Chapter One #3
With a grin, Tiberius reined his steed about and headed off towards the gatehouse.
Gallus blew a kiss at his wife and followed as Maximus brought his big, black and white warhorse alongside his wife and bent over in the saddle, kissing her sweetly, before following his brothers out of the bailey.
When they were finally through the gatehouse, both portcullises began to close, the chains and ropes grinding, and sentries upon the walls shouting that the walls and gatehouse were now secured.
From the noise and chaos of armed men moments earlier, the sudden silence was almost disorienting. Hollow, even, now that the men were gone. Courtly turned to Jeniver.
“Come along, my lady,” she said, holding out a hand to her sister-in-law and friend. “Let us get you inside so you may lie down and rest. Your son needs his sleep.”
Jeniver smiled as she took Courtly’s hand, the sister she never had, her beautiful blond hair wrapped up in a stylish braid encircling her head.
Courtly’s blond against Jeniver’s black was about as different as it could be.
From nearly the beginning of their association those months ago in Oxford, different or no, they had been inseparable best friends.
“My son is already as big as an ox,” she said, rubbing her swollen belly. “I cannot imagine that I have two more months to go. I already feel as if I am going to burst open.”
Courtly smiled, putting her hand on Jeniver’s belly as the women headed towards the keep. “Is Bhrodi kicking today?”
Jeniver nodded. “Constantly,” she said, weary. “He kicks more when he hears the horses. I do believe he wants to be a knight already.”
Courtly nodded as they took the big, wide, stone steps that led up into the keep. “He is not yet born and already a knight,” she said. “He is a de Shera. He will be born with spurs on his feet and a sword in his hand.”
Jeniver looked at her, horrified. “God’s Bones, I hope not,” she said. “That would be most painful.”
Courtly giggled. “I am afraid it will be painful in any case,” she said. Then, she sobered. “But have no fear. I will be by your side. I will not leave you.”
Jeniver squeezed her hand as they entered the dark, cool innards of the keep. “I am comforted,” she said. “I would be lying if I said that I was not apprehensive, but I do not tell Gallus that. He is more apprehensive than I am.”
The darkened interior of Isenhall’s keep drew them into the reception room, the first room one came to when entering the keep.
It was low-ceilinged but very comfortable, with chairs, benches, a table, and a big, bright fire in the hearth.
This is where the wealth of the de Sheras began to come evident.
Courtly directed Jeniver into a chair near the hearth as the children and the dogs played several feet away.
“Men are terrified of childbirth,” Courtly said.
“They fear it more than anything. Gallus wants a healthy son and a healthy wife. I will do my very best to ensure he receives both. We have already spoken to the best midwife in Coventry and the woman will be attending you this birth, so you have little to fear. All will be well.”
Jeniver gazed up at Courtly, her brown eyes unnaturally dark against her porcelain-like face. “But if it is not,” she murmured, “you will promise me something.”
Courtly didn’t like it when the conversation about the impending birth turned serious.
She was secretly more terrified than any of them because, as the only woman at Isenhall, she was expected to attend to the birth.
She felt as if all expectations of the entire de Shera family line were resting on her and the pressure was immense.
It was difficult enough for her to keep up her courage without Jeniver growing serious and grim about it, but she allowed the woman her fear. She had every right.
“Of course I will,” she whispered. “All you need do is ask.”
Jeniver rubbed her belly, thinking on the life inside. “If I do not survive the birth,” she said softly, “promise you will take care of my son. Promise you will love him as I would have. Promise me that you will make sure he has the very best in everything.”
Courtly was struggling not to tear up. “Of course,” she assured her softly. “I already love him. He will not want for anything, I swear it.”
Jeniver’s gaze was intense. “And Gallus,” she said, struggling. “You will make sure… make sure he marries again. Make sure he loves again. I want him to be happy.”
Courtly was afraid to speak because of the lump in her throat.
Without a word, she sat down beside her friend, taking her hand again and holding it tightly.
They sat there, in silence, listening to the children play and thinking of babies born and of men at war.
So much potential for death in their happy worlds. So much potential for grief.
It was the silent prayer of both women that neither one of them experience such sorrow anytime soon. Theirs was a wonderful world and they wanted to preserve it as long as they could.
Preserve the happy House of de Shera.