Sianet looked at the four very large men in the kitchen. Marcus could see that she was intimidated so he stood up and moved to stand with Peter, but David was trapped with his brother leaning on him. He remained, watching the old lady as she finally bent over, peering at the large lump on Christopher’s head. It covered some of his temple and back into the hairline.
Sianet visually inspected it before reaching out a gnarled finger, gently touching it. Christopher winced.
“It pains you,” the old woman said.
Christopher grunted. “It would pain anyone.”
The old woman lifted Christopher’s eyelids, looking at his eyes. Then, she visually inspected the rest of him, naked but for the blanket he was wrapped up in, as well as inspecting David and Marcus. She was quite observant and curious.
“I smell war about you,” she said. “Where did you come from?”
“Hereford,” Christopher said before David or Marcus could answer. “There was a battle tonight.”
“Where?”
“Kington.”
“And you were injured in that battle?”
“I was.”
“Why did you come here?”
Christopher lifted a hand, pointing to the clothing drying out on the hearth. “It was not by choice, I assure you,” he said. “I was struck and fell into the river. These brave men went in to save me and the water carried us here.”
That was about as much as he intended to explain. Christopher was hoping they wouldn’t have to tell Andra, or her mother, anything at all, but he felt as if he had to say something to at least satisfy the woman’s curiosity. He didn’t want to be impolite to the people who had essentially saved their lives.
“Then you are a warrior,” the old woman said. “A knight?”
Christopher nodded faintly, stopping because the motion pained him. “We are.”
“Saesneg?”
That was the Welsh word for English. Again, Christopher nodded. “Aye,” he said steadily. “But we mean you no harm. We shall be gone in the morning and I will send men with a reward for you for helping us. We will make it worth your while, I promise.”
The old woman looked at him, a glimmer in her eye. “’Tis the eve of Christmas,” she said. “The one night of the year when good will to all men is shown. As the stable sheltered the Christ child, we shall shelter you.”
Christopher hoped she was sincere. With the Welsh, one could never be sure when it came to the English. “You have my thanks, my lady.”
The old woman simply nodded before turning to Andra. “Bring my medicaments,” she said. “This man needs healing.”
Andra rushed off, heading back into the house, as the old woman stood up and started bustling around the kitchen. In the bread oven, keeping warm, was some kind of meat dish that Peter had overlooked on his hunt for food. She brought it out and used the wooden cups that had held the beef broth, feeding it to the men who were reluctant to take it at first. They’d already stolen broth and bread. But the woman insisted so they at her mutton and gravy, which was tasty and salty.
“Hereford,” the old woman said as they were eating. “Is that your home?”
Christopher had food in his mouth, swallowing before answering. “Aye.”
“What was this battle you attended?”
“The Welsh were overrunning Kington and the garrison there.”
“The garrison is Saesneg.”
“I know.”
“You were helping them?”
“We did not get a chance. We were trying to protect the village.”
“Do you have family?”
“I have a wife and seven children that I would very much like to see again.”
The old woman pondered that. Out of questions for the moment, she wandered over to a cabinet and opened the doors, pulling forth a covered pitcher of something, putting it on a wooden tray with a cup.
The servant woman was still with her, standing back in the shadows, and Sianet spoke to the woman in Welsh, sending her off to bring things for the tray. A spoon, a cup of hot water, and more rags ended up on the tray. The old woman was busying herself with something else in the cabinet when Andra rushed into the kitchen.
“There are men at our gate,” she said. “They are begging for entry. I saw them from the upstairs window, through the snow.”
Marcus and Peter went right for their swords, weapons that they had lain out to dry off in the heat. Even Christopher tried to move, but the old woman quickly held out her hand.
“Nay,” she said. “There shall be no fighting. Andra, quickly, take these men out to the stable and hide them. I cannot deny men shelter on a night like this, but we cannot let them find the Saesneg here. We must make sure they do not.”
Andra was worried. “You take them to the stable,” she said. “I will handle the men at the gate.”
“Listen to me,” the old woman said, grabbing the tray and shoving it at Andra. “Take this into the stable. Give Hereford the poppy powder and apply the arnica to his head. Stay down there with them until I come for you.”
She said it in a tone that left no room for argument and Andra grabbed the tray, and the satchel she’d fetched that contained her mother’s medicaments, rushing past Marcus and Peter.
“Quickly,” she said. “Grab your clothing and come with me.”
Marcus looked at her in exasperation. “Can we at least put clothing on? Look at us. We will freeze to death before we reach the stable.”
Andra paused, nodding swiftly, and the men tossed off the blankets as they began to pull on their breeches, which were almost dry and quite warm from having been baking in front of the hearth.
When the blankets went off, Andra gasped and turned her back on them, but her mother did not. She watched everything and that wild-eyed look became a little more tame. Appreciative, even. Andra watched her mother’s expression with horror.
“Mam,” she hissed. “Turn away!”
The mother cast her a droll look. “Why?” she said. “I have seen it before. Mayhap not so beautifully presented, but I have seen it. But you look away, Andra. You should not see this. You are innocent. But me… ’tis God’s Christmas gift to me on this night to have a vision like this.”
Andra was shocked that her mother was so happily watching nude men dress. But in the same breath, she felt the urge to laugh. Her mother had been bordering on madness for the past year, taking to her bed most of the time, and this was the happiest and perhaps the most sane she’d seen her mother in quite some time.
Watching naked men put on their clothing.
It was a shocking realization.
But there wasn’t time to dwell on it. The men at the gate would soon become desperate and try to come around the side of the house as the English had. Andra dared to look over her shoulder to see the state of dress of the men, seeing that they were all mostly dressed and now helping the injured man into his clothing. Mail and weaponry were being carried, not worn.
There was no more time to waste.
“Come,” she said. “Follow me, quickly.”
She was carrying the tray of things her mother had given her as well as her mother’s medicament satchel. As she rushed past Peter, he reached out to take the tray.
“Here,” he said in his deep, soft voice. “Let me take this. Lead the way, my lady.”
Andra glanced at him not once, but twice, thinking that he was a rather handsome young man. For a Saesneg. Quickly, she took them back through what appeared to be a pantry and into a covered walkway that took them to a second postern gate in the wall of the manse.
Behind them, David was shutting doors, making sure their tracks were covered as best he could as Marcus shouldered Christopher, helping the injured man walk as the snow blew around them. Through the second gate they went, immediately entering another covered walkway that moved past several stalls that were jammed with livestock.
It was cold here, but they were protected from the brunt of the storm. With the heat from th
e bodies of the animals, it wasn’t bad at all. As Andra led them into the furthest stall, it was clear that they were quite insulated from the elements with all of the animals around them. It didn’t smell as inviting as the kitchen had, but it would do.
There was a loft above the last stall with a ladder that led up to it. Peter went up the ladder first, followed by Andra. Christopher was next, moving slowly and helped along by Marcus and David, directly behind him. When Christopher was finally into the loft, pulled along by Peter, Marcus and David bolted up the ladder and pulled it up after them.
From that point on, it was a waiting game.
Of course, they could have no fire, but they had brought the blankets with them and they used most of them to cover Christopher up to keep him warm against the frigid temperatures. He was becoming groggy again, but David and Marcus sat with him as Andra administered a potion of poppy for the pain and smeared some kind of fat infused with arnica leaves onto his lump. It was supposed to reduce the inflammation and swelling.
The fat in the salve was resistant to the water from the snow, and Andra had only brought one bowl with her, the only one that would fit on the tray. She gave the snow-filled rag to David, who held it onto his brother’s head again. With that, they settled in to wait out the storm and the Welsh in the house.
Peter sat by a tiny vent in the loft. He could see the stable yard below and the snow swirling, but if he shifted position, he could also see the dark sky above. Mostly, he was watching to see if any of the Welsh decided to come back into the stable yard where they were.
As he sat there, panic abruptly set in. In the rush to leave the kitchen, Peter realized that he had left his Somerhill tunic behind. He’d draped it over a peg right next to the hearth so it hadn’t been on the stones when they’d scooped everything up. They’d been so busy grabbing everything on the ground that he’d neglected the peg.
Damnation! He thought.
Leaving his post by the vent, he scooted across the hay to where the others were sitting.
“I left my tunic on the hearth,” he whispered, feeling sick and ashamed. “We were so busy collecting weapons and mail that I completely forgot that it was hanging on the peg in the hearth. I must return for it.”
Andra, who had been reapplying some of the arnica fat to Christopher’s head, looked at him in concern. “Nay,” she said. “I shall return for it. You must remain here and out of sight.”
Peter knew she was right although he didn’t like the idea of a woman fixing his mistake. He’d left the tunic behind and he wanted to retrieve it, but he also didn’t want the Welsh to see him. Reluctantly, he nodded.
“Very well,” he said. “It is hanging on the peg to the right. It is green.”
Andra nodded, wiping her hands off on a nearby rag before rising and making her way over to the hole in the loft. David was already lowering the ladder, assisted by Peter. They watched her climb down it and head off into the night.
David sighed heavily. “If they find it, we must be ready to lead them away from the stable,” he said quietly. “We have no way of knowing how many there are and it would be the three of us against them.”
Peter looked over at Christopher, who was trying very hard not to close his eyes. “My father cannot fight in his condition,” he muttered, returning his focus to his uncle. “What shall we do?”
David pointed down into the stable. “Get down there and watch,” he said. “If we see the Welsh coming into the stable yard, we must lead them away. Run as far and as fast as you can go and try to lose them.”
Peter thought on the darkness of the night and the fact that he’d be going out into the freezing cold again. But it couldn’t be helped. His father was injured and he would have to ensure that the man didn’t have to face another battle this night.
He wasn’t going to let the Welsh finish what they’d started.
“I will,” he said confidently, climbing onto the ladder. “Are you coming?”
David nodded, holding up a hand to beg patience while he crawled back over to where Christopher and Marcus were.
“If the Welsh find his tunic and come out to look around, Peter and I will lead them from the stables,” he whispered. “You two remain here. Bury yourself in hay if you have to. You do not want a fight in the confines of this loft.”
That was very true. There would be no room to move and it would be easy to be cornered. Marcus put Christopher’s hand on the compress so he could hold it steady himself while he reached for his weapon.
“I’ll go,” he said. “You stay with Chris.”
But David shook his head. “I run faster than you do,” he said. “If they make it up here, Chris will need your power. You will have to fight for two of you.”
Holding the icy cold rag on his head, Christopher grunted. “I am not an invalid,” he said unhappily. “If a fight comes, I can hold my own.”
Marcus and David looked at him, pale and injured, and knew that was a lie. He wouldn’t last long in a fight.
“I’ll stay,” Marcus said reluctantly. “If you must lead the Welsh away, where will you run to?”
“Back to the river,” David said. “They’ll be able to follow my tracks in the snow, at least for a little while. I’ll have to lose them in the river.”
“Tell Peter to be careful,” Christopher said. “He has the de Lohr heroic streak in him and I should not like to lose my son at such a young age while he is off trying to save me.”
David nodded, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I will do my best.”
Marcus reached out, grasping David’s arm. “Be careful,” he said. “You have that de Lohr heroic streak in you, too. A dead hero is of no use to anyone.”
David gave him a wry smile, perhaps one of the most genuine moments the two had shared in years. It was as if they were back in The Levant again, drawing strength from their camaraderie as they faced life and death together. It was something Marcus had thought was long gone. David probably thought so, too.
It was a good moment between them.
With that, David grabbed his sword and crawled back to the hole in the loft, sliding down the ladder and heading out into the night.
Marcus left Christopher long enough to pull up the ladder, crawling over to the vent to look out over the yard and part of the stable block. He couldn’t see David or Peter, which was good, so there was nothing to do but sit back, remain alert, and wait.
Still, he was nervous.
Glancing at Christopher as the man leaned back against a pile of hay and held the compress over his lump, Marcus remained at the vent, watching and waiting for any hint of the Welsh. The snowstorm seemed to have eased up a little. It was still blowing, but not as strongly as it had been. The worst seemed to have passed and now snowflakes were blowing around, almost gently, as the clouds above began to clear up a little.
“It seems hard to believe that this is Christmas Eve,” Marcus murmured, his eyes on the yard below. “When I rode into Lioncross earlier today, I did not imagine this would be the way we would spend the night. I was hoping to be quite drunk by now and in bed with my wife. Mayhap we would get a little present of our own next summer. We need more children if we are going to catch up with you and Dustin.”
He smirked as he said it. Over against the hay, Christopher smiled faintly. “You have been rather slow about it,” he said. “But you have two lovely daughters and a strong son. There is much to be grateful for.”
Marcus’ smirk faded. “There is,” he said. “And I am, believe me. Gabrielle is… I am not even sure how I can describe her. She saved me. She saved me when I didn’t even know I needed saving.”
“Tell me,” Christopher said softly. “You and I have not had a heartfelt conversation in many a year, Marcus. In fact… I cannot recall the last time.”
“I know,” Marcus said quietly, his gaze still on the yard. “And I will say what you will not. There has not been the opportunity or mayhap even the desire to have a heartfelt conversation
with me. Things have not been the same with you and David and me for quite some time.”
Christopher sighed faintly, settling back on the hay and feeling extremely sleepy, although he didn’t want to tell Marcus for fear the man would come over to him and shake him to keep him awake. He didn’t want to remain awake; he wanted to sleep. But his thoughts lingered on Marcus’ statement. He knew what the man was referring to. Frankly, he was surprised he had even voiced it.
“Times change,” he muttered, his eyes closing even as he tried to keep them open. “Men change. It does not mean it is a change for the worse, simply… different.”
“But I do not want it to be different,” Marcus said, some emotion in his voice. “You know that I only have one brother, a man I’ve never been close to. The stupid monk who inherited our father’s fortune and holdings and promptly gave them over to the church. Everything that belonged to Leister, gone. God, I’ve never forgiven him. I hate him with everything in my soul for doing that.”
“But you have Somerhill.”
“And you know what I had to do to get that.”
Christopher did. Sordid deception and a self-induced injury that almost ended his career as a knight. That had been back in the days when they’d first returned from The Levant, when Christopher had first married Dustin and everything had been so unsettled.
“Those are days I do not like to think of sometimes,” he admitted, his tongue thick as he was losing the battle against his exhaustion. “There were moments of brilliance, but those were few and far between. The treachery, the politics…”
“You mean me.”
“I mean everyone. You were simply caught up in it like we all were.”
Marcus thought that Christopher was being rather magnanimous considering Marcus had tried to steal Dustin away from him those years ago. He knew that was the shadow hanging over them, the event that no one would talk about. It had been like that for over ten years.
Ten long, painful years.
It was time for that pain to come to a head.
“It was more than that and you know it,” he said quietly. “Hear me out, Chris. Let me say this because it needs to be said. Those events from years ago are something we all hoped would be forgotten, even as we spoke of forgiveness and tried to move past it. But I do not think you’ve ever forgotten. I know David hasn’t. It’s like this giant shadow that hangs over us every time we come together. I want so much to go back to the friendship we had before, in the days of Marwah and Ezz, but I’m afraid that will never happen again. I ask myself if this is the new normal with us, if this is all it is ever going to be. In The Levant, I felt like the third de Lohr brother. I wonder if it was simply the setting, the fact that we were so far from home, and our common goals that bonded us the way we did, because ever since we’ve come home, things have been different and I do not know how to fix it.”
A Blessed de Lohr Christmas (de Lohr Dynasty Book 9) Page 6