Chapter Fourteen
The bowl, with the porridge in it, went sailing across the room. The servants shrieked and fled the room as it hit the wall and splattered on the fine chair nearby.
“I told you that I did not want porridge!” Tad shouted after them. “The next fool who brings me porridge shall feel my hand to their backside!”
Goring Hall was in an uproar. Nine days after the ambush that seriously injured him, Tad was feeling infinitely better thanks to the finest physics his father could employ.
One man had come from London and the other all the way from York.
The chest wound had been deftly sewed and, most fortunately, no poison had set in. It had truly been a miracle.
Tad had recovered quickly, thanks to his youth and good health, but now the physics had a more seriously problem on their hands. The young man did not want to stay still.
“My lord, you are still recovering,” the first physic, a skinny man with wild red hair, tried to remain calm. “It is in your best interest to keep your diet without fatty foods. Porridge is easily digestible and….”
Tad was sitting on the edge of his bed, a little paler and thinner than usual, but certainly looking healthy enough. He interrupted the physic’s prattle.
“I want meat,” he stressed angrily. “Breads and sweets. Give me something more than this… this rubbish.”
The physic sighed heavily, looking to his shorter, rounder associate for support. As he prepared to deny the young man, Ovid entered the room.
The man was thrilled that his son had recovered so quickly, so much so that he had the entire family saying prayers three times a day in thanks.
His son’s mood was foul but he didn’t seem to mind; he entered the room happily, greeting his son with a kiss to each cheek as the young man pushed him away.
“Tell them to bring me meat,” Tad demanded. “I want beef pie. Kidney pie. Anything but this slop they are trying to feed me.”
Ovid wouldn’t dare deny his son’s request. He looked to the physics as they huddled a few feet away. They were the same men who had saved his son’s life so he tried to be somewhat respectful to them.
“The boy requires meat,” he pleaded. “Can you not see how much better he’s feeling? Meat will do him a world of good.”
The skinny physic tried to deter him. “But, my lord, his body cannot….”
Ovid cut him off, though not entirely unkindly. “Please,” he said, although it was a command and not a request. “Go and select something appropriate for him to eat that does not include food you would feed infants. I implore you.”
The physics looked at each other, shrugged, and quit the room in a manner suggesting they were not at all pleased. They knew best, but the spoiled young man always got what he wanted. His father saw to that. Ovid watched them go before returning his attention to his son.
“They are only doing what they feel best,” he said. “You could try to be more cooperative.”
Tad shrugged and looked away. “What news have you brought me today?”
He was changing the subject to the one and only thing that had held his interest for the past nine days. He would hardly speak of anything else and Ovid, still hell-bent on vengeance against Richmond le Bec, was more than willing to indulge him.
“It is as we suspected,” he said. “Le Bec left Lambourn the morning after the battle and took Lady Arissa with him. I have paid people well to glean information to this regard and from what they have been told, le Bec is taking the girl straight to Whitby.”
“Do we know this for certain?” Tad stood up, stiffly, rubbing at his tender torso. “We have been hearing these rumors for days now. This is not new information.”
“But it has been confirmed,” Ovid insisted. “I paid a man well whose wife works in the kitchens of Lambourn. This woman has confirmed that le Bec left with Lady Arissa and is taking her to Whitby. That is what de Lohr is telling everyone. Oddly, he does not seem to be too heartbroken about it.”
Tad moved about gingerly. “What do you plan to do?”
Ovid fell silent a moment, his manner turning from doting father to conniving enemy. “My fury against le Bec has not abated,” he said quietly. “By the grace of God you have healed, but that does not end my sense of vengeance. The man will pay.”
Tad turned to him. “So I will ask you again; what do you plan to do?”
Ovid began to pace just as his son was, his demeanor pensive. “If le Bec is heading to Whitby, then we can catch him outside the walls of a fortress where the odds will be even,” he said, then looked at his son. “I will send my army after him and destroy him.”
Tad cocked in an eyebrow. “What about Lady Arissa?”
Ovid’s gaze was intense. “If she’s not yet made it to the abbey, then perhaps we shall claim her. You are attracted to her, are you not?”
Tad thought a moment before nodding. He had a rather dirty look about him. “She’s beautiful, no doubt. Perhaps she would make a splendid Lady de Rydal.”
“Perfect vengeance against le Bec,” Ovid wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. “It is said he’s a fondness for the girl that goes beyond mere concern. His attack upon you is evidence of that.”
“Then I will take her, marry her, and there will be nothing he can do about it.”
“Exactly.”
Tad liked that suggestion a great deal. Still moving a bit gingerly, he made his way towards the massive wardrobe in his room where his broadsword lay resting in a custom-made casket of silk and oak.
He opened the door to the wardrobe and lifted the lid of the case, eyeing the sword that had cost his father a small fortune.
Not strangely, he could see le Bec’s suffering reflected in the blade.
“Summon our army, then,” he said, looking at his father.
“We will travel light and hard, riding swiftly for Whitby. If le Bec is indeed traveling north to the abbey, then he’s a substantial head-start.
However, traveling with a woman, I would suspect his pace has been very slow.
It is possible if we ride hard enough to make it to Whitby before he does, where I will wait for him to come. Then, I shall take what is mine.”
Ovid wasn’t too keen on parts of that plan. “You are too weak to ride,” he insisted. “A ride to Whitby will take over a week at a swift pace. You should stay here. The lady will be brought to you when she’s captured.”
Tad shook his head. “If we do manage to capture her, unless le Bec is dead, I will need to marry her as quickly as possible because he will track her like a hound. To suffer a journey all the way back to Goring risks her being recaptured and taken out of our control. That must not happen.”
Ovid didn’t want his son riding the two hundred miles to Whitby but he understood his reasoning. “I do not suppose I can stop you.”
Tad shook his head. “He tried to kill me, Father,” he said, his voice quiet and deadly. “This time, vengeance shall be mine. Le Bec will pay once and for all.”
Ovid didn’t doubt him in the least.
*
The trip north had been something of a delight.
True to his word, Richmond stopped in the villages where Arissa wanted to stop, purchasing anything that she desired.
If she saw a trinket, she got it, and if she even mentioned the fact that she liked a purse or admired a pair of boots, she received that as well.
Richmond would do anything to make her happy, loving the smiles he received when she clutched a pretty vial of expensive perfume or a bolt of exquisite material.
Each day, each delight, saw his love for her deepen.
He was becoming acquainted with her on a level he could have never imagined.
Since he had promised Arissa a leisurely trip, a journey he could make on a hard march in ten or twelve days took almost three weeks.
They stopped where they wished to stop, camped by great rivers or stayed in lively inns.
Whatever Arissa wanted, Richmond would comply.
The weather, for December, had been remarkably mild so the trip hadn’t been a difficult one.
But no matter how languid the pace, eventually, they drew close to Whitby.
Just to the north of the city of York, they passed through a berg called Pickering.
There was a big castle overlooking the village but Richmond bypassed the castle, mostly because he knew the garrison commander and the man tended to be fickle in his loyalties, so he at least sent word of greeting to identify his big army as he passed through the town.
It was his intention to camp just north of the city before reaching their destination of Whitby Abbey on the morrow.
Already, he could feel the anxiety building in his chest for the separation to come.
He’d been ignoring it for weeks, but now, he could ignore it no longer.
Pickering had a fairly large merchant street and although the army paralleled the street of the merchants as they traveled the main avenue through town, Arissa and Emma could nonetheless see the stalls in intervals when houses would part and reveal the street beyond.
Richmond could see it too, as he and Gavan traveled at the head of the column and he knew it was only a matter of time before Arissa called a halt. It was not long in coming.
“Richmond!” she called.
He reined his charger around, noting the smirk on Gavan’s face as he made his way back to Arissa and Emma in the provisions wagon. He reined the animal next to her.
“Aye, kitten?”
It sounded more like a statement of resignation than a question, but Arissa smiled brightly and pointed.
“I saw a merchant’s stall over there with garments hanging from the rafters,” she said, rather sweetly. “Do you think we can go and look?”
He grunted softly, with resistance. “Riss, I am not entirely sure we have any more room to store your goods,” he tried to sound gentle, not like a man who was going back on his promise to buy her anything she wanted.
“Do you not think you have enough? I am going to have to build a monstrous castle as it is to house everything.”