Chapter Twelve #2
“Aye, Forestburn,” Kenneth lifted his white eyebrows at him. “It is the safest place for her. Toby will take good care of her until this madness is over.”
Stephen pursed his lips at him and looked away. Kenneth watched him a moment before finally draining his wine. He set the cup down and leaned forward on his elbows.
“Why did you bring me here, Stephen?” he asked.
Stephen would not look at him. “That is a stupid question.”
“Nay, ’tis not. Tell me.”
Stephen was fidgeting angrily. “To assist me.”
“I am trying to do that yet you resist. I see this situation more clearly than you do, my friend. Why do you refuse?” Even though Kenneth already knew the answer, he still wanted to hear it from Stephen’s lips.
But Stephen refused to answer him, so Kenneth supplied the words.
“I know you do not want to be separated from her. But would not you rather have her far away and safe than have to worry about her in an overrun fortress?”
Stephen looked at him, then, the blue eyes dull with both anguish and reluctance. He looked as if he were preparing to retort but suddenly shut his mouth and looked away again.
“Must we speak of this now?” he mumbled.
“There is no more time, Stephen. You must send your wife to Forestburn and do it now.”
Stephen was silent a moment, contemplating. He finally sighed heavily, as if he had just given up a mighty battle. He raked a hand through his dark hair, fidgeting, apparently settling the situation in his own mind.
“Very well,” he murmured, bringing his gaze up to meet Kenneth’s. “I must trust that you are seeing the situation more clearly than I am. If you say that I must send my wife away, then I will trust you. But I will ask a favor of you.”
Kenneth was relieved that Stephen was finally coming to his senses. “You do not have to ask,” he said. “Just tell me what you would have me do.”
“Escort Jo-Jo to Forestburn. If I cannot be with her, then I would trust her life only to you.”
Kenneth nodded slowly. “If that is your wish, then I shall do it.”
Stephen looked rather defeated, returning his attention to his chalice. “She is the most important thing in the world to me, Ken. More than castles and kings, Joselyn matters above all.”
“I understand.”
Stephen didn’t say anything more but it was obvious that his depression was growing.
Joselyn emerged back into the hall at that moment, carrying a tray covered with a white cloth.
She was smiling as she approached the table and set the tray down between the two men.
Standing so close to Stephen that she was butted up against him, she faced Kenneth.
“Our stores have been replenished in the past few days and we were fortunate enough to have a small supply of sweet salt,” she told him. “I was able to make cakes from it. I do hope you enjoy them.”
She pulled the cloth off the tray and both Stephen and Kenneth peered at the contents with interest. They were small, round cakes with a white substance smeared on the top of them.
Stephen, never one to be shy when it came to his wife’s cooking, ran his finger across the white, creamy substance and tasted it.
Deciding it was well worth eating, he picked up the little cake and bit into it.
Custard oozed out from the other side and he had to move fast to slurp it all up.
Kenneth, seeing that Stephen was well into a feast of sweet custard, popped a whole cake into his mouth and chewed with relish.
“These are marvelous,” Stephen licked his fingers. “What is in them?’
Joselyn beamed. “I made the cakes from white flour and sweet salt,” she told him. “Then I made custard from eggs, milk and sweet salt. When the cakes were done, I cut them in half and put the custard in the middle. The white cream on the top is made from sweet salt and milk.”
“Dear God,” Kenneth popped another in his mouth. “These are the most amazing cakes I have ever had. What is this sweet salt you speak of?”
Stephen had another whole one in his mouth.
“I first had it in the Levant,” he told him.
“It looks like salt but is extremely sweet, hence the name sweet salt. There is a supplier in London that I get it from and he ships his supplies from the Far East. It is not cheap nor is it plentiful, but I have been spoiled by it, more so now with my wife’s skillful cooking. ”
Kenneth grabbed two before Stephen could get to them, shoving them both into his mouth. “I believe I have had it before,” he said, mouth full. “It is sweeter than honey.”
Stephen nodded, taking the last cake before Kenneth could snatch it.
“It is an utter indulgence,” he sucked the custard off his fingers, pulling his wife against him with his left arm.
He kissed her on the cheek. “Remarkable as always, Lady Pembury. Kenneth will now return to the Marches with tales of your legendary culinary skills and make me the envy of every man on the border.”
Joselyn grinned shyly, accepting a hug from her husband and a wink from Kenneth.
Stephen then burped loudly as Kenneth fought down the urge to vomit, both of them so full they could barely move.
As Joselyn grinned and wiped the sweat from her brow, Stephen suddenly noticed how rosy her cheeks were and put a hand to her forehead.
“Christ,” he hissed, immediately standing. “Your fever is flaring.”
Joselyn’s smile vanished as she put her hand to her forehead as if to reaffirm his diagnosis. “I do not believe so,” she insisted, fearful that he was going to take her to bed and tie her down. “I just came from the kitchens and they were quite warm. I feel fine, truly.”
He would not even respond. He put his arm around her shoulders and turned her for the door. But they hadn’t taken three steps when the entry door suddenly squeaked back on its hinges. Into the warm and fragrant hall emerged the battle hardened figure of Tate de Lara.
In full armor minus his helm, the man looked weary and stubbled as he pulled off his massive leather gloves. His gaze fixed on Stephen and Joselyn.
“Lady Pembury, you are looking well,” he greeted Joselyn before looking to Stephen.
“Can I safely assume that the only reason you are leaving the great hall is because there is nothing more to eat? I have ridden twenty miles since early this morning and was hoping to make sup before you inhaled everything not nailed to the table.”
Stephen grinned. “There is still plenty of food left, although Kenneth and I have managed to eat all of the sweets. You should have arrived earlier.”
Tate heard Kenneth’s name, suddenly noticing the man as he rose from the table several feet away.
A weary grin creased Tate’s mouth as he and Kenneth came together in a powerful handshake, reaffirming bonds that had been present since they were youths.
Although Tate had a brother, Kenneth was like one and it was a satisfying moment as he gazed into the familiar features.
Even perpetually stone-faced Kenneth’s expression warmed at the sight of his friend and liege.
“Ken,” Tate greeted. “Good to see you, man. You are looking fat and old.
Kenneth lifted a blond eyebrow as Stephen piped in. “That is exactly what he said to me,” he said. “We must find better insults, or at least more original ones. We are getting too predictable in our old age.”
Tate laughed softly, letting go of Kenneth’s hand as he studied his friend. He was very glad to see him. “Are the Marches treating you well?”
Kenneth nodded. “Well but boring,” he replied. “I was infinitely thankful for your summons to join Stephen. It feels strange not to see both of you every day, fighting side by side as we did for all of those years.”
Tate slapped the man on the shoulder. “It goes against the natural order of things for the three of us to not serve together,” he said, eyeing Stephen as he did so. “And speaking of serving, may I have a word with you, Stephen?”
“Of course,” Stephen took Joselyn’s hand and passed her off to Kenneth. “Can you please see Lady Pembury back to our chamber?”
Kenneth took her hand in his big warm palm. “It will be my pleasure.”
“Take her directly to the chamber, Ken. No walking around and absolutely no returning to the kitchens no matter how much she begs.”
Kenneth lifted an eyebrow at Stephen as he tucked Joselyn’s hand into the crook of his elbow. He began to lead her away. “Is he always so overbearing?” he asked her.
Stephen pursed his lips at the question as Joselyn cast him an impish glance over her shoulder. “Most always,” she turned back to Kenneth. “But he means well.”
“Do not be so tolerant, Lady Pembury. You do not really want to return to bed, do you?”
Joselyn fought off a grin, speaking loudly enough so that Stephen could hear her. “Perhaps there is something extremely devilish and strenuous that I should be doing instead.”
Kenneth nodded as if he knew exactly what she meant. “We’ll find something.”
Stephen grunted to catch their attention, reminding them that he was indeed hearing every word as they meant he should. “If she is not in the bed when I return to our chamber in five minutes, I will hold you personally responsible, St. Héver. And I promise you will not like my reaction.”
Kenneth cast him a disinterested glance before looking back to Joselyn. “What shall we do?”
Joselyn lifted her shoulders. “He is rather big. Perhaps we should listen to him.”
“I am not afraid of him. Well, not much.”
“Should we do as he says?”
They were at the door by that point. As they passed through the threshold and out into the mild night air, Kenneth cast a pointed look at Stephen.
“Let him wonder if we have.”
They were gone through the door. Stephen’s expression was still molded into a disapproving frown as he returned his attention to Tate, who was grinning quite openly at him. He shook his head at the sight of Stephen’s face.
“Since when are you without humor?” he wanted to know. “Kenneth is usually the serious one and you are usually the one I cannot keep straight. What has happened to you?”