Epilogue #2
It made Tate laugh all the more. He was thrilled to hear his children yell.
Stephen, by this time, had Dylan and was holding the boy upside-down.
Dylan was screaming, but mostly in delight.
Kenneth was fortunate and had the calm child; his big hand was on Roman’s head as he and the boy made their way over to Tate.
“My God,” Tate gasped as he set Alexander to his feet. “I cannot believe the babies are walking. I feel as if I have been gone one hundred years.”
“As do I.” Toby was smiling broadly as she came upon her husband and children, her face rosy with joy as she drank in his handsome face.
She looked to the faithful men at her husband’s side; she was glad to see that they were alive and well, too.
She embraced Kenneth, the closest one to her.
“Kenneth, welcome home. You also, Stephen.”
Kenneth nodded his thanks as Stephen smiled his.
Tate’s gaze softened as it fell upon his wife; everything around him ceased to exist for a moment as he beheld the woman that he loved.
Although he had at least three more children clamoring for his attention, he gently pushed through them and went straight for Toby.
Taking her in his arms, he hugged her, and Catherine, tightly.
Toby held on to him fiercely, struggling not to cry in front of her children. But her joy was on the surface. It was difficult to hold back. Tate kissed her cheeks, her lips, before pulling back to look at her.
“You are more beautiful than I remembered,” he murmured, kissing her again. Then he turned to his daughter and kissed her sweetly on the cheek. “My God, you are a lovely creature, Cate. Look how beautiful you have grown.”
Catherine grinned and chewed her fingers. With a hand still on his wife, Tate finally turned to Roman, who was standing patiently beside his father.
“Roman, you have been growing behind my back,” he said seriously. “If your mother does not stop feeding you, you will be taller than me by next week.”
Roman grinned and fell into his father’s embrace; Tate picked him up, cherishing the feel of his first born in his arms. He could not have been happier. But next to him, Dylan was still screaming in Stephen’s arms and Tate looked at the red, upside-down face.
“Greetings, Dylan,” he said.
Stephen grinned and then set the boy to his feet, at which time Dylan punched Stephen in the armored shin and ended up smacking his hand. He began to wail as the knights laughed. Tate put Roman down and picked up his injured son, rubbing his little hand.
“Well,” he said casually, “I will commend him for his bravery. It is not every child who would take on a man four times his height.”
“He will be a fearsome warrior,” Wallace announced.
“He will be just like his mother,” Kenneth put in drolly.
As the men snorted, Toby rolled her eyes, handing Catherine over to Stephen and taking Dylan from his father.
“You will not rush these boys into battle yet,” she told them sternly, comforting her son. They were still snickering when she looked seriously at her husband. “And speaking of battle; am I to hopefully assume that yours are concluded? Are you finally home to stay?”
Tate exhaled slowly and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her head against his lips for a gentle kiss.
It was Kenneth, Stephen and Wallace’s signal to give them their privacy and the three of them pretended to go about their business.
But neither Tate nor Toby noticed, lost in each other’s eyes. They began to walk towards the keep.
“Edward has assumed his full authority as king,” Tate told her softly. “Mortimer is no longer a threat.”
“What happened?”
Tate was gazing up at the four-story keep as he spoke, his exhaustion evident. But it was more than his expression; it was in his manner. As if everything he had been fighting for over many years had finally caught up to him. He had the look of a very weary man.
“Mortimer was taken to the Tower shortly after we captured him,” he said quietly. “He was executed two weeks ago in London.”
Toby looked at him, shocked yet relieved. “On Edward’s orders?”
“Aye,” he replied softly. “Edward is of age now and already a powerful king. When I left, he was convening Parliament and preparing his agenda.” His thoughts drifted to the fair-haired boy, now a fair-haired man. “He is strong and intelligent. He will do well.”
“And what about you?” Toby wanted to know. “Will you do well now that you are not fighting his cause?”
He looked at her and smiled. “I will always fight his cause,” he said as they reached the steps leading into the keep. “But for now, I believe I am entitled to my own life. I deserve it.”
“Is it over with Mortimer, then?”
“It is over.”
She smiled in return, setting Dylan to his feet when the boy squirmed to be put down. Tate drew her into his arms, watching as his twins resumed their attempt to steal their older brother’s wooden sword. He relished their screaming, delighted in the chase. Their voices were like music to his ears.
“We have missed you,” Toby laid her head on his chest as they watched the boys scramble. “I was so fearful that you would not return in time for the birth of this child.”
Tate put his hand on her belly, feeling the firmness. He caressed her tummy gently, savoring the results of their deep and committed love to each other. He kissed her deeply as he continued to rub her belly, a profoundly intimate moment between the two of them.
“I would not have missed it, not for anything,” he murmured. “And you know that I will always return to you, no matter what.”
The tears that she had kept at bay finally found their way to the surface. “Will you promise me something, then?” she whispered.
“Of course, sweetheart,” he wiped the tears streaming down her cheek. “Anything you wish.”
“Will you promise me that we shall never again be apart?”
He paused a moment. “If it is within my power, I swear we will never be parted. I have missed you as much as you have missed me. More, even.”
“Can you promise me that these wars for Edward’s throne are finished?”
In truth, he could not. There were stirrings in France that Edward had already made mention of. Tate knew that, at some point, he would find himself in France fighting for the king. But he would not tell Toby that, not now when she was so emotionally brittle.
He held her at arm’s length, gazing into her sweet face. “I can promise you that I will remain here for the birth of my fourth son and that we will live happily together for the rest of our lives.”
She wiped at her eyes. “It will be a girl.”
“I could only be more blessed. What name did we decide on again?”
“Arabella Mary.”
He nodded in recollection. “Ah, yes. Arabella Mary. And if it is a boy?”
“It will not be a boy.”
He grinned at her, knowing she had probably had her fill of little boys for the moment. “As you say, madam.”
She cocked her head, staring up into his handsome face. “It was a good attempt at changing the subject, but you will answer my question now.”
“About what?”
“Whether or not you are going to put away your dragonblade for good.”
He smiled at her and pulled her against him, feeling her big belly against his mail. “Do we have to talk about this now?”
Before she could retort, a scream went up as Dylan managed to steal Roman’s wooden sword.
He toddled off as fast as his tubby legs would carry him but Roman was faster and grabbed hold of his brother, trying to wrest the toy from him.
Alexander joined in the ruckus and between the two brothers, they managed to shove Roman to the ground.
Like any small boy, Roman began to cry as his brothers fought over who would be the first to play with the toy.
At some point, Stephen had set Catherine down and she walked over to where her brothers were fighting; while Roman wiped the tears from his eyes, the twins started slapping at each other and the sword fell to the ground. Catherine calmly picked it up and walked away.
Tate and Toby watched with varied degrees of amusement and, in Toby’s case, exhaustion. Tate finally turned to his wife.
“Have they been like this since I left?” he asked.
She began nodding before he finished his sentence. “Since Dylan and Alex learned to walk about two months ago. This is constant.”
Tate put his hand on her belly again. “And another one on the way.”
Toby sighed wearily. “I can hardly stand the anticipation.”
He laughed softly and kissed his wife on the temple. “Perhaps one of these days we will finally take that trip to Rome I promised you so long ago,” he murmured. “That should give you respite from the chaos of our children.”
She shrugged as she watched the boys wrestle. “They are too young to be without their mother. As weary as I am, I would not want to leave them for any length of time.”
“Not even for Rome?”
“Perhaps someday.”
He smiled gently at her before moving to the writhing hoard of children with the intention of settling them down.
Toby appeared as if she couldn’t take the squabbling another minute.
Crouching on his haunches, he tried to reason with the twins.
They responded by jumping on him, causing him to lose his balance and end up on his buttocks.
As he fell back, Roman jumped into the melee and pounced on him.
Tate laughed as he ended up lying on his back with three little boys atop him.
Not to be left out, Catherine stood over them and swatted her brothers with the sword.
As Tate allowed himself to be pummeled by his toddlers, he couldn’t remember a time in his life when he was so completely happy.
From the horrors of eight years ago to the delight of the day, every pain, every effort, had been worth the price.
The road that had led him to Cartingdon those years ago had been the best path he had ever taken and he could have never imagined that the aggressive, rude woman with the strange name would become his very reason for living.
He eventually pushed himself up from the mass of boys. Toby was standing with Kenneth and Stephen in conversation a few feet away but Tate noticed that he was not alone. Catherine was standing next to him, the sword still in her hand, as she gazed up adoringly at her father.
Tate smiled and picked her up, his little angel, so sweet that all she had to do was look at him and he would melt away.
She had that effect on all of the knights, particularly Stephen.
The man positively adored her. Tate kissed her cheek as she wrapped her little baby arms around his neck.
He took the sword from her so she would not put his eye out with it.
“Papa?” she put her little face in front of his so that she could look him in the eye. “Where did you go?”
He smoothed her curly dark hair out of her eyes. “I went to help someone.”
It was as much of an explanation as she could understand. “Did you help them?” she wanted to know.
“I did, angel.”
Catherine thought on that a moment. “Will you stay home now?”
He smiled gently. “I will stay home now.”
“Papa?”
“Aye, angel?”
“Will you sing the baby song?”
Tate’s grin broadened. He had dreamed of this moment his entire life. When Arabella Mary was born in January, he had two little angels to sing the baby song to.
To the sky, my sweet babe;
The night is alive, my sweet babe.
Your dreams are filled with raindrops from heaven;
Sleep, my sweet babe, and cry no more.
Seven years and three more children later, Tate finally took his wife to Rome. It was everything she knew it would be.
* THE END *