Chapter Thirteen #3
Bric knew that; God, he knew that. He knew that the respect of the army was hard fought and easily lost. If he lost it, there would be nothing left. He would no longer be de Winter’s High Warrior. The mere thought of losing everything he’d worked so hard for made his palms sweat.
“I understand, my lord,” he said. “As I said, it will not happen again.”
Daveigh’s gaze lingered on him for a moment. “You do know there are rumors about that you are not the same man you were before your injury.”
“I do.”
“When I see how you are with the new recruits, it is easy to believe you are not the same man. The Bric MacRohan before his injury was a harsh, sometimes brutal taskmaster, yet you were always fair. That is why the men loved you so. The man I have seen training these new recruits as of late is more of a nursemaid than a master. Everyone is seeing it, Bric.”
Bric sighed heavily. “Then what would you have me do? What do you want me to do? I am doing my best, Daveigh.”
It was rare that Bric called Daveigh by his given name, but that was the type of relationship they shared. They were not simply liege and servant; they were friends and kin, as well. Daveigh moved in his direction, his manner subdued.
“I want you to leave Narborough for a time,” he said quietly.
“The men know you are still recovering from your injury, so it will be a simple thing to tell them that you need rest. Go to Bedingfeld Manor in the countryside with your wife and stay there until you feel as if you can watch an arrow fly again without coming apart at the seams. You have a new wife, Bric; enjoy her, rest, and relax. Take the time away and recover yourself. I need my High Warrior in top form and if you must take a rest to do that, then so be it.”
It wasn’t a bad idea, in fact. Before his injury, Bric had been thinking of asking Daveigh for a lesser post and his own command so that Eiselle could have a home of her own.
And he knew Bedingfeld; it was like heaven out there in the countryside.
A fortified manor with a small lake and a beautiful garden from what he remembered.
A perfect place to take his new wife so they could spend some time alone, and perhaps he could overcome the urge to run when he saw an arrow.
In truth, he had scared himself with that reaction because it hadn’t been something he’d been able to control.
Perhaps Daveigh was right.
The High Warrior needed to regain his form.
“Very well,” he said after a moment. “If you believe that is best, then I will go.”
Daveigh was relieved that he wasn’t going to have a fight on his hands. He went to Bric and put his hand on the man’s shoulder.
“I respect you more for agreeing to go,” he said.
“Had you fought me on this, I would have believed you to be in denial that there may be a problem. But I truly do not believe there is any shame in this, Bric. My father went through it. Many men go through it. I know there is talk of a weak heart or of dishonorable behavior when something like this occurs, but I do not believe it is either. A man’s mind is a vast and mysterious thing, and there are times when even the best of us must deal with something we cannot control. ”
Bric appreciated that Daveigh was being understanding over something that Bric didn’t even understand himself. What he felt wasn’t something he could put into words.
“Mayhap I can use some time away,” he finally said.
“In truth, before all of this happened, I was going to ask you if you could station me at Roxham or Wissington so that Eiselle could have her own home. Here, she is one of Keeva’s women, but at one of the lesser castles, she could run it how she saw fit. ”
Daveigh nodded. “Every woman wants her own home,” he said, trying to make it seem like it was a good thing for Bric to leave Narborough.
“Go to Bedingfeld for a time and if you like it, you can remain there. If not, I will move you to one of the other castles. Go where you like, Bric. You may choose.”
This way, it wasn’t like Daveigh was sending Bric away for his mental health. It was more a mutual decision, so Bric could heal completely and get control of his nerves, and Bric appreciated that.
It left him his dignity.
In truth, he felt better than he had in weeks.
He felt there was hope for him to return to the man he once was.
He had no idea what was happening to him and an understanding liege helped tremendously.
With time away, he could sort himself out and deal with whatever was happening.
But just as he and Daveigh were heading towards the table where the maps were, so they could take a look at all of the de Winter properties where Bric and Eiselle could go, Mylo suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“My lord,” he said, somewhat breathlessly, as he had run all the way from the main gatehouse. “We have a rider from Castle Acre. The French have amassed and are attacking both the town and castle. De Warenne begs us for help, my lord.”
It was unwelcome news, but not entirely surprising.
Daveigh looked at Bric, who had a stony expression on his face.
In fact, it was unreadable, like a marble statue.
It was the face of a man who had confronted war many times, a man who knew his duty no matter how he personally felt.
As of this moment, Bric MacRohan was still in command of the de Winter army and Bric’s gaze lingered on Daveigh for a moment longer before turning to Mylo.
“You and Pearce shall muster the army,” he said. “And we will bring the new recruits. There is no better time for them to gain experience than in an actual battle, so make sure they are mustered. I will join you shortly.”
Mylo nodded and fled. Bric began to follow, moving swiftly, but a word from Daveigh stopped him.
“Bric,” he said quietly, firmly. “You do not have to…”
Bric cut him off. “There is a war to fight, my lord, and the de Winter army has been summoned,” he said, turning to look at him. “Unless you tell me I am no longer in command of the army, then my place is at its head. Am I still in command?”
As Daveigh looked at him, it seemed like the old Bric to him – immovable, fearless, ruthless.
Sending the man into battle, given how his manner had been over the past several weeks, was against his better judgment, but Daveigh couldn’t in good conscience hold him back.
Bric was a knight; he had been for most of his life.
He needed to do what he did best, or die trying.
“Aye,” Daveigh said. “You are still in command.”
Bric’s gaze lingered on him a moment before heading out of the solar, following Mylo’s trail out of the keep.
When he was gone, Daveigh stood there a moment, wondering if he’d made the right decision. He was still standing there when Keeva entered the chamber, her eyes wide with concern.
“What’s it all about, Daveigh?” she asked. “Why are Mylo and Bric running?”
Daveigh didn’t even know where to start.
He didn’t want to tell Keeva about Bric’s mental state, fearful that she wouldn’t understand.
Keeva was a wonderful woman, and he loved her dearly, but she didn’t quite understand what fighting men went through.
She’d never faced a battle herself; not even a siege.
Therefore, he wasn’t going to tell her about Bric because he didn’t want her scolding the man for being a weakling.
There were some things that Daveigh was apt to keep to himself.
“A rider from Castle Acre,” he said. “Sounds as if the French are going after the town and de Warenne has asked for help. I’m off to see the messenger myself to find out what is going on; meanwhile, Bric and Mylo are mustering the army.
Can you please keep the women and children inside the keep?
The last thing we need is Eiselle wandering into the outer bailey or, worse, that little beast Eddie running amok while men are being assembled. ”
Keeva nodded swiftly; she knew what needed to be done, as she’d been through this procedure many times. “I will,” she said. “Is that all you need me to do?”
“That is all, love. I will return when I know more.”
Quickly, he quit the keep, heading out into an outer bailey that was starting to roll with the chaos of men, driven by a big Irish knight with a voice that carried across mountains.
A big Irish knight who would soon be facing the challenge of his life.