Chapter Two #2
Unlike Roget, Alfie treated his horse guard well.
He would bring them food from his own meals, or play games with them, even allowing them to win on occasion.
He had the beginnings of great benevolence, something Amabella hoped he never lost. The little boy had heart.
None of Roget’s indifference and greed had tainted him.
It was one of the few things that gave Amabella joy.
“You have been out with your guard all morning, have you not?” she asked him. “Why don’t you come inside with me and play quietly? Your guard can rest and then you can resume playing tomorrow. Mayhap Shand will allow you to ride your pony then.”
Oh, but the suggestion made Alfie unhappy.
Grossly unhappy. He stiffened up and fell forward onto a cushioned chair, groaning and hissing because he didn’t want to play quietly.
Kings were not supposed to play quietly.
But he wasn’t unhappy enough to argue with his mother, whom he loved with all his heart.
He also obeyed her without question. Well, at least most of the time.
… some of the time.
“Come, querida,” Amabella said, reaching out to pick up her big boy and cradle him. “Come and play quietly. Do you want to play with your sticks? You can build a fortress with them like you did the last time. It was a fine fortress, Alfie. Good enough for a king.”
That had Alfie’s attention. He kept a stack of sticks and pieces of wood in his mother’s solar and he’d built many a castle with those sticks.
He slithered out of her arms and went over to the corner where he kept his sticks, piled in a basket to keep them from scattering.
He sat down beside the basket and grabbed a handful as Aleanor sat up in her chair and frowned.
“But what of my honey puffs?” she asked.
Amabella shook her head as she sat back down to her sewing. “It is too late in the day to set out for Berwick,” she said. “Mayhap tomorrow. Let me think on it.”
“Please, Ama.”
“I said I would think on it. Now, return to your sewing. It is looking beautiful, querida.”
Aleanor blamed her little brother’s appearance for her mother’s reluctance to go into Berwick on this day. It was only early afternoon and there was plenty of time for a journey there and back as far as she was concerned.
Alfie was always spoiling everything with his demands and pushy nature.
But Aleanor didn’t argue. Instead, she settled back with her garment. It never did any good to argue when it came to Alfie. She had just taken the first stitch when there was a sharp knock on the solar door.
“I’ll answer!” Alfie said.
Eagerly, he raced to the solar door and yanked it open only to reveal his greatest enemy in all the world. The man who had denied him his pony.
Shand Bexwell stood in the opening.
Alfie immediately frowned and moved away, rushing over to his mother and throwing himself in her lap even as Amabella tried to stand up. She was forced to push Alfie to his feet as she faced Shand.
“Sir Shand,” she said politely. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”
Shand wasn’t un-handsome; he was average in height, with long blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He wasn’t particularly large, but he was deceptively strong. He had great skill with the sword and with a bow and arrow. Roget had put a great deal of faith in Shand.
The man forced a smile in response to Amabella’s question.
“I was hoping to have a word with you, Lady de Sauque,” he said. “Is this a convenient time?”
For lack of a better response, Amabella shrugged. “As good a time as any,” she said. “How may I be of service?”
Shand glanced at the children in the room. “Privately, please,” he said. “This does not concern your offspring.”
There was something ominous in that statement, which put her on her guard.
Amabella could only pray that it had nothing to do with the servant she’d sent to Berwick.
She’d done it secretly, pretending to send servants to Berwick to purchase foodstuffs when what they really did was head straight to the massive castle that overlooked the city.
She knew the servants wouldn’t tell, for they had no great love for the army or for Shand, but it was possible he’d had the servants followed.
Paranoia was a common world Amabella lived in.
“Certainly,” she said calmly, looking to Aleanor. “Please take Alfie with you and go to your chamber.”
Aleanor was rising from her seat nervously. “But, Ama…”
Amabella put her hand to her daughter’s cheek. “Please,” she said. “I will come for you when I have finished with Sir Shand. Please go.”
Aleanor was still nervous but she did as she was told.
She grasped Alfie by the hand and pulled him from the room, but the boy wasn’t particularly keen on going and did everything but throw himself on the ground in order to delay the inevitable.
Finally, Aleanor was able to take him from the chamber as Shand closed the door behind them.
“Please open the door,” Amabella said steadily. “It is not proper for you and me to be alone in a chamber behind a closed door.”
“What I have to say is private,” he said. “I do not wish for the entire keep to hear. I will stay here by the door if you feel uncomfortable.”
Amabella studied him for a moment before finally nodding, but she moved away from her chair and back over to the lancet window so she was about as far away from him as she could get.
Moreover, her sewing kit was on the table next to her, including big iron shears, which she could use like a dagger if she had to.
Not that she didn’t trust Shand, for she’d never felt threatened by him, but she didn’t like that he had shut the door.
“Speak, then,” she said. “I am listening.”
Shand cleared his throat softly. “It has been four days since the death of Lord Roget, my lady,” he said. “We have put his body in the vault, but you’ve made no mention of where you wish to bury him or when. May I know of your plans?”
Amabella felt a little relieved by the question but she wasn’t sure why he needed a closed door for it.
“My family has been buried at St. John’s near Berwick for four generations,” she said.
“It is where we attend mass every Sunday. Summon the priest from the parish and I shall make the arrangements with him. Roget can be buried with my father, a man he was glad to see die so that he could take his castle. Let him explain that to my father in the afterlife, buried next to the very man he plotted against.”
There was bitterness there, but Amabella had never made any real effort in concealing the disdain she held for her husband. Shand simply nodded.
“I will send for the priest, then,” he said. “But there is something else I wish to speak to you of, something Lord Roget and I discussed on several occasions.”
“What is that?”
“In the event of his death, he wished for me to marry you.”
Amabella felt as if she’d been hit in the chest. All of her calm resolve left her and she stared at the man in shock.
“He…” she stammered. “He wished for you to marry me?”
Shand nodded and, contrary to his assurances when he shut the door to the chamber, he took a couple of steps in her direction.
He didn’t stay by the door.
“Lord Roget did not wish for you to be without a husband,” he said. “He wished for Trastamara to continue as it always had, now with me as Lord of Trastamara.”
Amabella couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “But you would not be Lord of Trastamara,” she said. “Atlas is his father’s heir. By birthright, the castle is his.”
Shand lifted his shoulders. “He is not yet of age,” he said.
“He is fostering at Castle Questing and it was his father’s wish for him to continue to foster there.
He will be knighted by de Wolfe and once he is of age, then we will discuss his birthright.
But not now. Trastamara is an important castle and, more importantly, it maintains control of The Orchard crossing over the River Tweed.
It is one of the most important bridges in this area.
Therefore, all of this must be commanded by a seasoned knight. ”
“You?”
“Me.”
Amabella stared at him for a moment before turning away. She wasn’t sure Roget had ever said such a thing to Shand, but then again, Roget had never discussed his business with her. Shand had never come across as particularly ambitious, but he could very well see this as an opportunity.
She couldn’t be sure.
“There is no need for me to ever marry again,” she said. “Atlas is now the Lord of Trastamara. I am only his mother. I hold no value to anyone.”
Shand was watching her closely. “Untrue, my lady,” he said. “Atlas is underage. As your husband, I will have the right to act as his regent. It was Lord Roget’s wish.”
“He never spoke of such a thing to me.”
“Do you doubt my word, my lady?”
She turned to look at him. “I did not say that,” she said. “All I said was that my husband never spoke of such a thing to me.”
“But he spoke of it to me,” Shand said. “I would not say it if it was not so. Until Atlas is able to assume his duties, he will need a regent.”
“And you must marry me to accomplish this?”
“As I said, it was Lord Roget’s wish.”
He wasn’t being aggressive in his stance, merely factual. Or, so he seemed. But Amabella didn’t want to consider it or even talk about it. After a moment, she shook her head.
“Forgive me, Sir Shand,” she said, “but my husband has not even been buried yet. At least let me get the man in the ground before we discuss this.”
Shand nodded, but it was with reluctance. As if he’d been expecting an instant answer.
“As you wish, my lady,” he said. “I will send for the priest today so we can bury Lord Roget before the week is out.”
Amabella merely nodded, turning away from him. She had nothing more to say and the fact that she wouldn’t even look at him was Shand’s invitation to leave. He did, quietly, and shut the door softly behind him. Amabella turned to make sure he had left.
Only then did she emit a sigh of relief.
And frustration.
Something told her that Shand would be right back at her the moment Roget was put into the ground, and the next time, she might not be able to brush him off so easily.
He didn’t need to be married to her to be acting regent of Atlas’ inheritance, but perhaps marrying her would make his position stronger.
It would also give him cause to deny Atlas and retain Trastamara for himself.
It might even put Atlas’ life in danger. Alfie, too, as another of Roget’s sons.
It was possible that Shand wanted Trastamara all for himself.
With those horrible thoughts rolling through her head, Amabella found herself looking from the window that faced south, praying that the Earl of Berwick was soon on his way to Trastamara.
If she was convincing enough, Berwick might take her side in this and deny any claim Shand thought he had to her and to Trastamara.
At the very least, he could protect Atlas from his father’s overly ambitious knight.
Amabella prayed the situation wouldn’t get any worse before it got better.
If it ever became better.
Time would tell.