Chapter Eleven
It was just before dawn as Tate made his way out of the keep and headed towards the building that housed the knights; he was going with a particular purpose in mind.
Having just left Toby sleeping soundly, he was determined to find Stephen and clear the air between them.
But his thoughts inevitably kept drifting back to Toby, her delicious body in his arms and the myriad of emotions that continued to assault him.
It was true; he felt as if he was suffering a gentle onslaught of emotions that he never believed himself capable of.
It was something terrifying and wonderful, something that caused him to lose control as if he was a weakling.
Whatever power Toby had over him, it was stronger than all of the might he had ever faced.
All she had to do was give him a word, a look, and he surrendered like a fool.
But he had to get a grip on himself as much as he was able to.
The first step would be to straighten out whatever odd situation had evolved between him and Stephen.
And the second would be to determine the next course of action with Mortimer on their heels.
Still, thoughts of Toby filled his mind and it was an effort to concentrate on issues that he knew must be the priority.
The knight’s quarters was a stone building built against the side of the outer wall.
It was a badly lit structure with small, cell-like chambers.
Tate entered the building and into a small common room with a muted fire burning in the hearth.
He’d barely closed the door when one of the cell doors flew open and Kenneth appeared with a sword in his hand.
When he saw it was Tate, he lowered the weapon.
“’Tis you,” he muttered.
“Aye, it’s me,” Tate replied. “Where’s Stephen?”
Kenneth yawned, tossing the sword back onto his bed. “He relieved me upon the battlements about an hour ago.”
Tate turned for the door but Kenneth stopped him. “Is something amiss?” he asked.
Tate paused after opening the panel. “Nay,” he said after a moment. “I simply must speak with him.”
Kenneth wisely kept his mouth shut, suspecting that whatever it was did not involve him.
If it was a private conversation between Tate and Stephen, there was little doubt as to the subject.
As Tate shut the door behind him, Kenneth wondered if he should follow to make sure there was no bloodshed with the undoubtedly volatile subject.
On second thought, however, he decided to stay his course and simply remain an uninvolved bystander.
With a woman involved, it was the safest course to take. Or so he believed.
Tate mounted the steep stairs to the battlements of the gatehouse, his trained gaze moving over the cold and dark landscape, searching for anything out of the ordinary.
With a gaping hole where the main gates used to be, he was particularly on edge even though there were thirty soldiers patrolling the gap.
A loop half-way around the wall walk brought him right to Stephen.
The big knight was on the west wall, in quiet conversation with one of the knight’s from Warkworth.
The bulk of their army had remained, at least until the gates were repaired, so several hundred soldiers and a few knights lingered.
When Stephen saw Tate, he excused himself from the conversation and went to his liege.
“Nothing to report, my lord,” he said. “All remains quiet.”
Tate nodded, his dark gaze moving over the pre-dawn landscape once more. “Very well,” he replied. Then he continued to stand there, gazing over the view but not really seeing it. Stephen stood beside him silently, vigilantly, as he always had. Tate finally crossed his arms and emitted a heavy sigh.
“Stephen, I must ask you something,” he said.
“Of course, my lord.”
“You and I have long been friends, have we not?”
Stephen nodded slowly. “It has been my honor.”
“We have seen much of life and death together.”
“Indeed we have.”
“I consider you one of the finest men I have ever served with.”
“A true privilege, my lord.”
Tate turned to look at him. “I would not want anything to ruin that.”
Stephen returned his gaze. “Nor would I.”
Tate cleared his throat, a waver in his confidence. “I find that I must be honest with you, Stephen. I suppose I should have been from the onset but I was unsure how to go about it.”
“Speak your mind, my lord.”
Tate lifted his eyebrows with some hesitation. “I am attempting to,” he cleared his throat again. “You were with me when Catherine died.”
Stephen’s expression visibly eased. “Aye, my lord. I was there.”
Tate was having difficulty looking at him. “I was positive that I would never recover from it. But it seems that I was wrong.”
Stephen could see where this was leading; he’d known it from the start.
It was only a matter of time before Tate confronted him about the situation with Toby.
After the gift of the kitten earlier, it was expected.
There was no point in dancing around the subject as Tate was doing so he cleared his throat, averting his gaze.
“In truth, my lord, I never had a chance,” he said quietly. “She has eyes only for you.”
Tate stopped fidgeting and looked at him. “What?”
Stephen’s gaze moved to the landscape beyond the walls. “Mistress Toby,” he clarified. “She has eyes only for you. I suppose it was my pride that caused me to see only what I wanted to see. I knew you were growing fond of her as I was. I thought I could win her over but I was wrong.”
Tate stared at him. “I remember back in Cartingdon when Kenneth jested with you about marrying her and ruling the town. Do you recall?”
Stephen nodded “I do.”
“You clearly showed no interest.”
“I had none at the time.”
“What changed your mind?”
“What changed yours?”
They gazed at each other for a moment before breaking into soft laughter.
It was a welcome moment in a situation that could have quite easily gone the other way.
As small as the gesture was, it was a relief, a moment between friends that signaled things were righting themselves. Tate finally shook his head.
“I have no idea,” he muttered. “All I know is that day we ventured into the mist to inspect sheep, something inside me changed. The woman already has unearthly beauty but that day, I saw incredible strength in her as well. Beyond that, I cannot explain more. All I know is that I see a chance for happiness with her again and I will take it. The woman is coming to mean a great deal to me.”
Stephen’s cornflower blue gaze lingered on him a moment. “Do you love her?”
Tate looked at him as if surprised by the question. He was about to deny it but found, in his heart, that he could not. He averted his gaze as if suddenly defeated, unable to muster the strength to deny the obvious. “I believe that I do.”
“Have you told her?”
“Nay.”
“You should, you know. She loves you as well.”
Tate looked at him again. “How would you know that?”
Stephen’s eyes glimmered. “I do not for sure. But if she looked at me the way she looks at you, then I would know that she loves me.”
Tate felt strangely empowered by that statement, as if his heart suddenly sprouted wings. It felt light, happy. “If that is true, then I am indeed blessed,” he said, turning to look Stephen fully in the face. “But I am deeply sorry if my relationship with her affects our friendship.”
Stephen’s gaze lingered on him. “It does not,” he said quietly. “It would take much more than that to destroy the trust that you and I have achieved over the years.”
Tate puffed out his cheeks with relief. “I had hoped so but in truth I was not sure. When a woman is involved, things can go very badly.”
“We are better than that, my lord.”
“I hoped so.”
“Besides that, we have more pressing matters to focus on.”
“Indeed we do.”
“There are the missing gates, the threat of a Mortimer counter-attack, and our imminent trip to London which has thus far been delayed.”
Tate nodded faintly, thinking of the priorities that had faced him two days ago were now becoming sidelined by his growing involvement with Toby. But Stephen was correct; there were more pressing matters that must be the priority. It was a struggle for Tate to refocus on something other than Toby.
The silence between them settled, though not uncomfortable. Tate had said what he had meant to say and Stephen had conceded. More than that, there was a clear understanding now. They both felt relieved by it.
“Congratulations on your betrothal, by the way,” Stephen finally said. “May you have much joy in this marriage.”
“Thank you.”
“There is one more thing, however.”
“What is that?
Stephen turned to look at him, an intense look to his eye. “Should anything ever happen to you, know that I will take very good care of your widow.”
Tate’s eyes widened. Then, he burst out giggling like a fool. Stephen tried to hold back the chuckles but soon he was roaring with laughter. After a few moments of uncharacteristic snorting, Stephen sobered with dramatic speed and wiped the smile from his face.
“I am serious.”
Tate abruptly stopped laughing and gawked at him in outrage.
He balled up a fist and took a swing at Stephen’s jaw, but in the process burst into more laughter and ended up almost falling over the parapet when Stephen side-stepped the blow.
Hooting and snorting, the two of them made their way back towards the gatehouse as the sun began to rise in the distant east. But the laughter soon turned to conversation and by the time they hit the gatehouse, they were already discussing the priorities of the coming day.
It was as if no contention had ever been.