Chapter 2
Griffith awoke with a start. He sat up quickly, cold sweat laced through his hair. He ran his hands through the wet mass, tugging on the ends, trying to force himself to leave behind the dreams.
They came infrequently now, never more than once or twice a month, but with a fury that always took him by surprise.
“She’s dead,” he whispered. His words hung in the still of the room, but his heart and mind raced far beyond those four walls. He closed his eyes tightly, willing the visions to flee.
Yet the dream lingered in the early morn. The familiar sick feeling washed over him. He swallowed hard, pushing back the bile that rose each time.
Carina could not come back to him except in these nightmares.
The soft, pliant woman who’d worshipped him with her warm brown eyes and given her body to him night after night lay rotting in a grave, their stillborn son clasped to her bosom.
Griffith hadn’t wanted them parted. His father thought it foolish and wanted a separate casket carved for his grandson, but his mother understood and overruled her husband.
Griffith got his wish, and now his son lay with his mother for all eternity.
He pushed aside the blanket and swung his legs to the floor. His head fell into his hands.
When would the ache end?
Two years had passed, yet after one of these nightmares, Griffith still experienced the hurt afresh. He saw Carina’s long, dark hair, matted with sweat, the faraway look in her eyes. And the blood. Christ’s wounds, there had been so much blood.
Griffith’s mother forced him to hold the dead babe.
The child was the last thing on his mind as his wife lay dying, her very essence draining from her.
He didn’t regret the time spent with the babe, though.
He needed to see the boy, innocent that he was.
If he hadn’t held him, he might still blame the child for Carina’s death.
Now, he only blamed himself.
Carina was a petite thing, shy, never questioning him.
He loved to spend hours simply gazing at her beauty.
His father warned him that one with hips so narrow would never make a good breeder, but Griffith wouldn’t listen.
He wanted a son, and Carina wanted whatever her husband did. Having the child cost her life.
It cost Griffith the only happiness he’d ever known.
He stood and moved to the bowl of water, splashing it over his face. The nightmare began to fade. But the consequences of his actions never would. Griffith vowed never to love again, never to get a woman with child. The Sommersby line would die out with him.
He dressed and went down for morning mass. The ritual meant nothing to him. He never set foot inside a chapel while at home. Deva, though, would question him if he did not make an appearance, so whenever he visited at Mangeron, Griffith went to mass as she expected.
He slid into the pew next to her, crossing himself and kneeling to pray, or at least go through the motions of prayer.
He didn’t believe in prayer anymore. A God that would let Carina die was no God to him.
His impassioned prayers to spare his wife’s life had been ignored.
If a woman of pureness and light such as Carina could be sacrificed, Griffith wanted no part of that God’s world.
His mind wandered throughout the mass, flitting aimlessly from one topic to the next, never staying in one place for long. He found it better that way.
“Are you hungry, Brother?”
Griffith’s wanderings fled, to find Deva’s hand resting lightly on his arm. He rewarded her with a smile.
“Of course. When am I not ravenous?” he said lightly.
“Then come. Let us break our fast.”
Deva led the way out from the chapel, her steps slow as her hands rested atop her huge belly. They crossed the bailey in the early morn’s gray light.
“’Tis rain later today, I think,” he noted. “Is not Crispin due home soon?”
She frowned. “I hope so. Tomorrow will be two weeks he has been gone.”
“What business took him to this convent so far away? You have remained vague on that point, Sister.”
Deva shrugged. She lifted her skirts as they climbed the stairs to the castle’s entrance. “I am not hiding anything from you, Griffith.”
He heard the odd note in her voice. “Then ‘tis something Crispin keeps hidden from you?” He brought an arm about her shoulders in comfort.
“Nay, my husband is not one to conceal anything from me. We are closer each day we are together.” She frowned. “I fear even he knew not what business awaited him there.”
Griffith gave her a squeeze. “I am sure your lord husband will soon return and share all with you.”
They entered the great hall. Griffith seated Deva and positioned himself next to her on the dais. Servants quickly brought bread and cheese.
“A little of the weak ale this morn, my lady?”
Deva nodded, and the servant poured her a full cup. She raised it to her lips and sipped it slowly.
“Ah, ever so much better,” she proclaimed when she’d drained the cup’s contents. “I think I may be able to partake of a few bites of bread now.”
“Still queasy?” Griffith asked. He knew Deva’s stomach had been fickle throughout the entire time she had been with child.
“A little. Only in the early hours before I eat something. This time.” A shadow crossed her face.
He took her hand in his. “All will be well this time, Sister. You will give birth to a strapping lad.”
She smiled. “I hope so, though Crispin cares not whether ‘tis a boy or girl. He only wants the child to be healthy.”
Griffith’s own stomach twisted. He’d lost his beloved wife. He refused to lose his only sister as well.
A servant approached. “Your husband approaches, my lady.”
Deva rose. “Thank the heavens he has returned,” she exclaimed. Before they could exit the great hall, Crispin burst through its doors, his arms held wide.
“Saints be praised, but you are the picture of health, Wife.” He embraced Deva and then spied Griffith. “And the Devil Himself here with you.” Crispin shook Griffith’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“Your message sounded urgent, Crispin. I came as quickly as I could.”
Crispin placed a protective arm about his wife. “I needed you here to look after Deva. I trust no one but you, my friend.” He grinned. “Foolish, I know, but then again, you do have a few redeeming qualities.”
Griffith smiled. “Such as? Quick, flattery for a guest should be required, Crispin, especially one who dropped everything to attend your wife while you were gone.”
His friend laughed. “You need no flattery from me. You’ve heard it your whole life, Griff.
Were you not always the best bowman? The best hunter?
The most skilled at dancing and the lute?
Were you not always the smartest and fastest among those who fostered with Quentin?
The one who could but crook his finger and have half the village girls in a swoon?
Nay, Griff, you will gain no accolades from me.
I lavish all compliments upon my sweet Deva alone. ”
Crispin nuzzled his wife’s neck, and soft giggles erupted.
A pang of jealousy tore at Griffith’s heart. Crispin and Deva’s very closeness, their love, blanketed the room. He took a deep breath.
“As you two seem to have much to catch up on, I shall go make myself useful elsewhere.”
His brother-in-law raised his head and turned his attention to Griffith. “Actually, you could be very useful to me, Griff. I have need of your knightly services.”
Griffith cocked his head. “Can you afford me, Crispin? Or ‘tis a favor you seek, with no compensation?”
Deva laughed. “Come, let us go to the solar. We can speak in comfort.” Her eyes gleamed at her husband. “I am most curious about your trip, my lord, but even more so about this favor you require. I would have you tell all and tell it well.”
Crispin bowed to her. “My lady wife, I can refuse you nothing.” He glanced to Griffith. “Come, then. Let us adjourn to more private quarters. But instead of the solar, we shall go to my mother’s room.”
Deva shook her head. “She is no doubt still abed, Crispin. She rarely ventures forth this early. I would not have her disturbed.”
Crispin raised his brows. “I think, my lady, for this news, she will jump from her bed and lead us all in a merry dance.”
Griffith followed the couple up the stairs, intrigued by Crispin’s words.
What news would have the withdrawn noblewoman spring from her bed?
He knew her health to be moderately good although she did pass a great part of the day in her bedchamber.
Griffith had not spent any noticeable amount of time with the older woman since his sister had married into the de Mangeron family.
He wondered what news Crispin would share that might make his mother come alive again.
They arrived at her door, and Crispin knocked gently.
He entered before he received a response.
Lady de Mangeron sat with a mountain of pillows stacked behind her.
A tray across her lap held a small pewter cup and a slice of bread smeared with butter.
Her skin, while still fairly smooth, was a pale, ashen color, barely distinguishable from her graying hair.
She turned stormy eyes upon them. “I don’t recall inviting any of you in, Crispin.”
Her icy tone rolled off her affable son. “Mother, you will thank me for this intrusion in but a moment’s time, I assure you.”
Haughty brows arched in protest, but Lady de Mangeron kept silent.
“I have news, Mother. News that will first take you aback, but I’m sure you will embrace it, much as I did.”
The old woman perked up, Griffith thought. She shifted on the bed. “Go on. ‘Tis not as if I can do anything else but listen. Certainly not ready myself for the day with an audience present.”
Crispin laughed. “You old charmer. All right.” He knelt next to the bed and took his mother’s hand in his. “I have news about Bevia.”
Lady de Mangeron’s eyes widened. Her mouth twisted. “Nay, Crispin, I cannot talk about—”
“No, Mother, you will not talk. You will listen.”
Griffith hid his smile. Crispin, normally the most placid of men, and certainly nothing like his ogre of a father, silenced his mother with but a few words.
Griffith’s surprise at his friend’s confidence made him take a step closer.
Whatever Crispin was about to reveal would be more than interesting.
And why would it concern Bevia, now dead longer than Griffith could even remember. They had been but young boys, fostering with the Earl of Nowland when news of Bevia’s death reached them. What could Crispin have discovered after so long a time, especially at a convent?
A chill ran through him, a premonition. His gut told him that his friend’s words would change his life.
“Bevia did not die at three-and-ten, Mother. She suffered no riding accident in London.”
“No accident?” his mother echoed. “No accident? I do not understand.”
“No accident,” Crispin confirmed. “When Father took her away, you knew she was with child, did you not?”
Lady de Mangeron’s face flushed with color. Her head dropped. Griffith saw the tears begin to fall, staining the lace coverlet on her lap. Silence fell heavily upon the room.
Finally, she raised her head, her eyes watery and bright. “Yes, Crispin, I knew. The Earl of Nowland took advantage of your sister, and we discovered she was with child. Your father took her to London to try to make a quick match.” She shuddered. “‘Twas there she died.”
Crispin clutched her hands. “No, Mother. He took her to a convent where Aunt Julesa was abbess. She remained there and gave birth to a child. A daughter.”
“I have... a granddaughter?” Lady de Mangeron’s words were but a whisper.
Crispin nodded. “Yes, you do. Bevia died eight years ago. Her daughter has been alone there ever since.”
Deva gasped. “She’s there now, Crispin? Did you see her? Did you not bring her home with you?”
“Nay, Deva, she remains there with the good sisters. But I would like her to come and live with us, here at Mangeron.”
“Of course she must live here,” Deva insisted. “She is your niece, Crispin. And she’s been without family for so many years. How lonely she must be.”
“Mother?” Crispin looked at Lady de Mangeron, her mouth trembling. “Shall we bring Kallen home?”
“Kallen. My granddaughter’s name is Kallen.” The old noblewoman began to sob. “Yes, my son. Bring her to us. We shall correct the terrible mistake your father made so long ago. Oh, Bevia. My poor, sweet Bevia.”
Deva turned to Crispin. “I shall stay with your lady mother. I know now what you require of Griffith.” She sat upon the bed to comfort her mother-in-law.
Crispin motioned Griffith. They stepped into the hallway, and Crispin led them into the solar.
“I cannot leave Deva again, my friend,” Crispin told him. “’Twas enough to travel away from her these past two weeks. I worried constantly about her and the coming babe. I must stay with her.”
He looked hopefully at Griffith. “Kallen knew not of her family for all these years. My father paid to have Bevia and Kallen remain there forever, hidden from the world. When Aunt Julesa died recently, the new abbess summoned me. ‘Tis why I went to the nunnery.”
“Why did you not bring your niece home with you? Why the need for a second trip, Crispin?”
“I wanted to, but the new abbess is strong-willed. I gather she has been Bevia’s and Kallen’s protector all these years. She wanted time to break the news to Kallen gently. In case I refused to have her, the girl would never have known of her family.”
Griffith nodded. “You wish me to go and fetch this found relative back to Mangeron?”
“Yes, my friend. I have never asked anything from you before.”
“Even though you could have?”
Crispin nodded. “Even so. Will you do this for me, Griff? Bring this niece of mine back into our fold?”
“Will that cancel my debt to you?”
Crispin smiled. “I will then be in your debt, Griff. As I have been ever since you introduced the heavenly Deva to me.”
Griffith nodded. “I shall do as you ask. When do you wish me to leave?”
“On the morrow. ‘Tis sure I am Kallen will be eager to return to her family and Mangeron.”