Chapter Twelve #2
In Trenton’s mind, his father had always been the biggest, most powerful man in the entire world.
They shared the same height – six inches over six feet – and they both had the same nearly-black hair and gray eyes.
Their builds were also very similar and their weight had always been close, so essentially, they were exactly the same size.
But in looking at his father now, Trenton could swear the man had shrunk a little, and his dark hair had a good deal of gray in it.
Six years could certainly change a man.
“I… I’ve not seen mother yet,” Trenton said as he took a couple of timid steps into the room. “Cort went to tell her I have arrived. And I’m told that Dane is no longer here?”
Gaston moved towards his son, his manner also timid.
“Dane is still at Deverill, but he is in Warminster administering justice today,” he said.
“Dane has been my sheriff for a few years now, but I do plan to move him up to a newly acquired property near the Marches soon. As much as I depend on him, he cannot stay here with me forever. It is time he had his own lands to administer.”
“New property?” Trenton asked, sounding politely interested. “Where is it?”
“Blackmore Castle,” he said. “It runs the stretch of the Marches bordering de Lara territory, between Shrewsbury and the Trilateral castles of Trelystan, Hyssington, and Caradoc. It will be an important place in the Marches for Dane to administer and we shall be allied with de Lara along that stretch of the Marches. With de Lohr holding nearly the entire southern stretch of the Marches and de Lara and de Russe holding a stretch of the middle, it will work greatly in Henry’s favor towards maintaining peace with Wales. ”
Trenton nodded in understanding. “Dane is deserving of such an honor,” he said. “I hope to see him before he leaves.”
“He is not leaving for the Marches for some time. And he should return soon from Warminster, so you will see him.”
Trenton simply nodded, again, and the conversation died. As Gaston was thinking of something more to say, perhaps even ask him why he’d come, Trenton turned for the door and Gaston seriously wondered if the man was about to leave. But instead, he closed it and threw the bolt.
That brought Gaston’s curiosity. As he stood there, he watched Trenton remove his helm, revealing his damp, dark hair, and set his helm to the nearest table.
He seemed quite pensive, his head lowered as he made his way towards Gaston, seemingly pondering something that was on his mind.
Gaston could just tell by looking at him that something was weighing heavily upon him.
But Gaston was not prepared when Trenton lifted his eyes to him and there were tears pooling in the muddy depths.
“Da,” he said hoarsely. “I need your help. I do not know where else to turn.”
Gaston was shocked; terrified was more like it. “What is it?” he asked, reaching out to grasp his son by the arms. “Trenton, in the name of God, what has happened?”
Trenton was trying to compose himself enough so that he could speak without weeping.
Angrily, he wiped at his eyes, but the tears wouldn’t seem to stop.
He was so overwrought that he simply couldn’t control his emotions any longer.
A two-day ride from Wellesbourne, straight through, had left him exhausted and fragile.
He’d had all that time to think about Lysabel, and Matthew, and the horrible ending they’d suffered.
With a heavy sigh, he plopped onto the chair behind him.
“Forgive me for my display,” he said, trying to assure his father that he wasn’t going to fall apart. “I am not sure where to start, so it is best to start at the beginning.”
Gaston didn’t let go of him. There was a stool behind him and he grabbed around for it, pulling it forward so he could set his bulk upon it. He was still so astonished that his son, his proud and powerful son, had been driven to tears that he was positive something catastrophic had happened.
“Speak, lad,” he said quietly, encouragingly. “Tell me what has happened.”
Trenton took a deep breath, steadying himself, but when he looked at his father, he felt very emotional.
Years of separation, of hard feelings, of his father’s disapproval didn’t seem to matter at the moment.
All he knew was that he needed help and, in spite of everything, his father was the one man he could depend on, no matter what.
“In July, Henry sent me to the home of Benoit de Wilde, Sheriff of Ilchester,” he said.
“As my men and I were entering the grounds of the castle, we heard a woman screaming. She was being beaten. We made our way into Benoit’s chamber and found both him and the woman he had been beating.
Purely by chance, I recognized the woman and it was Lysabel Wellesbourne. De Wilde had beaten her bloody.”
Gaston’s face was a mask of disbelief. “Lysabel Wellesbourne?” he gasped. “My God… de Wilde bloodied her?”
Trenton nodded. “Severely,” he said. “Henry had sent me to Stretford Castle with the intention of bringing Ilchester back to him, but I did not make it that far.”
“What did you do?”
“I killed him,” he said simply. “When I saw it was Lysabel that he had abused, I killed him. Before you chide me on the fact, know that I do not regret it and that Uncle Matthew knows what I have done. He has thanked me for it.”
Gaston’s eyes were wide with the astonishment of the situation. He took a moment, pondering what he’d been told, before speaking.
“I cannot imagine I would have done any differently,” he admitted. “It sounds as if you saved Lysabel’s very life.”
Trenton nodded. “I did,” he said. “De Wilde was a vile excuse for a man, Da, not only with his wife, but with many things. That was why Henry sent me for him. You knew him, didn’t you?”
Gaston nodded. “A little,” he said. “We had crossed paths from time to time, and I knew he was married to Lysabel. I had also heard the rumors of his whoring, and I’d even told Matt about it, but Matt told me he would take care of it.
What I’d not heard was that he abused his wife. God, I had no idea. Did Matt?”
Trenton shook his head. “Nay,” he said quietly. “The news hit him hard.”
Gaston sighed sympathetically. “I am sure it did,” he said. “But what has you so upset, Trenton? What does de Wilde and Lysabel Wellesbourne have to do with anything?”
Trenton looked at his father, thinking that his question had so many answers. He was a little calmer now, but he wasn’t any less emotional. He proceeded as carefully as he could, given the subject matter.
“Lysabel Wellesbourne has a great deal to do with everything,” he said. “She has two young daughters and they will heal with time. Benoit never physically abused them, but the fear he struck into them and the cruelty he showed them were substantial. It is difficult…”
He trailed off, as if frustrated, and Gaston urged him onward. “What is difficult, lad?”
Trenton yanked off his heavy gloves, tossing them aside. His movements were sharp, full of frustration.
“There is simply no easy way to say this,” he said.
“Lysabel and I want to be together. I have never in my life, with the exception of Alicia, loved a woman. You know how devastated I was when Alicia died, and then Iseuld followed, and now Adela. Adela is the wife I did not want and a woman who has ruined whatever self-respect I ever had for myself. She makes it clear how much she hates me, and that is no way for a married man to be treated. I have not felt married since the day I took my vows with her. Yet, with Lysabel… it happened so naturally, so unexpectedly, that I was surprised by it. Overwhelmed by it, in fact. She and her daughters have shown me a side of life I never knew to exist, at least not for me, and we wish to be together. But Uncle Matthew will not allow it. I was at Wellesbourne Castle two days ago and when I told him of my love for Lysabel, he told me to leave and not come back.”
Gaston was listening to his son with more astonishment than he ever thought possible. His stoic, proud, and complex son had fallen in love… not with his wife, but with another woman, a woman he’d known his entire life.
In truth, Gaston didn’t know how to feel about it. He simply couldn’t comprehend it. But the longer he looked into Trenton’s pale face, the more he began to realize that this was no joke. It was the truth.
Trenton had found love.
Gaston put a hand to his head in disbelief.
“Oh… Trenton,” he said, but it ended up coming out in one heavy sigh. “I… I do not know what to say, lad. I simply cannot believe what I am hearing.”
Trenton wiped the remaining moisture from his eyes. “Why not?” he asked. “Because it is me we are talking about? Since when do I love anyone other than myself, is that it?”
Gaston was shaking his head before Trenton even finished. “That is not what I mean,” he said. “I simply mean it is a great deal to absorb. This is not something I ever expected to hear from your lips, ever.”
Trenton snorted, now feeling embarrassed that he’d become so emotional.
He stood up from the chair and headed to a table next to the wall, one that contained a bowl full of nuts, half of them cracked with empty hulls still in the bowl, and a decanter of wine.
Trenton picked up the wine and sniffed it before pouring it into a cup that still had some dregs at the bottom of it.
“I have not seen you in six years,” he muttered before taking a long drink of wine. “Six long years, and when I do come to see you, I behave like a hysterical woman. Forgive me for carrying on so.”
Gaston watched his boy as the man downed the rest of the cup and then poured himself another one.
“There is nothing to forgive, Trenton,” he said. “Clearly, the situation has you upset, and it is understandable that it would.”
Trenton downed half of the second cup and then stood there a moment, pondering the situation.