Chapter Eleven #2
She finished the note without sanding the vellum.
She was in too much of a hurry, too fearful that her plans would be discovered.
As Jeniver snored softly on her rented bed, Courtly opened the shutters to the window that overlooked a livery and alleyway behind the tavern.
The ground was uneven here and a portion of the yard backed up to the wall, meaning that the drop between the window and the ground below was eight feet or less.
In her new lavender gown of heavy brocade, Courtly climbed from the window and hung from the sill by her fingertips, finally letting herself drop to the ground below.
She landed awkwardly and fell over, but she was able to regain her footing quickly and run to the stable where her borrowed palfrey was stabled.
The little gray mare they had acquired at the livery near the Street of the Merchants was in her stall, fat and happy, and Courtly collected the animal, putting a bridle on her but nothing more.
She didn’t want to take the time to put a saddle on the little beast, so she quickly mounted the animal bareback and proceeded from the livery, losing herself in the collection of buildings of the town before finally finding the road south.
As the storm finally rolled in and the rain began to pour, Courtly made her way towards Kennington House, praying she was in time to prevent her father from doing something very, very foolish.
The rain poured and the thunder rolled as if reminding her of that which she would never have: the Thunder Warrior in the flesh. He would be hers only in memories now.
Farewell, Max… my love….
*
St. Héver wasn’t sure he was seeing correctly.
Standing at the gates of Kennington House, he had been called forth by a soldier who swore he saw something moving in the darkness along the road, something small and distant.
The storm had fully engulfed the land with whipping winds and lightning, and St. Héver stood out in the elements with several other men, watching the road for signs of the mysterious wraith he had been told of.
He stood there for several long minutes, waiting, until the lightning flashed again and, for a brief moment, he could see what the soldier had been indicating – there was something approaching.
Whatever it was, it was a solitary figure.
St. Héver saw no threat in that, so he continued to stand by the gates, those oddly built, iron slat gates, and waited until the figure drew close.
Then, and only then, could he see that it was a small figure astride a sopping palfrey.
As it drew closer still, a flash of lightning illuminated it yet again and he realized it was Courtly.
In a panic, he ordered the gates opened.
Soldiers threw the bolt and began heaving the gates open, made difficult because of the mud build-up from the rain and further made difficult from the rusting joints on the hinges.
But it opened enough so that St. Héver managed to get through, racing to Courtly and realizing she was without a cloak or any protection whatsoever.
She was soaked through and through. He pulled her off the palfrey and carried her in his arms back through the gates as another soldier went out to capture the palfrey and bring it in.
By the time St. Héver reached the great hall, he was bellowing for food, wine, blankets, and servants.
His loud cries woke up the entire house.
St. Héver set Courtly down on a bench near the hearth with only a few burning embers in it.
She was half-unconscious and so cold that her skin was nearly blue.
St. Héver began to stir up the fire, coaxing forth a blaze, as Courtly sat there and shivered.
As the heat from the fire began to reach her, she began to come around a bit.
“Wh-where is my father?” she asked, teeth chattering.
St. Héver was working furiously to build up the blaze, which was growing fairly large the more he stirred it. Sparks flew into the air, drifting out into the great hall. “In his chamber, my lady,” he replied. “The last I saw of him, he was sleeping off too much drink.”
Courtly pushed the wet hair out of her eyes, focusing on the fire that St. Héver was so vigorously stoking.
She slid off the bench and crawled on her hands and knees to the hearth, closer to the warmth.
She held her shaking hands out against the heat of the blaze.
She’d never been so cold in her entire life.
“What about his army?” she wanted to know. “Why is his army still here?”
St. Héver looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean, my lady?”
Courtly looked at the young knight. “Is he not going after the de Sheras?” she asked. “I know what happened tonight. I assumed he would be amassing his army to attack them.”
St. Héver was trying to piece together what she was talking about and began to understand.
“Your father was very drunk, my lady,” he said.
“What happen with the de Sheras… your father will indulge in a fight at the slightest provocation, you know that. After they left, he wanted to pursue them but I convinced him it would not be wise, especially with the storm coming. We would be trying to battle them in their own element and we would surely lose.”
Courtly was trying to stop her chattering teeth. “What do you mean?”
St. Héver smiled thinly. “The storm, my lady,” he said quietly. “Have you not heard of the Lords of Thunder? They use the storm to their advantage in battle. It is their preferred medium. Some say the lightning does their bidding. I have heard from more than one man that it is true.”
Courtly was warming up, becoming more lucid, and her mind began to mull over St. Héver’s words: the Lords of Thunder.
Aye, she knew that was what the de Sheras were called, everyone knew.
But now she understood why. Thoughts of Maximus filled her brain and the tears that had flowed since nearly the moment she left The One-Eyed Raven returned with a vengeance.
She turned her face to the fire, unwilling to let St. Héver see her tears of utter sorrow.
“Courtly!”
A cry caused her to turn away from the flames, wiping tears from her face, as Isadora burst into the hall and ran to her sister. The little girl nearly pitched herself into the fire in her haste, prevented from doing so by St. Héver’s quick actions. Courtly and Isadora hugged fiercely.
“You have come back!” Isadora gasped, holding tightly to her sister. But she soon recoiled, wiping off her damp hands. “But you are so wet. You must put on something dry!”
Courtly shook her head, kissing her little sister on the cheek. “I have nothing else,” she said. “Remember that all of our possessions burned. I must dry out what I am wearing.”
Isadora’s attention moved to the garment her sister was wearing, a dress she had never seen before. “Where did you get this?” she asked, fingering the lavender material. “It is so beautiful.”
Courtly wasn’t sure what to tell her sister. My love purchased this for me and it is the last thing I shall ever have to remember him by. But she didn’t voice her thoughts. Isadora didn’t need to know such things. As she prepared a generic reply, Ellice entered the hall.
Courtly’s guard went up, watching her aunt as the woman shook off the wet cloak she was wearing and left it by the entry.
As Ellice approached, their gazes locked and something odd filled the air between them.
There was understanding and remorse and sorrow there, intangible sensations at best. But, clearly, Courtly felt no hostility from her aunt whatsoever, a rare condition, indeed.
Ellice didn’t come any closer than the feasting table and she made no move to embrace her niece as she planted her wide bottom on the bench near Courtly and Isadora. Her dark gaze was on Courtly.
“Why did you come back?” she asked. “You had no call to.”
Courtly wasn’t sure how to answer, unsure how much to say in front of Isadora. “I had to,” she said simply.
“Why?”
Ellice was pushing her. Not wanting to speak of such things in front of her little sister, Courtly put her hand under Isadora’s chin and looked her in the eye.
“Will you go into the kitchen and see if there is warm wine for me?” she asked. “I am in need of something warming.”
St. Héver stood up. “I ordered wine,” he said. “I shall see what is keeping it.”
He walked away, taking with him Courtly’s excuse to remove her sister. Even so, she patted the little girl on the shoulder.
“Go with him,” she said. “You can help him.”
Isadora trailed after St. Héver without an argument. When she and the knight disappeared through the door that led to the kitchen yard, Courtly spoke to her aunt.
“Because I heard what happened her,” she hissed.
“I heard that Papa denied Sir Maximus’ marriage proposal and I heard about the fight.
I came back to prevent my father from attacking Maximus and his brother.
If I am home, there is no reason to attack them.
They were very kind to me, Auntie. It would be appalling if Papa attacked them because of me. ”
Not strangely, Ellice could see her point. She sighed heavily. “You should not have returned,” she said. “You were with the man who wanted to marry you. What must he think now? That you are a silly fool who has run off?”
Courtly shook her head. “I left him a note,” she said. “He will know that I did this to protect him and his family. Auntie, Papa is a ridiculous fool for behaving the way he does. He has no cause to deny Maximus’ marriage offer and certainly no cause to attack the man.”
“You should not have come back.”
“I am protecting the man I love!”
“Love him, do you?”