Chapter Nine #2
In a little church on the edge of the village about a mile from Ravenscar, Dyce de Brito was laid to rest on a misty morning.
But not without drama.
Just before sunrise, Ronan and Christian had released Marian and her ladies from their chamber and accompanied them to the small escort that would be seeing them into London.
At first, Marian had been resistant and demanding.
She even refused to go at one point, stubbornly refusing to budge, and that forced Ronan to bodily pick her up and carry her out of the manse.
Marian had been positively mortified and by the time they reached the courtyard, she’d settled down enough to where he was able to put her on her feet and she walked the rest of the way to her palfrey.
After that, it was simply a matter of moving her, her women, and her escort through the front gates and out onto the road.
Ronan and Christian had watched from the gates as if waiting for Marian to change her mind and try to dash back into Ravenscar.
But the escort finally faded from sight.
After that, there was a massive sense of relief as far as Ronan was concerned. Marian was out of the way, headed for London, and they could get on with what needed to be done on this day – bury his friend.
Dyce’s burial was a solemn occasion and one with great dignity.
Isabeth was clad in white, the traditional color of mourning, and Ronan escorted her to the church where villagers were already gathering to pay their respects.
Word of Dyce’s death had spread in the short time since their return to Ravenscar and, being well liked, many had come to give a proper send off to their liege.
Isabeth was quite touched to see everyone who had come to say their farewells to Dyce and as she headed towards the stone church on the edge of a windswept bluff overlooking the sea, people were rushing forward to give her sacks of food or flowers or other things, all of them offerings of respect for Dyce and his lady.
It was clear how much Dyce and Isabeth were loved by their vassals, but it came to the point where Gerta and a few of the soldiers were having to collect all of the offerings.
Isabeth entered the church with only a bouquet of flowers, given to her by some children, while some of the soldiers were sent back to the castle with the remainder of the gifts.
With the smell of earth from the newly dug grave and incense burned by the priests that smelled of something equally dank and acrid, Dyce was laid to rest down in a dark, damp hole.
Isabeth, Ronan, Christian, and a host of soldiers crowded into the small church and listened to the priest intone the mass in Latin and songs were sung as both a blessing and a sign of respect.
Then, the prayers came and they lasted well into the morning, even as the fog lifted, before Dyce’s casket was lowered into the ground near the altar.
When the mass was over, Christian ushered the soldiers out while Ronan remained behind with Isabeth.
She stood near the grave as a few men began to fill it up again, tamping down the earth.
In this parish, there were stones on the floor, paving stones, so once the earth was tamped down enough, they carefully placed the stones back over the top.
The priest assured Isabeth that she could place a headstone over the grave with Dyce’s name, but until then, there would simply be common stone over the grave.
And that was the end to the life of a good knight, great friend, and excellent husband.
It was difficult to describe the mood that had settled – sadness, confusion, resignation.
All of those things filled the little church as Isabeth simply stood there and stared at the grave.
The priest muttered words of comfort to her, assuring her that Dyce was with God, but that didn’t help the myriad of feelings she was experiencing.
No matter how Ronan reassured her that she would be taken care of, it was still disorienting and frightening to see the conclusion of the only adult world she’d ever known.
Today was the first day of the rest of her life… alone.
The realization was like a shot to the gut.
A feeling of desolation spread out in her belly, filling her limbs until she could feel nothing else but utter despair.
With a last look at the newly covered grave, she finally turned and headed out of the church where dozens of villagers were still gathered, still offering her words of condolence.
She forced a smile at them as Ronan and Christian helped her push through the crowd to where her palfrey was waiting. But she walked right past the palfrey.
She kept walking.
The fog had lifted for the most part, with rays of sunlight peeking through the mist and creating golden beams of light on the sandy beach below the manse.
A sandy beach where Isabeth and Dyce had walked many a time, speaking on their family, of their future, and of any number of things.
Pulling the white woolen cloak more tightly around her slender body against the damp of the sea air, Isabeth took the path from the village down to the beach.
She continued to walk.
It was her moment to reconcile her alone status in the world.
No longer would Dyce walk beside her. No one would until her son was born, but even a child was a poor substitute for a husband.
Isabeth kept repeating the words over and over in her head – I am alone, I am alone – forcing herself to come to grips with the situation.
Forcing herself to realize that no matter what came now, she was alone and her future was uncertain.
That was a difficult thing to swallow.
She kept falling back on Ronan’s words, how he would ensure she had a place to go and a position in life, even if that position was watching over foundlings.
He’d assured her that she didn’t have to worry about her future and she believed him.
Her focus turned from the sand at her feet to the sea, the dark waters that were churning at this hour, the waves as they crashed upon the shore.
Perhaps the saddest thing of all was that she would miss Dyce’s friendship, as they had been great friends.
She wouldn’t miss his scratchy kisses, she was sorry to say, nor would she miss his touch.
That was a difficult admission, but it was an honest one.
Only his friendship, his humor, his companionship would she miss.
Things would never be the same again.
Isabeth paused a moment, looking out to sea. As she did, she caught sight of something in her peripheral vision and realized it must have been Ronan. He was the only one who would follow her onto the beach to make sure she didn’t throw herself into the waves in her grief.
“They say that the sea is constantly renewing itself,” she said as the gulls cried overhead and the surf pounded. “It is life constantly renewing itself, always moving, never the same from one moment to the next.”
Ronan, who was indeed a few feet behind her, turned to look at the water as well. “I did not grow up by the sea,” he said. “You would know more of it than I would, but it is true that it is ever-changing.”
Isabeth was still looking at the churning waters. “I feel as if I am the waves,” she said. “I am crashing on a shore, smashing into a million droplets, and then retreating back into the water to become something different. Something new.”
“That is not necessarily a terrible thing,” he said. “Today marks the day that you begin your life anew. Dyce would want you to be strong in facing it. Do you feel strong, Isabeth?”
Her gaze lingered on the water. “I am not sure,” she said. “I have little choice but to face it.”
“You must be strong for Maxwell.”
She nodded faintly. “I know,” she said. Then, she sighed heavily with the great weight of an unborn child upon her mind.
“What do I tell him of his father, Ronan? When he asks me about his father, what do I tell him? That he was kind and compassionate, but that he was only a mediocre knight who was killed by a better opponent in a stupid tournament that meant nothing in the end? What do I say?”
Ronan took a few steps in her direction.
“You tell Maxwell that his father was a brave man with many friends,” he said.
“You tell him the truth. You tell him that he died surrounded by his friends and loved ones and that, in the end, his friends exacted revenge for the dastardly thing done to him. Dyce was avenged.”
Isabeth turned to look at him, her gaze searching his face for a hint of what he might truly be feeling.
“I shall tell him that his father’s friend, Ronan, ensured that his son had a safe and healthy future,” she said.
“I think I shall tell Maxwell as much about Dyce as I will about you. He will know about the man who gave him life but also about the man who ensured his future.”
Ronan was looking at her, too, into those mesmerizing eyes.
“You make it sound as if I shall walk out of your life when my obligation to Dyce is over,” he said.
“My obligation will never be over, Isabeth. I will always look out for your welfare and Maxwell’s welfare.
I shall ensure he fosters in the finest homes and becomes a knight, like his father.
I will see these things through, I swear it. ”
Isabeth smiled faintly. “I know you will,” she said. “And we are grateful.”
Ronan returned her smile, feeling that same trembling in his chest that he’d felt the night before when he looked at her.
Something warm and quivery. He liked Isabeth – he liked her very much.
He thought she was incredibly brave and dignified in the face of Dyce’s shocking death and his respect for her was limitless.
But he also felt something more.
God help him, he did.
Quickly, he looked away.
“The breeze is rather cold,” he said. “We should return to the manse. It is too cold for you out here.”
He reached out to take her elbow as he spoke, gently turning her around in the direction they’d come from. But she took two steps and fell to her knees.
Ronan was beside her in an instant.
“What is wrong?” he demanded quietly.
She shook her head and struggled to stand up. “I… I am not sure,” she said. “I feel very tired.”
“Did you break your fast this morning?”
“Nay.”
That was all Ronan needed to hear. Bending over, he lifted her off the ground and swept her effortlessly into his arms. Rather than resist him, Isabeth wrapped her arms around his neck, her head on his shoulder as he carried her back across the sand, back towards the path that led up to the manse.
In his arms, she was warm and soft and cozy, as light as a feather to his considerable strength.
Ronan only realized later on that his pace grew slower the closer he got to the path.
Slower and slower, not wanting to relinquish a moment of her in his arms. He’d never known anything like it in his life and by the time he reached the manse, Isabeth was in an exhausted sleep, clutched against his heart.
Ronan knew, at that moment, that he could never let her go.
And he was in for trouble.