Epic Knights of Legend and Steel

Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

D e Shera’s four knights were in the vault of Isenhall, down in the underbelly of the keep where there were both storage rooms and the gaol. It was a poorly lit area, illuminated by torches dipped in fat that emitted greasy, black smoke that coated the low ceiling.

Nestled in a corner of one of the storage rooms, men were building a coffin fit for a king. Gaerwen wasn’t dead yet, but Isenhall’s surgeon was sure he was not long for the world. Therefore, Tiberius, with Honey’s permission, had brought out clothes to dress the man in his coffin with, some of Antoninus de Shera’s fine clothing. No one could seem to locate any of Gaerwen’s clothing in the remnants of what had been brought back to the castle after the ambush, so Tiberius would make sure the man was dressed properly when the time came. In borrowed silks and furs, Gaerwen would look every inch a hereditary king.

Now, Tiberius stood with the knights who had returned from the hunt of the culprits, having returned to Isenhall with three men they had determined to have been associated with the attack. Those three men were in small, cramped cells, listening to the knights as their punishment was discussed. A painful end was on the horizon for them and they cowered like animals, fearful of their fates.

“This is the end of the line for the kings of Anglesey,” Tiberius said quietly. “When ap Gaerwen dies, there will be no more males in the line.”

Scott and Troy de Wolfe were standing on either side of Tiberius, watching the carpenters as they worked on the coffin. The knights were rather exhausted from the events of the morning, a serious fight followed by the pursuit of the criminals. Eyes red from the sweat that had run down into them, the pair’s gaze was upon the finely-built coffin.

“We heard tale that ap Gaerwen asked Gallus to marry his daughter,” Scott mumbled. “Is there truth in this?”

Tiberius looked at the big, blond knight. “Who told you that?”

Scott shrugged. “One of the soldiers mentioned it as we brought the prisoners in,” he said. Then, he looked questioningly at Tiberius. “Did Gallus agree?”

Tiberius lifted his eyebrows, an ironic gesture. “He did not,” he said. “My mother, however, did. I do not imagine that Gallus has any choice in the matter. He has acquired a wife whether or not he wants one.”

Troy, on Tiberius’ other side, grunted. “A wife who carries with her the titles of Anglesey when her father dies,” he said as if that was the best part of the bargain. “Gallus would be a fool not to consider that.”

Tiberius nodded. “It is, mayhap, the only thing that makes the entire situation palatable,” he replied. “You know that Gallus has not been one to dally with women since Catie died. The only women he will ever speak with are my mother and his daughters.”

A few feet over to the right, in the shadows of the vault, they heard a low voice. “What about Bigod?” It was Garran de Moray, a big, shaggy bear of a man even at his young age. When he spoke, it had all of the rumbling charm of waves crashing upon jagged rocks. “The earl has made it very clear that he wants Gallus for his daughter. What will he do when he finds out Gallus has taken a wife?”

Tiberius glanced over his shoulder at the man. “He will do nothing,” he said. “Gallus’ new wife is a princess of Wales. She supersedes anything Bigod has to offer.”

Garran snorted in disagreement to that statement. “The Welsh are in open revolt and allying themselves with Scotland,” he said. “For Gallus to marry into Welsh royalty could be seen one of two ways– either he is a traitor and allied with the Welsh, or he is trying to bring the Welsh under his control with a marital alliance. Either way, I suspect Henry will not be too happy about it. With Gallus opposing him, the king may think that Gallus is trying to raise an army to defeat him.”

Tiberius thought on that, watching the carpenters as they struggled to fit the lid of the coffin to the body of the wooden box.

“Henry has many things to worry over these days,” he replied. “His English barons do not like him and neither do the French. My brother marrying a Welsh princess will be one more nail in his coffin but I do not think it will single Gallus out as the king’s greatest threat. Those threats come from many other directions.”

“De Montfort?” Garran asked.

Tiberius scratched his neck, both thoughtfully and with distraction. “De Montfort, the Bigod brothers, and Fitzgeoffrey,” he listed off a few. “De Shera is a great power to be reckoned with but we are not the only power.”

“But with a Welsh allegiance, de Shera could be the biggest power.”

They all knew that. Tiberius merely shrugged, noncommittally, but Scott, shifting on his big legs, exhaled slowly in both a weary and a thoughtful gesture.

“Gallus is one of the biggest opponents of Henry’s policies,” he muttered. “We can debate this until sundown, but the truth is simple– Henry will see this marriage as a strategic move against him.”

Tiberius simply rolled his eyes, wearily. “It was a deathbed betrothal,” he said to the knights surrounding him, including Stefan du Bois, who hadn’t yet entered the conversation because he had been seeing to the prisoners. Stefan was perhaps the most astute of them all in spite of his tender age of twenty-three years. But Stefan said nothing, even when Tiberius made eye contact with him. “This marriage was made because ap Gaerwen was afraid for his daughter’s future and for no other reason than that. There are no political motives behind this.”

Scott exhaled slowly. “Henry will not see it that way.”

“Henry can see it however he wishes,” Tiberius fired back softly. “But the truth of the matter is that this is not a deliberately political or advantageous marriage. It is one of convenience and nothing more.”

Scott cast Tiberius a long glance. “I hope Gallus can explain that to both Bigod and the king before they decide upon his level of treachery,” he said. “It would be much easier if Gallus said he married the girl because he loved her and left it at that. No one can argue over a love match.”

Tiberius sneered at him. “It is no love match and everyone knows it,” he said, but the truth was that he was concerned over the king’s reaction as well. Still, now was not the time to discuss it. He gestured at the gaol. “Post more guards down here to watch over the prisoners and I will see what my brother wishes to do about them. Garran, go check on ap Gaerwen’s condition. Mayhap they will need that coffin sooner rather than later.”

The change of subject was obvious and the knights went with it. There was no use in continuing to discuss the subject. They all understood the seriousness of the situation. As Garran headed up the steps that led out of the vault, Tiberius turned to the others.

“Scott and Troy, you two see what you can find out from our prisoners as to who was behind this attack,” he said. “Gallus will want to know. Do what is necessary to get information out of them. In fact, have Stefan lean on them. That usually works. He is menacing enough. Meanwhile, I’ll inform my brother that ap Gaerwen’s coffin is near completion and that the prisoners are being interrogated. He will want to know.”

Scott acknowledged the orders. “It will be done,” he said, catching Tiberius before the man walked away. “When will we leave for London? As of this morning, that was where we were headed, but the morning’s events seemed to have stalled those plans.”

Tiberius nodded in agreement. “I know,” he said. “I will find out what Gallus’ plans are. I cannot imagine we will delay our departure any more than a day at most. There is too much awaiting us in London to remain here much longer.”

The knights weren’t hard pressed to agree. There was much turmoil in London, and Hugh Bigod and his designs for a marriage between his daughter and Gallus was only the beginning. There were rebellious stirrings afoot between the barons and the king, and Gallus was one of those leading the stirrings. His presence was needed in London and to delay, for any length of time, was not in his best interest. They all knew that. The stakes of this political game were high, indeed, and the introduction of an unexpected marriage with political implications raised those stakes even higher.

With that, Tiberius moved to the big, stone stairs that led to the upper floors above, leaving the de Wolfe twins and young Stefan du Bois to wrest what information they could from their captives. Even so, all thoughts were on London and what dealings lay ahead.

The delay they had to make in order to wait for the death of the hereditary King of Anglesey was an unwelcome one.

*

Jeniver was exhausted but she couldn’t sleep.

Lying in the lavish bower where Honey had taken her once before, she lay upon the embroidered silk coverlet, the puppy snoring beside her, as her gaze beheld the blue sky beyond the lancet window. The fog from the morning had cleared up, leaving a bright day in its wake, but Jeniver felt no joy as she watched the birds beyond the window.

Her father, from the last report an hour ago, was still alive but there was little hope that he would survive the day. She had asked to be with him but the surgeon had denied her. He was sewing the man and packing him, and he didn’t want the man’s hysterical daughter hanging over him while he tried to work. Therefore, Jeniver was consigned to wait alone. All she could feel was sorrow and a powerful sense of desolation.

But it was more than desolation. It was as if there was a great, gaping hole inside of her chest, a hole where her heart had once been. With her father’s injury, that heart had been yanked out and stepped on by the Saesneg , hurting the man who had raised her, who had been good and kind to her. It was a struggle not to hate those around her, the Earl of Coventry and his family who had tried very hard to be kind to her. She truthfully didn’t know what would have become of them had he not charged to her rescue, and with that thought came a measure of gratitude. She was trying very hard to be grateful for the good things and not hate the entire country of England for the bad.

After the earl had brought her to this room, he’d left her to rest with hardly another word. The man couldn’t seem to really look her in the eye or carry on much of a conversation and she wondered if it was because he felt guilty for what had happened. Or maybe he just wasn’t concerned about it. Whatever the reason, he’d bowed out very quickly after leaving her in the chamber and she’d not seen him since.

She was glad, however. She didn’t need an audience to her grief and the tears fell steadily as she sat alone in the strange bower, sickened and saddened and waiting. There was so much confusion in her mind that it was difficult to think of anything other than her sorrow. So much was uncertain now. So much had changed.

Confusion and exhaustion finally overwhelmed her and she lay upon the bed, weeping softly for what seemed like hours. But at some point she stopped, her eyes red and swollen, trying not to fear her future. The puppy grunted in its sleep and began snoring, and Jeniver petted the puppy gently. The little beast was both a comfort and a distraction, and she desperately needed both. Then she tried closing her eyes again, but every time she did, all she could see was her father’s battered body. Sleep would not come. As she lay there and petted the sleeping dog, staring out of the window, she heard a door to the chamber open up behind her.

Jeniver froze, her ears peaked. She could hear shuffling, and some whispering, but she didn’t turn around. She lay there, still as stone, closing her eyes so whoever had entered would think her asleep. The shuffling was in front of her now. More whispers. Then, someone began petting the sleeping puppy.

Jeniver peeped an eye open, seeing the earl’s two little daughters standing by the bed, petting the puppy they so desperately wanted to play with. The dog, roused by the friendly pets, yawned a big, puppy yawn and immediately began licking little hands. The girls were giggling but they were also trying very hard not to make any noise.

Jeniver eventually opened both eyes and watched as the girls and the puppy turned into a wriggling, happy mass of hands and doggy tongues and giggling mouths. Looking at those two joyous, little faces somehow lightened her mood. As dark as she was, as submerged in grief as she found herself, those two, happy faces did something to help her. Innocent delight somehow fought back the darkness.

“You like my dog, don’t you?” she asked softly.

The little girls looked at her with shock, eyes wide as they realized the lady was awake. But they didn’t stop petting. The older girl, with the fair hair and green eyes, spoke first.

“He has a big tongue,” she said.

Jeniver smiled gently. “He does, indeed,” she said, her gaze moving between the two children. “I do not know your names, you know. Won’t you tell me?”

The older child nodded but she was looking at the puppy as it licked her on the arm. “My name is Violet,” she said. “This is my sister, Leelee.”

She pronounced her own name as “Biolet”, which was rather adorable. More than that, she had a fairly obvious lisp, which was very charming.

“How old are you, Lady Violet?” Jeniver asked.

Violet was having her fingers nibbled on but she managed to hold up the other hand, displaying four or five fingers, possibly. “Leelee is a baby,” she said, indicating her sister.

Lily wasn’t quite a baby but she couldn’t have been more than three years of age. As Jeniver gazed at the little faces, she remembered what Lady Honey had told her about the earl having lost his wife. That meant these little girls were motherless, just as she herself was fatherless. Jeniver bit back the tears as she thought on their terrible connection, all of them having lost a parent.

“My puppy does not have a name,” she said, fighting off the sorrow by focusing on something more pleasant. “Will you help me name him?”

The girls nodded eagerly. “I want to name him after the sun!” Violet announced.

Lily, who wasn’t quite as verbal as her sister, tried to interject her opinion. “Dog!”

Jeniver grinned. “Shall we call the puppy ‘dog’?”

Lily nodded while Violet shook her head vigorously. “Nay,” she said flatly. “I want to name him Brightly.”

Jenifer’s eyebrows lifted. “Brightly?”

Violet was determined. “After the sun,” she said, pulling her nibbled fingers out of the dog’s mouth. “Isn’t that a nice name?”

Jeniver didn’t want to hurt the child’s feelings but it wasn’t something she was apt to name her dog. “But he is black,” she said. “He does not look much like the sun to me. He is a very black dog.”

Violet was back to petting the dog but she was also eyeing Jeniver somewhat. “You speak strangely,” she said. “Why do you speak like that?”

Jeniver knew the child meant her Welsh accent and was not offended. “That is because I was taught the Welsh language before I was taught your language,” she said. “Our words are different from yours. Sometimes that makes the words in your language sound odd when I speak them.”

Violet absorbed that explanation. “Where do you come from?” she asked.

Jeniver’s smile faded as she thought of a home she might never see again. So much about her life was uncertain at the moment. “Wales,” she said softly. “I live in Wales in a place called Rhydilian Castle.”

Violet was somewhat interested. “Do you have sisters like me?”

Jeniver shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “It is only me and my father. Much as it is only you and your father. My mother died when I was young, too.”

Violet tore her gaze away from the all-precious puppy to look at her. “My mother died a while ago,” she said. “She fell off her horse. Papa does not let us ride horses anymore because Mama fell. I had a pony but he gave it away.”

Jeniver read bigger implications into that statement. The earl, obviously terrified for his children after the death of their mother, took away the very activity that had claimed her. A reaction like that told her that the man was very protective over his children, with deeper feelings involved, much as her father had been. Men of this day and age didn’t usually become so attached to their children, much less girl children. Most fathers she had known or seen had been rather callous towards their young offspring, but the earl evidently wasn’t one of those. The earl apparently cared for his children a great deal.

“Does that make you sad?” she asked Violet.

Violet nodded. “I loved my pony,” she said, somewhat dejected. “I… I love your puppy, too.”

So they were back to the puppy and Jeniver thought she detected a hint of suggestion in that comment. She knew the girls loved her puppy but she wasn’t going to give it to them. She loved it, too.

“I know you do,” she said, realizing it wasn’t what Violet wanted to hear. “You promised to help me name him. Well? What will we decide?”

Violet was bordering on a pout because she hadn’t been given the puppy. Frustrated, and unable to hide it, she shrugged.

“He’s just a black dog,” she said, unhappy.

Jeniver fought off a grin. “But he is a strong and mighty dog,” she said. “We must give him a strong and mighty name.”

Violet gazed at the puppy she could not have. “He’s dark like… like the storm clouds,” she said. “He is the color of angry rain clouds.”

Jeniver looked at the puppy. “A storm cloud,” she muttered, more to herself. “Mayhap we should name him after the storm gods. They are strong and mighty. What do you think of the name Taranis? That is the ancient Welsh god of thunder.”

Violet looked at her, the unhappiness leaving her face. “Taranis?” she repeated. Then, she looked back at the dog. “Taranis!”

“‘Ranis!” Lily took up the cry, somewhat butchering the name at her young age. “‘Ranis is the dog!”

Violet scowled at her sister. “Ta-ranis,” she said clearly. “Say Ta-ranis!”

Lily looked confused. “Ta-ris?”

Violet shook her head, scowling, but Jeniver smiled at the younger child, fair-haired, with the same green eyes her sister had. In fact, Jeniver realized that both girls had their father’s eyes, eyes that she had found quite mysterious and oddly alluring. It is simply the confusion of the day that makes you think that, she scolded herself. She struggled not to think such thoughts about the man’s eye color.

“We will call him Taranis,” she agreed softly, pushing away thoughts of alluring green eyes. “I like the name. It suits him.”

As the little girls petted furiously and called the puppy by his new name, the chamber door opened again and they heard a gasp.

“Lily! Violet!” Honey hissed as she came into the room. “What are you doing here? You were told to leave Lady Jeniver to rest!”

Jeniver sat up as Honey rushed in and grasped her granddaughters by the hands. “No harm done, Lady Honey,” she assured the woman. “They have come to help me name my dog.”

Honey paused because the girls were resisting her, trying to pull free and return to the puppy.

“I am sorry they disturbed your rest, my lady,” she said. “I put them down to nap and when I went to check on them, they were missing.”

Jeniver put the puppy down onto the floor and the children squealed with delight, pulling free of Honey’s grip and running about the room with the barking puppy.

“It is of no matter, truly,” she said. “I was not sleeping, anyway.”

Honey was sympathetic. “May I bring you something, then?” she asked. “Wine? Mayhap some food?”

Jeniver shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “Thank you for your kindness, but I am not hungry. Do you know how my father is?”

Honey nodded. “I have just inquired,” she said. “The surgeon says he is stable. He has not yet passed. Mayhap you will be able to see him soon.”

While Jeniver was relieved that her father was still alive, she was disappointed that she was not allowed to see him. With a silent nod, she hung her head, unable to think of anything but her sorrow. Strangers were keeping her from her father and she didn’t like it one bit but, in a small way, she understood. They were trying to help him, afraid she might interfere or get in the way. Perhaps she should have demanded to be taken to him but the truth was that she would be of no help. She didn’t know much of healing. That being the case, she was willing to let those who knew more about medicine than she did help her father.

Honey watched Lady Jeniver’s lowered head, unsure what more to say to her. The girls and the puppy were back under the bed, having a wonderful time. She thought perhaps that all of the activity was too much for the lady and she hastened to remove the girls from underneath the bed when she abruptly faltered. With a soft grunt, she sagged against the side of the bed, struggling to support herself.

Jeniver saw the woman stumble. She might have thought it was nothing more than a pulled muscle or something minor but Honey grasped the side of the bed for support and actually seemed to be holding herself up with it. Whatever was happening to the woman didn’t seem to be a passing thing. Alarmed, Jeniver leapt off the bed and rushed to the woman’s side, grasping her so she would not slither to the floor.

“My lady,” Jeniver asked with concern. “What is the matter? Are you ill?”

Embarrassed, Honey tried to brush it off but she couldn’t quite manage to do it. Her legs were as weak as a newborn colt’s and there was a great pain in her spine and down her legs.

“I… I shall recover,” she assured Jeniver. “It will pass.”

Jeniver didn’t let go of the woman because she was sure she was going to fall to the floor. She held tight to Honey for fear the woman would collapse.

“You should sit down,” she told her, trying to move her towards one of the chairs in the chamber. “Please sit. I will fetch someone to help.”

Honey resisted. “Nay,” she said quickly, making a strong attempt at standing straight. “Please do not summon anyone. It will pass.”

Jeniver was increasingly concerned but she didn’t argue with the woman. She simply held on to her until the spell passed, which was a few minutes at the very least. While the children screamed and played, and the puppy barked, Jeniver held tight to Honey until the woman was strong enough to stand on her own. Even then, she haltingly made her way over to a chair and sat heavily. It was clear that her strength was fragile. Jeniver followed, arms extended, waiting to catch the woman in case she faltered again. When Honey glanced up and saw Jeniver’s worried expression, she smiled weakly.

“It happens sometimes,” she said quietly, eyeing the children playing around the bed. “I feel much better now.”

Jeniver was standing over her, perplexed. “Are you ill, my lady?” she asked. “Is it a sickness of some kind?”

Honey didn’t say anything for a moment. She continued watching her grandchildren play beneath the bed. She could see Lily’s legs sticking out.

“I only had three sons, you know,” she confessed. “I always wanted a girl but it was not meant to be. When Gallus had Violet and Lily, I was thrilled. I… I would like to be around them a bit longer and watch them grow, at least until they are old enough to foster. Especially after losing their mother last year, I feel as if I am needed. I cannot leave them just yet.”

There was something in the way she said it that caused Jeniver to think that perhaps there was more to her weak spell than met the eye. Honey seemed to be alluding to something greater than a grandmother’s desire to spend as much time with her grandchildren as she could. There was sorrow in her eyes, almost desperation. Quietly, Jeniver knelt down beside the chair, gazing up at the woman with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

“Why do you believe you will leave them sooner?” she asked. “Is something wrong, Lady Honey? Are you indeed ill?”

Honey could see genuine concern in Jeniver’s face and, oddly enough, she didn’t see a stranger any longer. Even though they had only met that morning, they had already been through quite an ordeal together. Honey rather liked the woman, as she seemed to be wise and rather mature for her young age. Besides, there was a lack of adult female companionship for her at Isenhall. She missed Catheryn, too, but in different ways than her son did.

“Not to worry,” Honey said, putting a soft hand on Jeniver’s cheek. “We all must die sometime, mustn’t we? And please forgive me for not having expressed my sorrow for your father’s injury. I am deeply sorry for what he has had to endure at the hands of outlaws. From what little I saw of him, it seems to me that he is a good and caring man.”

Honey was brilliant in turning the focus of the conversation around, now turning it away from her and onto Jeniver and her sorrow. Jeniver, in fact, was swamped by feelings she had only recently pushed aside and her concerns over Honey’s health were forgotten. With a faint sigh, she nodded her head and stood up with some lethargy.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “He is indeed a good and caring man. I… I am deeply grieved over what has happened, more than you can know.”

Honey reached out and grasped the young woman’s hand, squeezing gently. “Although I wish you had not met with such tragedy, it is fortuitous that we were able to assist you,” she said. “I consider it an honor to be able to tend to your father and to have you as our guest.”

Jeniver was verging on tears again with thoughts of her father and struggling not to show it. “You have been most kind,” she said, her throat tight. “I am very thankful for your help and hospitality.”

Honey watched the young woman struggle with her emotions. She wondered if she should bring up the fact that the young lady and Gallus were now betrothed, pushing her agenda that her son should marry again. But she held her tongue, at least for the moment. She would not mention the fact that she had sent a messenger to Coventry Cathedral earlier that day when everyone else was tending either Gaerwen or Lady Jeniver. With everyone occupied, it was the perfect time for Honey to move forward with the marriage plans.

Honey had sent one of her husband’s trusted servants with a missive for the cardinal, a man she had known for many years. He had presided over Antoninus’ funeral, in fact. She had asked the cardinal to send a priest so that her son may be married and, given the fact that Coventry was only a few hours ride on a swift horse, she fully expected to see a priest by the evening’s meal. Nay, she wouldn’t mention any of that at the moment. It would be much better to present the priest and not give either Gallus or the lady time to back out of the betrothal. Aye, she would surprise them with it and she wasn’t the least bit remorseful.

Therefore, she said nothing, instead smiling bravely when Jeniver looked at her, wiping at her eyes. Honey wondered at the great sons and daughters that this woman would bear for the House of de Shera. She was selfish, she knew. She wanted Gallus to have more children to perpetuate the de Shera line. But she also wanted the man to be happy and he was most certainly not happy as a widower.

“You are most welcome,” Honey replied belatedly to Jeniver’s gratitude. “We are quite happy to have you with us in spite of the circumstances.”

Unaware of Honey’s thoughts, Jeniver found herself thinking more and more about her father. In fact, she was starting to become rather anxious about it. Moving aside as the girls chased the dog around the bed, she sat rather forlornly on the bed.

“Would… would you please find out how my father is?” she asked. “Also, I should like to see him if it is not too much trouble. I promise I will not become hysterical or disrupt the surgeon.”

Honey’s smile faded. “I will discover the answers you seek,” she said. “Are you sure you are strong enough to see him, my lady?”

Jeniver nodded firmly. “I am,” she said. “Please, my lady. I would very much like to be with him.”

Honey understood. Wearily, she rose from the chair and Jeniver jumped up to help the woman, steadying her when she seemed off-balance. Holding on to the woman’s arm as they approached the chamber door, they were nearly bowled over when the little girls, followed by the puppy, darted out from beneath the bed and rushed past them.

Jeniver gasped, watching her puppy run off. “Oh… goodness,” she said, wanting to chase her dog but aware of her efforts to assist Lady Honey. “I do not want to lose my puppy. Where are they going?”

Honey clapped her hands sharply. “Violet!” she called. “Lily! Bring the dog back at once or you shall not be able to play with him any longer. Do you hear me?”

The little girls were out in the corridor, preparing to dash down the stairs, but their grandmother’s harsh voice stopped them. Begrudgingly, Violet reached down and tried to pick the puppy up but he was too heavy, so she ended up pushing the puppy back down the corridor towards the chamber, her little hands on the rump of the dog that squirmed and tried to run off. Jeniver released Honey and went to collect the puppy before it could run off completely. She kissed and cuddled the dog as the two little girls gazed up at the puppy longingly.

“Violet,” Honey said, catching the child’s attention. “Take Lily into her chamber, please, and stay there. If I discover you have left the room, you will not be able to play with the puppy at all. Is that clear?”

Violet frowned. “But…!”

Honey cut her off, wagging a slender finger at her. “Nay,” she said firmly. “No argument. Go into your chamber and take Lily. That is not a request.”

Unhappy, Violet grabbed her sister by the wrist and pulled the child into one of the chambers on that level. The girls squabbled a bit once they settled down inside, with Violet accusing Lily of sitting on her poppet. But the arguing soon quieted and Honey turned to Jeniver.

“There,” she said quietly. “They will stay to their chamber, at least for a while, so that you may have some peace. I am sorry that I had to use the threat of the puppy to gain their compliance. I can see that they are quite enamored with it and sometimes it is difficult to convince Violet to do anything she does not want to do.”

Jeniver smiled weakly. “I do believe I have heard my father say the same thing about me,” she said. Then, she eyed Honey. “Should I find a servant to help you? You seem to have some difficulty walking and I do not wish to see you hurt yourself.”

Honey shook her head. “I am feeling much better now,” she assured the woman. “I shall see to your father now. I will….”

She was cut off by heavy footsteps on the staircase. In fact, there were several sets of feet, all clad in heavy boots, as the hard leather soles slapped against the cold, stone stairs. Honey and Jeniver looked to the head of the staircase in time to see Gallus and two big knights mount the last of the stairs.

The corridor was dim as the sun, now setting, cast shadows through the thin lancet windows that were set high on the wall, intended to allow light into the corridor. The men wore tunics and mail, and Jeniver recognized all three of them. She knew Gallus by name but she did not know the other two who, as they drew closer, bore faint resemblance to the Earl of Coventry.

Jeniver wasn’t sure why an odd, trembling feeling swept over her at the sight of him. Perhaps it was her general exhaustion, her grief, or any number of other things. The mere sight of the man seemed to make her heart thump against her ribs in a not wholly unpleasant feeling. When their eyes met and he smiled politely, the feeling grew worse. She thought she truly might be turning ill. As he came upon her and his mother, the man’s focus seemed to be solely on her.

“My lady,” he greeted her courteously. Then, he indicated the men beside him. “You have not yet met my brothers, Maximus and Tiberius. They were part of the group of men who rescued your party.”

Jeniver looked to the other two men. One was very broad, dark-haired, with enormous shoulders while the other one was, simply put, incredibly tall. He, too, had the dark hair and green eyes of his brothers, but he was already smiling at her, suggesting he was somewhat friendly. Both men were quite handsome. Jeniver dipped into a polite curtsy.

“My lords,” she greeted. “I thank you for your service. I am much appreciative.”

The two knights nodded at the same time but the tallest one, the one with the smile, spoke. “You are welcome, my lady,” he said. “I believe we managed to salvage most of what was on the wagon and twenty-one of your men survived the attack. We are housing them in the barracks.”

That was more information than Jeniver had heard since she had arrived at Isenhall. She began to get a scope of the situation and what she was left with, and it was far more than she had expected.

“Then why did those men attack us?” she asked, to the group in general. “Did they not try to steal all we had? Were they not attempting to rob us?”

Gallus nodded. “They were,” he said, “and they managed to steal most of what was on the wagon but my knights pursued them and took back what they could. We also managed to retrieve the strong box so you may want to count what is in it to make sure all of your money is there.”

Jeniver was stunned. It was an odd concept to realize not everything they had with them had been stolen after such a terrible attack. In fact, if the de Shera brothers were correct, then they had lost almost nothing except for lives, and possibly her father’s life as well. Sighing heavily, she slumped back against the wall, thinking of everything that had happened and the fact that the earl’s men had retrieved most of what she thought they had lost. Even so, the entire circumstance was sickening.

“So my father was gravely injured for a failed robbery attempt,” she muttered mostly to herself, wiping a weary hand over her forehead. Then, she looked at the men facing her. “Forgive me for only seeing that side of it. Although I am very grateful you managed to reclaim our possessions, I am devastated at the fact that my father may perish for a failed robbery attempt. I would much rather have him in good health than have any of our possessions.”

Gallus watched her lowered head, feeling a good deal of sympathy for her. “It seemed that your father was one of the first men struck by enemy swords,” he said quietly. “Even if we had arrived earlier than we had, the outcome would have been the same. I doubt we could have prevented his injury.”

Jeniver looked at Gallus, realizing she must have sounded ungrateful for their efforts. “Forgive me,” she said quickly. “I was not placing blame. I am very thankful for what you did. I was simply stating that I would have traded our possessions for his health. Had our attackers simply demanded riches before attacking, I would have gladly given all we had to them if they would have left us in peace.”

Gallus gazed at the woman, into her lovely eyes, thinking that she seemed mature and wise for a woman so young. She had an air about her of regality and common sense. He liked it. But there was also a strange sense of guilt for liking it, as if he were somehow betraying Catheryn’s memory by simply thinking such a thing. He was struggling with his thoughts when Maximus spoke.

“This group would not have left you in peace, my lady,” he said in his deep, hoarse voice. “We have had trouble with them before. They are a band of outlaws that populate the woods outside of Coventry and they prey upon travelers. We managed to capture three of them.”

Jeniver perked up. “Will you punish them for my father’s injury, then?”

Maximus nodded. He had a strong, cold air about him, a deadly hint. “Aye,” he replied. “They will be punished. We will send a message to the rest of their band explaining what happens to men who violate the Lord Sheriff of Worcester’s laws.”

Jeniver remembered that when Gallus had introduced himself, he had given Lord Sheriff as one of his titles. She looked at Gallus.

“Have you tried to capture these outlaws in the past?” she asked.

Gallus nodded. “Many times,” he said. “There is a main group, but the main group also has several offshoots, like roots on a tree. We have combed the woods, rousting their settlements, but we’ve yet to corral all of them. More always pop up in their place.”

Jeniver pondered that for a moment, averting her gaze as she did so. “Then the woods of Coventry are a dangerous place,” she commented, thinking on the lawlessness in England. “I wish I had known that before we chose to travel this way.”

Gallus could sense guilt in her statement. “The woods of Coventry are no more dangerous than the woods anywhere else in England,” he told her. “But I am truly sorry you were preyed upon.”

His apology did nothing for her. She still felt guilty and somewhat embittered, and it was a struggle not to dwell on it. Drawing in a long, deep breath to settle her tumultuous thoughts, she returned her attention to Gallus.

“My father,” she said, shifting the subject. “Your mother is going to ask the surgeon if I may sit with him. But… but if the worst happens and he does not survive, I suppose we should decide what is to be done with him.”

Gallus met her gaze steadily. “It is your decision where you wish for him to be buried,” he said, “but might I say this– you are a long way from Anglesey. It will take weeks to transport your father back to your home and your traveling party is already badly compromised. It would be a burden to transport a body in your present condition.”

Jeniver knew that but she didn’t particularly like the idea of him being buried in England. “What are you suggesting?” she asked.

Gallus cocked his head thoughtfully. “I would be honored to make room for him here, at Isenhall,” he replied. “Or, we could bury him in Coventry’s cathedral.”

Jeniver still wasn’t keen on the idea. “As much as I appreciate your offer, it would be his desire and mine to have him buried at Rhydilian Castle,” she said. “Generations of ancestors rest there. He would want to rest among them.”

Gallus understood. “I thought that might be your answer,” he said. “I am therefore prepared to supply you with men to escort you to Anglesey. But I hope you will at least wait. Some of your men are badly injured and need time to recover. Certainly you would not want to leave without everyone you came with.”

That wasn’t quite the truth. Jeniver’s singular thought was to take her father home as soon as possible but she didn’t want to seem cruel by leaving the wounded behind. Moreover, it wouldn’t have been right for her to do so and burden the earl’s hospitality. With a sigh, she reluctantly shook her head.

“Of course not,” she said. “I will wait until everyone is able to travel. In the meantime, I am afraid we will have to rely upon your hospitality. I would expect to compensate you, of course.”

Gallus shook his head. “True hospitality does not ask for recompense,” he said. “Besides, allowing my daughters to play with your puppy is payment enough. I have a feeling that when you leave, they are going to beg me for one so you must tell me where you purchased the beast. I can see a dog such as that in my near future.”

There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke, something that elicited a timid smile out of Jeniver. The glimmer in his eye caused her heart to resume its pounding, a giddy sensation surging through her veins. She’d never known anything like it and she was torn between the surprise of it and the pleasure. Odd sensation, indeed.

“I purchased it from a woman in Paris who breeds the dogs,” she said. “It is quite a distance to travel just to purchase a puppy.”

Gallus grinned, displaying fine white teeth and a big dimple on the right side of his face. “When you have children, you will understand that you will move heaven and earth to please them,” he said. “That being said, I suppose there must be a trip to Paris in my future as well.”

As Gallus and Jeniver grinned at each other, Honey had been watching the exchange closely. She could see that there was some kind of mutual attraction, which thrilled her, but neither one of them had mentioned the deathbed betrothal. Either they were hoping it would be forgotten or they truly did not recall it themselves. She suspected the latter wasn’t the case because they were both intelligent people, which led her to surmise that they were ignoring it. Perhaps they thought she would, in fact, forget it as well, but they had a surprise coming to them– when the priest arrived from Coventry that evening, there would be no more skirting the subject. Perhaps they wouldn’t want to if they spent more time together, so Honey took charge before Gallus could run off again.

“Gal,” she said, “please remain with Lady Jeniver while I send Max to seek permission for her to sit by her father’s side. Ty will accompany me to my chamber because I find I am not feeling entirely well. I must lie down.”

Mention of Honey’s health always jolted the men into immediate and utter obedience, in any case. Maximus went to his mother without delay, practically pushing Jeniver out of the way in his haste to reach her side.

“What is it?” he asked, concerned. “Do you feel terribly ill? Should we send for the physic?”

Jeniver found herself moving out of Maximus’ way lest the man bowl her over in his attempt to get to his mother. She ended up standing next to Gallus, watching as Maximus and Tiberius went to Honey’s aid.

“She had a fainting spell in my chamber a few minutes ago,” Jeniver said helpfully. “Mayhap you should ask the surgeon who is tending my father to also see to your mother’s health.”

All three men looked at Honey in various states of fear and concern. “Did you faint?” Gallus wanted to know. “Did you fall and hurt yourself?”

Honey shook her head as Maximus took one arm and Tiberius took the other. “I did not fall,” she said, wishing Jeniver had not made mention of the spell because it only served to frighten the men. “I felt weak for a moment and nothing more, but I would like to rest.”

Maximus and Tiberius began to lead her gently towards her chamber door, a room next to Violet and Lily’s chamber. “Come along,” Maximus said in his deep and rumbling voice. “Ty will sit with you for a while, but you must rest.”

Honey looked up at Maximus. “And you will speak to the surgeon on Lady Jeniver’s behalf?”

Maximus nodded patiently. “I will, I swear it.”

Honey didn’t press further. She let her boys lead her carefully down the hall but before they took her into her chamber, she looked back over her shoulder at Gallus and Jeniver.

“Make sure the lady is well taken care of, Gal,” she said. “We will feast tonight and other things.”

Gallus’ brow furrowed slightly. “What other things?”

Honey wasn’t going to tell them of what lay in store for them. The priest from Coventry was her secret alone. It was her control over the situation and over her son, the lonely widower. She knew she wasn’t long for this world and she did not want him to be without a woman influence in his life. The fact that Jeniver had arrived when she had was, to Honey, something of divine intervention. Perhaps the woman had come here for a reason. In any case, Honey intended to make sure Jeniver never left.

“We will celebrate life,” she said vaguely, turning around as Maximus and Tiberius led her through her chamber door. “Life is precious, is it not? It must be celebrated and not wasted. It is a gift to share.”

With that, she was in her chamber and had disappeared from view. Gallus stood there, her words echoing in his mind. Honey never rambled and she never said anything that didn’t have a distinct purpose, which put him on his guard somewhat. Life is a gift to share . He looked at Jeniver and wondered if Honey was referring to the Welshwoman.

Gallus hadn’t forgotten about the deathbed betrothal. In fact, he’d been torn between dreading it and being reluctantly interested in it. But he knew his mother hadn’t forgotten about it because the woman had a mind like a vise– nothing escaped it. Nay, she hadn’t forgotten at all. Gazing down at Jeniver, he was very suspicious as to what Honey meant.

He would find out soon enough.