“So my father was gravely injured for a failed robbery attempt,” she muttered mostly to herself, wiping a weary hand over her forehead. Then, she looked at the men facing her. “Forgive me for only seeing that side of it. Although I am very grateful you managed to reclaim our possessions, I am devastated at the fact that my father may perish for a failed robbery attempt. I would much rather have him in good health than have any of our possessions.”
Gallus watched her lowered head, feeling a good deal of sympathy for her. “It seemed that your father was one of the first men struck by enemy swords,” he said quietly. “Even if we had arrived earlier than we had, the outcome would have been the same. I doubt we could have prevented his injury.”
Jeniver looked at Gallus, realizing she must have sounded ungrateful for their efforts. “Forgive me,” she said quickly. “I was not placing blame. I am very thankful for what you did. I was simply stating that I would have traded our possessions for his health. Had our attackers simply demanded riches before attacking, I would have gladly given all we had to them if they would have left us in peace.”
Gallus gazed at the woman, into her lovely eyes, thinking that she seemed mature and wise for a woman so young. She had an air about her of regality and common sense. He liked it. But there was also a strange sense of guilt for liking it, as if he were somehow betraying Catheryn’s memory by simply thinking such a thing. He was struggling with his thoughts when Maximus spoke.
“This group would not have left you in peace, my lady,” he said in his deep, hoarse voice. “We have had trouble with them before. They are a band of outlaws that populate the woods outside of Coventry and they prey upon travelers. We managed to capture three of them.”
Jeniver perked up. “Will you punish them for my father’s injury, then?”
Maximus nodded. He had a strong, cold air about him, a deadly hint. “Aye,” he replied. “They will be punished. We will send a message to the rest of their band explaining what happens to men who violate the Lord Sheriff of Worcester’s laws.”
Jeniver remembered that when Gallus had introduced himself, he had given Lord Sheriff as one of his titles. She looked at Gallus.
“Have you tried to capture these outlaws in the past?” she asked.
Gallus nodded. “Many times,” he said. “There is a main group, but the main group also has several offshoots, like roots on a tree. We have combed the woods, rousting their settlements, but we’ve yet to corral all of them. More always pop up in their place.”
Jeniver pondered that for a moment, averting her gaze as she did so. “Then the woods of Coventry are a dangerous place,” she commented, thinking on the lawlessness in England. “I wish I had known that before we chose to travel this way.”
Gallus could sense guilt in her statement. “The woods of Coventry are no more dangerous than the woods anywhere else in England,” he told her. “But I am truly sorry you were preyed upon.”
His apology did nothing for her. She still felt guilty and somewhat embittered, and it was a struggle not to dwell on it. Drawing in a long, deep breath to settle her tumultuous thoughts, she returned her attention to Gallus.
“My father,” she said, shifting the subject. “Your mother is going to ask the surgeon if I may sit with him. But… but if the worst happens and he does not survive, I suppose we should decide what is to be done with him.”
Gallus met her gaze steadily. “It is your decision where you wish for him to be buried,” he said, “but might I say this – you are a long way from Anglesey. It will take weeks to transport your father back to your home and your traveling party is already badly compromised. It would be a burden to transport a body in your present condition.”
Jeniver knew that but she didn’t particularly like the idea of him being buried in England. “What are you suggesting?” she asked.
Gallus cocked his head thoughtfully. “I would be honored to make room for him here, at Isenhall,” he replied. “Or, we could bury him in Coventry’s cathedral.”
Jeniver still wasn’t keen on the idea. “As much as I appreciate your offer, it would be his desire and mine to have him buried at Rhydilian Castle,” she said. “Generations of ancestors rest there. He would want to rest among them.”
Gallus understood. “I thought that might be your answer,” he said. “I am therefore prepared to supply you with men to escort you to Anglesey. But I hope you will at least wait. Some of your men are badly injured and need time to recover. Certainly you would not want to leave without everyone you came with.”
That wasn’t quite the truth. Jeniver’s singular thought was to take her father home as soon as possible but she didn’t want to seem cruel by leaving the wounded behind. Moreover, it wouldn’t have been right for her to do so and burden the earl’s hospitality. With a sigh, she reluctantly shook her head.
“Of course not,” she said. “I will wait until everyone is able to travel. In the meantime, I am afraid we will have to rely upon your hospitality. I would expect to compensate you, of course.”
Gallus shook his head. “True hospitality does not ask for recompense,” he said. “Besides, allowing my daughters to play with your puppy is payment enough. I have a feeling that when you leave, they are going to beg me for one so you must tell me where you purchased the beast. I can see a dog such as that in my near future.”
There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke, something that elicited a timid smile out of Jeniver. The glimmer in his eye caused her heart to resume its pounding, a giddy sensation surging through her veins. She’d never known anything like it and she was torn between the surprise of it and the pleasure. Odd sensation, indeed.
“I purchased it from a woman in Paris who breeds the dogs,” she said. “It is quite a distance to travel just to purchase a puppy.”
Gallus grinned, displaying fine white teeth and a big dimple on the right side of his face. “When you have children, you will understand that you will move heaven and earth to please them,” he said. “That being said, I suppose there must be a trip to Paris in my future as well.”
As Gallus and Jeniver grinned at each other, Honey had been watching the exchange closely. She could see that there was some kind of mutual attraction, which thrilled her, but neither one of them had mentioned the deathbed betrothal. Either they were hoping it would be forgotten or they truly did not recall it themselves. She suspected the latter wasn’t the case because they were both intelligent people, which led her to surmise that they were ignoring it. Perhaps they thought she would, in fact, forget it as well, but they had a surprise coming to them – when the priest arrived from Coventry that evening, there would be no more skirting the subject. Perhaps they wouldn’t want to if they spent more time together, so Honey took charge before Gallus could run off again.
“Gal,” she said, “please remain with Lady Jeniver while I send Max to seek permission for her to sit by her father’s side. Ty will accompany me to my chamber because I find I am not feeling entirely well. I must lie down.”
Mention of Honey’s health always jolted the men into immediate and utter obedience, in any case. Maximus went to his mother without delay, practically pushing Jeniver out of the way in his haste to reach her side.
“What is it?” he asked, concerned. “Do you feel terribly ill? Should we send for the physic?”
Jeniver found herself moving out of Maximus’ way lest the man bowl her over in his attempt to get to his mother. She ended up standing next to Gallus, watching as Maximus and Tiberius went to Honey’s aid.
“She had a fainting spell in my chamber a few minutes ago,” Jeniver said helpfully. “Mayhap you should ask the surgeon who is tending my father to also see to your mother’s health.”
All three men looked at Honey in various states of fear and concern. “Did you faint?” Gallus wanted to know. “Did you fall and hurt yourself?”
Honey shook her head as Maximus took one arm and Tiberius took the other. “I did not fall,” she said, wishing Jeniver had not mad
e mention of the spell because it only served to frighten the men. “I felt weak for a moment and nothing more, but I would like to rest.”
Maximus and Tiberius began to lead her gently towards her chamber door, a room next to Violet and Lily’s chamber. “Come along,” Maximus said in his deep and rumbling voice. “Ty will sit with you for a while, but you must rest.”
Honey looked up at Maximus. “And you will speak to the surgeon on Lady Jeniver’s behalf?”
Maximus nodded patiently. “I will, I swear it.”
Honey didn’t press further. She let her boys lead her carefully down the hall but before they took her into her chamber, she looked back over her shoulder at Gallus and Jeniver.
“Make sure the lady is well taken care of, Gal,” she said. “We will feast tonight and other things.”
Gallus’ brow furrowed slightly. “What other things?”
Honey wasn’t going to tell them of what lay in store for them. The priest from Coventry was her secret alone. It was her control over the situation and over her son, the lonely widower. She knew she wasn’t long for this world and she did not want him to be without a woman influence in his life. The fact that Jeniver had arrived when she had was, to Honey, something of divine intervention. Perhaps the woman had come here for a reason. In any case, Honey intended to make sure Jeniver never left.
“We will celebrate life,” she said vaguely, turning around as Maximus and Tiberius led her through her chamber door. “Life is precious, is it not? It must be celebrated and not wasted. It is a gift to share.”
With that, she was in her chamber and had disappeared from view. Gallus stood there, her words echoing in his mind. Honey never rambled and she never said anything that didn’t have a distinct purpose, which put him on his guard somewhat. Life is a gift to share. He looked at Jeniver and wondered if Honey was referring to the Welshwoman.
Gallus hadn’t forgotten about the deathbed betrothal. In fact, he’d been torn between dreading it and being reluctantly interested in it. But he knew his mother hadn’t forgotten about it because the woman had a mind like a vise – nothing escaped it. Nay, she hadn’t forgotten at all. Gazing down at Jeniver, he was very suspicious as to what Honey meant.
He would find out soon enough.
CHAPTER SIX
It was a cake made from precious white flour, butter, ground almonds, cinnamon, quince, and honey. It was the pinnacle of all culinary achievements in the mortal world. God wept, as he could not taste such an earthly treasure.
At least, that’s what Jeniver thought as she eyed the masterpiece of cooking on the table a few feet away. She’d already had two pieces of it and was contemplating a third. Seated to her right, Violet and Lily were plowing into the cake and it was all over their faces and fingers as they shoved it into their mouths, licking their hands of the glorious feast. They had been less enthusiastic about the beef and beans Honey had insisted they eat prior to devouring the cake, but they managed to choke down most of their dinner and the cake was their reward. It was a gleeful surrender to all things sweet and tasty.
Fortunately, Jeniver hadn’t been forced to eat her dinner before delving into the delicious cake. In fact, she’d had little appetite until the treat was produced and, being somewhat partial to sweets, she had indulged.
Across the table from her in Isenhall’s massive feasting hall, Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius had eaten enough meat and bread to supply a small army. Jeniver had spent a good deal of time watching them eat, the three brothers and their ravenous appetites. Coming from a household with mostly women and older men, no powerful knights to speak of, the healthy hunger of the three English knights had been a sight to see. Gallus’ four subordinate knights sat at another table next to theirs along with several senior officers and she didn’t have the opportunity to see how much those men ate. She could only imagine their appetites were much the same as the de Shera brothers.
The feasting hall itself was a sight to behold, something much larger than she had seen before. Her own home, Rhydilian Castle, was a large place with a large hall relatively speaking, but Isenhall had a great hall that took up most of the northern part of the circular castle. It was tall, too, with a minstrel gallery above where she could see servants moving about, but no minstrels this night. Instead of a hearth, there was a wide open pit in the center of the hall that blazed hotly, sending smoke up to the pitched roof where it escaped through holes in the roofline.
Since Lady Honey didn’t particularly care for big dogs, there weren’t many in the hall but there were several smaller dogs, dogs that stayed well away from the family’s table but congregated instead around the three enormous guest tables that only held soldiers and officers on this night. Jeniver was glad she had left the puppy safely shut up in her room because she had seen more than one dog scuffle and she was very happy to keep her dog far away from the rabble. Moreover, she doubted she could have eaten anything with the dog in one arm and she was more than positive that Violet and Lily would not have eaten a bite with the puppy as a distraction.
Therefore, amidst the smoke from the fire pit mingling with the smell of fresh bread and dogs, Jeniver sat silently and ate her third piece of cake. Having never been inside of an English hall or an English feast, there was much to observe, much she was sure her father would have found fascinating. He loved to watch people and speculate on their lives. It was a hobby of his. He would often see an innocent couple and muse on their terrible marriage or their twenty incorrigible children, much to the amusement of his daughter. As she watched the English eat and drink this night, thoughts of her father were closer than ever.
Gallus had taken her to the small chamber where her father lay after Honey had gone to rest, and he’d said no more than a few words to her before taking position at the back of the chamber while she sat at her father’s bedside and prayed. Not only had she been driven to tears by the sight of the man’s pale, death-like countenance, but he had been stripped of his bloody clothing and dressed in a fine robe as befitting a hereditary king. As Gaerwen lingered in the unconscious state between life and death, he was well-tended and respected. Jeniver was very grateful to her hosts for their gesture of esteem.
She had remained praying at Gaerwen’s bedside for at least a couple of hours, begging God to heal her father, while Gallus had remained at the door, a big and silent sentinel, remaining respectful as Jeniver had wept quietly. While she knew the man was there, she had no idea what he was feeling or thinking as he watched her. She could have never imagined that the grief from his wife’s passing had been fighting to make an unwelcome return. As Jeniver waged war with her grief over her father’s state, Gallus had been fighting a losing battle of his own.
Even now, as Gallus sat across the table from Jeniver, it was an effort not to look at the woman. He’d spent the past three hours looking at her shapely backside and hating the fact that he was actually interested in her. He tried to block out thoughts of the exquisite raven-haired beauty with thoughts of Catheryn, a fair-haired woman with big, blue eyes and a bright smile.
Whereas Catheryn had been rather tall for a woman and slender of build, Jeniver was petite and lush. True, she had a wisdom and maturity beyond her years, but her stature was rather short which somehow made her seem more vulnerable and more feminine. Worse yet, when she had removed the cloaks and coats she had worn, she had revealed a lusciously curvy figure straining against her gown. She was a stunningly alluring creature, which only fed his guilt. He couldn’t help but imagine taking her to his bed, wondering how her young and tender flesh would taste against his tongue.
Even now, she was wearing a relatively modest garment of orange wool, a color that was striking against her dark hair and pale skin. It was a loosely fitting dress, tied in the middle with a beaded sash, but her slender waist and full breasts were quite evident beneath it. Her long hair was braided, elegantly draped over one shoulder, and she kept her head down, picking at the cake in front of her. Her mood was morose and he didn’t bla
me her. As he sat there, wondering if he should say something to her, Violet took the lead.
“Lady?” she said, cake in her right hand. “Why did you not bring the puppy? He must eat, too.”
Startled that she was being addressed when the majority of the meal had been quite silent, Jeniver forced a smile at the child. “He has already eaten his supper and has gone to sleep,” she replied. “You may see him in the morning.”
Violet wasn’t pleased with that answer. She turned to her father across the table. “Papa?” she said. “Can I have a puppy, too? I will love him very much.”
Gallus focused on his eldest child, a knowing smile on his lips. “There are several puppies running around in this hall,” he pointed out. “Why do you need one specific puppy? Why not play with them all?”
Violet frowned as Lily, yawning, finished with her cake and climbed off her seat. As she crawled under the table, heading for her father, Violet spoke.
“I want a black puppy, Papa,” she insisted. “I want a puppy like Taranis.”
“Taranis?”
Violet nodded firmly. “We named the puppy Taranis,” she insisted. “I love him so very much. Why can’t I have a puppy like him?”
Gallus glanced at Jeniver, feeling a jolt when their eyes met. There was something quite gripping about the woman’s gaze, a silent rope to reach out and snare him. The more he didn’t want to find interest in her, the more he was. He simply couldn’t stop himself.
“What did I tell you?” he said to her. “I see a trip to Paris in my future to collect a dog.”
Jeniver grinned. “You may not have a choice.”
He smiled because she did. Something about her made him want to smile in spite of his guilt and grief. But his attention was diverted as Lily, from beneath the table, tried to crawl onto his lap. Gallus lifted the child into his arms before returning his focus to Jeniver.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 8