“Nay!” he said as he ran away from his mother. “I do not want to go! Nay!”
Royce’s mother was beside herself with embarrassment. Before she realized it, her son had taken her on a chase twice around the hall as Eiselle, Bric, and Manducor watched with varied levels of amusement and annoyance. When the child started to make the third round, Manducor stuck out his foot and the little boy went sprawling.
“There,” Manducor said quite casually as he turned back to the chess board. “That solves that.”
Bric looked at the poor lad who was now being hauled up by his mother. As the woman apologized profusely whilst dragging her son away, the child reached out and pinched Manducor on the arm. As Manducor howled and lifted his hand to hit the boy, Bric burst into laughter and stopped him.
“Nay,” he said. “Do not strike him. He is bold and fearless. You’ll not retaliate.”
Manducor was fuming, but he had his satisfaction when Royce’s mother swatted the child’s behind as she pulled him into the kitchen.
“Ha!” he said as he heard the boy scream. “I have my vengeance!”
The problem was that Bric could hear the crying, too, and for some reason it upset him. He didn’t want to see the child’s spirit crushed because he rather liked a spirited child, a servant boy who didn’t understand he had limitations. It was only when one grew up and understood the world at large, and the frailty of life, did limitations become apparent. Nay, he didn’t like hearing the lad cry one bit.
He turned to Eiselle.
“Mo chroí,” he said softly. “Will you please see to the lad? He should not be punished. I do not want to hear him cry.”
Eiselle smiled at her husband and his tender heart when it came to a crying boy. From the hardened man she had first met, it was a little surprising. But it gave her hope that, indeed, he might be pleased that in a few months, he, too, would have a boy, if God was willing. Putting her sewing aside, she stood up and headed towards the kitchen where she could hear the lad weeping in the distance.
For whatever reason, she felt somewhat woozy after standing up. Perhaps she had stood up too quickly. Whatever the case, she thought she could simply walk it off but the closer she drew to the kitchen door, the stranger she felt. Her head began to swim and spots danced before her eyes, and the last thing she remembered was reaching the door leading into the kitchen and trying to brace herself against it.
And then… nothing.
Shadows were dancing on the wall of the darkened chamber when Eiselle opened her eyes again.
It took her a moment to realize she was in her bed as the familiar surroundings came into view. She rolled onto her back, immediately feeling a stabbing pain on the side of her head. She winced as her hand flew to her scalp, only to feel a lump.
“Ouch,” she muttered.
Bric was suddenly in her line of sight. “Ah,” he said softly. “You have awakened. How do you feel?”
Eiselle blinked up at him. “I do not know,” she said. “What happened?”
He smiled at her. “You fainted.”
Eiselle seemed shocked. “I did? Are you certain?”
Bric chuckled. “Do you remember how you got here?”
She looked around a little. “Nay.”
“Then you fainted. I brought you here.” His smile faded as he sat down on the bed beside her, putting an enormous hand on her forehead. “You gave me quite a scare, love. Can I get you anything? Wine? Something to eat? Mayhap you need to eat something. God only knows, you’ve been tending to me like an angel and have not taken care of yourself.”
She waved him off. “God, no,” she mumbled. “Nothing to eat.”
The way she said it concerned him. “Why? Are you ill?”
Are you ill? Eiselle hear his words and she almost denied them but, as she thought about it, there was perhaps no better time to tell the man he was to be a father. Perhaps that was why she had fainted in the first place; her body had been doing strange things as of late, with pains where she’d never had pains before and something terrible happening to her belly that made her feel like she was burping up fire.
No better time than the present.
“I am not ill,” she said quietly. “My belly has simply been upset as of late.”
“More upset than usual?”
She eyed him. “What do you mean by that?”
He fought off a grin. “I know your stomach pains you from time to time,” he said. “Sometimes you belch louder than I do. It is a prideful talent, Wife.”
She tried to scowl but ended up laughing. “I cannot help it,” she insisted. “Besides – it is unseemly to discuss such things.”
“I have never discussed it with anyone but you.”
“See that you don’t.” Eiselle watched him snicker, thinking that it was good to see him laugh, even if it was at her expense. “Be serious, Bric. I must speak with you.”
He wasn’t catching on to her solemn tone. “About your stomach?”
“In a way. It is upset for a reason.”
“What reason?”
“We are going to have a child.”
That stopped his giggles in an instant and the smile vanished from his face unnaturally fast. He just stared at her for a moment before his eyebrows lifted in a deliberate motion.
“We are?” he asked in a strangely low tone.
Eiselle nodded, though she couldn’t tell if he was happy or enraged about it. Her nervous stomach began to do flips.
“We are,” she said quietly.
As Eiselle looked at him anxiously, Bric couldn’t quite catch his breath. The room began to rock to the point where he had to stand up from the bed, holding on to the bedposts for support. His mind was whirling with something he’d honestly never thought about even though, in hindsight, it was stupid that he hadn’t. He’d been bedding his wife daily, sometimes twice a day, and taking delight in her supple body as he’d spilled his seed into her, again and again.
Of course she was pregnant; his powerful Irish seed had taken root. It shouldn’t have been a great surprise.
But it was.
Whirling to face her, Bric could see that she was verging on tears, concerned with his reaction. Or perhaps it was because she didn’t want to bear a child. Perhaps she was afraid. In any case, now he wasn’t sure how to react even though his momentary surprise was about to turn into a joyous explosion.
“Bleeding Christ,” he finally breathed. “Eiselle…”
“You’re not happy!” she said, bursting into tears.
He was back on the bed in an instant, his hands on her arms as she covered her face. “I am,” he insisted. “With God as my witness, I am. It is simply that I wasn’t expecting to hear the news. Are you happy?”
Eiselle’s hands came away from her face as she looked up at him, the tears miraculously fading. “I… I think so,” she said. “It is difficult to be happy when I do not feel very well. But I am happy if you are happy.”
He just looked at her, the silver eyes glimmering with warmth and hope and the light of a thousand dreams for the future. Then, he started to laugh, pulling her up against him and holding her so tightly that she burped when he squeezed too hard. That made him laugh even louder.
“Oh, mo chroí,” he murmured. “My heart. My dearest, sweetest heart. Am I happy? Aye, I am. I truly am. A son, Eiselle. We shall have a son and he shall be the greatest knight the world has ever seen.”
Eiselle had her arms around his neck, holding him tightly as she realized that he wasn’t upset by this at all. She felt a huge amount of relief.
“It could be a lass,” she said. “I have no way of controlling such things.”
He released her from his grip so he could look her in the eye. A big hand came up to cup her face. “It will be a son,” he said with quiet authority. “God and I are not terribly close, but I intend to have a talk with the man. Our child will be a boy, Eiselle.”
There was no convincing him otherwise so Eiselle simply smiled at him
and he kissed her, twice, before laughing low in his throat and throwing his arms around her again. She could literally feel his giddiness and it made her feel comforted, safe, and loved.
His joy was contagious.
But as he celebrated, Eiselle inevitably thought of Keeva, who had only suffered loss after loss of pregnancy. She and Keeva were dear friends and she was certain the woman would be happy for her, but it still hurt her heart to know that Keeva would be wounded deep-down that the pregnancy was not her own. It wasn’t strange that she should think of Keeva at a time like this since Keeva had often shared her childless trials with her.
“I have been thinking,” she finally said.
He was still holding her tightly. “About what?”
She sighed faintly. “Keeva,” she said. “She is my friend, Bric. I am concerned that our joy will hurt her somehow. All of these years with Daveigh and she has wanted a child so badly. How will we tell her of that we are to have a child, so soon after our marriage?”
Bric released her from his embrace. He wasn’t unsympathetic, but he certainly wasn’t going to let the thought run his joy.
“Keeva is a strong woman,” he said. “She has suffered many disappointments, but we cannot keep the news from her simply to spare her. She will be hurt if we do not tell her.”
Eiselle knew that. “I am sure you are correct,” she said. “She will be happy for us in spite of her personal feelings, I know. She is giving that way.”
“She is.”
“Mayhap we will give our son the name of her father to honor her. She is your cousin, after all.”
Bric cocked an eyebrow, that imperious eyebrow Eiselle has seen back in the days before his injury. She was quite happy to see it now.
“My son will have the name I choose for him,” he said firmly. “But… I am sure he will have several names, not the least of which will be my father’s name, mayhap Daveigh’s name, your father’s name, and God only knows who else. Our son will have twenty names by the time we christen him.”
Eiselle giggled, thinking of a baby with a name longer than he was. Bric kissed her on the cheek before standing up, his mind full of thoughts of a strong son. It was joy beyond measure.
“This summer season has been… difficult for me,” he said, his gazing turning to the window and the night outside. He could hear the night birds singing. “It is hard for me to admit that, but it is the truth. Other than our marriage, it has been the most difficult time of my life. But this… this brings me happiness as you cannot imagine, Eiselle. You bring me happiness.”
Eiselle sat up in bed, feeling well enough to stand up. “Do you remember what you told me before you left for Castle Acre? You told me that I was more than your heart could have ever hoped for. You are more than my heart could have ever hoped for, too, Bric. I am so proud that our son will have you for his father, and you can teach him everything you know to ensure that he grows into a fine man.”
“Your faith in me is everything. I hope that I can live up to it.”
He didn’t say anything more than that. Bric’s smile faded because, inadvertently, she’d reminded him about his duties as a father, to teach his son what he knew. To teach him about being a knight, and all of the strengths and nuances that went along with the profession.
Two months ago, he would have been eager to teach his son about being a knight, but as he thought on it, he could only feel anxiety and uncertainty. Was he even capable of teaching his son about being a knight? With everything he’d been through as of late, he wasn’t even sure he could ever pick up a sword again. Eiselle had tried to coerce him into picking up a stick to mock-fight with a child, and he couldn’t do it.
What made him think he could ever touch a sword again?
It was something he didn’t want to voice to Eiselle. She’d married a knight, the High Warrior, and not a weakling who couldn’t even stomach looking at a blade. He was terrified she was going to think less of him if, after their sojourn to Bedingfeld, he still wasn’t capable of resuming his duties. But for his son, he badly wanted to.
He simply wasn’t sure if he could.
As he stood there and struggled with his inner turmoil, Eiselle wandered up to him and he put his arm around her, kissing her on the top of the head as they gazed out over the garden to the east. It was dark, but torches along the wall of the manse lit up some of the night, and they could see a glimpse of the garden, dark and shadowed beneath the sliver moon. Bric pulled her close against him, feeling her in the curve of his torso, wanting more than anything to make her proud of him.
Never in his life had he ever suffered such self-doubt.
It was completely alien to him, and ever had been since the odd pangs of nerves and fear had started to pull at him when he’d healed from his injury. The first time he’d gone out to work with the men, as light as that had been, had been the first time he’d ever felt afraid that he’d might be injured again. It was that fear of his own mortality that he couldn’t seem to shake, something he’d never before considered.
But it also occurred to him why.
He had a wife he didn’t want to leave.
For the knight who had been a polished professional his entire life, the introduction of emotion, as much as he loved Eiselle, had been the beginning of his downfall. Now, with a child, he wondered if he wasn’t going to crumble completely. He wanted to stay with his family, not leave them. He didn’t want to die like Mylo had.
God help him, that was the core of his problem.
He didn’t want to die.
Sweeping Eiselle into his arms, he carried her back to their bed, losing himself in the passion that overcame him so easily when it came to her, the woman he loved with all his heart.
Tonight belonged to them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Someone was knocking on the chamber door.
Bric heard it and his knightly instincts had him instantly awake, reaching for a broadsword that he no longer kept beside his bed. But that was habit. Glancing to the oil-cloth covered windows, he could see that it was barely dawn. There was a tiny bit of light poking through in what promised to be another lovely summer day.
Climbing out of bed carefully, as not to awake Eiselle, he made his way over to the door. He was nude, so he didn’t open it. Instead, he hissed through the crack.
“Who comes?” he muttered.
“My lord, some men have arrived for you,” Manducor said. “They are in the hall.”
Bric sighed heavily, glancing at Eiselle, who stirred with the raised voices. “Who is it?”
“I do not know. They simply told me to fetch you.”
“Are they armed?”
“They are knights.”
“Then find me a broadsword before I go down into the hall.”
Manducor must have wandered off to do what he was told because Bric didn’t hear a reply. Frustrated that he’d been woken so early, and the least bit curious as to who was in the hall, he found his breeches and a tunic, pulling both on. He also pulled his boots on, tying them off before quietly opening the door and slipping from the chamber.
The landing outside was dark, but there was a doorway ahead of him that opened out onto the gallery above the hall. He fully intended to have a look at the men who had come to see him before he went down to confront them.
As he moved into the gallery, Manducor came up behind him, a weapon in hand, but Bric wouldn’t take it. He just wanted it at the ready should he be forced to defend himself and his wife. In a life or death situation, that was the only way he was going to pick up a weapon again. But what he saw in the gallery wasn’t a threat at all. A grin crossed his lips as he quickly turned and headed down the spiral stairs.
Entering the darkened hall where the servants were just building the fire, Bric saw the three men over near the hearth where Royce’s mother was giving them all warmed wine to drink. Bric could see the steam wafting up from the cups in the chill of the room.
“Lock up the women and the
silver,” Bric said, watching the men turn and look at him. “Someone must have left the door unlocked and now we are overrun.”
Bentley laughed as Dashiell headed right to Bric, reaching out to cup the man’s face between his two big hands.
“You ugly wretch,” he muttered, his eyes glittering with warmth. “The last time I saw you, you had a hole in your chest. God be praised that you survived it.”
Bric smiled in return. “I did, indeed,” he said. When Dashiell dropped his hands, Bric caught sight of Bentley approaching. “Lord de Vaston, I am surprised and pleased to see you. What brings you both to the wilds of Norfolk?”
Before Bentley could answer, the third figure came into focus and Bric’s eyes widened when he realized who it was.
“De Lara?” he gasped. “Bleeding Christ, do my eyes deceive me? It is really you?”
Sean shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. “It is,” he said. “It has been a while, MacRohan. But Dash is right; you are still ugly.”
Bric was truly astonished to see the legendary Sean de Lara in his hall. “Fortunately, my wife does not think so,” he said. “She is sleeping, but I will send for her right away. She will want to see you all.”
Sean held up a hand. “No need to wake the woman,” he said. “We will be here for a day or two, I would imagine, so there will be plenty of time for us to tell your wife what a terrible mistake she made when she married the likes of you. In truth, when Dash told me you’d married his cousin, I could hardly believe it. I did not think the High Warrior to be the marrying kind.”
Bric shrugged. “Nor did I,” he said, looking at Dashiell. “It was not as if I had a choice. Dash was going to force me into marriage whether or not I wanted to, so I am happy to say that it has been more than agreeable for me.”
“Then you have discovered a whole new life other than warfare?”
Bric’s smile faded somewhat. “A whole new life, indeed. It has been… soul-changing. Much has happened.”
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