Chapter Seven #2
Tate de Lara, Earl of Carlisle and Lord Protector of Northern England, had been inspecting a half-finished sword tucked into a protective cage near the bellows. Upon hearing Mathias’ voice, he swung around to face him.
Tate was a very big man, muscular and tall, and had a face of classic male beauty with a granite jaw and full lips.
His hair was dark like a raven’s wing, shorn up the back yet long enough in the front so that it swept across eyes the color of storm clouds.
When he spied Mathias, those stormy eyes lightened considerably.
“Mat,” he said, moving towards him with a hand outstretched. “You have not changed since the last I saw you. You are as big and ugly as ever.”
Mathias cracked a grin. He was slightly taller than Tate, with broader shoulders, but the two of them could have easily been brothers with their dark hair and masculine features.
Seeing Tate for the first time since he had been stripped of his knighthood was something of a shock, Mathias soon realized.
He hadn’t thought about how much he had missed the man until this moment. He missed him greatly.
“If I insult you in return, it might mean trouble for me,” he said, his eyes glimmering. “But I will say that I am very happy to see you, my lord. It has been a long time.”
Tate just stood there, holding his hand and smiling at him as he reacquainted himself with the man’s face, when a knight of enormous proportions entered the stall. Mathias looked over to see Kenneth St. Héver enter the chamber.
Very blond, with ice-blue eyes and a square, determined jaw, he may have been slightly shorter than Tate or Mathias but he was purely hard, bulky muscle with enormous hands.
No man survived long in a fight against St. Héver simply because he was so bloody strong.
He was a knight’s knight, a warrior all men aspire to be but seldom are.
He also happened to be one of Mathias’ closest friends.
Kenneth took one look at Mathias and headed straight for him.
Even Tate was surprised by the amount of emotion from the usually emotionless St. Héver as the man threw his arms around Mathias and nearly squeezed him to death.
Mathias actually grunted as he squeezed Kenneth in return, but as quickly as the two came together, they also separated.
St. Héver was embarrassed by his emotional display.
“Mat,” he greeted, looking somewhat chagrined. “You are looking well.”
Mathias grinned. “De Lara just told me I looked old and ugly.”
“He is a truthful man.”
Mathias laughed softly. “I can be grateful for my health, I suppose, even if I am a troll to behold.”
Kenneth smiled, an extremely rare gesture. He had big, white teeth that he kept mostly hidden. “I do believe I was the one considered a troll,” he said. “Compared to you and de Lara and Pembury, I am the shortest of the group.”
“The shortest and most fearsome,” Mathias reminded him. “I am glad to see you are still breathing. Having been living in obscurity for the past year or so, I have not been abreast of current events or of my friends’ conditions. I am very happy to see you both alive and well.”
Tate nodded. “Alive and well indeed,” he said, looking around the smithy stall. “And you? It looks as if you and your brother and father have done well for yourselves. I am told this is the biggest smithy operation in Brampton.”
Mathias nodded. “It keeps us busy.”
There was something in his tone that suggested that was the only thing the smithy profession was good for and the truth of the situation began to weigh heavily.
They hadn’t seen each other since that horrible day in January when Mathias lost everything and already the crux of the situation was rearing its ugly head.
It was the giant in the room that no one wanted to acknowledge yet everyone felt the presence.
Tate finally honed in on it since everyone’s mind was on the same thing.
“How has it been for you?” he asked quietly. “I am not entirely sure I want to know the answer, for I know how I would feel if I were in your situation.”
Mathias lifted a dark eyebrow. “You do?” he asked, torn between curiosity and outrage. “How would you feel?”
Tate found he was having difficulty looking the man in the eye. “Hollow,” he said after a moment. “I suppose I would feel hollow. What happened to you could just as easily happen to me. Such are the fortunes of war.”
Mathias shrugged as if to agree. “That is true,” he admitted. “But it did not happen to you. It happened to me. Feeling hollow is only the beginning. Unless you have experienced it, you cannot understand.”
Tate sighed heavily and averted his gaze. He didn’t dare look at St. Héver because the man had been filled with anguish since the happening. He loved and respected Mathias deeply, and his dishonor had been a bitter thing to watch.
“There is nothing I can say to lessen your shame or anguish,” he said softly.
“Mat, if I could ease this at all, I surely would. You did not deserve what happened but I swear it was the only way to save your life. There were many who wanted to do to you what was done to Mortimer. The only way to prevent that was to strip you of everything and make you inert. I pray to God that you understand that.”
Mathias nodded slowly. “You told me all of this before,” he replied steadily. “I understand everything.”
Tate gazed into the dark green eyes. Mathias was a very difficult man to read.
“Do you?” he whispered, almost painfully.
“Do you also know how Ken and Stephen and I spent three days and nights begging the nobles to spare your life? Do you know that Ken went to fourteen different households in one day alone gaining acceptance to have your life spared providing we strip you of your knighthood? The day that Edward took everything from you was the day we looked upon as a victory. It could have so easily gone the other way. I would rather be speaking to you now, a mighty knight transformed into a simple smithy, than visiting your grave and wishing I could have prevented your death.”
Mathias truly hadn’t known all of the wrangling and bargaining that had occurred before he had been stripped but he assumed it had been something of a measure.
He had been in far too powerful a position within Mortimer’s command structure for him to get away so easily when Mortimer was deposed. His eyes glittered at Tate.
“Yet you still feel as if you did not do enough,” he ventured softly.
Tate shrugged. “It is possible,” he agreed. “I did what I could. I can only pray you forgive me for what has become of you. I have wanted to say that to you since everything occurred.”
“And so you have,” Mathias said quietly, reaching out to grasp Tate’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture.
“Truly, there is nothing to forgive. I simply do not think on it any longer. My life is here and now, and I must be satisfied with that. But know that I am grateful for everything you did for me and my family during that time.”
“Edward will soften,” Kenneth said, watching Mathias comfort a genuinely distressed Tate. “Already, he speaks of the future and of the mighty knights he will summon. He has mentioned your name. He misses you, Mat. We all do.”
A dull twinkle came to Mathias’ eyes. “I am here, in the wilds of the north,” he said. “I swore never to bear arms again in battle, but I can support you with my mighty hammer and flaming-hot horse shoes. I am quite good with both, you know.”
Tate cracked a grin. “I would imagine you would be formidable with a willow switch should you so choose,” he said. “You are formidable in any case.”
“Get me a willow switch and let us find out.”
Tate snorted, as did Kenneth. It was good to alleviate the tension somewhat and both men were eased to see that Mathias had patiently and honorably accepted his sentence.
In truth, they had expected nothing less.
Mathias had always been exceptionally honorable, but still, that didn’t lessen the tragedy of the circumstances.
“Speaking of formidable,” Mathias took the opportunity to shift the subject. “I hear you are competing in the tournament today. Good news travels fast.”
Tate nodded, struggling to move past the heartbreak of Mathias’ situation. “I am,” he replied. “So is Ken. It is unfortunate that you are not. It would be like old times.”
Mathias wasn’t sure which direction to take with his reply. He could agree with the statement or he could confess his intentions. He wasn’t so sure he should do the latter, at least not at this point, so he settled for a neutral reply.
“If it was like old times I would be defeating you both,” he said with some humor. “Mayhap it is best that I stay clear of the competition.”
Kenneth fought off a grin. “I seem to recall that I defeated you in the mêlée the last tournament we competed in,” he said. “Coventry, wasn’t it? I knocked you off your feet.”
Mathias cocked an eyebrow. “I tripped.”
“Tripped or fell, the result was the same.”
“You are too confident. If you do not cease this foolish boasting, I shall ask de Lara permission to compete against you in the tournament to knock some of that arrogance out of you.”
It was a calculated statement. Mathias wanted to see how Tate would react to the idea of him competing in the games based on the very war implements he had sworn never to wield again.
Even though he had skirted the subject with his father and declared that he wasn’t, in fact, taking up arms, the truth was that at some point, he would be wielding a weapon if he advanced in the games.
That being said, his statement to de Lara constituted a pivotal moment, one that Mathias found himself greatly anticipating.
Before Tate could respond, however, a small figure entered the stall.
“Cousin Tate! What a wonderful surprise to find you here!”