Chapter Eight #3
The soldier cleared his throat softly. He had been with the House of de Shera for many years, as had his father.
He was a legacy soldier, the second generation fighting for the Lords of Thunder, and he was a senior soldier in the ranks.
That meant he had the trust of the de Shera brothers and it was something he did not take lightly.
Scott had known it, too, which is why he had sent the man.
He knew that Gallus trusted him and would believe him.
He was about to put that trust to the test.
“Two days after you left Isenhall, a man and a boy appeared and demanded to speak to Sir Maximus,” the soldier said quietly.
“Since Sir Maximus was gone, the man spoke to Sir Scott. My lord, Sir Scott wishes for me to tell you this: the girl that Sir Maximus loved in his youth at Kenilworth Castle, the one that your father sent away, did not die of a fever as he was told. She died in childbirth with Sir Maximus’ son.
Now, the girl’s father has come to Isenhall with Sir Maximus’ son and seeks all birthrights for the boy.
Sir Scott asked me to tell you this information in private so that you could relay it to your brother.
He says that Sir Maximus should return to Isenhall with all due haste. ”
Gallus listened to the message with mounting astonishment.
By the time the soldier was finished delivering the message, Gallus was staring at him with genuine shock.
He opened his mouth to say something but found that he couldn’t.
He had no idea what to say. He finally put a hand over his mouth to cover up his gaping lips.
“I cannot believe it,” he finally hissed. “Is it possible that it is true?”
The soldier nodded. “I saw the boy myself, my lord,” he said. “He is the exact image of Maximus. You will see for yourself and know that the lad is a de Shera.”
“You are certain of this?”
“I am, my lord.”
Gallus was overwhelmed with the news but he knew it was nothing compared to what Maximus would feel. In fact, his gaze moved to his middle brother, sitting over on the minstrel’s balcony, tearing apart a big piece of bread. Aye, he knew that Maximus would be rocked to the bone by the news.
Already, he ached for his brother. The man had found such happiness with Courtly after years of being a rather cynical, unhappy man. And now this. Sickened, Gallus returned his focus to the soldier.
“The man who brought the boy,” he muttered, “said that he was the boy’s grandsire?”
The soldier nodded. “Aye, my lord.”
Gallus exhaled slowly, thoughtfully. “Maximus would no doubt recognize the man.”
Again, the soldier nodded. “I would presume so, my lord.”
Gallus pondered that particular reunion, knowing it would not be a good one. “Were they still at Isenhall when you left?”
“Indeed, my lord,” the soldier replied. “Sir Scott told them to remain while he sent for Sir Maximus.”
Gallus’ gaze lingered on the man for a moment. “And Lady Courtly?” he asked. He was almost afraid to know. “Does she know who this boy is?”
The soldier nodded. “Sir Scott told her,” he said softly. “He had no choice.”
The reply hit him like a blow to the gut.
God’s Bones, Gallus thought. He closed his eyes a moment, tightly, to ward off the utter shock and sorrow Courtly must have experienced to be confronted with Maximus’ bastard.
And a demanding bastard, evidently. With that in mind, Gallus knew he could not delay in telling Maximus.
He swiftly moved past the soldier, heading back to where his brothers were sitting.
“Come with me,” he ordered. “I may need you to answer any further questions Max may have about all of this.”
Obliging, the soldier followed. They made their way back across the catwalk to the minstrel’s balcony where Maximus had finished his food and now had his big feet upon the table, yawning.
Tiberius was still focused on Lady Douglass so his attention was over where the sleeping rooms were.
When Gallus returned, Tiberius tore his gaze away long enough to speak to him.
“I have not seen de Moray emerge from Douglass’ chamber,” he said. “He is still in there, now with Garran present. Should we go over there now?”
Gallus shook his head. “Now is not the best time, Ty,” he said, eyeing Maximus. “It would seem that Maximus has received some news he must deal with. Max, a message has come to you regarding an unexpected situation back at Isenhall.”
Maximus looked at his brother, not particularly concerned. His wife was well and that was all he really cared about. He yawned again, folding his big arms behind his head and leaning back.
“What is it?” he asked.
Gallus sat down and fixed on his brother. After a moment, he shook his head. “I am sorry if this is blunt,” he said. “I am not entirely sure how to say this, so bear with me. This has to do with Rose.”
Maximus didn’t seem to understand what his brother meant. Clearly, a romance from sixteen years ago wasn’t at the forefront of his thoughts. “Rose?” he repeated. “Rose who?”
Gallus could see that the news was going to hit Maximus from out of nowhere, for the man had no idea what he meant. “Rose,” Gallus said again, softly. “Rose from Kenilworth.”
That drew a reaction. Maximus’ brow furrowed. “Rose?” he said yet again, now obviously upset by the statement. “What in the…? What is the meaning of this?”
Gallus reached out and put a hand on his brother’s arm. “Quietly, Max,” he admonished softly. “Be quiet and listen. Will you do this?”
Maximus’ feet came off the table, slamming onto the floor with enough force to rattle the balcony.
His dark green eyes were blazing at his brother and his jaw worked angrily, off–balance and off-guard by the subject matter.
He was confused and agitated, a dangerous combination where Maximus was concerned.
“Listen to what?” he nearly shouted.
Gallus remained calm. “I have no idea why you are so angry,” he said. “Calm yourself or this will not get any easier if you do not.”
Maximus was struggling with his composure but he took a deep breath, laboring to relax. “Speak, then,” he said through clenched teeth. “I am listening.”
“Quietly?”
Maximus simply rolled his head around in a marginally affirmative action. It looked more like an act of desperation. “I will try,” he mumbled. “Speak, Gallus. What is this all about?”
Gallus could see that the situation was edgy already.
Rose was an emotional subject for Maximus, even after all of these years.
Tiberius, concerned, moved closer to Maximus because, if the man veered out of control for some reason, by his sheer size alone, Tiberius was the only one who could control him.
He hovered over Maximus as Gallus spoke.
“Listen to me,” Gallus said, grasping Maximus’ hand. “I must ask you a question. Do you recall that after Father sent Rose and her father away from Kenilworth, you were told that the woman had later died of a fever?”
Maximus’ jaw was tensed and he nodded shortly. “From one of de Montfort’s men,” he said. “Rose and her father had been sent to one of de Montfort’s outposts and the soldier told me she had perished from a fever. He knew this because he had just come from the outpost.”
“But he told you nothing more?”
“Nothing,” Maximus replied. “I never knew how or why, or even where she was buried. Gallus, why are you asking me these questions? What has happened?”
The flash of rage that Maximus had experienced had quickly faded and he was more in control of himself.
Gallus was so very sorry to tell him what was transpiring, now, sixteen years after Rose and Maximus had shared their brief affair.
He squeezed his brother’s hand in a silent show of support, of strength, of solidarity in that nothing could break the bond between them. Not even news such as this.
“Evidently, two days after we left Isenhall, Rose’s father showed up at the castle and demanded to see you,” he said carefully.
“He was not alone, Max. He brought his grandson with him. He told Scott that Rose did not die of a fever. She died in childbirth with your son. Rose’s father has brought the boy to Isenhall to claim his birthright as a de Shera. As the son of Maximus de Shera.”
Maximus stared at him for a moment before his eyes narrowed and his features twisted. The shock, the denial, in his eyes was paramount as Maximus sat back in his chair, heavily, and stared at his brother.
“A son?” he repeated, his voice oddly hoarse. “I… I cannot believe it. I will not believe it.”
Gallus turned to the soldier, who had been watching the entire scene with some trepidation. An enraged Maximus de Shera was a happenstance that all men feared. But when he saw Gallus’ expression, encouraging him to speak, he didn’t hesitate.
“I saw the boy, my lord,” he told Maximus. “He is the exact image of you. He is quite large and well-formed.”
“It could be a ruse! A lie!”
“I do not think so, my lord. He looks exactly like you.”
Maximus blinked at the soldier, as if the words from the man’s mouth had somehow slapped him in the face, startling him. After several long moments, he emitted a long, hissing sigh and hung his head, wiping his hands over his face in a weary, disbelieving gesture.
“A son,” he muttered. “God’s Bones, is it true? Could it actually be true?”
Gallus watched him carefully, glancing at Tiberius to see that the man looked deeply concerned and deeply shocked, just like the rest of them. Gallus put a hand on Maximus’ slumped shoulders.
“You bedded the woman, did you not?” he whispered. “It is possible, isn’t it?”
Maximus nodded slowly. “I loved her,” he breathed.
“I wanted to marry her. She loved me in return. Aye, I bedded her, so this is entirely possible. I should be shouting my denial to the heavens but I find… I find that I cannot. Dear God, it wasn’t the fever that killed her… it was me. I killed her.”