“Punishing those who committed the crime will not restore my father to health,” she said, struggling with renewed tears as she thought of her father, now fighting for his life as kind English strangers tried to save him. “My father, in his later years, became a man of peace. He preached peace and encouraged it, between neighbors as well as between the Welsh and the English. When he was young, he was a great warlord but when my mother died, he began to realize the fragileness of life and the preciousness of it. Some men called him weak while others called him a great peacemaker. Did you know that about him? He has not carried a sword in years.”
Gallus shook his head. “I did not know,” he said softly. “I do not know much about your father, I am ashamed to admit. I hope you will tell me more of him should you feel inclined to speak on the subject. He sounds as if he is a great man.”
Jeniver nodded, tears making their way down her cheeks again. “He is,” she whispered. “He is wise and generous. He did not deserve this.”
Gallus could see that she was nearing sobs again and he wanted to head that occurrence off. “My lady,” he said, reaching out to gently grasp her elbow. “Would you please come with me? The floor is no place for you. While your father is being tended, I will take you someplace where you can rest and wait for word of his condition.”
Jeniver was hesitant until Honey, who had thus far been standing silently by while Gallus interacted with the distressed young woman, came up behind Jeniver and gently put her hands underneath the woman’s arms to lift her up.
“Go with Gallus, my lady,” she said softly because she was fairly certain that the woman was about to refuse Gallus’ request. “We will tell you as soon as we know something of your father’s health. For now, we must take care of you and make sure you are well, too. You have had quite a trying day and your father would want you to be taken care of.”
Jeniver found herself being lifted up and moved along whether or not she wanted to be. Before she realized it, she was being led from the entry by the big earl and to the flight of stairs that she had been so fascinated with. Before she could mount the stairs, however, a soldier handed over her wandering puppy and she clutched the animal tightly, allowing Gallus to lead her away from the scene of destruction and blood.
Mounting the steps, one by one, all she could think was that she was walking further and further away from her life that once was. Her father was dying and her life was changing forever because of it. She wasn’t ready for it to change, not in the least, but she had little choice.
She wondered if the earl would bring up the fact that her father had begged the man to marry her. She hoped not. She wouldn’t bring the subject up, either. It was something she hoped would be attributed to the fears of a dying man and nothing more. At the moment, she had no desire to marry the earl or anyone else. She simply wanted to return to Rhydilian Castle, her home, and try to pick up the pieces of her shattered life. Was this actually happening? Was any of this even real?
It was a nightmare she suspected she would never awaken from.
CHAPTER FIVE
De Shera’s four knights were in the vault of Isenhall, down in the underbelly of the keep where there were both storage rooms and the gaol. It was a poorly lit area, illuminated by torches dipped in fat that emitted greasy, black smoke that coated the low ceiling.
Nestled in a corner of one of the storage rooms, men were building a coffin fit for a king. Gaerwen wasn’t dead yet, but Isenhall’s surgeon was sure he was not long for the world. Therefore, Tiberius, with Honey’s permission, had brought out clothes to dress the man in his coffin with, some of Antoninus de Shera’s fine clothing. No one could seem to locate any of Gaerwen’s clothing in the remnants of what had been brought back to the castle after the ambush, so Tiberius would make sure the man was dressed properly when the time came. In borrowed silks and furs, Gaerwen would look every inch a hereditary king.
Now, Tiberius stood with the knights who had returned from the hunt of the culprits, having returned to Isenhall with three men they had determined to have been associated with the attack. Those three men were in small, cramped cells, listening to the knights as their punishment was discussed. A painful end was on the horizon for them and they cowered like animals, fearful of their fates.
“This is the end of the line for the kings of Anglesey,” Tiberius said quietly. “When ap Gaerwen dies, there will be no more males in the line.”
Scott and Troy de Wolfe were standing on either side of Tiberius, watching the carpenters as they worked on the coffin. The knights were rather exhausted from the events of the morning, a serious fight followed by the pursuit of the criminals. Eyes red from the sweat that had run down into them, the pair’s gaze was upon the finely-built coffin.
“We heard tale that ap Gaerwen asked Gallus to marry his daughter,” Scott mumbled. “Is there truth in this?”
Tiberius looked at the big, blond knight. “Who told you that?”
Scott shrugged. “One of the soldiers mentioned it as we brought the prisoners in,” he said. Then, he looked questioningly at Tiberius. “Did Gallus agree?”
Tiberius lifted his eyebrows, an ironic gesture. “He did not,” he said. “My mother, however, did. I do not imagine that Gallus has any choice in the matter. He has acquired a wife whether or not he wants one.”
Troy, on Tiberius’ other side, grunted. “A wife who carries with her the titles of Anglesey when her father dies,” he said as if that was the best part of the bargain. “Gallus would be a fool not to consider that.”
Tiberius nodded. “It is, mayhap, the only thing that makes the entire situation palatable,” he replied. “You know that Gallus has not been one to dally with women since Catie died. The only women he will ever speak with are my mother and his daughters.”
A few feet over to the right, in the shadows of the vault, they heard a low voice. “What about Bigod?” It was Garran de Moray, a big, shaggy bear of a man even at his young age. When he spoke, it had all of the rumbling charm of waves crashing upon jagged rocks. “The earl has made it very clear that he wants Gallus for his daughter. What will he do when he finds out Gallus has taken a wife?”
Tiberius glanced over his shoulder at the man. “He will do nothing,” he said. “Gallus’ new wife is a princess of Wales. She supersedes anything Bigod has to offer.”
Garran snorted in disagreement to that statement. “The Welsh are in open revolt and allying themselves with Scotland,” he said. “For Gallus to marry into Welsh royalty could be seen one of two ways – either he is a traitor and allied with the Welsh, or he is trying to bring the Welsh under his control with a marital alliance. Either way, I suspect Henry will not be too happy about it. With Gallus opposing him, the king may think that Gallus is trying to raise an army to defeat him.”
Tiberius thought on that, watching the carpenters as they struggled to fit the lid of the coffin to the body of the wooden box.
“Henry has many things to worry over these days,” he replied. “His English barons do not like him and neither do the French. My brother marrying a Welsh princess will be one more nail in his coffin but I do not think it will single Gallus out as the king’s greatest threat. Those threats come from many other directions.”
“De Montfort?” Garran asked.
Tiberius scratched his neck, both thoughtfully and with distraction. “De Montfort, the Bigod brothers, and Fitzgeoffrey,” he listed off a few. “De Shera is a great power to be reckoned with but we are not the only power.”
“But with a Welsh allegiance, de Shera could be the biggest power.”
They all knew that. Tiberius merely shrugged, noncommittally, but Scott, shifting on his big legs, exhaled slowly in both a weary and a thoughtful gesture.
“Gallus is one of the biggest opponents of Henry’s policies,” he muttered. “We can debate this until sundown, but the truth is simple – Henry will see this marriage as a strategic move against him.”
Tiberius simply rolled his eyes, wearily.
“It was a deathbed betrothal,” he said to the knights surrounding him, including Stefan du Bois, who hadn’t yet entered the conversation because he had been seeing to the prisoners. Stefan was perhaps the most astute of them all in spite of his tender age of twenty-three years. But Stefan said nothing, even when Tiberius made eye contact with him. “This marriage was made because ap Gaerwen was afraid for his daughter’s future and for no other reason than that. There are no political motives behind this.”
Scott exhaled slowly. “Henry will not see it that way.”
“Henry can see it however he wishes,” Tiberius fired back softly. “But the truth of the matter is that this is not a deliberately political or advantageous marriage. It is one of convenience and nothing more.”
Scott cast Tiberius a long glance. “I hope Gallus can explain that to both Bigod and the king before they decide upon his level of treachery,” he said. “It would be much easier if Gallus said he married the girl because he loved her and left it at that. No one can argue over a love match.”
Tiberius sneered at him. “It is no love match and everyone knows it,” he said, but the truth was that he was concerned over the king’s reaction as well. Still, now was not the time to discuss it. He gestured at the gaol. “Post more guards down here to watch over the prisoners and I will see what my brother wishes to do about them. Garran, go check on ap Gaerwen’s condition. Mayhap they will need that coffin sooner rather than later.”
The change of subject was obvious and the knights went with it. There was no use in continuing to discuss the subject. They all understood the seriousness of the situation. As Garran headed up the steps that led out of the vault, Tiberius turned to the others.
“Scott and Troy, you two see what you can find out from our prisoners as to who was behind this attack,” he said. “Gallus will want to know. Do what is necessary to get information out of them. In fact, have Stefan lean on them. That usually works. He is menacing enough. Meanwhile, I’ll inform my brother that ap Gaerwen’s coffin is near completion and that the prisoners are being interrogated. He will want to know.”
Scott acknowledged the orders. “It will be done,” he said, catching Tiberius before the man walked away. “When will we leave for London? As of this morning, that was where we were headed, but the morning’s events seemed to have stalled those plans.”
Tiberius nodded in agreement. “I know,” he said. “I will find out what Gallus’ plans are. I cannot imagine we will delay our departure any more than a day at most. There is too much awaiting us in London to remain here much longer.”
The knights weren’t hard pressed to agree. There was much turmoil in London, and Hugh Bigod and his designs for a marriage between his daughter and Gallus was only the beginning. There were rebellious stirrings afoot between the barons and the king, and Gallus was one of those leading the stirrings. His presence was needed in London and to delay, for any length of time, was not in his best interest. They all knew that. The stakes of this political game were high, indeed, and the introduction of an unexpected marriage with political implications raised those stakes even higher.
With that, Tiberius moved to the big, stone stairs that led to the upper floors above, leaving the de Wolfe twins and young Stefan du Bois to wrest what information they could from their captives. Even so, all thoughts were on London and what dealings lay ahead.
The delay they had to make in order to wait for the death of the hereditary King of Anglesey was an unwelcome one.
Jeniver was exhausted but she couldn’t sleep.
Lying in the lavish bower where Honey had taken her once before, she lay upon the embroidered silk coverlet, the puppy snoring beside her, as her gaze beheld the blue sky beyond the lancet window. The fog from the morning had cleared up, leaving a bright day in its wake, but Jeniver felt no joy as she watched the birds beyond the window.
Her father, from the last report an hour ago, was still alive but there was little hope that he would survive the day. She had asked to be with him but the surgeon had denied her. He was sewing the man and packing him, and he didn’t want the man’s hysterical daughter hanging over him while he tried to work. Therefore, Jeniver was consigned to wait alone. All she could feel was sorrow and a powerful sense of desolation.
But it was more than desolation. It was as if there was a great, gaping hole inside of her chest, a hole where her heart had once been. With her father’s injury, that heart had been yanked out and stepped on by the Saesneg, hurting the man who had raised her, who had been good and kind to her. It was a struggle not to hate those around her, the Earl of Coventry and his family who had tried very hard to be kind to her. She truthfully didn’t know what would have become of them had he not charged to her rescue, and with that thought came a measure of gratitude. She was trying very hard to be grateful for the good things and not hate the entire country of England for the bad.
After the earl had brought her to this room, he’d left her to rest with hardly another word. The man couldn’t seem to really look her in the eye or carry on much of a conversation and she wondered if it was because he felt guilty for what had happened. Or maybe he just wasn’t concerned about it. Whatever the reason, he’d bowed out very quickly after leaving her in the chamber and she’d not seen him since.
She was glad, however. She didn’t need an audience to her grief and the tears fell steadily as she sat alone in the strange bower, sickened and saddened and waiting. There was so much confusion in her mind that it was difficult to think of anything other than her sorrow. So much was uncertain now. So much had changed.
Confusion and exhaustion finally overwhelmed her and she lay upon the bed, weeping softly for what seemed like hours. But at some point she stopped, her eyes red and swollen, trying not to fear her future. The puppy grunted in its sleep and began snoring, and Jeniver petted the puppy gently. The little beast was both a comfort and a distraction, and she desperately needed both. Then she tried closing her eyes again, but every time she did, all she could see was her father’s battered body. Sleep would not come. As she lay there and petted the sleeping dog, staring out of the window, she heard a door to the chamber open up behind her.
Jeniver froze, her ears peaked. She could hear shuffling, and some whispering, but she didn’t turn around. She lay there, still as stone, closing her eyes so whoever had entered would think her asleep. The shuffling was in front of her now. More whispers. Then, someone began petting the sleeping puppy.
Jeniver peeped an eye open, seeing the earl’s two little daughters standing by the bed, petting the puppy they so desperately wanted to play with. The dog, roused by the friendly pets, yawned a big, puppy yawn and immediately began licking little hands. The girls were giggling but they were also trying very hard not to make any noise.
Jeniver eventually opened both eyes and watched as the girls and the puppy turned into a wriggling, happy mass of hands and doggy tongues and giggling mouths. Looking at those two joyous, little faces somehow lightened her mood. As dark as she was, as submerged in grief as she found herself, those two, happy faces did something to help her. Innocent delight somehow fought back the darkness.
“You like my dog, don’t you?” she asked softly.
The little girls looked at her with shock, eyes wide as they realized the lady was awake. But they didn’t stop petting. The older girl, with the fair hair and green eyes, spoke first.
“He has a big tongue,” she said.
Jeniver smiled gently. “He does, indeed,” she said, her gaze moving between the two children. “I do not know your names, you know. Won’t you tell me?”
The older child nodded but she was looking at the puppy as it licked her on the arm. “My name is Violet,” she said. “This is my sister, Leelee.”
She pronounced her own name as “Biolet”, which was rather adorable. More than that, she had a fairly obvious lisp, which was very charming.
“How old are you, Lady Violet?” Jeniver asked.
Violet was having her fingers n
ibbled on but she managed to hold up the other hand, displaying four or five fingers, possibly. “Leelee is a baby,” she said, indicating her sister.
Lily wasn’t quite a baby but she couldn’t have been more than three years of age. As Jeniver gazed at the little faces, she remembered what Lady Honey had told her about the earl having lost his wife. That meant these little girls were motherless, just as she herself was fatherless. Jeniver bit back the tears as she thought on their terrible connection, all of them having lost a parent.
“My puppy does not have a name,” she said, fighting off the sorrow by focusing on something more pleasant. “Will you help me name him?”
The girls nodded eagerly. “I want to name him after the sun!” Violet announced.
Lily, who wasn’t quite as verbal as her sister, tried to interject her opinion. “Dog!”
Jeniver grinned. “Shall we call the puppy ‘dog’?”
Lily nodded while Violet shook her head vigorously. “Nay,” she said flatly. “I want to name him Brightly.”
Jenifer’s eyebrows lifted. “Brightly?”
Violet was determined. “After the sun,” she said, pulling her nibbled fingers out of the dog’s mouth. “Isn’t that a nice name?”
Jeniver didn’t want to hurt the child’s feelings but it wasn’t something she was apt to name her dog. “But he is black,” she said. “He does not look much like the sun to me. He is a very black dog.”
Violet was back to petting the dog but she was also eyeing Jeniver somewhat. “You speak strangely,” she said. “Why do you speak like that?”
Jeniver knew the child meant her Welsh accent and was not offended. “That is because I was taught the Welsh language before I was taught your language,” she said. “Our words are different from yours. Sometimes that makes the words in your language sound odd when I speak them.”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 6