Chapter Twenty-Three
“God’s Bones,” Daveigh gasped. “Du Reims is here, too? And de Lara? I am overwhelmed.”
Already, Daveigh was moving forward to greet them properly.
He shook their hands, a customary greeting that had evolved over the centuries to ensure that no man was carrying a weapon to harm the other but, in this case, it was a greeting of genuine friendship and warmth.
Daveigh shook Dashiell’s hand but when he came to Sean, he held the man’s hand just a few moments longer.
“I have not seen you in over a year,” he said, smiling at him. “It is good to see you again, Sean. You are looking far better than you did the last time I saw you. You were still recovering from your terrible wound.”
Sean nodded, hoping that Bric had heard Daveigh’s comment. “Indeed,” he agreed. “It took me some time to recover from that but I did, indeed, recover. I am better than before.”
Daveigh chuckled. “I would agree with that,” he said.
“I’d forgotten how physically formidable you were, but given your reputation when you shadowed John, I should not have forgotten that at all.
I think I remember running from you on occasion, years ago, when our paths had the potential of crossing. ”
It was Sean’s turn to grin. “I hope you run from me no longer, my lord.”
Daveigh shook his head. “Never,” he insisted.
His gaze moved over to Dashiell again, and then to Bentley, and it was clear that he was curious about their presence.
“I suppose I should ask why you have all come, but I can guess. Meanwhile, let us sit and be comfortable while Lady MacRohan shows us her hospitality.”
Eiselle had already sent servants running for some of the cider she had tried to entice the knights with.
As the five men took seats around the feasting table, Manducor was on his knees before the hearth, stoking it into a blaze while the servants had their hands full bringing out food and drink for the lords around the table.
Eiselle was caught up in the rush until Bric reached out, grasped her by the wrist, and pulled her to sit next to him.
“Not you,” he said. “You will sit with us. I do not want you rushing about and tiring yourself.”
Eiselle shook her head at him. “I am fine,” she said. “Stop worrying.”
“I cannot help it. It is my duty to worry over you. I do not want you fainting again.”
She patted him on the cheek to reassure him that she felt fine, indeed. But Dashiell, who was sitting on her other side, heard the conversation and he turned to Eiselle with concern.
“Fainting?” he repeated. “Did you faint?”
“I am fine,” she said in a tone that suggested she didn’t want to discuss it. “My husband worries overly.”
But Bric spoke up. “I do not worry overly,” he said. “You must take care of yourself and my son. I’ll not have you falling to the ground simply because you exhausted yourself. I am going to make sure you rest until he is born even if I have to sit on you to keep you down.”
Dashiell’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “A son?” he said. “Selly, are you –?”
He didn’t finish because it was unseemly for a man to speak of pregnancy to a woman not his wife, not even if the woman was his cousin. But he knew what he heard, and Eiselle smiled to confirm it.
“Aye,” she said. “Did Bric not tell you? We are to have a child in the spring.”
Dashiell looked at Bric in outrage. “Nay, he did not tell me!” he said, sounding angry until he put his arms around Eiselle and gave her a warm hug. “I am thrilled, truly. That is the most wonderful news.”
By this time, everyone at the table had heard what they were speaking of and hearty congratulations went all around.
Daveigh seemed particularly thrilled, going so far as to actually hug Eiselle in his glee.
It was a joyful start to Daveigh’s surprise visit and, through it all, Eiselle kept watch on the man’s expression to see if she could see any disappointment there, for the same reason she was sensitive to Keeva’s reaction to their news.
But she sensed nothing from Daveigh that could be interpreted as sad, and she was grateful.
She genuinely liked the man and she was pleased that the news hadn’t upset him.
In fact, when the cider came, passed around by Manducor who made sure to take the jug for himself when everyone was served, Daveigh insisted on proposing a toast to the unborn MacRohan son.
“I would like to wish Eiselle and Bric the greatest of happiness with this blessed event,” he said, lifting his cup high. “To the coming MacRohan – may strong arms hold you, may caring hearts tend you, and may God’s blessing await you at every step.”
The men around the table lifted their cups to Eiselle and Bric, drinking deeply of the strong cider. Bentley actually choked on it briefly, for it was much stronger than he’d anticipated. Daveigh, too, coughed a few times but that didn’t stop him from taking another long drink.
“Delicious,” he said. Then he set the cup down and looked at Bric. “Tell me – have you decided where Little Daveigh will foster? Are you thinking of sending him to Ireland to be with your father for a time?”
Bric fought off a grin. “Little Daveigh?”
“Of course. What else would you name him?”
Bric started to chuckle, looking at Eiselle, who merely shook her head in resignation. “I was thinking on calling him something other than Daveigh,” he said. “My old master, the one who gave me my talisman, was named Conor. I have always thought to name a son, if I ever had one, Conor.”
“A fine name,” Daveigh said. “But it is very Irish.”
“My son will be half-Irish.”
Daveigh simply shrugged and took another drink of the cider, coughing as he choked it down. “I suppose naming your son is your prerogative,” he said. “But any child named Daveigh would be sure to receive an inheritance, just so you know.”
Bric stood his ground. “And it would be an honor, indeed,” he said. “Would you do the same thing for a child that was not named for you, yet was your godson?”
Daveigh looked at him in surprise. “My godson?”
“Aye. My son will bear the name of Conor and Daveigh de Winter, Baron Cressingham, will be his godfather. When he is baptized, will you stand with him?”
Daveigh grew very serious. In fact, he may have had a tear or two in his eyes. “With all my heart, I will,” he said, suddenly very emotional, whereas moments before he had been in a jovial mood. “Do you mean it, Bric?”
“I never say anything I do not mean. Although I have not discussed it with my wife, I am sure she agrees with me. We would be honored.”
Daveigh was truly touched. He looked at Eiselle, who nodded her head, and then he was overcome with emotion.
“I… I do not know what to say, Bric,” he said, putting his hand over his heart. “You do me the honor. I am overjoyed.”
Bric could see how overwhelmed the man was. Then, he looked around the table, at the knights who had worked so hard with him for the past few days, and the gratitude he felt was beyond measure.
It was the gratitude that Sean had spoken of once, something he’d never spoken of to Bric but, in truth, he didn’t need to. Bric had found that gratitude on his own. He was grateful for his life – and those who loved him, and it showed.
“My son shall bear the name of Conor Dashiell Bentley Sean de Gael MacRohan,” he said quietly. “As I said, I’ve not discussed any of this with my wife, so I hope she agrees, but that is what I should like to name him.”
Eiselle, who had been choking up watching Daveigh’s reaction, turned to the table of knights. “I think it is a wonderful name,” she said. “For what you have all done for Bric these past few days, I am happy to honor you so.”
The knights lifted their cups to her in thanks. The day, so far, had been full of much to celebrate. Bentley was just setting his cup down when he spoke.
“Will you keep the name MacRohan, then?” he asked Bric. “Is it not Irish tradition for the sons to bear the surnames of their fathers?”
Bric nodded. “My father’s name is Rohan,” he said.
“My brothers and I all bear the surname of MacRohan, meaning ‘of Rohan’. But I think I will stop that tradition because it is not something the English follow. My son will be half-English, after all, with the bloodlines of the Earls of East Anglia. MacRohan will become our family name from now on.”
He looked at Eiselle, who was smiling openly at him, and kissed her on the forehead. The joy between them at this moment was immeasurable. Putting an arm around the woman and pulling her against him, his focus moved to Daveigh.
“But I am sure you did not come to discuss family names and baptisms, Daveigh,” he said. “I am assuming there is a reason behind your visit?”
Daveigh’s smile faded as he shifted from the news of his soon-to-be-born godson to the reason for his appearance at Bedingfeld.
“There is,” he said. He seemed serious as he collected his thoughts, scattered by the news of Eiselle’s pregnancy. “Bric, I know you came to Bedingfeld for a rest and I must say that you look much better than you did when you left Narborough.”
Bric glanced at the knights sitting at the table. “I am,” he said, “thanks to these men. Did Keeva tell you that she sent word to Dash on behalf of my wife?”
“She did.”
“Then you must know why they are here.”
Daveigh shrugged. “I can only assume,” he said. “They came to help you.”
“They did.”
“You do look better.”
Bric could see that Daveigh wasn’t quite sure how to ask him just how much better he was feeling and he assumed it was because Daveigh had need of him.
The last time Bric had gone to battle for Daveigh, he hadn’t been ready for it, but Daveigh had let him go anyway.
He understood the reluctance on Daveigh’s part – the man didn’t want to make the same mistake twice, putting a man into battle who was not mentally prepared for such a thing.