It had taken him months to recover from his near-mortal wound, leaving him a good deal thinner and considerably weaker. Yet in spite of the physical obstacles, Bartholomew’s spirits had never been healthier; he was the same brilliant eccentric she had come to know and love.
“Which Hera might that be?” she asked as he extended his hand to help her to stand. Between Penelope, Bartholomew and Regine, Arissa was able to rise easily. “Do you refer to Lady Maude or my mother?”
“Actually, both,” Bartholomew said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and leading her across the grass. Penelope and Emma occupied his other side as Regine trailed behind. “Your mother has planted herself before the upstairs solar window so that she would be able to observe as you frolicked in the water. But Lady Maude was unable to watch you for fear she might witness some sort of horrible catastrophe. Such as you sinking to the bottom of the lake, I suppose.”
Arissa smiled, patting her swollen belly. “With this buoyancy, I doubt I shall sink.” Well into her seventh month, she was already large with child. Almost too large, if one would ask the opinions of Lady Ellyn or Lady Maude. But Mossy assured them the child was fine and Arissa was extremely healthy; in fact, she was healthier than he had ever known her to be. There was nothing to worry over, he told them. Naturally, they were not easy to agree.
“Great Gods, I would think not,” Bartholomew snorted, passing a glance at Penelope. “And what about you, my fine lady? You have a great deal of growing to do to catch up with my sister.”
Penelope’s lips folded in a pout. “I have not been able to eat as well as Riss simply because I have been ill nearly the entire time. She’s not been ill one day!”
Arissa shrugged. “I do not know that it is better to eat like a horse from morn until evening. I do not think I have stopped eating for seven months.”
Emma snorted with humor. “Do you remember how Richmond used to practically feed you every meal? You ate less than a bird and he was constantly scolding you for it. He would hardly believe were he to see you at the table now, stuffing everything into your mouth that you can lay your hands on.”
Arissa laughed softly in agreement, her joviality fading to think of Richmond once again. The past seven months had been a winding journey through the inner depths of an emotional hell, more joy and sorrow than she ever thought possible.
Parting with Richmond on that icy December morn had been harder than she ever imagined; in fact, had it not been for Sister Repentia’s calm words and comforting presence, she doubted that she would have allowed herself to be taken from Richmond at all. The fact that he had clung to her as if he were drowning only made it worse.
Her mother had stayed with her throughout the entire journey home, consoling her, singing to her, treating her as if she were a babe once again. Arissa was content to lay in the woman’s lap day after day, barely able to think or feel or move, and Sister Repentia was content to cradle her as she had so wanted to all of these years. Her child needed her, more than ever, and she would not disappoint.
Never once had Owen’s name been mentioned as they travelled through the snowy landscape, nor did she make mention of Arissa’s blood ties to the Welsh leader. Arissa need never know the truth as far as her mother was concerned. The less she knew of the harsh realities of life, the better for her well-being. She did not need any more grief than had already been delivered.
Hoping the trip homeward would prove to be calming and uneventful in the face of Arissa’s wrenching extraction from Wales, their wishes were granted. However, an odd twist occurred that neither lady was aware of at the time; when Richmond had ordered Arissa sent home, he had been referring to Whitby. Naturally, she assumed he had meant Lambourn and when they arrived, they were met by Bartholomew’s inquisitive face. On Bartholomew’s heels came William, full of vigor and pleasantries and without knowledge of his most violent words towards Arissa and Richmond.
As Mossy had explained some time later, William had been drunk and exhausted the day those fateful words had been uttered and had been sincerely distressed to awaken from a two day’s sleep to discover that Arissa had been whisked from Lambourn. Knowing Richmond had final judgment on Arissa’s safety, William had assumed the knight had deemed a compromised fortress an inappropriate place for Henry’s daughter and had seen fit to promptly remove her.
Which was why he had been overjoyed with her unexpected return. Exhausted and hysterical, she had relayed stories of Richmond’s bravery and betrayal, and William had been deeply shocked to learn that Richmond had allied himself with Owen Glendower. Arissa had informed her father that Richmond had betrayed his king to save her from the Welsh prince’s clutches; William wondered if it was true.
The New Year came and went, and the Welsh resistance had fired in earnest thanks to the brilliance of Richmond le Bec and the mighty sword of Hotspur. Gavan and William left for the border to aid Henry’s cause, despondent that they were to be fighting against a man who had been a sworn ally and friend for the better part of their lives.
It was a painful predicament Arissa did not like to dwell on. Her father and Gavan were waging war against Richmond and to maintain her sanity in the face of such upheaval was a constant struggle.
The battle threatened to deepen as she and her friends left the serenity of the lake; for the sake of her brittle composure, however, she forced herself from her gloomy thoughts and passed a disinterested glance at Regine and Emma as they quibbled over something undeniably serious. Penelope, having had enough of the arguing between the two younger women, moved beside Arissa as they made their way toward the fortress.
“Mayhap we can lose Emma and Regine and retire to the solar for a game of backgammon. Are you hungry? I feel as if I could eat something.”
Arissa glanced at her fair friend, flushed rosy with her pregnancy. “It is indeed a miracle if you feel like eating. Certainly I shall join you; mayhap I can convince my mother to prepare her special apple-and-cinnamon treat for us.”
Penelope nodded vigorously. “Your mother makes wonderful dishes; poor Whitby, we have taken away their talented cook.”
Arissa smiled, thinking on her raven-haired birth mother. “Whitby’s misfortune is my greatest fortuity,” she sighed, gazing into the hot blue sky above. “I am so very glad she has decided not to return to the cloister. She belongs here, with me. We have eighteen years of separation to make up for.”
“That is what Lady Ellyn said,” Penelope agreed softly. “I heard her tell Lady Maude that she’s destined to be with you, be it at Whitby or at Lambourn. And Lady Maude eagerly agreed.”
Arissa nodded. “How fortunate that I have two mothers who care deeply for me.”
She paused a moment in thoughtful silence, thinking on the relationship she and Lady Ellyn had formed. No longer was the green-eyed woman known as Sister Repentia, a title she had given up the day she decided to remain at Lambourn. Outside of the confines of the convent, her holy title seemed out of place and hollow. At Lambourn, she had finally found a place where she belonged, a place where she could be happy. Anywhere Arissa was, she was happy.
“I thought there would be a great deal of jealousy between Lady Ellyn and Lady Maude for your attentions, but there has been none at all,” Penelope interrupted Arissa’s thoughts as she watched the clover under her feet. “In fact, they seem to work well as a team.”
Arissa made a face at the thought. “Team, indeed. Sometimes they can be most overbearing. Having one mother can be difficult enough, but two….” she rolled her eyes humorously, giggling when Penelope laughed. “But my mother seems very happy to be here, don’t you think? I am so glad Lady Maude has welcomed her into Lambourn’s family.”
Penelope nodded, catching sight of her husband on the battlements. “Even though Lady Maude did not give you life, you are still her daughter. And she considers Lady Ellyn part of the family because she’s your birth mother.”
Arissa’s slippered feet met with the gravel and dirt road leading to th
e bailey of Lambourn. “I remember when I first met my mother at the abbey, how somber and quiet she was. As if the years of separation had taken something out of her. But here, she seems most content. She knows she belongs.”
“She belongs with you,” Penelope waved to her husband as he acknowledged her from the ramparts above.
Arissa agreed as she allowed her brother to lead her into the beautiful new bailey. The babe in her belly kicked as she moved across the dusty courtyard and Arissa was positive it was because, naturally being not only a le Bec but a male child, he was expressing his pleasure at the sounds of horses and soldiers and weaponry. All that his father was, he would soon be a part of, too.
In spite of the somewhat shocking pregnancy of an unwed lady, Arissa relished the feel of the life inside her. She did not care what anyone else thought of her shameless state, for she knew the child had been conceived in love and devotion. Both of her mothers knew that as well, especially Ellyn, who acutely remembered her similar circumstance those eighteen years ago.
Even if a few of the other occupants of Lambourn whispered and pointed, it was of no matter to Arissa. She was proud to bear the child of a man she loved with all her heart. A man she had loved for as long as she could remember.
The child gaining strength and size inside her was a portion of Richmond that crown or country could never take away, and she prayed every night that he survived the war in order than he might know his son. However, as fearful as he had been of her conceiving a child, she wondered if the sight of her swollen body would be enough to accomplish what hordes of English knights had failed to achieve; perhaps the shock would be enough to send him to his grave.
As the small group crossed the bailey with leisure borne of a slow pace and obvious conditions, Daniel came swinging down the ladder from the battlements. Penelope thought he was coming to see her; instead, he focused directly on Bartholomew and Arissa.
“An army has been sighted a mile out, Bart,” he said. “Your father is coming home.”
Bartholomew’s face immediately brightened. “Are you sure?”
Daniel nodded, passing a glance at Arissa. “Henry’s banner has been sighted as well.”
The color drained from Arissa’s face. If the army was returning, then it could only mean something monumental had occurred; her father had been at the border for five months with nary a reprieve. If the entire army was on the retreat, then it could only mean that the war for Wales’ freedom had come to a conclusion. God help her, she did not want to know the details of the conclusion.
Bartholomew felt her sway in his grasp, his glee quickly turning to concern. “Riss, I am sure he’s all right,” he whispered comfortingly, releasing his hold when Emma and Penelope took a firm grip on either arm. “Allow Emma and Pen to escort you into the castle. I shall come to you with the details, I promise.”
She shook her head, her face pale and her lips colorless. Just as she attempted to refuse his request, Mossy came scurrying from the castle.
“I saw the banners!” he announced loudly. “The earl’s returned, and Richmond with him!”
Arissa nearly collapsed. “How can you say that?” she gasped. “He was fighting against my father and the rest of the English army, including Gavan, and they all want to kill him because he’s a traitor!”
Mossy took Arissa from Penelope’s grasp, patting her arm gently. “Do not get yerself worked into a fit, Riss. Ye’ll bring about yer son far sooner than we would like, and I do not expect I would enjoy delivering a seventh-month babe,” he attempted to pull her toward the castle, but she was slow to come about. Mossy simply patted her arm again in a comforting manner. “If ye come, I shall make ye a brew of honey and rosehips. Ye like honey and rosehips, Riss.”
She allowed him to lead her to the steps when the sentry horns sounded high above her head, piercing the heat of the late July sky. Arissa was jolted by the sound, digging in her heels at the threshold to the castle entrance and refusing to go any further.
As Mossy supported her gently, she turned with fear and apprehension to the yawning gates of Lambourn. ’Twas foolish to run, she knew. Whether the news from Wales was good or bad, she had to know all the same.
It all seemed to have come about so quickly, with nary a message or rumor announcing the ending of the border wars. The troops that had battled against Richmond and the Welsh were suddenly returning home, undoubtedly victorious, which could only mean that her beloved had met his end at the hands of those who had once served him. Sweet St. Jude, he had promised to return to her. He had promised!
The horn sounded again as Penelope, Regine and Emma joined Arissa in her wait. Lured by the blast of the horns, Lady Maude and her women appeared in the doorway, followed very shortly by Lady Ellyn. Eight ladies with wide eyes wait on the steps of Lambourn, listening to every shout, watching every action, as Daniel and even Bartholomew prepared the bailey for the earl’s arrival.
The minutes dragged. Arissa’s palms were sweating, her face pale as she waited for the first of the column to appear. Beside her, Mossy continued to hold her hand and he could feel her rapid pulse, sensing her terror.
After a small eternity, a rider clad in the earl’s colors came barreling through the gates, met by a host of sentries and the ladies on the stairs strained their ears to catch a word of the message being delivered. After a moment, two of the sentries abruptly broke from the huddle and came racing towards the castle.
Arissa’s heart was in her throat as the soldiers bore down upon the small group, positive that they were preparing to relay cataclysmic news. Hand to her neck, she nearly toppled over when the soldiers reached them.
“The earl requests your presence, Mossy,” one of the men practically shouted. “He has a mortally wounded man.”
Arissa could scarcely breathe as Mossy let go of her, calmly sending one of the men for his medicament bag as he descended the steps and moved toward the huddle of soldiers. The women on the stairs watched with apprehension as Mossy was loaded onto a destrier and whisked out of the bailey.
From that moment on, Arissa remembered very little of the wait. The column was growing closer, indicated by the activity on the battlements, and the first of the standard bearers finally appeared in the gaping gateway. She was vaguely aware of her mother’s comforting hand on her shoulder, a slender white appendage that resembled her own. As the ladies observed the activity, more of the earl’s army poured forth to reveal a column of knights. Arissa recognized Gavan before she recognized the earl.
Something deep inside of her suddenly broke free and Arissa pulled from her mother’s grasp and bound across the bailey toward the incoming warriors. She could hear a good deal of shouting and commotion as she dodged soldiers and horses alike, struggling, striving with every ounce of strength she possessed to reach Richmond’s former best friend. She had to reach him. She had to know what had happened.
“Gavan!” she screamed. “Gavan, where’s Richmond?”
Gavan saw her coming, torn between shock at her condition and complete, utter grief. He dismounted his charger so rapidly that he nearly stumbled, fighting to regain his weary footing even as Arissa propelled herself into his arms. In a great cloud of silk and raven-black hair, Gavan found himself clutching her as if to crush her.
“Riss!” he gasped, dazed and overwhelmed. “My God, You are…. you are pregnant!”
She had no desire to respond to his observation. “Where’s Richmond? What happened?”
She was hardly cognizant when he grasped her tightly and began to lead her back into the collection of men and wagons still filtering in through the gate. “It’s over, Riss,” he said hoarsely. “Henry was victorious.”
Her face went ashen and he could feel her strength wan. Adjusting his grip, he found himself practically carrying her through the ranks of men and animals. “Sweet St. Jude, Gavan,” she moaned. “Where is Richmond?”
Gavan swallowed hard, his eyes searching for the familiar wagon he knew to be at the rear of the
column.
“We engaged the Welsh army at Shrewsbury on a bright morning, the twenty-first of July,” he said. “The battle was intense, as fierce as I have ever seen any battle, and above the smoke and death and carnage I could see Richmond poised on a rise, watching the scene below him. He just sat there, unmoving. It was odd, Riss; I have never known him to be inactive in any fighting.”
“Gavan…,” Arissa pleaded. She did not want to hear his story. She only wanted to know what had become of Richmond.
But Gavan was not ready to disclose the fate of his friend. His best friend. There was still a good deal more to tell.
“The day progressed and Richmond remained on the hill, and I was sorely tempted to engage him myself,” he continued. “But as I made my way toward him, Richmond abruptly spurred his charger headlong into the massacre below. As I watched, he approached Hotspur with his broadsword drawn and, suddenly, the two of them were battling like Lucifer and Gabriel.”
Gavan paused as his eyes located the wagon which he sought. Instinctively, he pulled Arissa closer as he advanced on the rig. “He…. he was magnificent, Riss,” he continued in a scratchy whisper. “He and Hotspur fought for hours and hours, ignoring the rest of the battle waging around them. As if it were just the two of them, determined to resolve the outcome of the entire battle between them. I have never seen anything like it and I pray to God I never will.”
Arissa could barely function. Her breathing had all but stopped, her legs barely able to support her weight as she gazed up at Gavan’s weary, stubbled face. She could scarcely ask what she knew she must.
“What…. what happened?”
Gavan reached the rig; Arissa was so caught up in his story that she failed to notice Mossy kneeling in the wagon, huddled over a prostrate form. Gavan noticed, however; he couldn’t help the tears that stung his eyes.
“Hotspur gored him as I watched,” he murmured. “But as Richmond fell back, I was witness to the most amazing battle strategy I have ever seen. He closed his eyes and I thought surely he was dead; instead, he managed to bring his blade up and catch Percy in the neck. What hours of close-quarters fighting had failed to procure, Richmond achieved in his final blow. I have oft seen him lodge arrows visualizing the target rather than actually seeing it, but I have never seen him use the tactic in open battle,” his voice was hardly a whisper as his anguish-filled gaze found her. “He killed Hotspur without seeing him, Riss. It was the only stratagem he had left because all else had failed.”
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