Chapter 24
I t had been more than a fortnight since they’d arrived at Wallingford Castle. Darien’s initial elation at not only having FitzCount listen to him but learning there had already been negotiations in the works had given way to despair.
“If we are stuck here for the winter, I will not be pleased.” Gareth tore off a piece of bread, echoing Darien’s sentiments. The days grew colder, the first snow of the season falling as they sat in the hall for supper.
“We will get back,” Roland said. “No matter the weather.”
Liana.
He had thought of little else these past days. Being here without her confirmed what Darien had known already, even before he left Blackwood. He loved her and could not imagine being without her again. He would convince his father, just as Roland had done. The two spoke at length about navigating the expectations of being an earl’s son, but also following a path true to themselves. How would they handle the rest of it? Darien knew only he wished to do so together.
“I will ask for her hand in marriage,” he blurted, and his friends were clearly taken aback. Aside from his and Roland’s discussions, Darien had not spoken of Liana to the others. Their days had been filled with talk of negotiations, the king’s seeming acceptance of a path to end the fighting and the king’s son, Eustace, being vehemently opposed to settling the dispute in such a manner.
Roland simply smiled.
“You love her?” Gareth asked.
Remembering the moment when they’d arrived, when Darien had not been in control, when the arrow had missed him by a hair’s breadth, before they knew they were under attack, Darien nodded. He thought of dying without ever telling Liana how he felt. Without making love to her.
“Aye,” he said. “More than my own life.”
“Will your father accept her for your wife?” Alden reached for his mug of ale and took a long swig.
Darien had asked that of himself many times these past days. “I believe he will,” he said finally. “He will be surprised, and perhaps displeased over lost alliances. Despite it, I believe he will accept Liana as the next countess of Ellsworth. No other woman will have that claim.”
The men fell silent.
Alden reached his mug forward, as if to toast, when a commotion at the entrance of the hall stopped him. Something was happening, but they could not see what it was. Each one of them rose from their seat, swords unsheathed, before a voice could be heard above the chatter.
“Put down your weapons.” It was the lord of Castle Wallingford, Brien FitzCount. He repeated his charge, standing at the dais above all others, his wife rising as well.
“What is happening?’ Gareth asked, echoing their thoughts.
“Make way for Henry FitzEmpress, Duke of Normandy and Count of Anjou, son of Empress Matilda and grandson of King Henry, rightful heir to the throne of England.”
They exchanged a glance as the hall fell silent. Every one of them bowed their head to the man whose name had most recently been tied to the throne. With his mother now in Normandy, there had been rumors the son would travel to Wallingford to aid in the recent negotiations for his crown, but they had no other warning of his arrival.
Some inclined their heads, others bowed, and those the man directly passed bowed deeply, signaling their deference and recognizing him as the future king of England. When he joined FitzCount on the dais, Henry remained standing and raised a fist in the air to his mother’s most loyal supporters.
A cheer erupted and did not die down for some time. When it did, he addressed the hall.
“My mother sends her most earnest greetings and thanks you all for your fortitude in these troubled times. She knows, as do I, that the kingdom has suffered too long in strife, and it is our duty to restore peace.”
He paused, scanning the room, his gaze steady on the faces before him. “I come with news that will surely expedite that peace,” he began, his voice carrying through the hall. “As you know, Stephen’s son, Eustace, opposed the concessions our faithful servants have tirelessly tried to negotiate these past days. Yet fate has intervened,” Henry continued, his tone somber. “Eustace, Stephen’s heir, has fallen. Just days ago, while raiding lands in eastern England, seizing church properties and terrorizing villages, he was struck down by a sudden illness at Bury St. Edmunds.”
Gasps and low murmurs spread through the hall. Darien and his friends stared at one another. He tried to find Sir Eamon, to gauge his reaction, but the instructor could not be found.
“They say it was an act of God,” Henry added gravely. “A sign for peace, after years of strife.”
He let the silence hang for a moment. “With his passing, the path forward is clearer. It is time to end our divisions, to unite, and to secure England’s future—for all.”
A respectful murmur of assent rose from the hall as Henry sat, signaling all those present may do the same.
“Eustace is dead.” Roland shook his head. “Bastard that he was, a fitting ending I should say.”
Darien agreed.
“The king is left without an heir,” Gareth said, pointing out the obvious.
“Nay.” Darien reached for his own mug and glanced toward the dais, knowing, as Liana predicted, he sat in the presence of the future king of England. She had been right, about all of it. “His heir sits before us.”
Alden whistled. “Your seer was right,” he said. “She foretold this would happen.”
Darien smiled. “She did.”
“If there is no resistance to his succession, there is no reason for us to remain,” Gareth said. Then, more somberly, “And no longer is there a purpose for the Guardians of the Sacred Oak.”
They’d been brought together for a common purpose, one which seemed to be on the precipice of victory. “And when we separate, it will not be for life,” he predicted.
“Nay,” Gareth agreed. “It will not. But for tonight, let us celebrate what appears to be the beginning of a hard-fought peace.”
As they touched mugs, Darien looked once more to the dais. Henry caught his eyes, his own mug partially raised. Lifting it into the air, the future king celebrated with him not knowing, as Darien did for certain, that there was no question of the future.
Liana had seen it.
He would, someday, be king.