Epilogue
It was late May at Montvieux, and spring was welcome for it had been reluctant to arrive. The weather had been stormy since March, with days of cold rain and winds that whistled around the newly constructed tower of the keep.
The keep itself was not yet a tower, in truth, though Amaury knew it would be so before long.
For the moment, the structure was comprised of one sturdy and large rectangle, a space that was being used as the great hall, with a dungeon beneath.
The actual great hall would be constructed atop this space, then the solar above that.
The wooden hall they had built the previous year had become the stables, though already there was an extension upon that building.
The masons were yet camped beyond the fields, for their labors were only partially done.
Amaury knew they would likely be in residence for years and loved how Isabella smiled when he told her of his plans for Montvieux.
They talked often of it, planning in detail and modifying those plans before the masons created them in stone.
She possessed a practical knowledge of kitchens and such details that perfectly complemented his own understanding of defenses.
Together, and with the expertise of the masons, they designed a keep that would withstand the ages.
A wide stairway was being constructed at this time, one which would sweep up to the second floor.
Tapestries had arrived from distant markets and been safely stored until they could be hung in the hall.
There were two fireplaces planned for the great hall on opposite walls, as well as one on the lower floor, which was completed.
The fire within it cast a welcome warmth at that end of the chamber.
Carpenters and painters already prepared the ceiling beams for the great hall and planned their ornamentation of flourishes, fleur-de-lis and the occasional dragon.
The masons had also busied themselves during the winter with the wall that encircled the keep.
It would be graced with a walk at the summit when it was done and the gate would be doubled at the one side.
Within the enclosure, which was only partly completed, there was already that stable and a new smithy, with an armory market out upon the ground.
The kitchen garden was fenced in where the sun would be greatest. Greens grew there even now and Isabella had plans for an herb garden, one she would plant with Rosalie’s help.
There would be both culinary and healing herbs cultivated there.
The countess had sent cuttings of fruit trees, which had been planted alongside the kitchen gardens.
Roland had gone to Sant-André to serve the count until his planned nuptials to Thalia the following Christmas.
In his absence, Sebastian took the responsibility of Captain of the Guard, and Amaury could find no fault with the change in his brother.
Philip was now a knight in service to Montvieux and a more loyal warrior could not have been found.
He could not imagine that matters could proceed better, then he had word that his companion Lothair arrived on the road to the north. The Viking was greeted with enthusiasm and welcomed to the hall where Amaury called for a cask of wine to be opened in celebration.
“What cause for this unexpected pleasure?” Amaury demanded when they were seated together.
“I have been summoned back to Tulley by the lord himself,” Lothair admitted.
“Were you told why?”
Lothair surrendered the missive, which provided little detail beyond the summons itself. The Lord de Tulley, Amaury recalled, was inclined to be imperious in his demands. “He must have taken an affection to you,” he said and Lothair shrugged.
“I did not realize he had noticed me.”
“You must linger a few days at Montvieux,” Isabella insisted. “I would have your advice about the gardens.”
“I would be honored,” Lothair said with a bow.
Amaury sent a runner to Marnis village that Luc and Thierry might not miss the opportunity to see Lothair and a fine repast was arranged for that night.
That night there were tales to be told by all of the knights and Amaury watched Isabella become drowsy listening to their merry reunion. She was ripe with their child and tired easily.
“You could retire without Lothair being offended,” Amaury murmured.
“Indeed, my lady.” Lothair agreed.
“I thank you for your consideration,” Isabella said. “I would leave you all to your tales.”
When she rose from the board, she gasped aloud and clutched Amaury’s arm. The rush of fluids left no doubt that the babe would arrive soon. Amaury sent Philip to fetch Rosalie and swept Isabella into his arms.
“I can walk,” she protested.
“It might be better if she did walk,” Lothair commented, his words a reminder to all that he was a healer as well.
There was a smaller chamber to one side of the hall that Amaury and Isabella had been using as their own.
Lanterns were brought and pallets for the floor, a plump mattress and pillows, as well as an abundance of hot water and clean cloth.
Lothair commanded all calmly and with such surety that Amaury strove to be reassured.
Rosalie and Lothair conferred when the healer arrived and they two were in complete agreement, even upon the wisdom of banishing Amaury from the chamber.
It was not a good evening to recall that both Isabella’s mother and Amaury’s own had died in childbirth. He told himself that two healers should ensure Isabella’s welfare but when she cried out in pain, it was difficult to believe as much.
Indeed, that night was the worst torment imaginable.
Amaury clenched his fists whenever Isabella emitted a cry, despising that there was naught he could do to ease her pain.
He promised his all and more in his prayers that night and day; he swore himself to chastity to spare Isabella a similar torment in future, he paced so relentlessly that the master mason bade him not wear down the stone.
The jest, if it was one, was not appreciated by the Lord de Montvieux.
Amaury did not deign to eat, not so long as his lady did not. He would not be consoled or distracted. He could be reassured by one detail only – the cessation of his lady wife’s labors.
Just before the dawn, there was one great cry from Isabella, then silence.
Amaury rose to his feet, heart thundering in fear. Lothair returned to the hall and accepted a cup of ale, granting Amaury a nod.
Rosalie then appeared, looking tired. “My lord, my lady summons you,” she said. Despite her smile, Amaury feared the worst. He lunged through the door and crossed to the makeshift bed with all speed, only to hear a different cry when he was but steps away.
A babe’s cry.
“Isabella!” he whispered and to his relief, she reached for his hand. She looked to be exhausted, her hair damp and her cheeks pale. He kissed her hand and crouched beside her, bending to touch his lips to hers in his relief. “You are hale?”
She laughed a little. “I am tired but hale enough.” She studied him with sparkling eyes. “You do not even ask about the babe.”
“I care more for my wife,” he said for it was true.
He was aware that Rosalie was busy at some task, but was not prepared for her to appear beside him, a child swaddled in cloth in her arms. The babe’s face was red, its eyes squeezed shut, its mouth working and its hair dark.
Amaury stared in wonder. “Our child,” he murmured to Isabella and she smiled. She made to sit up and he helped her, one arm beneath her shoulders, then she opened her chemise and reached for the child. He watched in awe as their child suckled for the first time, his own throat tight.
“You do not even ask whether you have a son or a daughter,” Isabella chided.
“I told you before, I do not care. I am so relieved that you are well.”
“You must care, for a name must be chosen.”
“Aye, you speak aright in that.” He claimed her hand and kissed it, content for the moment to simply watch her nurse their child.
Then Isabella looked up at him and smiled, a smile so sweet and potent that he knew before Lothair spoke.
They began to fill their hall with sons.
“A son, Amaury,” the Viking declared. “One of robust size and good health.”
“A son!” Amaury echoed with awe.
“But the first of many,” Isabella said. “You would build an enormous hall, sir.”
Amaury laughed aloud then touched a fingertip to the infant.
He was filled with a wonder he could not disguise.
“A son, Isabella. A son to continue the legacy of Montvieux and expand its borders, to conquer the heart of a lady who will love him truly, to carry the tradition of Montvieux into the future.”
“He is but a babe!” Isabella protested. “He might be a musician or a priest.”
“He will be a knight, more valiant and noble than all others,” Amaury said.
“He will be whatsoever he chooses to be,” Isabella said with a heat that told Amaury he could not impose his own ambitions.
“Aye, you speak aright, my lady, as ever you do.” He grinned at her, chastised and she smiled back at him.
Isabella finished nursing the babe, which dozed against her. Rosalie ensured that all was arranged again, then offered the child to Amaury. He hesitated for a moment to hold such a precious burden.
“They are not so fragile as that, my lord. Consider his first feat.”
Aye, that ordeal had been borne by both Isabella and the babe.
Amaury smiled. “Aye, he will be a lion, this one.” He took the infant in his arms, aware that all those present watched him, and felt his mouth go dry.
He was so light, so precious, that every protective urge within him rose to the fore as he watched him slumber.
He would do anything to defend this child and he did not even have a name as yet.
His voice was thick when he spoke. “He has need of a name.”
“I thought Michel,” Isabella said. “For the angel who valiantly defends justice.”
“Michel,” Amaury whispered, nodding satisfaction. It was a perfect choice.
“And perhaps Lucien, for your father.”
“Michel Lucien. I like it well, Isabella,” Amaury admitted and surrendered the babe into her arms again. He sat beside her then, sliding his arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. He kissed the top of her head, his heart full.
“We shall never have another,” he said. “I will not permit you to endure this again.”
Lothair snorted but at a glance from Amaury, he left the chamber with a smile.
Isabella kissed Amaury’s hand. “More sons may be the inevitable result of a happy match, sir.”
“I have taken a vow of chastity before and kept it,” he reminded her.
“And I have not, and I do not wish to take one,” Isabella said, casting a smile up at him. “We need sons, Amaury, at least two, and if you intend to dispute this with me, you may well find that you lose the argument.”
“The next will be easier,” Rosalie said, gathering her belongings. “It always is thus.”
Amaury was unconvinced, but when the healer was gone and Isabella pulled his head down for an enthusiastic kiss, he found himself more than ready to be persuaded that his lady wife was once again correct.
In truth, he had no quarrel with that.