Chapter 15 #2
And there it was again. That awareness between us. Like some invisible thread had tightened quietly during his absence instead of weakening.
The rest of supper arrived. Roasted river fish seasoned with herbs the cook had somehow preserved despite the season. The Baron’s steward rationed wine carefully now, though Geoffrey received a larger portion than usual after his time on the road.
Outside, wind rattled hard against the shutters. The hall felt smaller tonight than it normally did. War had stripped away excess from the household. Fewer guests. Fewer musicians, and fewer idle conversations stretching lazily through supper.
Everyone listened now when riders arrived, watching the doors.
The Baron finally set down his cup. “How bad?”
Geoffrey leaned back slightly in his chair, staring into the fire for one long moment before answering.
“Worse than October. Better than spring will be.”
The honesty of it settled heavily across the hall. Even the servants nearby seemed to grow quieter.
“The king?” the Baron asked.
“Still burning villages in retaliation.” Geoffrey rubbed one hand across his jaw wearily. “Canterbury fears he may march north again before Christmas if weather allows movement.”
I watched Geoffrey from across the table while pretending not to. He ate like a man who had gone too many days surviving on necessity instead of actual meals. Efficiently. Without attention. Occasionally pausing as though remembering halfway through supper that civilized behavior still existed.
And every few moments his eyes drifted toward the windows.
“You cannot cross the southern road tonight,” his father said flatly.
Geoffrey looked up immediately. “I can by morning.”
“Not if the river freezes.”
“It will not freeze fully overnight.”
A loud gust slammed suddenly against the shutters hard enough to make several candles flicker. As though summoned directly by dramatic timing, Martin entered the hall with snow still clinging to his shoulders.
“The lower crossing’s nearly gone,” he announced grimly. “Another hour of this and nobody rides south before dawn.”
The Baron looked unbearably satisfied.
Geoffrey muttered something in Norman French that I was becoming increasingly certain translated loosely to, this entire kingdom is determined to inconvenience me personally.
I bit the inside of my cheek hard to stop smiling.
The Baron pointed one finger toward his son. “You’re staying.”
Geoffrey opened his mouth to argue as another blast of wind howled through the castle like the opening movement of the apocalypse.
Then somewhere outside came the unmistakable crack of a tree splitting beneath the ice.
Geoffrey closed his eyes briefly.
“Fine,” he said at last.
Relief moved through me so suddenly and so intensely it nearly stole my breath.
* * *
The storm worsened steadily through supper. By the time servants cleared the final trenchers from the tables, snow buried the courtyard in uneven white drifts while wind howled through the outer walls hard enough to rattle the iron sconces.
Most of the household had already begun retreating toward warmer corners of the castle when the doors to the great hall opened once more.
Cold air swept inward alongside Aldwin de Warenne.
He entered without ceremony, snow clinging to the shoulders of his dark cloak and melting slowly into the stone beneath his boots. Two men-at-arms followed behind him carrying travel lanterns and expressions suggesting the roads north had attempted murder several times that afternoon.
Aldwin removed his gloves as he crossed the hall, revealing fingers nearly as raw from cold as Geoffrey’s.
“Well,” he announced dryly, “England appears determined to freeze us to death.”
The Baron looked up from his wine with immediate irritation. “You rode in this?”
“The alternative was remaining in Canterbury listening to men discuss loyalty while quietly planning betrayal.”
“A fair point.”
Only then did Aldwin’s gaze settle fully on Geoffrey. I saw the precise instant older-brother concern cut beneath military assessment.
Geoffrey looked exhausted beside the hearth. The firelight only made it more obvious now. Snowstorm aside, he had the appearance of a man running on discipline and stubbornness alone.
Aldwin crossed toward him slowly. “Merde. You look terrible.”
Geoffrey scowled and accepted the wineskin Aldwin tossed toward him without enthusiasm.
For a few moments the brothers spoke quietly together near the hearth while servants hurried forward with hot food and mulled wine for the new arrivals. I pretended not to watch them while absolutely watching them.
They stood remarkably alike when side by side. Same height. Same dangerous stillness when listening. But Aldwin had become sharper somehow. Harder at the edges. Grief and responsibility worn openly into the structure of the man.
And for one deeply unpleasant moment, I saw exactly what Geoffrey might become after another decade of civil war.
The realization chilled me more thoroughly than the storm outside.
Aldwin seemed to notice Geoffrey’s exhaustion worsening the longer they spoke.
“You’ve been south too long,” he said quietly.
“I’ve been where negotiations required.”
“Negotiations.” Aldwin snorted softly. “That implies anyone still intends compromise.”
The Baron muttered agreement from across the hall.
Geoffrey rubbed one hand slowly across his face. “Canterbury fears John may move again before January.”
“He will,” Aldwin replied immediately. “The king mistakes destruction for authority.”
“And the barons mistake outrage for strategy,” Geoffrey returned.
That earned him a long look.
“You sound tired,” Aldwin observed.
“I am tired.”
“No.” Aldwin’s voice lowered slightly. “You sound tired.”
Something unspoken passed briefly between them.
Aldwin studied his brother another moment before his attention shifted unexpectedly toward me.
I suddenly had the uncomfortable sensation of being assessed by a man very accustomed to understanding battlefields quickly.
Apparently I passed inspection because some nearly invisible tension eased from his shoulders afterward.
A servant approached quietly then, bowing slightly toward Aldwin. “My lord, the western tower requests instruction regarding the lower crossing. Ice has begun forming near the banks.”
Aldwin swore softly beneath his breath.
“There,” the Baron said with immense satisfaction toward Geoffrey. “Now none of you are leaving.”
“Wonderful,” Geoffrey muttered.
Aldwin’s mouth twitched faintly for perhaps the first time all evening. Then, unexpectedly, he reached forward and clasped Geoffrey briefly once against the shoulder.
“We’ll stay,” Aldwin said quietly.
For one moment Geoffrey looked almost ready to argue again. Then another violent gust of snow slammed against the shutters hard enough to shake the hall.
He exhaled slowly.
“Apparently I shall.”
Aldwin nodded once like a commander satisfied a tactical problem had resolved itself.
Then he glanced toward me again.
“Try remembering you are human while you’re here.”