He was nodding his head towards the boys. Destry turned to see that they were just starting to stir. Little mouths were yawning. She shook her head, grinning.
“Now they wake up,” she commented softly. “We made so much noise last night and this morning that it would have awoken the dead, but those three slept right through it.”
Conor fought off a grin. “Thank God they didn’t wake up,” he muttered. “We didn’t need an audience for what we were doing but I’m not sure I would have been able to stop had they woken up, so I’ll thank God for small mercies. The lads can sleep through anything.”
Destry was grinning because he was and went to pull on her shoes, fancy modern sneakers with straps and rhinestones.
“I never grew up with brothers so I can’t attest to boys’ ability to sleep through anything, but I know my sister and I were very light sleepers,” she told him as she slipped on a shoe. “We heard every little sound in the house.”
Conor pulled on both boots, inspecting them on his feet and realizing they were a perfect fit. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered, running his hand over the sole of the shoe. “These fit as if….”
He trailed off and she sat down next to him on the foot of the bed, looking at the shoes on his feet. “As if they were made for you?”
Her voice was soft and he looked over at her, feeling the weight of their situation settle where he had been fairly detached from it since they had woken up. For some reason, the boots seemed to bring it home. If he thought hard about them, he thought he might remember them somehow, like a distant dream just lingering below the surface. Gazing into her bright blue eyes, he nodded with some reluctance.
“Yes,” he murmured. “This just keeps getting weirder and weirder. These shoes fit perfectly.”
“And you’re surprised?”
He wriggled his red eyebrows. “It’s not that,” he sighed. “I guess… I guess I’m just not as resigned to all of this as much as I thought.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “It’s all so overwhelming. Just when I think I’ve accepted it, something happens and I realize I really haven’t.”
“Like Dark Ages boots that were made for you?”
“Yes.”
She gave him a sweet smile and laid her head against his enormous shoulder. “Don’t go to pieces on me now,” she said softly. “I can’t guarantee how I’m going to hold up if you don’t stay strong.”
He shifted, wrapping his enormous arms around her and pulling her close. He kissed the tip of her nose, her soft mouth. She was soft and delicious, and he was in the process of kissing her more deeply when Slane suddenly groaned, a grumpy little sound, and sat bolt up-right. He rubbed his eyes, frowning when he saw Destry and Conor in a tight embrace. As they watched, he stood up, eyes still half closed and a frown on his face, and wedged himself in between them.
Destry giggled as Conor was forced to let her go as the four year old plastered himself against her. She wrapped her arms around the little boy as he snuggled against her and promptly fell back asleep. Conor just shook his head and stood up, feeling the fit of the boots and clothing, acquainting himself with something that felt oddly familiar.
Padraigan entered the room again, this time with a bucket of water, which she handed to Conor. He took it, having no idea what to do with it, but set it on the broad windowsill as Padraigan moved to Mattock and Devlin, still sleeping on the floor. She shook Mattock by the shoulder before doing the same to Devlin. The boys groaned and stirred, rubbing their eyes and sitting up from a deep sleep.
Mattock blinked his eyes when he saw his father standing there in familiar clothing. His young face lit up with delight as Devlin, catching sight of the same vision, jumped up and ran to Conor, throwing his arms around the man’s waist.
“Dada,” the boy nearly wept. “You’re really here. I thought I’d dreamed you.”
Mattock joined his brother, his face shining up at Conor adoringly. “Dada, will you ride with us today?” he asked.
Conor had one hand on Devlin and the other on Mattock, smiling at boys that he was increasingly convinced he fathered.
Like last night, the memories were coming back to him in pieces but he knew for certain that they were recollections and not his imagination. The feelings associated with them, the emotion, were far too strong to be anything else.
“Ride with you?” he repeated, turning to look at Padraigan. “What does he mean?”
Padraigan smiled as she crouched on the floor, rolling up the bedding. “You would take your boys riding with you every morning, my lord,” she explained. “You would go about your duties, checking posts and meeting with your generals, and bring the boys. You said it was important for them to understand their duties to the land as well as to the people.”
By this time, Destry had stood up from the bed, the four year old still clinging to her. His little head was on her shoulder, his arms around her neck as his legs wrapped around Destry’s torso. Hugging the boy, Destry made her way over to Conor and the other two.
“What are they saying?” she wanted to know.
Conor looked at her with the boy wrapped up all around her and he grinned, putting his hand on Slane’s back.
“He looks like a parasite,” he snorted.
Destry grinned. “He has no intention of letting me go.”
Conor’s eyes glimmered at her. “Neither do I,” he winked at her, glancing back at Devlin and Mattock. “In answer to your question, the boys wanted to know if I was going to take them riding. Padraigan said that it was something I would do with them every morning because I told them it was important for them to understand their duties to the land as well as to the people.”
Destry’s expression turned warm. “That sounds like something you would say. Call it a hunch, Conor, but I would guess that you were a pretty amazing king.”
His smile grew, appreciative, prevented from answering her as the boys began to clamor around him, grabbing his hands and pulling him from the small chamber. Destry followed with Slane still clinging to her, pausing in the open doorway, as Padraigan followed them out into the yard.
“You cannot ride, my lord,” she told him. “You would risk being seen.”
Conor turned to look at her, catching a glimpse of the burnt body of the dragon-like creature over near the crude stable. In the light of the new morning, he stared at it, being reminded yet again that he had awoken to a different place and time. He drew in a long breathe, resigning himself, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand. He had no choice. The reality was all around him.
“So what do you suggest?” he asked. “I can’t hide out here the rest of my life.”
Padraigan was resolute. “I shall go into town and bring back your trusted men,” she told him. “They will counsel you on what has happened in Ciannachta since you have been away. Then you will know what you must do.”
He nodded simply because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. They just couldn’t hide in the woods for the rest of their lives. If he had a kingdom to rule, and people waiting for his triumphant return, then they’d better get about it.
“All right,” he waved her on. “I’ll wait here.”
Padraigan’s pale lips met with a smile. “Your men will be very glad to know you have returned. We have waited so long for this day.”
“How long?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Three hundred and sixty sun rises, my lord,” she told him. “We have waited a very long time.”
Conor smiled because she was. Swiftly, she turned for the barn, instructing the boys on their chores while she was gone. Mattock and Devlin made unhappy faces but the begrudgingly did as they were told, going to feed the chickens and milk the fat cow. Conor stood out in the yard, watching the boys go about their duties. He could see Destry inside the doorway of the little hut, brushing her hair with her fingers as Slane, now out of her arms, followed her around by holding on to her skirt. Conor had to grin at the little boy who had no i
ntention of letting her out of his sight.
And then, it struck him - his family. If he’d had any shadow of a doubt before, seeing Destry with Slane, seeing the older boys going about their chores, and listening to a white witch speak of things so natural cemented into his heart and soul that this was where he belonged. As he’d told Destry, he’d always felt out of place, a man who didn’t belong in the modern world he was born into. Here he was, here and now, and all things were as they should be. He had Destry. He had his boys. He had everything. He was back where he belonged.
He turned around, holding out a hand to Destry. With Slane still clinging on to her skirts, she made her way out to Conor, taking his hand. He held it tightly, kissing it as he composed his thoughts.
“What is it?” Destry asked. He seemed distant and pensive. “What’s on your mind?”
Conor grunted as he looked around. Then he sniffed the air. “Smell that?”
Destry sniffed. She shook her head. “I smell trees.”
He looked at her. “Exactly,” he said. “No smog, no smells of the modern world. I suppose I had my doubts about this entire situation even until a few minutes ago, but walking out here, smelling the smells and hearing the birds and wind through the trees… I’m not feeling any more doubts. As much as I knew you belonged to me the moment I met you, right now, I feel like this belongs to me, too. I belong here. Whatever has happened to us, maybe it wasn’t a mistake. Like Padraigan said, maybe it really was magic. It was something that was meant to happen.”
Destry was listening to him seriously. “I guess all things happen for a reason,” she said with surprising acceptance; like him, she was coming to understand the reality of their situation. She looked down at Slane, sucking his thumb and holding her skirts, and smiled. “I told you last night that I know my children. These boys are mine and you are their father. I don’t know how this happened, but I’m not going to question it. After what we’ve been through the past day or so, I’m willing to take a few things on faith. So now what?”
He sighed, putting his arm around her, grinning when Slane pushed his way in between them and clung to Destry’s leg. “Now, we have a whole new world out there,” he said softly. “Just think about it; I’m supposed to be the king. You’re my queen. I’ve got an evil brother who’s stolen my throne. I want the damn thing back.”
Destry smiled at his animated speech. “I’ll help you.”
He looked at her, bending down to kiss the tip of her nose. “I think you already have,” he said. “I wouldn’t be here it if wasn’t for you. You brought me back, Destry. You gave me my destiny.”
She hugged him, trying not to squish the child between them. “Padraigan said that time and space couldn’t keep us apart,” she said quietly. “Whatever I did, I was meant to do it. We were meant to do it. But I think I’m a little afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid for you,” she said, gazing up at him. “Your brother went through a lot of trouble to separate us. He’s not going to be happy to see you. These guys have swords and stuff. They’re going to try to kill you.”
He grinned. “I told you that I can fight with swords, feet, fists, and anything else they throw at us,” he said. “You don’t need to be afraid but you need to be smart. Listen to what I tell you and what the white witch tells you. I didn’t find you after a thousand years only to see you taken away from me again.”
Destry lifted her eyebrows in agreement. “Same goes for me,” she murmured. “You have no idea what it would do to me if you were killed. God, it sounds so scary even to say that. We’re facing a whole new world out there.”
He kissed her forehead. “New and deadly and beautiful,” he said. “We have the opportunity to shape the world, I think, or at least our little corner of it. Are you ready for it?”
Destry’s gaze moved out over the green, green foliage, enormous trees reaching for the untamed sky, and the beams of light piercing their way through the canopy. There was such raw beauty to it and when she gazed up at Conor, all she could see was her past, her present, and her future.
“I’m ready,” she said, laying her head on his chest as Slane begged to be picked up. “It sounds corny, but as long as we’re together, I’m ready for anything.”
“Me, too,” he whispered. “I love you, sweetheart. Until the end of time, I will love only you.”
She smiled at him, a genuine and heartfelt gesture that sent his heart fluttering. “I love you, too,” she whispered.
He kissed her and picked up Slane, who wanted to go with his mother and not his father. Conor handed the boy over to Destry just as Mattock and Devlin raced over to him, explaining that they had seen something magical and wonderful over near the barn. Conor thought they mentioned a faerie of some kind but he couldn’t be sure. The modern man, now ancient ruler, was ready for anything as he went to see what had his boys so excited.
This was his world and he intended to master it as he’d done once before. This time, there would be no failure. He was back.
The high king had returned.
*** THE END ***
Part II, the novella HIGH KING, will be published soon.
Enjoy a bonus excerpt from the coming March 2020 release, DARK WARRIOR.
AN EXCERPT FROM DARK WARRIOR
PROLOGUE
Year of Our Lord 1521
Deverill Castle, Wiltshire
Home of Gaston de Russe, Duke of Warminster
“Gaston?” came a soft voice. “Are you awake?”
Gaston de Russe was awake because his youngest granddaughters – Cassandra, Nynette, and Rosemarie - had crawled into bed with him once their grandmother had risen to prepare for the day.
Their mother, Adeliza, had brought her brood to stay at Deverill Castle while her husband was away on business for the king. Therefore, while Mummy and Grandmother were going about their early morning chores, the grandchildren decided it would be warmer and more comfortable in Gaston’s bed.
Perhaps it was warmer and more comfortable for them, but at the moment, Gaston had a little foot in the side of his jaw.
“I am awake,” he whispered. “Keep your voice quiet, Remi.”
Remington, Duchess of Warminster, stepped into the still-dim chamber, unaware that there were three little sleeping bodies against her husband. When he carefully lifted back the coverlet to show her, she put a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle; Rosemarie had ended up strewn across his belly while her sister, Nynette, was lying cuddled up against his right side and drooling on his chest. Cassandra was on his left side, upside down, her foot against Gaston’s jaw.
Everyone wanted to be close to the man they called Opi.
That was what Gaston had called his own grandfather when he’d been very young, something he hadn’t even thought about until his own grandchildren began to come. Madelene and Bryant, children of his two eldest daughters, had been the first grandchildren and it was Madelene who first called him Opi. Now, he had fifteen grandchildren and more on the way, a growing family that was his heart and soul.
Those kicky little girls in his bed were part of it.
“It looks as if they are poppets strewn about,” Remington said, shaking her head at the sight. “When did they come in here?”
“As soon as you left.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Opportunists, all of them,” she said. “I hate to disturb them, but you have an important visitor. You are required in the hall.”
Gaston frowned. “At this time in the morning?”
“He has come specially to see you.”
“Who?”
“Henry.”
“Henry who?”
“Your king, Gaston. Get up, now. Your monarch awaits.”
Gaston looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, but he didn’t say anything because his granddaughters were starting to stir. The voices were rousing them. But when Rosemarie moved her foot and it ended up in his eye, Gaston made the decision to get out of bed before he was pumme
led.
Very carefully, he lifted Rosemarie off of his belly and extricated himself from the bed, tucking the coverlet in around the children as they slept peacefully. They hardly stirred. He headed into the adjoining chamber with his wife so he could dress, but his movements were slow.
He was slow in general these days.
It was no secret that Gaston’s health had been in decline for several years. A cancer in his throat, the physics had told him. It had weakened him terribly until last year when he’d had something of a remission at Christmas. A miracle, the physics had called it, but the reprieve had been temporary. His health started to decline again over the past few months, sapping his strength until all he did was sleep or rest these days. Once in a while, he’d walk the grounds of Deverill Castle, but his days of riding beyond the walls were over.
That was why Henry had come to him.
“You know that the king has sent me a couple of missives, asking me to come to Winchester,” he told his wife as she pulled his sleeping tunic over his head. “I told him I could not come, but he did not tell me he was coming here.”
Remington was working quietly, efficiently. She had a bowl of warmed water and witch hazel, and she took a rag and washed Gaston’s arms and chest with it before handing him a clean tunic to put on.
“He is here with about twenty courtiers and advisors,” she said as she produced a pair of leather breeches from the wardrobe. “He also has about one hundred soldiers with him, all of them being kept out of the walls by Cort and Matthieu. They will not let the king bring his armed men inside.”
With the fresh tunic over his head, Gaston had to sit down to pull on his breeches. An enormous man who, in his youth, had been the greatest knight in the realm, he was still powerful, still sharp, in spite of his bad health and he was perhaps the king’s greatest adviser when it came to military tactics and politics.
Lords of Eire: An Irish Medieval Romance Bundle Page 115