rose and walked on unsteady legs to stand in front of the earl, head bowed.
“My lord,” she whispered.
“Lady Agneta, it has come to my attention you are the rightful owner of a manor in Northumbria known as Kirkthwaite Hall.”
She looked up at the earl and saw kindness in his eyes. She stole a glance at Caedmon whose expression told her nothing. She cleared her throat. “Kirkthwaite Hall belonged to my parents. It was built by my grandparents.”
“And you are their only surviving issue?”
“Yes, with my children.”
Ram cleared his throat. “I have sent messengers to the king, establishing your right to the manor and all it entails. I’m confident of a positive reply.”
The tears came unbidden and rolled down her cheeks. “It’s a ruin,” she choked.
“I’ve also asked for his assistance in rebuilding the hall and manor house. Rufus will recognize the benefits of a prosperous estate in that area of Northumbria now Roger de Mowbray has been disgraced and imprisoned. I’m sure you and my son can restore it to its former standing.”
She looked up again. The earl’s smile filled her heart and she could barely speak. “Thank you seems little to say in return, my lord.”
Caedmon rose from his chair, nodded to his father and escorted his wife back to her place. Agneta felt his hand tremble at her elbow.
They’d retired to their chamber. Caedmon sat, gazing at Blythe cradled to his chest. Whenever he looked at the child, he marveled at her resemblance to Agneta. His daughter slept peacefully, unaware of the thudding of her father’s heart as he waite
d for Agneta to finish reading his codex.
Finally, his wife sighed and and he plucked up the courage to steal a glance at her, perplexed to see tears. He rose and lay the child in her cradle, then strode over to where Agneta sat, the closed codex on her lap, her hands folded atop it. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. As soon as he touched her, the blood rushed to his groin.
“Don’t cry, Agneta. I didn’t want to make you sad.”
“I’m not sad. I’m filled with a happiness that makes me want to weep. You truly love me.”
He sat down beside her, took her hand and placed it on his erection. “Did you ever doubt it?”
She giggled. “No. I’m fortunate to have a lusty man like you for a husband.” The smile left her face. “I grieve for the torments and trials you underwent on the Crusade.”
He put his hand on her thigh. “But the experience made a better man of me, though it hurt you when I left.”
She put her hand atop his. “I’m stronger too. I’ve learned not to let my hatred and resentments rule me. I thank God for bringing you back safely to my side.”
“And our children will perhaps benefit, if we teach them the futility of hatred.”
She smiled. “The best way to do that is to preserve this book of yours and make sure they read it as they grow older. I’ll make a new cover for it.”
“And I’ll teach you how to make quills, but first—”
She screamed with laughter as he pushed her back onto the bed. The codex fell to the floor.
“Your journal,” she spluttered.
“Later,” he replied.
“Caedmon,” Agneta whispered as they lay skin to skin in each other’s arms that night, listening to the steady breathing of their sleeping infants. “Your father has given us the Sussex manors, but when Kirkthwaite Hall is rebuilt, would you want to live there? You’ve said often you would like a piece of Northumbria for yourself.”
He looked at her with surprise. “I would like that very much. I’m a northerner at heart. And my mother wants to return to Shelfhoc, though she’ll be without a knight.”
Redemption (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 3) Page 20
