Drake sat next to his mother in brooding silence, looking at his hands, as Devereux stood up wearily from the bed. She sensed that the stormy, emotional discussion was coming to a close and now she was concerned with the other half of the equation, Elizaveta. She was quite certain the girl was just as upset as Drake was, and not without reason. Devereux was certain she would need someone to speak to.
“I believe I shall go find Elizaveta,” she said. “Do you know where I may find her?”
Drake was still staring at his hands. “She was by the garden the last time I saw her,” he said as his mother moved for the door. “Bring her inside, please. It is too cold for her out there.”
Devereux smiled faintly at her son’s sense of protection over the wife he was so torn about. If his protective instinct was still intact, then there was hope as far as she was concerned.
“I will,” she said, nodding her head in Drake’s direction as she looked at Davyss. “Will you see to our son, please? And find Devon and Denys. They will need your comfort, too.”
Davyss nodded in understanding, watching his wife quit the chamber. When she was gone and the door shut softly behind her, Davyss remained by the lancet window where his son had once been standing. He was still there because he could clearly see the wagon with Dallan’s casket in the bailey below and realized how his wife had appeared so quickly when Drake and Devon had brought the wagon home. One look from the window of their chamber and she would have seen it, too.
But there was more on Davyss’ mind than Dallan’s death and Elizaveta’s betrayal. There was also the matter of the fall of Thunderbey and the death of Christian du Reims, serious issues that had come to light the previous evening. Davyss seriously wondered if he should burden his son with such news at this brittle time but the truth was that he could not, in good conscience, delay telling him. The man had to know.
Already, the army was mobilizing and missives had been sent out to allies for support. The wheels were in motion and even though Drake had been weighed down with great and terrible things across his broad shoulders as of late, the fact remained that he had to know that he was now the new Earl of East Anglia and his property had fallen to an old enemy. Davyss came away from the window, trying to think on the best way to deliver yet more devastating news to the man.
“Drake,” he said quietly, moving away from the window. “I realize that the past few weeks have brought about more terrible news than you can reasonably bear, but I must ask you to continue to be strong. You are one of the strongest men I know and I am confident in your ability to reason through all things and remain strong. I have a need for you now to call upon that strength. Can you do that, lad?”
Drake lifted his head to look at his father, his dark eyes dull with ache. “What do you mean?”
Davyss stood over his son, preparing what he would say to him. “Sometimes, God gives us all of our burdens at one time,” he said. “It seems as if this is to be one of those times, Drake. Late last night, we received a messenger from Thunderbey Castle. It seems that the House of de Mandeville was somehow able to capture Thunderbey’s keep. Christian du Reims was killed during the fighting and Thunderbey’s army has been attempting to regain the keep for two months. They have been thus far unable to do so and have requested our help to reclaim the castle. Lad, you are now the Earl of East Anglia and Thunderbey is your holding. We must go and get it back for you.”
Drake’s eyes widened at the news, those dark-circled orbs that were so wrought with turmoil. He stood up, unsteadily, gaping at his father in shock.
“Du Reims is dead?” he repeated.
Davyss nodded. “Killed by the House of de Mandeville when they took the keep,” he said. “I have been thinking on the subject since hearing the news; the messenger said that Thunderbey has been under siege for two months, which means the de Mandeville army attacked it about the time they attacked Spexhall. Is it possible the de Mandeville army left Spexhall in defeat and then went straight to Thunderbey to rattle du Reims, where they were successful at capturing the castle? According to the messenger, they were able to take the keep with ease in some manner of covert operation. They did not go at the castle with swords, but rather with stealth.”
Drake was shocked and, momentarily, his mind moved away from Dallan and Elizaveta as the news of Thunderbey sank in. When the situation was without emotion, as the fall of Thunderbey mostly was, he was able to think much more clearly. Certainly the death of Christian du Reims was disturbing, but he truly didn’t know the man, other than he was Elizaveta’s father, so the emotional attachment was minimal.
Surprisingly, the news seemed to be just the distraction he needed. He seemed to gain his composure quickly, focusing on something he knew – battles and sieges. He knew warfare where he was unfamiliar with matters of the heart. Therefore, his demeanor shifted and his manner hardened. It was that strength that Davyss had been speaking of – Drake had it in abundance when it came to something he was familiar with and had been trained for. Now, Drake drew on that strength. It was what he knew.
“Great Bleeding Christ,” he muttered, looking at his father in disbelief. “That barbarian army of mindless savages was able to take Thunderbey and kill du Reims? I find that astonishing. I wonder why, then, they attacked Spexhall head-to-head? There was no stealth to their movements at all.”
Davyss was vastly relieved to see that the news of Thunderbey had not crushed an already-weakened Drake. Instead, it seemed to have given the man some strength, perhaps something to fight for and focus on. In any case, the transformation was encouraging and Davyss murmured a prayer to God for Drake’s change in manner.
“You said that you had executed de Mandeville’s daughter,” Davyss reminded him. “They came to you full of emotion and vengeance. That often makes a man reckless.”
Drake was coming to understand that particular foible very well. “Aye,” he said, a hint of an ironic twinkle in his eye. “Emotional men are often reckless. Nonetheless, I still find the situation astounding. They have held Thunderbey for two months, you say?”
Davyss nodded. “The remainder of Thunderbey’s army have spent two months trying to regain it,” he said. “It is my sense that they were embarrassed they were caught off guard and thought they could regain the keep. But that has not happened, so they are calling for assistance.”
Drake nodded, mulling over what needed to be done. “Have you already sent the messenger back to Thunderbey answering their call?”
Davyss scratched his head, looking to find a chair because he realized he was quite weary at the moment. He wasn’t so concerned about Drake any longer because now the man was behaving more like himself, but the trade-off was that now Davyss, no longer worried over Drake, found himself extremely weary. The events of the day were catching up to him.
“The man was sent back to Thunderbey before dawn with news that we would be at Thunderbey, with reinforcements, in ten days or less,” he said. “This was before you arrived, of course. I was preparing to send you a missive regarding the situation and also asking that you bring back the three thousand men I sent with you to join Edward, but I believe we can make do provided Summerlin and de la Rosa send enough men.”
Drake lifted a dark eyebrow. “The same Summerlin you tried to marry me to?”
“The same.”
“What if he spits in your face for such a request and curses you for your dishonorable son?”
Davyss grunted. “Then I will send my dishonorable son to burn down his house, thrash his crops, take his family captive, and steal his money,” he said. “What else would you expect me to do?”
Drake grinned, the first smile on his lips since Dallan had died. “You are a de Winter,” he said. “I would expect all of that and more. Let us hope Summerlin does not spit in your face because I sincerely do not want to march on Blackstone. I am rather weary of battles, believe it or not.”
Davyss’ smile faded. “I would believe it,” he said, his manner growing serious as
both of their thoughts shifted to the obvious when discussing battles – the battle that had resulted in Dallan’s death. “Will you tell me where Dallan’s wound was? How did he meet his death, Drake? I am sorry for you to have to relive this, but I would like to know if you can tell me.”
Drake’s manner sobered dramatically. “He caught a Scot’s axe in the back,” he said quietly. “It severed his spine. He felt no pain, Father. Be assured he felt nothing. He simply drifted away.”
Davyss thought on that, reconciling himself to it. Tears were close to the surface again but he fought them. “And he was not alone?”
That was a very big issue to Davyss because Hugh, his brother, had died alone. He had passed away in his sleep and no one had known anything about it until morning, and Drake had long suspected it was a guilt that Davyss secretly harbored. He was not there for his brother and wanted to make sure that someone was there for Dallan.
“He was not alone,” Drake said softly, telling him what he’d told him before, reassuring the old man that Dallan had been with his brothers when he had passed. “Devon and I held him tightly. He was loved and comforted.”
Davyss allowed himself to linger on that for just a moment longer, indulging a father’s grief, before sniffling away his tears, quickly, and facing Drake.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “And I am sorry to have brought him up again, at least for the moment. We must make plans for Thunderbey, of course. That must be the priority.”
Drake could see that his father was trying to be brave. He shook his head, putting a hand on his father’s shoulder. “We must make plans for Dallan’s burial first,” he said quietly. “I would assume we will bury him at Norwich Cathedral in something great and gaudy. He would like that a great deal.”
Davyss smiled weakly, thinking of Dallan’s loud taste in just about everything. “True enough,” he said. “We will speak of it when your mother returns. She will have some say in the matter. Meanwhile, mayhap you should eat and rest. Surely the past few weeks have not been kind to you. And, at some point, you must tell your wife about her father. Were they close?”
Drake seemed to harden at the mention of Elizaveta and averted his gaze. “She was fond of him but I do not believe they were terribly close,” he said. “I will tell her.”
Davyss cocked his head, trying to meet Drake’s eye but the man wouldn’t look at him. “Should I tell her, lad?”
Drake knew what he meant; feeling as he was, Davyss was afraid that Drake would not be tactful or kind in delivering such news. But Drake shook his head.
“Nay,” he said. “I will tell her. She and I… we have much to speak of, anyway. I will tell her.”
Davyss was satisfied that Drake would at least be tactful about it so he didn’t press. That news was better coming from him, anyway, as Elizaveta’s husband and the new Earl of East Anglia. Davyss reached up and put a hand on Drake’s fingers, still lingering on his shoulder.
“I do not mean to be insensitive to congratulate you on your new title, but I must give you my best wishes,” he said. “You and I are not only father and son, but now we are allies. ’Tis a proud and ancient earldom you bear, lad. I know that you will honor it.”
Drake squeezed his father’s shoulder, moving away towards the windows once more. He wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about the earldom at the moment. It seemed pale in comparison to Dallan’s death and his issues with Elizaveta. As he stood at the window, he happened to glance down into the bailey where his brother’s body was still in the wagon and caught sight of his mother scurrying about. She wasn’t the scurrying kind and his brow furrowed with curiosity and concern as he watched her move about. It seemed as if she was looking for something.
“Father,” he said. “Mother looks as if she’s lost something. She is running about in the bailey below.”
Davyss stood up, grunting with effort, and moving to the windows to see what Drake was seeing. By the time he reached the window, however, Devereux was gone, having disappeared up the steps into the keep. Davyss shrugged and moved back to his chair.
“She will tell us,” he said. “She is coming into the keep. Meanwhile, I am thinking of going to the cathedral to speak to the priest on arrangements for burying Dallan. I will bury him next to my mother, I think. It is a pity he never came to know her.”
Drake thought back to his earliest childhood memories. “I remember her vaguely,” he said. “I remember she had a very stern voice that was quite frightening.”
Davyss snorted. “You have no idea,” he said. “Everyone in England feared Katharine de Winter. Hell, Simon de Montfort feared the woman and would take orders from her, so I would say that she was the most powerful women in England for a time. I see much of her in your sister, you know. They both have that same commanding presence.”
Drake was about to speak on the subject of his sister, married for one year to a son of the Duke of Exeter, when Devereux suddenly appeared in the doorway. She was flushed and breathless from having run all the way from the bailey.
“Drake,” she gasped. “Where is Elizaveta? She is not in the garden and she is nowhere to be found.”
Drake came away from the window, quickly. The concern in his expression was obvious. “I swear she was in the garden the last I saw her,” he insisted. “Is she not in her chamber?”
“Nay!”
“Did you ask anyone in the bailey if they’d seen her?”
Devereux shook her head. “I called her name all over and she did not answer,” she said. “When you spoke with her last, Drake… you did not… did you touch her in any way?”
Drake was horrified. “Are you asking me if I struck her?” he asked. “Of course I did not. I would never touch the woman in anger, not ever. You know me better than that.”
Devereux waved him off. “I know,” she said, tears in her eyes. “Forgive me for asking. But you surely had terrible words with the woman and she must have run off. There is no telling where she has gone to hide from you. Go find your wife, Drake. Hurry!”
Drake didn’t have to be told twice. He bolted from the chamber, calling to Devon and Denys and even to Dallan before he realized it was a foolish thing to do. He called Dallan purely out of habit, knowing it would be a difficult one to break and feeling the pain of it. He could hear his brothers on the floor above, calling back to him, boots hitting the wooden floor and running. He could hear Daniella’s high-pitched voice as well. Soon, all of the de Winters were running to his aid, all of them running to find Elizaveta.
An entire search of the keep, baileys, outbuildings, moats, and gatehouses did not turn up Elizaveta. They searched all day and went into the town at night with their soldiers, tearing it apart in their search for Elizaveta. By the time morning came there was still no sign of her until a nervous stable boy mentioned seeing a lady take a palfrey from the stables the day before. He said she rode from the castle compound. Then, their worst suspicions were confirmed.
Elizaveta was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Emotional devastation and pregnancy was a bad combination for the well-being of the female mind.
Elizaveta discovered that the first night she was away from Norwich. She had taken off on the road south, the one she had traveled when Lady de Winter had taken her to London, and it was one that had several large villages along the way. Upon her small, gray palfrey, she had ridden for miles and miles through the fog on the day she left Norwich with no particular goal in mind and no particular thought other than to get away. She kept thinking on Cortez’s toast and, in particular, the last line – the world is well lost for love, but honor is not well lost for anything.
Weeping and nauseous, she had traveled down the muddy road, thinking that she never imagined she’d find herself in this position. She’d never imagined she’d fall in love with the husband she was supposed to spy on, the man she had been ordered to betray. She thought, yet again, on the fact that she wished she had married a hateful character because it would have bee
n so much easier to carry out her grandmother’s bidding, so much easier to do damage to a family she didn’t care for. But she had done damage to a man she loved and a family who had shown her nothing but kindness. She had betrayed their trust and lost her honor in doing so.
It was all well lost.
Grandedame. This was all her grandmother’s fault, the root of all of the evils. She had received a missive from the woman some weeks ago, right after she’d sent the missive to her about the de Winter army moving north, and Mabelle’s reply had simply stated that she was pleased to hear that Elizaveta was settling into her new life and also informing her that she and Agnes had decided to stay the winter at The Black Goose in Romford, the inn they had been so fond of. Elizaveta hadn’t given much thought to that missive until now. She realized that grandedame and her mother must still be at The Black Goose, still waiting for more information regarding the English from the mouth of de Winter. Well, Elizaveta wasn’t going to send them any more missives.
What she had to tell them, she would tell them in person.
It was that determination that led her until she could think of nothing else. It filled her soul like a great, black cloud of hatred. She continued south on the road, staying away from any other traveling parties and staying away from people in general. It was a two-day journey to the outskirts of London and for the young girl who had spent a good deal of time in an uncomfortable convent, sleeping in a dry spot in a thicket or in the bed of a hay wagon parked back behind a barn, wasn’t any great hardship.
Fortunately, her fur-lined cloak kept her very warm even if the fine brocade on the exterior was becoming a bit dirty and worn, but it didn’t matter. Elizaveta wasn’t thinking like a pampered lady and was thinking more like one of the wards of Rochester’s convent where the girls had often been underfed and without a fire on cold nights. For a long time, that had been her norm.
Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 66