Chapter Eight
“What do you think of de Bretagne’s new wife?”
The question came from Drake de Winter, proposing the query to either of his two companions.
Oliver St. John and James de Lohr were standing just inside the front door of an inn in the city of Shaftesbury, watching Cortez and Andres from across the room.
The brothers were negotiating with the fat innkeeper, a man with a great pot belly and big scabs on his knees.
They could see them through his torn breeches.
Before Oliver could answer the question, James put up a hand.
“Before you say anything, you both should know that I am a cousin of the lady,” he said, watching their surprised expressions.
“We discovered that my grandfather and her grandmother were siblings, both children of Christopher de Lohr. So keep that in mind when offering your opinion of the new Lady de Bretagne.”
Oliver grinned faintly. “I was not going to say anything to the negative,” he said. “In fact, she seems rather pleasant. Quiet, but pleasant.”
Drake lifted his dark eyebrows. He was the son of Davyss de Winter, who had been a major player in the wars against Simon de Montfort thirty years earlier.
He had his father’s legendary arrogance and his mother’s legendary compassion, a paradoxical combination.
He was conceited to the core but a brilliant commander and a deeply loyal friend.
He was very loyal to Cortez and, at the moment, he didn’t seem convinced of Oliver’s opinion.
“I was at Corfe when Cortez went to retrieve her,” he said. “Those two have not had an easy start. Rumor has it that George Edlington was very much opposed to the marriage. In any case, she did not make it simple for Cortez. She fought him every step of the way.”
James looked over his shoulder at Cortez and Andres as they continued to barter with the innkeeper. “That is because she is still in mourning, I am sure,” he said quietly. “God’s Bones, Rob Edlington has only been gone three months. The woman has not yet had time to grieve.”
“She’s had three months,” Oliver muttered. “The man is not coming back.”
James looked at him, pointedly. “Aye, he is coming back,” he said.
“Why do you think we are heading to Falkirk? Cortez told me that she wants Rob home for a proper burial, and that is exactly what we are going to do. You all knew Rob Edlington. You know what kind of man he was. It is the least we can do.”
Oliver St. John was another legacy knight from a long line of great knights.
His father, Christian St. John, was Lord of Eden, a castle far to the north in Cumbria.
Oliver had his father’s blond good looks and a rather ironic way of viewing the world.
He was pragmatic to the bone and he saw this entire venture north to retrieve Edlington’s body as a folly. He shook his head to James’ statement.
“We will never find him,” he said quietly, looking between James and Drake.
“The man has rotted under several feet of mud and we will never find him. Cortez is doing this just to make the woman happy but it is only going to cause her more heartache when she realizes that Rob is lost to the ages. What are we supposed to do? Dig up the entire battlefield? That is madness!”
Drake waved a hand at him to keep his voice down.
“Madness or not, that is what we’ve been ordered to do and we shall do it,” he said, grunting with the same disapproval Oliver had expressed.
“But I must say it is bad enough to bring the woman along much less her daughter. Lady de Bretagne has no idea how difficult this is going to be. To drag her child along is stupid at best.”
James eyed his friends. “Be that as it may, keep that opinion between us,” he mumbled. “You do not want Cortez to catch hint of that rumor. He’ll have your head.”
Oliver and Drake nodded reluctantly. The trio fell silent as Cortez and Andres, evidently finished with the barkeep, made their way back over to them.
The main room of the inn was moderately full of people and extremely smoky from a malfunctioning chimney.
It also smelled like raw sewage, a most unpleasant smell.
Andres shoved an old drunkard out of his way as he and Cortez reached the rest of the knights.
“Idiots and drunkards,” Andres sniffed, looking at the rabble in the room. “Could we not have found a more appropriate place to spend the night, brother? Why this dog-hole?”
Cortez gave him a disdainful look. “Because they are all full,” he snapped without force. “I told you that already. This is the only place with availability and we are going to take it. If you do not like it, sleep out in the rain with your horse. I care not.”
Andres was obviously displeased. “We deserve better accommodations than this.”
Cortez didn’t want to hear his brother’s complaining.
“Then you are welcome to go and find them,” he said.
“I have secured three rooms in this establishment and I’m sure the other knights will not mind if you drag your carcass somewhere else.
If you do not, then shut your mouth because I do not want to hear your grumbling. ”
Andres simply made a face and looked away, smart enough not to engage his brother in more of a verbal battle.
Cortez would win anyway, and if he didn’t, the argument could very well end with the man throwing a punch, and Andres didn’t want a bloodied nose this night.
He was exhausted and hungry, as they all were.
Cortez waited for his brother to throw a tantrum but the man wisely remained silent. Andres was unpredictable sometimes, and spoiled, but he wasn’t foolish. He knew when his brother was at his limit. When Cortez was sure there would be no more argument, he turned to his three knights.
“The barkeep tells me there are two barns in the back,” he said, “one for the animals and one that is used for storage with hay and other things. Tell the men they are welcome to sleep in the storage barn if they do not wish to raise their shelters. They are not to have a fire in it, however, for obvious reasons. Whatever they decide, make sure the men are assembled by dawn. I plan to make it to Warminster by tomorrow night and I want to stay on schedule. I will not tolerate late risers.”
The knights nodded and moved out, heading into the rainy night as they began to bellow instructions to the men who were standing out in the elements.
When Cortez’s escort began to move, he headed outside to the provisions wagon where Diamantha and Sophie were.
Lightning flashed overhead as he walked through the ankle-deep mud, crossing the road and ending up next to the saturated wagon.
Peering inside, he could see Diamantha sitting far back on the pallet with a sleeping Sophie in her arms. She was dry for the most part but he could tell by the color of her face that she was cold and exhausted.
Her pert little nose was red and her face pale, indicative of the cold.
Turning around in search for some help, he spied his brother and whistled the man over.
Unhappy, Andres sloshed through the mud as Cortez turned back to Diamantha.
“Give me Sophie,” he said softly, holding out his arms. “I have a nice, warm bed waiting for her.”
Diamantha shifted, carefully handing over Sophie to Cortez, who took her gently. Diamantha then took her cloak and covered the child with it so the rain would not soak her. As careful as if he were holding the Baby Jesus, Cortez took Sophie and then handed her over to his brother.
“Take her inside immediately,” he whispered to Andres. “We have the room at the top of the stairs, last door on the left. Take her there and try not to get her wet.”
Andres, surprisingly, was very careful with Sophie in spite of his surly attitude.
He cradled her as Cortez fixed the cloak so the child would not get wet, and soon he was making haste towards the inn.
Cortez watched him go, making sure his brother was well on his way, before turning to Diamantha. He smiled politely.
“Now it is your turn, my lady,” he said, holding out his hands. “Come along, now. Let us get you inside where it is warm and dry.”
Diamantha shifted along the wagon bed but not before she reached out to grab the cage with the animals in it.
She tried to hold on to them with her wrapped hand while pushing herself along with the other.
Cortez took the cage from her and set it aside as he lifted her out of the wagon bed.
Snug in his arms, Diamantha reached over and picked up the cage, and away they went towards the inn.
By the time Cortez got her inside, they were both fairly wet from the downpour, as were the animals, who were now awake and restless.
The kittens were crying and Cortez set Diamantha to her feet, politely grasping her arm to escort her up the rickety stairs that led to the darkened second floor above.
She moved slowly, seemingly very interested in the room, a smelly, smoky hovel of men and women seeking shelter from the storm.
“Will we be eating down here?” she wanted to know.
Cortez was trying to urge her to move more quickly up the steps. “Nay,” he said. “We will take our meal in our room.”
Her head snapped around to him. “Our room?”
He met her eyes. “Aye,” he said steadily. “There were three rooms available and my knights will occupy two of them. You, me, and Sophie will have one for ourselves.”