“What changes?”
She pointed out the obvious, her breasts and belly. “You should be glad you were not here when I first realized I was pregnant,” she said. “Everything hurt to the touch.”
He pulled his tunic over his head. “I remember my mother becoming ill when she was carrying my siblings,” he said. “Have you felt well enough?”
Liora nodded. “Very well,” she said. “But everything is still a little sore.”
He pursed his lips regretfully. “And I’ve done nothing but poke, stroke, pinch, and nibble,” he said. “I am sorry. You should have told me.”
She laughed softly and wrapped her braid around the back of her head, using big iron pins to secure it.
“I wanted you to touch me,” she said. “You did not hurt me, I promise.”
He secured a belt around his waist and came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing the side of her head. “You will tell me if I do,” he said softly. “Swear this to me.”
She was trying to finish her hair as Peter cuddled her, so she finally gave up and gave in to his sweet embrace.
“I swear,” she said. “Do not worry so. I will not break.”
He grinned, kissed her one last time, and let her go. “I must check on the men I’ve brought back with me,” he said. “Is there anything you need before I go?”
Liora put in the last pin and turned to him. “I do not need anything, but…”
“But what?”
“I was thinking,” she said. “You did not speak of the battles you saw when you came home last night. In fact, you’ve not spoke of it at all. I am afraid to ask you how the situation goes.”
Peter paused with his hand on the door latch. “It’s not good,” he said, his mood sober. “I do not want to bring that hell into this chamber, Lee-Lee. That’s why I have not spoken of it. I will speak of it in the hall, or anywhere else, but not here. Here – this is our heaven. It’s the one place I do not want talk of battle to penetrate.”
She smiled sadly at him. “I understand,” she said. “Forgive me for asking. You can speak of it when you are ready. I suppose I was asking because Christin said that Sherry is no longer with the army.”
Peter shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Addax is in command right now, with the army outside of Leicester. The Marshal summoned Sherry about a month ago and my father summoned me home last week, so here we are while the army is still out there, waiting.”
“Do you think Sherry will come home soon?”
“I hope so, for Christin’s sake.”
“Me, too.”
He smiled at her, giving her a wink before lifting the latch and quitting the chamber. They were in the top floor chamber of a block of buildings built by Gilbert de Lacy, a previous owner, built around the gatehouse and the keep. The floors were relatively new, the walls new, and it didn’t have that musty smell that so many older stone buildings had. He headed down the stairs, which were mural stairs and not built into the thickness of the wall. Ludlow was a massive place with a good deal of living quarters, rooms, even smaller halls and one enormous great hall, most definitely fit for a de Lohr. But Peter had only been allowed to enjoy them for a short amount of time before his father requested that he join Alexander and Addax out in the field where he was badly needed.
That meant they had to bring another knight in to command Ludlow in his stead and although his father split his time between Lioncross, Ludlow, and Wigmore to the east, it was still important to have a capable knight commanding Ludlow when Christopher was away. That had required a missive to Kenilworth Castle, who was more than happy to send a newly minted knight to their doorstep in the form of Quintus de Garr.
De Garr was from a fine Hampshire family, related to the House of de Nerra, and Peter took to him right away. He was as strong as a bull, very smart, and very capable thanks to his training. He was also deaf in one ear and looked like the hind end of a dog, which pleased Peter to no end considering he had to leave the man in charge of his new wife. He didn’t want an Adonis around Liora, so Quintus was accepted purely based on his skills, and on his appearance, and he swore fealty to Peter without hesitation. Peter had been able to work with him for a few weeks before he headed off to join Alexander and Addax, but according to Christopher, Quintus had been remarkable in command of Ludlow.
Now, Peter wanted to speak to his commander so the man could bring him up to date on everything that had happened while he was gone. As he exited the block of apartments, squinting in the bright early morning sun, he could see Quintus at the gatehouse. When the man spied him, he began running in his direction.
“My lord,” he called. “Did you sleep well?”
Considering he had just returned to his new wife after a long separation, Peter cast him a long look but realized Quintus had no idea why he was eyeing him so queerly, so he simply nodded his head.
“Well enough,” he said. “I am sorry we did not have time to speak last night. You can understand that I was anxious to see my wife rather than speak to you.”
Quintus nodded. “Indeed, my lord,” he said. “No apologies necessary. I will say that your wife has done me a very great favor while you were gone.”
“Oh? What is that?”
“She has introduced me to a woman I am also anxious to see rather than speak to you, too.”
Peter looked at him abruptly and started laughing when he realized that Quintus had, indeed, understood the subtleties of a man returning from battle to a new wife. “Cheeky bastard,” he muttered. “But I am glad for you, Quintus. Who is this flowering bloom of womanhood?”
Quintus grinned, displaying reasonably nice teeth beneath a heavy mustache and beard. “A daughter of the lord of Rhayder Castle,” he said. “Her name is Livia de Gault and her father is an ally of Lord Blackadder, Ajax de Velt.”
Peter recognized the name. “Ah, I remember,” he said. “They are allies to the west.”
“Exactly, my lord.”
“How did you come to meet her, though? Did you see her in the village?”
Quintus shook his head. “Nay, my lord,” he said. “Your wife has been inviting local allies to come to Ludlow and feast with her and your father so that they will come to know her and she, them. May I praise Lady de Lohr’s grace and charm without angering you, my lord?”
Peter shrugged. “Why would it anger me?” he said. “Everything you say is true. Why do you think I married her?”
Quintus laughed softly. “Perfectly understandable, my lord,” he said. “She lives for the mere mention of your name. I, too, hope to have a wife someday who worships me the way your lady wife worships you. I have tried to tell Lady Livia that.”
Peter scowled. “Do not tell her that before you marry her, you dolt,” he said. “What is wrong with you? Are you trying to scare her off?”
Quintus looked stricken but Peter started to laugh simply because the man truly had no idea what he was saying. He was about to educate Quintus when a cry came from the battlements.
Riders were approaching.
Since Peter knew his father was due to arrive, he headed for the gatehouse with Quintus, preparing to welcome his father to Ludlow. He was excited to see the man he hadn’t seen in months, so he stood at the raised portcullis, watching the riders approach, but as he watched, the smile faded from his face.
His father wasn’t alone.
Peter stood back as the riders flooded into his bailey. He recognized the men, the horses, the standards, and he most especially recognized William Marshal.
Puzzlement filled him.
So did concern.
His father was the first man to dismount as soldiers rushed forward to collect the warhorses that were frothing from the twenty-mile ride from Lioncross Abbey. He was dressed in full battle regalia, something Peter had seen on his father a thousand times. He approached his father, who opened up his arms to him and hugged him tightly. He didn’t let him go. He just stood there and held him as others dism
ounted their horses and approached, including The Marshal. Peter had no idea why his father was holding on to him for so long but when he finally released him, Peter swore he saw tears in the man’s eyes.
He peered at him closely.
“Papa?” he asked, somewhat gently. “What is the matter? I’m safe. Everyone is safe. I came home at your summons so that you can see I am safe.”
Christopher took a deep breath, pulling off his helm to reveal his graying blond hair. It was starting to turn white at the temples and crown.
“Not everyone is safe,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Peter was seized with apprehension. “What do you mean?” he said. “What has happened? Oh, dear God, don’t tell me something has happened to Sherry.”
“Nay,” The Marshal said, answering because Christopher was so emotional. “Sherry is well enough. I summoned him away from the de Lohr army for a special purpose and he will be here any day now, but I am certain he is well. Have no fear. Let us go into your great hall, Peter. We must speak.”
Peter nodded and started to move, but he was bewildered. He took his father by the arm, leading the man towards the great hall and sending Quintus to tell Liora that great men had arrived. As Quintus bolted off, Peter looked to his father.
“What is wrong?” he asked quietly. “You’re frightening me, Papa. Is Uncle David well?”
Christopher nodded, but he was still close to tears. “Everyone in the family is well,” he said. “Your uncle, Sherry, East Anglia, Dash… everyone. But we have received word about a major battle at Berwick Castle.”
Peter came to a halt, the color draining out of his face when he thought he knew what his father meant. “Berwick,” he breathed. “John’s armies were there in January.”
“I know.”
“Please don’t tell me that something happened to Cole de Velt.”
Christopher shook his head. “Worse than even that,” he said, his voice scratchy. “Jax has fallen.”
Peter’s eyes few open wide and his jaw dropped. “Nay,” he breathed in shock. “Not Jax. Not him. Oh, God, Papa… not him!”
“Peter, inside,” The Marshal instructed quietly but firmly. “Inside and we will discuss all of this.”
Numbly, Peter did as he was told. He led his father to the hall and with Christopher heading for the feasting table, he finally took a look at the men who had come with him. He saw Maxton, who was not only his father’s ally, but a close neighbor on the Marches. He also saw two men he hadn’t seen in over a year in Kress de Rhydian and Achilles de Dere. Those were the original Executioner Knights, men who, along with Maxton, formed one of the core units within the Executioner Knights known as the Unholy Trinity. Peter hadn’t even noticed them as they’d ridden in with his father and The Marshal.
That told him that the situation was dire, indeed.
The great hall of Ludlow was a sight to behold. It could easily hold a thousand men and it had, at times, all of them crammed in and sheltered against the elements that were so often terrible on the Welsh Marches. With his father and The Marshal already inside, Peter hung back to greet Kress and Achilles. Kress, a big man with cropped blond hair, greeted Peter fondly and Achilles, high-strung and passionate, greeted him with a hug that nearly cracked his ribs. Rubbing his chest, Peter couldn’t help but grin at Maxton when the man patted him on the head.
When Peter reached the table, his father was already into the wine that had been brought. Over near the servant’s alcove that led to the kitchens, he could see his wife as she visually inspected the hall to see who, exactly, had arrived. When she saw her father-in-law, and The Marshal, she disappeared again, no doubt making sure that special refreshments were prepared. As Christopher settled down, Peter took a seat at the table beside him.
He couldn’t stand the suspense.
“What happened to de Velt?” Peter asked, looking around to anyone who could answer him. “I simply cannot believe… God, I cannot even believe I am saying it. It does not seem real.”
It was a sentiment shared by everyone and The Marshal replied. “John was in the north in January, but he is heading south again, which is why you were called to meet him with your father’s army,” he said, looking older and wearier than Peter had remembered. “What happened to Ajax de Velt happened in January. De Velt and his army, along with de Longley and de Bourne, held their section of the border so John and his mercenaries had to make a great detour to cross into Scotland. John did not take kindly to that and lay siege to Berwick Castle, hoping to gain control of it.”
“Berwick held?” Peter asked.
The Marshal nodded. “It did,” he said. “Cole de Velt and his brother, Julian, held it admirably, but the trouble that Jax ran into was at Pelinom, his seat. From what I have been told, John’s army hit it full force, hoping to capture it and use it as a base, but Jax held firm. He met his end when he was pulling injured men out of the range of the archers and was hit himself.”
Peter closed his eyes at the mere idea of it, stricken with horror. “God,” he grunted. “Please tell me his end was swift.”
The Marshal sighed heavily. Moments like this were the worst part of what he did. But things like this happened; it had happened before and it would happen again. It never became easier, however.
This one cut him to the bone.
“He evidently kept pulling the injured out of range, even with two arrows in his back,” he said. “He only stopped when his wife forced him to. He stumbled inside and died in her arms. As you can imagine, his family is devastated, as are his allies. As am I. It is a great loss to say the least.”
Peter looked at his father, who was sitting there with red-rimmed eyes, struggling to come to terms with the death of a man he was close to. It also brought about the fact that Jax’s youngest son, Cassian, had served at Lioncross Abbey for many years. Cassian had been Christopher’s right hand at Lioncross with all of the other knights in strategic posts, which had been a great comfort to Peter. Cassian, young as he was, was extremely talented and he was devoted to both his father and to Christopher.
All Peter could feel at the moment was hollow grief for the young knight who had lost his father.
“How is Cass?” Peter asked his father gently.
“Devastated,” Christopher said. “He is heading home as we speak. I will go, also, when things are settled here. I must go to Pelinom’s chapel and pay my respects to my friend personally. He would have done the same for me.”
Peter sighed heavily, thinking of the de Velt family, not unlike his own. A powerful warlord father, a dedicated mother… it could so easily have been his own father. It was shocking to think of their world without Ajax de Velt in it and he could hear the pain of loss in his father’s tone. He could see it in The Marshal’s face. It occurred to him that it was hitting the older men much harder than men like himself or even Maxton or Kress or Achilles.
They were all younger knights who hadn’t shared the relationship with de Velt like those men had. Christopher and Jax had been tight along with Cullen de Nerra’s father, Valor, and the Earl of East Anglia, Talus. These were men who had fought together in the before time, when Henry II was upon the throne, and they had a history together.
Now, part of that history was gone. Pieces of that time were disappearing, leaving a hole in their wake, leaving men like Christopher and William growing older as the world they knew dwindled around them.
Reaching out, Peter grasped his father’s hand and held it tightly.
“It seems ironic that a man like Jax de Velt should be killed saving men,” he said after a moment. “For years, he was The Dark Lord, the man who killed without thought or feeling. There was no man more feared in all of England. But I must say, as I reflect upon the man who was a legend in my eyes, I feel that he met his end in the most noble way possible. Saving lives and not taking them. He died a glorious death in battle. For an old warrior, I would think that is the best possible end.”
Christopher nodded
dully. “He went the way I would want to go, the way I hope I go,” he said. “In the arms of my wife.”
The Marshal grunted. “They said that Kellington held him until the end and even longer still,” he muttered. “She never shed a tear until he was gone.”
It was a beautiful, tragic, and brave suggestion. “Kellington is a great lady,” Christopher said. “She is very strong.”
“She is.”
As Peter watched the older knights struggle, something occurred to him, perhaps something that would give them some comfort.
Something that had happened, back at Lonsdale.
“I am reminded of the last thing I said to him back at Lonsdale,” he said. “Remember when I spoke of Boone Pendleton’s prayer? When facing battle, you always know there is a chance you will not return, but the fact that I remembered the warrior’s prayer at that particular time seems quite meaningful.”
Christopher looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that we’ve gone into battle before and we’ve never said it,” he said. “We’ve joined allies in battle before, but we never said it. Yet, at that moment at Lonsdale, we spoke the words. We spoke them while Jax was still alive so that he could say them with us, but mayhap we should say them again now in his memory. Somehow, it seems appropriate.”
Christopher had tears in his eyes, nodding but unable to speak for the lump in his throat. It was Maxton who started it.
“Behold, I see those I love, and my relatives who have died before me,” he said. “I see my father seated in the golden halls with an empty seat beside him.”
Kress and Achilles and Peter chimed in. “I see the greatest warriors who have ever lived, surrounding my father, calling to me,” they said. “Death is not the end, but the beginning, for a true warrior never dies. He takes his place of greatness among those who are worthy.”
By this time, Christopher found his voice and he lifted his head, speaking to the ceiling of the hall and the sky beyond. “Mourn not the glorious dead but rejoice in their legacy,” he said, his strong voice joining in with the others in the hope that Jax, wherever he was, would hear him. “They wait for me, not in this life, but in the next, where their legends shall live forever.”
The Splendid Hour: The Executioner Knights Book 7 Page 33