Chapter Seven
Lioncross Abbey
Beckett’s funeral was surreal.
That was the only way Roi could describe it.
Upon their arrival to his ancestral home, Roi immediately went to the abbey in the sub-levels beneath the keep.
It was in the dark recesses of the abbey portion of the castle where they stored things, mostly foodstuffs or other things in need of cold spaces.
But the truth was that they also stored bodies down there, if needed, because it was the perfect environment. It was cold and surprisingly dry.
This was where Roi found his only son.
He left Diara and her cousin in the great hall of Lioncross and proceeded to visit his son alone, something Diara had encouraged him to do from the onset.
He was coming to see, if nothing else, that she was a very understanding and compassionate individual, more than likely because she’d received none of those things whilst fostering during her formative years.
In fact, Diara seemed to be quite sensitive to what he was feeling or what his needs might be, as she had demonstrated on the entire journey from Cheltenham.
It had been a two-day journey that passed pleasantly enough in spite of what they had left behind and what they were moving toward.
They had only discussed Robin twice, and that was shortly after they left Cicadia.
Roi was half expecting the man to send his knights out after him, but no army and no knights were forthcoming.
That was both a relief and a concern to Roi, who was more than certain Robin had not completely surrendered.
At least he could see the knights and fight them accordingly, but he worried about what he couldn’t see.
He suspected the worst was yet to come where Robin le Bec was concerned.
And then there was Diara.
Taking her away from her father and her home, Roi presumed that he would begin to see what she was truly made of.
The past two days had been spent in the comfort of her own home, a place that she was familiar with, so taking her on the road with him was a big change for her.
He wondered if it would be a dose of reality for them both about this marriage and what they were truly about to face, but over the course of those two days of travel, he saw nothing that indicated any kind of change in heart with her.
In fact, he saw quite the opposite.
Diara seemed to blossom away from her father.
Astride a small gray palfrey and with her cousin at her side, she kept up a running stream of chatter that was quite enchanting.
It passed the time beautifully, so much so that Roi was sorry when the day of travel ended and they had to find shelter for the night.
They found it in a small tavern on the edge of Hereford, a place he had been to before, since it was within his father’s lands, but he quickly discovered that Diara had never been to a tavern in her life.
He quite enjoyed watching the situation through her eyes.
She was someone who was truly interested in people.
She didn’t look at them and see the rich and the poor, the slovenly and the well dressed, but rather she looked at them as individuals.
As she had commented to Roi more than once, everyone had a story, and she liked to hear of other people’s perspectives and their experiences.
Even when they were sitting at the table in the tavern, enjoying their supper, she ended up talking to a merchant at the next table because the man was wearing exotic robes that were quite lovely, and she was curious about them.
The man ended up at their table, buying their entire meal for them, as he told her about his travels from the Holy Land.
It was enough to nearly keep her up all night, but just after midnight, long after most people had gone to bed, Roi finally forced her to end the conversation so she could get some sleep.
He had done it in a kind way, and she was very sweet about it, but she had been sad for the evening to end.
He was coming to see that she was simply naturally curious about everything, and hearing of the merchant’s travels had given her more perspective of the world in general.
For someone who had spent her life at essentially only two locations—and one of them had not exactly been pleasant—Roi could see that she hungered for knowledge and the world at large.
And that had given him an idea.
Since he didn’t have anything terribly pressing in the near future, he decided that he would take her on a wedding trip after they were married.
He had traveled to many places over the course of his lifetime, so the thought of travel wasn’t of great interest to him—but he knew it would be to her.
He wanted to take her to France, and he wanted to take her to a beautiful lake known as Lac du Lausanne that was surrounded by soaring mountains and beautiful scenery.
Knowing how much she seemed to like new and interesting things, he decided she would love such a place.
If she was by his side, so would he.
Spending time with her had given him some respite from his grief over the loss of Beckett.
When he was with her, she lightened his heart in so many ways.
It was only when he was alone that he thought about his son and the future that would never be.
When they arrived at Lioncross and he went straight into the undercroft, he sat next to Beckett’s casket for a full hour before he even made any attempt to look at his son inside.
He sat there and thought about the young man that he’d never fully come to know, or the more mature man that he would never witness, the great knight and the husband and the father that would never be.
He missed those things he would never know.
He knew his son was young and arrogant and had dreams of grandeur.
That had never been a question. Beckett had been heavily trained at Selbourne Castle in the laws of the land, hoping that he would follow in his father’s footsteps.
Beckett seemed to think that his knowledge of the law would set him aside from other men, and, in truth, it did to a certain extent.
He assumed that there was no reason that he would not be as great as his father and grandfather, and that had reflected in his manner.
Lord de Nerra, his liege and mentor, had commented on that fact to Roi more than once.
They both knew that they were dealing with an extremely bright and extremely prideful young man, and they both assumed that age and wisdom would temper his pride somewhat.
Now, that would never be.
It was all of these things that Roi grieved over as he sat next to his son’s casket.
When it finally came time to lift the lid and look at his son’s face, he did it without hesitation.
What greeted him was nothing horrific; Beckett looked as if he was sleeping, except for the fact that he had a giant bruise on his forehead and his skin was as white as snow.
However, it also had a greenish cast to it, as did his ears, his fingers, and the tip of his nose.
That was the only hint of death.
Roi wept softly as he put his hand on his son’s head.
He could see exactly what had happened and exactly how Beckett had broken his neck.
The proof was in front of him, and it was a difficult thing to accept.
He stood next to the casket for another hour, his tears falling on his son as he spoke to him softly and told him just how much he was going to miss him.
He also told him of Diara and how he hoped Beckett would wish him well.
He asked Beckett to take excellent care of his mother, who had been alone these many years.
Roi rejoiced in the knowledge that Beckett and Odette were finally together again.
To be truthful, it was the only thing that kept him from collapsing into complete despair.
With the lid of the coffin still removed, he went to sit down again because he was emotionally and physically exhausted.
He couldn’t see Beckett’s face from where he sat, but he could see his son’s hands, as they were placed over his chest. Somebody had tied them together to keep them from falling away.
He lost track of time as he sat there, lost in memories, until he heard faint footsteps approach.
“Roi?”
It was Christopher. Roi took a deep, ragged breath and looked up to see his father standing a few feet away. When their eyes met, Christopher smiled faintly.
“Your mother has sent me to see how you are faring,” he said quietly. “She wanted to make sure you did not require anything.”
Roi returned his gaze to the open casket. He shook his head unsteadily, finally lifting his hands in a gesture that suggested he didn’t know what he needed.
“Nay,” he said, his voice dull with grief. “I do not require anything. But tell me something, Papa.”
“If I can.”
“How would you feel if you were sitting in my place and I was in that casket?”
Christopher sighed heavily. “Distraught,” he said. “I would feel what you are feeling. Utter agony and distress.”
Roi knew that. He really didn’t even know why he had asked, only that he was looking for some commiseration.
“Mama told me about the child you lost before Christin was born,” he said. “Other than that, you’ve never really lost anyone close to you, have you?”
Christopher moved to sit down next to his son, on a stone bench that jutted out from the wall. “Nay,” he said truthfully. “But only by God’s grace. I’ve lost knights and friends. I’ve lost my parents. But I have never lost a living child or even a brother, thankfully. I have been very fortunate.”
Roi was still looking at his son. “How do I recover from this?” he asked. “I told Mama that I did not think I would survive this, but I will. I know I will. But survival is not recovery. How do I recover from this?”