Chapter Sixteen #3
Kenneth could feel Toby tensing in his arms again and he gave her a quick squeeze, silently telling her to behave. She was close to exploding. Still, she managed to keep a civil tongue.
“As you wish, my lord.”
She said it through clenched teeth and Kenneth very quickly swept her towards the castle before she could say something more that would have them all in trouble. Just as they came to the muddy road leading into the big gatehouse, Toby pushed herself out of Kenneth’s arms with a growl.
“Ooooo,” she stomped her feet angrily. “I do not want to attend him at the nooning meal and I do not want to entertain his visitors. I hate him, I hate this place, and right now I hate you for stealing my candied pumpkin. I want to go home!”
She suddenly burst into tears, weeping angrily. Kenneth struggled to keep a straight face as he and Timothy moved forward to comfort her.
“You are simply exhausted, my lady,” Kenneth said evenly, taking her elbow. “Let us go inside where you may rest.”
“I do not want to rest!” she stomped her feet again, a full-blown tantrum quickly approaching. “I want to get out of here. I want my husband. Why has he not come for me yet?”
Kenneth had her by the arm as he led her under the gatehouse.
She was pouting and weepy, angry one moment and sad the next.
Timothy kept his head lowered lest she see his grin and Kenneth tried to focus on anything other than her comical ranting.
He tried to think of battles, bloody wounds and ugly women. But he was losing the fight.
“Come along, Toby,” Kenneth pushed aside the formalities as he had many times during their captivity. “Go inside and rest. I will go find you more candied pumpkin if it will make you happy.”
She sobbed, stepping in a big mud puddle and wailing when she saw that she had completely mucked the bottom of the lovely surcoat.
It was all Kenneth could do to keep a smile off his face; she was hysterically funny.
With a patient sigh, he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to the keep.
She sobbed and muttered as she made her way into the enormous keep of Wigmore.
It was cloyingly warm as the result of several blazing fires; Mortimer did not like the cold and the keep was generally kept quite warm.
It was also a vast and luxurious place as far as castles went; creature comforts were everywhere.
Kenneth and Timothy escorted Toby to the third floor where her chamber was located.
But she came to a halt just outside the elaborate bower door, yanking her arm from Kenneth’s grip.
“I am hungry,” she announced. “Go and get more pumpkin.”
Kenneth just looked at her, his ice-blue eyes glimmering with humor. Nodding his head wearily, he turned for the stairs. But he apparently wasn’t moving fast enough and Toby swatted him on the shoulder as he began to descend the stairs.
“’Tis your fault so you need not blame me,” she told him. “You ate my pumpkin so now you must find me more. And if you see anything else that looks good, I want that, too.”
“God give me strength,” Kenneth muttered.
Toby heard him mumble. “What did you say?”
He turned to look at her, his normally stony expression oddly animated.
“I said, I am going right away,” he looked at the physic.
“Take her inside and put her to bed. Sit on her if you have to. And give her something to improve her disposition, for God’s sake.
I am not sure how much more of this tyranny I can take. ”
Toby’s face screwed up angrily. “Come back here, St. Héver. Come back and say that to my face!”
She was holding up a balled fist. Kenneth opened his mouth to calmly retort but he ended up breaking down into laughter. He couldn’t help it; it was just too comical to believe. Toby was furious a moment longer before erupting into a grin; an angry grin, but a grin nonetheless.
“I hate you, Kenneth,” she told him sincerely as he continued down the stairs. “I truly do.”
“I know,” he replied, dead-pan. “You hate me and my mother, my grandmother, my father and every ancestor before him, my horse, my….”
He faded off as he went. Toby, softened by his reaction to her temper, realized she sounded like a complete shrew. She stood at the top of the stairs and called down to him.
“I love you as if you were my own brother, Kenneth,” she called after him.
“I know,” his reply was very faint.
“Now bring me my pumpkin!” she screeched.
She swore she heard him laughing again. Turning for her bower, she almost forgot about Timothy standing there, grinning at the exchange between her and the knight. She walked up to him, eyeing him critically.
“Are you really going to sit on me?”
Timothy shook his head. “I am afraid you might do me serious bodily damage if I did,” he said, taking her elbow as they passed through the open door. “But I will sit and talk to you.”
She let him escort her into the room, which was warm with a blazing fire.
Thick furs covered the floor and her bed was piled with lush and warm materials.
Mortimer had been, if nothing else, lavish with his attention on her.
There was absolutely nothing she could want for.
Toby went to the fire, carefully removing the cloak that had mud on it.
Timothy took it from her and cast it into the corner for the servants to clean.
She stood for a moment, dragging her hand across her softly rounded belly.
“Timothy,” she said after a moment. “There is something we can talk about.”
He was at the elaborate sideboard against the wall, pouring them both a measure of wine from a lovely glass decanter. “What is that?”
“You have been a physic a long time, have you not?”
“I have, my lady.”
Toby’s gaze lingered on the flames before turning to him, her cheeks rosy from the warmth of the fire. “You must know a great deal about babies.”
He nodded. “I believe so. What do you wish to know?”
Her hazel eyes twinkled as she told him.
*
For the duration of the trip to the Marches, Edward had kept a distance from his mother.
Strange, considering he had very much wanted to see her.
For two years, he had begged Tate to take him home to see his mother.
But Tate had refused and had given clear explanations as to why he had refused.
Edward was therefore well aware why Tate kept him from his mother.
For two years, he had understood that the woman who gave birth to him would not protect him from her lover.
Isabella and Mortimer had ruled during that time as Regents to Edward since he was so young.
But the queen was clearly more loyal to her lover than her son. It was a devastating understanding.
Isabella had wept at the first sight of her son in two years and had tried to embrace him.
But Edward had run from her and even now, five days later, would not warm to her.
He rode with Stephen as company, astride the big blond charger that Tate had given him for his fourteenth birthday and morose in his thoughts.
He was not much company. Stephen and Tate simply left him alone, knowing he would come to terms with his mother’s presence soon enough.
The snows had fallen heavy along the Marches this year.
As the army plowed their way northwest through Gloucestershire, the snow became heavier and Edward felt his determination to stay away from his mother wavering.
He missed her, in spite of everything that had happened.
He just wished she loved him more than Mortimer.
As he struggled to get up the nerve to speak with her, a messenger was sighted to the north.
Distracted, he followed Stephen as the man spurred his charger out of formation to intercept the rider.
The man was a spy that had been sent out on many missions for de Lara.
He was older, wily, and knew well his craft.
He was also freezing, his horse thrashed, and he came to an unsteady halt as Stephen and Edward raced upon him.
Stephen threw up the visor on his helm to gain a better look at the man.
Snow flew off the visor when it snapped open.
“Well?” he demanded. “What do you have to report?”
The man wiped at his running nose, red with the cold. “Liam de Lara’s men are just south of Croft Castle, m’lord,” he said. “He has them hiding out in the woods, but it is difficult to hide so many. He awaits orders from his brother.”
“How many would you estimate he has with him?”
“Several thousand.”
Stephen’s eyebrows lifted in response. “What about Lancaster?”
“He is encamped to the north by several miles. He has two thousand men with him.”
Stephen absorbed the information. “How many men would you estimate are prepared to march on Wigmore?”
The spy’s gaze moved out over the distant de Lara army before coming to rest on Stephen again. “With what you are bringing, there should be at least ten thousand. It is a mighty army, m’lord. You could raze Wigmore in a night.”
Stephen nodded slowly, digesting everything he had been told. “Get some food,” he finally told the man. “I will inform Lord Tate of the situation. Be prepared to answer more questions if he has any.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Stephen and Edward raced off in Tate’s direction, skirting the massive army and coming upon Tate about a half mile down the road. He was at the front of the column, riding alone as he so often did these days. Stephen and Edward charged upon him, flanking him on either side as he rode.
“My lord,” Stephen reported smartly. “Our spies have returned from the vicinity of Wigmore. The aid you requested is already positioned and awaiting your command. Including the army we bring with us, it is estimated that ten thousand men await your orders.”
Tate nodded faintly, not at all impressed with the numbers. He could have more if needed. But he was nonetheless pleased with the show of support.