Epilogue #2
She hugged him tightly. “Thank you, my love,” she said. “It will be the most prestigious standard in all of England. But what about the French property? You will use the same standard?”
“Of course,” he said. “In truth, I did not know about the Duc de Lorraine title. The Marshal kept that one from me. He must have written to Philip about me and the fact that I was to finally take my place among the great warlords. It seems my uncle in France wishes for me to take my place there as well.”
“And you should,” she said. “Your uncle is the king. Does it feel strange to acknowledge that openly?”
He grinned. “A little,” he said. “For most of my life, I was hidden because of my royal blood. But now, it only seems to bring me earldoms and admiration.”
With a laugh, Andromeda kissed him on the cheek, thrilled for her modest, noble husband who was truly humbled by all of the attention.
In fact, she noticed that his friends were standing several feet away in conversation, but they kept glancing over at Tristan.
She knew they wanted to congratulate him, but they also didn’t want to interrupt this special moment with his wife.
They were all men she’d come to know and love, men who had risked themselves for her.
In a small way, she, too, felt as if she was part of the Executioner Knights.
She owed them a debt she could never repay.
“You already had the admiration of your friends, you know,” she said after a moment. “I’m just sorry that William and Paris and Kieran could not join us.”
Tristan acknowledged that. “As am I,” he said. “But someone had to remain in command of Wrexham when we came to London, and they volunteered.”
“Are you sure they’re not turning it into a notorious gambling establishment while we are away?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “They’d better not, or my first act as the Earl of Wrexham will be to strip them of their dignity and publicly humiliate them.”
Andromeda laughed softly. “I was only jesting,” she said. “They admire you too much to do such a thing. Hopefully the Welsh have remained quiet while we are in London.”
Tristan shrugged. “They have been quiet since the battle that claimed your father’s life.”
She looked at him, her smile fading. “If they think you are going to do such terrible things to their dead, then they should stay away… shouldn’t they?”
He met her gaze. She knew what they had done to the Irish rebel and ultimately to Carr and Dermot in order to weaken the Welsh resolve.
She understood that, under the circumstances, it had been necessary to end a battle, and her father, in that regard, had given the ultimate sacrifice.
She still didn’t know what Carr had told Tristan—that he was not her real father—and Tristan had decided that was something he would never tell her, because her opinion of Carr had improved since his death.
She understood her father’s sacrifice at the end, and she respected him for it.
In Tristan’s opinion, that was all she ever need know.
He thought Carr would have wanted it that way.
“They should,” he said. “They think a madman is in command of Wrexham Castle, so let them think that. If it keeps them away, then I am happy to let them believe that I am quite mad.”
Andromeda agreed. As they smiled at one another and Tristan kissed her cheek, Alexander and Addax and Peter finally joined them, crowding around Tristan and offering their felicitations.
When others joined in—Christopher, Bric, Julian, and Ashton again—Andromeda wandered away, letting her husband have his moment with his friends, who were all so happy for his good fortune.
She was standing near the throne that young Henry had sat upon when she heard someone clear their throat.
“Lady de Royans?”
She turned to see Henry standing behind her. He smiled timidly when their eyes met, and Andromeda dropped into a practiced curtsy.
“Your Grace,” she said. “May I say that you did very well today? The ceremony was flawless.”
Henry brightened. He was a short lad for his age, with blond hair that looked like straw and one droopy eye that was the trait of some of the Plantagenet males.
But he was a good boy, trying to do good things, and part of those good things was embracing a bastard uncle who was greatly respected by the fighting men in England.
Young Henry, so far, was trying to make a difference.
“I have been practicing things like this,” he admitted. “I do not do ceremonies often, but my tutors and my advisors have me practice so I do not fail.”
“You did very well.”
Henry nodded, but he seemed a little ill at ease. As if he wanted to say something more. He eyed Andromeda for a moment before finally summoning the courage to speak.
“I… I know that your grandfather was the King of Dublin,” he said. “Did you know him?”
Andromeda shook her head. “I did not, Your Grace,” she said. “He died before I was born.”
“I see,” Henry said. “Do you hope to go back to Ireland someday? Now that you’re the Countess of Dublin, there is a castle that belongs to you. Lands, too, I think. Would you like to visit it?”
She nodded. “I would,” she said, putting her hand on her swollen belly. “I would like my children to see where I was born. It is their heritage, too.”
“Do you ever wish that you were queen?”
She laughed softly. “Nay, Your Grace,” she said. “I will leave ruling countries to men like you. You are much better suited for it than I. Tristan feels the same way.”
Henry looked over at Tristan standing with his friends, laughing and enjoying their company. “I hope he will spend time here in London with me,” he said. “He is my uncle. I do not have any more uncles, at least not on my father’s side.”
“He will be a very good uncle, Your Grace,” Andromeda said. “Do you know why?”
The boy shook his head. “Why?”
“Because he will love you for who you are, and he will always want the best for you.”
That seemed to be a foreign concept to Henry, who had grown up with King John as his father. Even at his very young age, he understood politics. He understood the nature of men, or at least he tried to. An uncle who wanted the best for him was an odd thought, indeed.
But a good one.
As Andromeda watched the young king’s expression as he tried to rationalize an uncle who wasn’t out for his blood, a woman entered the throne room through the painted entry doors.
Andromeda watched as the Marshal crossed the floor in the woman’s direction, carrying on a brief conversation with her.
She was an older woman, dressed in fine clothing, with a delicate wimple over her head.
As Andromeda watched the woman at a distance, Henry left her side and went over to the knights standing in a circle with Tristan.
He seemed to want to be part of the group, and she smiled when she saw Tristan put his hand on the boy’s shoulder in a show of kindly affection It was something Henry probably didn’t know much of.
As the knights were distracted with the young king, the Marshal caught Andromeda’s attention and waved her over.
Politely, she complied.
“Lady de Royans,” the Marshal said as she came near. “I should like to introduce you to someone. This is the Countess of Ponthieu. You may know her as Princess Alys.”
Princess Alys.
Andromeda knew the name, and a bolt of shock ran through her.
Eyes widening, she looked at the woman who was quite lovely and fragile-looking.
Blonde hair peeked out from beneath her wimple, and she had eyes of the deepest blue.
Fascinated, Andromeda studied her face for a moment, thinking that she saw a little of Tristan in the shape of her eyes.
“My lady,” she said, dipping into a respectful curtsy. “It is a great honor to meet you. I did not know you were coming today.”
The Marshal’s dark eyes twinkled. “Give me the privilege of one more surprise for Pat,” he said. “When I wrote to Philip about the titles to be conferred upon his nephew, he told Lady Ponthieu, who wrote and asked if she could attend. I took the liberty of welcoming her.”
“Of course you did,” Andromeda said. She couldn’t help herself from reaching out and taking Alys’ hand. “You are most welcome, my lady. I am so happy you are here.”
Alys smiled timidly. “Thank you, my lady,” she said. “I know it is irregular for me to ask to attend, but anyone who tried to keep me from my son is dead now, and I thought… I had hoped… that he would be agreeable to finally meeting me.”
“He will be very happy to,” Andromeda said, holding the woman’s hand tightly. “I’m so sorry… sorry that you were kept from him. I know it was not your fault.”
Alys’ lips were trembling. “That is an old sorrow now,” she said. “I will admit I thought of seeing him when John died, but time passed, and I thought that, mayhap, he would not want to see me after all. There is no reason to.”
“There is every reason to,” Andromeda insisted. “Will you come with me? I would like to introduce you.”
Alys seemed nervous, and rightfully so. She could see a group of strong, tall men standing about, but she had no idea what her son might look like.
“Is he over there?” she asked.
Andromeda nodded, pointing to Tristan, who was standing next to Henry still. “He is wearing the dark blue tunic,” she said. “The king is by his side. Do you see him there?”
Alys strained a little to get a good look at him, and when she did, her eyes grew moist. “I do,” she whispered tightly. “Oh, I do. My God, he looks like Henry. But he also looks like my father. And he is so big!”
Andromeda smiled. “He’s very strong,” she said. “He’s a warrior, something he has trained for all his life.”
Alys watched Tristan as he said something humorous to a man standing next to him.
She watched him laugh. “I feared so for his life when he was born,” she said.
“But the Marshal has told me the path his life took. He is a knight, something quite noble and shining. Something far away from the world of his father and brothers. He escaped the curse.”
Andromeda looked at her. “What curse, my lady?”
Alys shrugged weakly. “The curse of a battling family,” she said.
“Tristan does not hate his brothers. He does not hate his family. He has been trained and nurtured by people who taught him what I could not. Mayhap I did not wish to send him away from me, but in the end, it was best. What a fortunate man he has grown to be.”
“I agree,” Andromeda said softly. “Will you come with me? Please meet him. He will be very happy to know you.”
Hesitantly, Alys allowed Andromeda to lead her over to where Tristan was standing with his friends.
The Marshal, knowing it would be an emotional moment for all involved, motioned to Alexander, who moved the group away from Tristan.
When they cleared away, Andromeda gently introduced Tristan to his mother, watching the man’s features ripple with emotion—first shock, then disbelief, and finally awe.
So much awe.
And that was where Andromeda left them. She, too, wandered away so Tristan could be alone with the woman who had given birth to him.
It was only right that they have that time together, she felt.
Given the fact that she was due to give birth in a couple of months herself, she could hardly imagine being separated from a child she had grown in her belly, a child that was part of her and part of the man she loved.
A child she was forced to surrender the moment he was born, only to see him again thirty-eight years later.
Perhaps that understanding gave Andromeda a little more insight than most when it came to a mother and her child, but she knew how important it must have been to Alys—and to Tristan—to finally see each other once again.
When Andromeda saw Tristan kiss his mother’s hand and finally embrace her, it was one of the most emotional things she had ever witnessed. It was the stuff dreams were made of.
And legends.
The joy on Tristan’s face when he looked at his mother said it all.
The next morning, when Alys awoke, there was a slip of vellum under her door with a poem written on it.
At least, she thought it was a poem. She wasn’t sure who had sent it until she mentioned it to Andromeda, and the woman told her that those little poems were the way Tristan expressed his emotion.
The poem he had written for his mother was about their reunion.
At dawn, the day awakes. Light touches the earth.
She came to me in the crystalline light,
Ere, she made such softly murmured words,
Joy in my heart but grew from an unholy night.
Alys slept with that yellowed piece of vellum under her pillow for the rest of her days. That awful little poem was the way Tristan showed his love, and it took a mother’s love to see such beauty in the words.
And a wife’s.
The man who should have been king loved, and was loved, more deeply than he could have ever imagined.
* THE END *