Chapter Seventeen
Oxford
“Do you think they might return today?”
Courtly asked the question. Four days after Maximus, Gallus, and Tiberius had left for Warborough, Courtly and Jeniver were sitting in the common room of The One-Eyed Raven, a platter of bread and cheese and small apples between them, but neither one of them felt much like eating.
It was mid-morning and the common room was fairly full of smelly and loud people, all of them eating or drinking or both.
But the ladies weren’t paying much attention to what was going on around them.
They were focused on their missing husbands, the battle at Warborough, and a messenger that had arrived from Isenhall late last night.
The news he bore had not been good. This morning, their depression on the situation in general ran rampant.
“It is difficult to say when they will return,” Jeniver said, picking at her bread. “It is difficult to say just how long a battle will last. If they were fortunate, they chased Henry off straight away, but if they were not fortunate, then it is probably still going on.”
Courtly sighed faintly. “But it has been four days,” she said softly. “Surely the messenger we sent to Maximus regarding my father has found him. Surely Maximus knows by now.”
Jeniver glanced at her friend, seeing how worried she was. There was much turmoil and strife going on in their world these days. “I am sure he knows,” she assured her. “I am sure Maximus is safe, or at least as safe as he can be in battle. You needn’t worry so much.”
It was a silly thing to say. They were both greatly worried and both trying to pretend that they weren’t.
Courtly’s thoughts lingered on Maximus and on her father for a few moments before she happened to catch sight of the Isenhall messenger.
The man was eating ravenously, having ridden very hard for five days to reach Oxford to deliver his news.
Courtly thoughts shifted from those of her husband to the information the messenger bore, something that had compounded their strain and anxiety ten-fold.
It was news they had been expecting yet dreading it just the same.
“What was Lady Honey like?” she asked Jeniver. “I am sorry I will never have the opportunity to meet her. I had hoped to.”
Jeniver’s eyes filled with tears at the thought of Lady Honey’s passing.
But her tears weren’t for Honey. The woman had suffered from her cancer terribly in her later days and death had finally put an end to that pain.
Jeniver’s tears were for her husband and for Maximus and Tiberius, men who were very attached to their mother.
She knew how hard this would be on them. She sniffled, wiping at her eyes.
“She was a small woman who ruled the House of de Shera with an iron fist,” she said quietly. “She was very kind, very loving, and quite intelligent. She is everything you would think the mother of the Lords of Thunder would be. Her death is going to be a tremendous blow to them.”
Courtly already knew that. She noticed that Jeniver was still fighting off tears and she reached out, patting the woman on the hand.
“I am very sorry for all of you who knew her,” she said. “My heart breaks for Maximus. He has spoken quite fondly of his mother.”
Jeniver nodded her head, grasping Courtly’s hand and holding tightly to it. “He will need your comfort,” she whispered. “They will all need our comfort. We have no right to grieve at all. We must be strong for them.”
Courtly nodded. “I intend to be,” she assured her. “Certainly, they will want to return home right away, to attend their mother’s burial. Who was left behind at Isenhall who can make such decisions?”
Jeniver shrugged. “When we left, there were only soldiers, a majordomo, and a physic to tend Honey,” she said. “We also left Gallus’ young daughters behind with their nurses, but the children cannot make such decisions. I would imagine the majordomo has taken charge.”
Courtly’s thoughts lingered on Isenhall, the castle where she would live but had not yet seen. Based on Maximus’ description, she imagined it to be quite a mighty fortress.
“I did not know that Gallus already had children,” she said, eyeing Jeniver curiously. “You never mentioned it.”
Jeniver thought of fair-haired Violet and lovely, little Lily. “Haven’t I?” she asked, thinking. “I suppose it just never came up.”
“They are not your children, too?”
Jeniver shook her head. “I am Gallus’ second wife,” she said. “Gallus’ first wife died in a fall two years ago. Gallus has two daughters.”
Courtly’s heart began to ache for Gallus, now for a bigger reason. “Then he has already suffered great loss of a woman in his life,” she said. “I am very sorry for him. He has much to bear.”
Jeniver nodded, trying not to tear-up again as she thought of her husband and the death he had suffered through. “He is a strong man,” she said. “He has had to be.”
Courtly didn’t have much to say to that so she simply squeezed Jeniver’s hand again, holding it to comfort her. As she pondered the suggestion of playing more card games simply to distract themselves, she noticed a figure on the walkway overhead as Ellice emerged from her sleeping chamber.
Since Ellice’s arrival four days before, she’d not left her niece’s side.
She had been strangely comforting to Courtly as she began to experience a new relationship with her aunt, one that she could have never imagined.
Ellice had been considerate, thoughtful, and wise, certainly not the bitter spinster Courtly had known all of these years.
It was rather strange but also rather wonderful.
Courtly poured Jeniver a measure of boiled fruit juice and then poured some for herself as Ellice came to the table. The older woman eyed Isenhall’s messenger as she sat.
“Good morn to you, ladies,” Ellice said, hungrily reaching for the bread. “I see the messenger is still here. I had hoped, for your sake, that his arrival yesterday was all a bad dream.”
Courtly moved to pour her aunt some juice but Ellice waved her off in favor of watered ale. “Unfortunately, it was not,” Courtly said. “It is all very real.”
Ellice took a big bite of bread. “Has the man you sent on to Warborough returned yet?”
Courtly shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “I fear we are in for another day of waiting and wondering.”
As they sat at the table, resigning themselves to another day of anxiety, there seemed to be a great commotion in front of the inn.
They could hear horses, people shouting, and a few startled patrons bolted in through the front door as if the devil himself were chasing them.
It was evident that something great was happening out on the street.
The three-man de Shera escort, sitting at the table next to the ladies, stood up, eyeing the door with some concern. The man in charge of the escort turned to Jeniver.
“My lady,” he said. “Mayhap you should retire to your room for the time being. It sounds as if there may be some trouble about.”
Jeniver didn’t argue with the man. She’d been through this drill before.
Sometimes loud and obnoxious men came to the tavern and it was safer if the women weren’t in the common room.
Therefore, Jeniver stood up and Courtly stood with her, both women making their way to the stairs that led to the upper levels.
Ellice, hardly caring if rough men were about to enter the tavern, simply picked up her food and moved to another part of the tavern, back in a corner that was hidden from view.
As Jeniver and Courtly reached the bottom of the steps, the door to the inn flew open and a shout from across the room stopped them.
“Courtly!”
Maximus stood in the doorway. When Courtly realized her husband had returned, she nearly fell off the bottom step in her haste to reach the man.
She cried out with surprise, with relief, as she ran across the room, being thwarted by tables and chairs and people in her attempt to reach him.
Maximus, too, was dodging obstacles, but he met his wife somewhere in the middle of the room and threw his arms around her, lifting her into his massive, warm, and safe embrace.
Courtly wept as she clung to Maximus, her arms wound around his neck so tightly that she was very nearly strangling him.
They stood there in the center of the room, holding one another, as Gallus rushed past them, sweeping his emotional wife into his arms as he greeted her.
Tiberius entered the room as well, without a scratch, followed by Scott, Troy, and Stefan.
Troy was sporting a rather large bandage on his neck but out of all the de Shera knights, he seemed to be the only one who was injured.
More men piled into the room, exhausted de Shera soldiers, and began shouting for food and wine.
They had returned from battle, safely, and it was time to celebrate the fact.
It was loud and chaotic as Courtly and Maximus held one another, re-affirming bonds, each assuring the other that their beloved was safe. Courtly finally pulled her head from the crook of Maximus’ neck, beaming at him through her tears of joy.
“You are safe,” she breathed.
He nodded, kissing her deeply. “I am,” he confirmed, his lips on hers. “I am well.”
Courtly ran a hand over his bearded face, partially covered by the mail hood he wore. “Did the messenger reach you?” she asked, breathless. “Did he tell you about my father?”
My father. Maximus’ joy diminished somewhat as he set Courtly carefully to her feet, his hands moving to her arms, clutching at her.
As he gazed into her happy but concerned face, he struggled to bring forth the words that would tell her all that had happened.
There was a great deal to tell and he hardly knew where to begin.
“He did,” he finally replied. “The messenger did not find me until after the battle, however, when it was all over.”