Chapter Fourteen #3
As the women and children of Isenhall had quickly come to realize, Alessandria had a talent for telling stories and this particular tale had been about Samson, the strongest man in all the land, but young Bhrodi wasn’t having any of it.
His father had told him that Arthur was the greatest and strongest man in the land and he wanted to make that clear to Alessandria.
Alessandria, to her credit, was very patient with the lad. She smiled to his assertion that Samson wasn’t, in fact, the strongest man of all.
“God made many strong men, Bhrodi,” Alessandria said to the lad. “These men lived in different times. Samson lived in the time of the Bible, when men of God walked the earth. Arthur lived much later than that, and he was a very strong and great man himself.”
Bhrodi cocked his head curiously; he was a handsome lad, very sharp, the pride and joy of his parents. “But Arthur was the king of all Britons long ago,” he said. “Did God not make him king?”
“He did.”
“Was Samson a king?”
“Nay, he was not.”
“Then Arthur was greater because he was a king!”
It was young boy’s logic and Alessandria was trying very hard not to laugh at his insistence. She did the only thing she could do; she surrendered. “Aye, that must be true,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she was watching Jeniver snicker. “Kings are the greatest in all the land.”
Bhrodi shook his head. “Not always,” he said seriously. “Not Henry. He is not a great man.”
Jeniver’s head came up. “Bhrodi,” she admonished softly. “We do not speak so of the king. You have been listening to your father too much.”
Bhrodi turned his innocent face to her. “But Papa does not like the king,” he said. “He will not fight for him. I heard him say so.”
Jeniver sighed in exasperation. She didn’t want her young son growing up with such an attitude of rebellion towards the English crown.
Even though she was Welsh, and Bhrodi was half-Welsh, rebellion, in her mind, only led to problems. It wasn’t that she had disagreed with her husband’s stance all of these years, for she supported him whatever he decided, but she didn’t want her son thinking it was normal and right to choose rebellion over obedience to a king.
It was a difficult subject in the de Shera household, especially since Evesham.
The wives, all of them, sincerely wished their husbands would simply swear fealty to a king that was now clearly in control of the country, but the de Shera brothers didn’t seem inclined to do it so the women kept their mouths shut, at least to their husbands.
To each other, however, it was much different.
There was fear in their manner every time they whispered words to each other, fearful for the men they loved, men who were trying to take a stand for what they believed in.
It was a difficult situation, indeed.
“Bhrodi,” Jeniver said as she set her sewing to the table. “You must understand that your father makes decisions he feels are right and true for all of us. That does not mean the king is a bad man. It simply means your father is trying to do the right thing for his family and for your legacy.”
Bhrodi went to his mother, leaning against the table as she ran her fingers through his dark hair. “When I am the earl, I will not fight for Henry, either,” he said boldly.
“You may not have a choice if you want to keep your lands.”
Bhrodi frowned, puzzled by his mother’s attitude.
It was different from his father’s. Jeniver watched her son’s expression as the child turned for Alessandria, who was watching the boy with some curiosity.
He would be the Earl of Coventry someday and it was clear that he was a strong-willed child.
That would serve him well when the time came, especially with the de Shera name. He would need that fortitude.
“Were there great kings in the Bible?” he asked Alessandria. “Were there great warriors?”
Alessandria nodded. “Indeed, there were,” she said. “There were many.”
She was precluded from saying more as Tiberius and Maximus suddenly entered the keep and their respective children, seeing their fathers, began to squeal.
The two little boys playing in front of the hearth made a run for Maximus, plowing into his groin area.
He grunted in pain, picking up the children, as Tiberius made his way to his very pregnant wife and inquired about the location of her father.
Douglass thought he might be in his chamber and Tiberius smiled sweetly at the woman, taking the toddler from her and then pulling her up to stand.
He left the room with his wife and two children as Maximus went to see to his own wife, who had just managed to remove the sliver from the screaming two-year-old child.
Maximus comforted the baby, the gruff brother turning soft in the presence of his children.
Alessandria watched the interaction of her cousins with their families, hoping that she and Chad would one day be blessed with children.
The past two weeks at Isenhall had been a lesson in family love and devotion; as fierce as the Lords of Thunder were, they were kind and gentle fathers.
There was much family warmth within the old stone walls of the ancient fortress.
Alessandria couldn’t help but hope for her own warmth someday as she watched the men with their wives, seeing the devotion between them all. To have Chad look at her the way Maximus was looking at Courtly, or the way Tiberius looked at Douglass, was almost more than she could hope for.
“I suppose my husband will be coming in from the ward soon enough,” Jeniver said, breaking Alessandria from her thoughts.
The woman stood up, collecting both her sewing and her son.
“I will go now and see to the nooning meal. Thank you for entertaining my son today. He enjoyed your stories very much.”
Alessandria smiled at Jeniver, at Bhrodi. “I enjoyed telling them,” she said, looking at the boy. “Tomorrow, I will tell you about Noah and the boat he built at God’s command. He put many animals on the boat to save them when God punished the evils of man.”
That had Bhrodi’s interest. “I have a pony,” he said eagerly. “His name is Henry. My father named him that so that I could ride Henry and force him to my wishes.”
Alessandria bit off a smile, seeing Jeniver shake her head reproachfully from the corner of her eye. “I am sure he is a very fine animal,” Alessandria said.
“Would you like to see him?”
“Indeed, I would.”
“Later,” Jeniver said, steering her son away from Alessandria. “We have tasks to accomplish first.”
Alessandria stood up. “May I help you, my lady?” she asked. “I would be more than happy to help you oversee the meal.”
Jeniver smiled. “Of course you may,” she said. “I am always happy to have your company.”
Pleased that she wouldn’t be left behind and bored without anything to do, Alessandria scurried after Jeniver and Bhrodi as they left the feasting room.
She and Jeniver had become good friends, in fact, and she enjoyed the woman’s company.
They were just to the entry door leading out into the ward when the door jerked open again on its heavy iron hinges, spilling forth Chad into the keep.
A steady breeze blew in behind him and he struggled to shut the door, his gaze on Alessandria. He barely acknowledged Jeniver and Bhrodi before speaking to Alessandria. “My lady,” he addressed her. “I have a need to speak with you. Will you indulge me?”
Alessandria nodded eagerly, excusing herself from Jeniver, as Chad took her arm and politely led her into the small vaulted feasting room that was just off the entry.
Alessandria had become very familiar with that room, as they ate most of their meals there and it seemed to be the favorite gathering place in the keep for its warmth and intimacy.
As Jeniver and Bhrodi went outside and shut the door, and Maximus was in the other room with his wife and children, Alessandria and Chad moved to a corner of the room where they would have more privacy.
The stone walls were heavy here and three long, thin lancet windows were situated nearby, providing light and ventilation for the chamber.
Certain that Maximus wasn’t anywhere close to see his movements, Chad took Alessandria’s hand in his own and brought it to his soft lips.
“I have missed you today,” he murmured as he kissed her flesh. “How long has it been since I have last seen you?”
Alessandria grinned, her heart fluttering wildly as he nibbled her fingers. “Not long,” she said. “You were with me when you were summoned to the gatehouse not a half-hour ago. Do you not recall?”
He made a face. “We were surrounded by chaperones, as we always are.”
She laughed softly. “They are simply protecting my virtue,” she said. “Evidently you are a devil that I need protecting from.”
He grinned. “I would agree with that statement,” he replied. But soon, his expression softened. “I do not like being away from you, no matter if it is a few minutes or a few hours. Any time away from you is too long.”
Alessandria flushed at his flattery. “I feel the same,” she said softly. “Did you finish your business at the gatehouse, then?”
Chad’s warm expression faded; he couldn’t help it. “I did,” he said. “That is what I must speak to you about.”
“Oh?” she cocked her head curiously. “What can it be?”
He grew serious, caressing her hand as he thought of how he would approach the subject.
He didn’t want to frighten her but she needed to know how serious the situation was.
Something very bad was coming, a mighty storm of swords and men and loyalties.
Chad was coming to think that she was so much better off in the convent; he struggled not to let guilt consume him, yet again, for having brought her into this terrible situation.
“When we were at Canterbury, you will recall that Henry sent men to take you,” he said quietly. “Did I ever mention the name of the knight in command?”