Elizabeth looked stricken as Amalie put her hand on Weston’s enormous forearm. “I can wait, West,” she said softly, steadily. “I am sure the servants are moving as fast as they can in removing your mother’s possessions. I am sure it will not be much longer.”
Weston just stared at her. Then, he walked away. Amalie watched him go, watching his tense body language, as he quit the hall. She was rather surprised he had left but she knew it was because he couldn’t adequately deal with what he was feeling at the moment. She turned to Elizabeth and Sutton.
“Would you mind tending the children?” she asked. “I must… speak with my husband for a moment.”
Sutton already had Colton on his lap, feeding the kid off his own trencher, while Aubria stood up on her chair, pulling dried pieces of fruit off a platter and stuffing them into her mouth.
“Of course,” Elizabeth quickly moved beside Aubria so the little girl wouldn’t fall off the chair. “It would be my greatest pleasure to come to know my grandchildren. Thank you so much for asking.”
Amalie smiled weakly in response as she moved to Aubria. “Sweetheart, this lady is Dada’s mother,” she said softly. “She is your grandmother. Can you introduce yourself?”
Aubria looked at Elizabeth with her big brown eyes. Her mouth was full as she spoke. “Aubria Maud de Vere de Royans.”
She ran her words together, coupled by the full mouth, which made her barely understandable. Pieces of dried fruit were flying out all over the place. But Elizabeth laughed softly in delight, sweetly hugging the child now that Weston wasn’t around.
“It is a pleasure, lovely Aubria,” she said softly. “May I sit and eat with you?”
Aubria nodded and returned to her fruit. Amalie took it as her cue to leave so she pulled her cloak about her body tightly and followed the path her husband had taken out of the hall.
It was oppressively misty and gray outside, and their column had mostly disbanded. She looked around the massive expanse of the bailey, finally spying her husband several yards away speaking with John.
Gathering her skirts, she braved the black mud again as she made her way towards him. John saw her coming first and pointed her out to Weston, who immediately headed in her direction. He met her halfway across the enormous, swampy ward.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, taking her arm and trying to turn her around for the hall. “Where are the children?”
“I left them with your brother,” she said. “I must speak with you.”
“Later.” He was still trying to turn her around. “You must go back inside. It is much too wet for you.”
She stopped him from pushing her around. “Nay, Weston; I must speak with you now,” she said firmly. “I realize that you harbor no great love for your mother, but what you did in there was shameful. You could have at least been civil.”
He looked at her, his face hard. “You will not tell me how to behave with my mother. It is not your business.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Not my business?” she repeated, struggling not to snap. “Then tell me how you would have me behave? Am I to ignore and hate her, too, because you do? Am I to pretend the woman does not exist and be ungracious? Please tell me now so there are no misunderstandings in the future. If you would prefer I treat her as a ghost, then I will, but like it or not, we are all going to be living here together for quite some time and I do not want to ignore the woman who gave birth to you. That fact alone garners my respect.”
His jaw ticked as he listened, eventually averting his gaze because he could not look her in the eye. As she waited expectantly, he struggled with an answer. Finally, he swooped down and lifted her into his arms. Then he began to march off towards the hall complex.
“Where are we going?” she asked, arms around his neck.
His dark blue eyes were fixed on the buildings ahead. “To a private place.”
Amalie didn’t say another word. Weston marched through the muck with her in his arms, bypassing the hall and crossing the garden that was lodged between the three buildings in the center of the bailey. He made his way to the long, two story building on the far east side of the complex and entered through a heavy iron and wood door, one that was rather short for his height so he had to bend down to enter.
Once inside, a narrow, cold and dark corridor embraced them and Weston set her down, quietly closing the door. He took her hand, leading her down the hallway until they came to a small flight of stone stairs that doubled back on itself to the floor above.
They mounted the stairs to the second floor and into a corridor that had more light in it from long lancet windows that were cut into the wall almost to the ceiling. Weston took her to the end of the hall and opened another small wood and iron door, emerging into a small room with a cold, dark hearth in one corner.
Amalie looked around; it appeared as if the room hadn’t been used in years. It was dusty and bare, and soot turned the wall around the hearth black. She looked curiously at her husband as he quietly shut the door.
“What is this room?” she asked.
Weston wearily pulled off his helm, peeling back the hauberk and scratching at his scalp. “It was my father’s solar,” he said, looking around. “I spent many happy hours in this room with him.”
She regarded him carefully. “Is this where he killed himself?”
Weston sighed heavily, meeting her gaze. “Aye.”
She sighed also, feeling his pain, and went to put her arms around him. He was wet and covered with armor, but it didn’t matter; he wrapped her up in his arms, his forehead against hers, drawing strength from their love and bond. She was the one element in the world that kept him together, body and soul.
“I am so sorry, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I know this place must bring back dreadful memories. I wish I could help ease them.”
He kissed her forehead. “I appreciate that,” he said. “And as for my mother, I do not expect you to ignore her. Your behavior with her was perfectly acceptable and I am untroubled by it. But as for me… well, I haven’t seen the woman in years. Right now, I am dealing with the resurgence of bad feelings and memories. Perhaps in time they will fade, but right now, I am doing the best I can.”
She patted his cheek, kissing him. “I know you are,” she soothed. “I do not mean to be short with you but you must understand that I am in an awkward position; I would never dream of offending you or going against your wishes, yet I have met the woman who gave birth to you and am understandably respectful of that. I am in the middle of a battle that I cannot win or aid in. It is strange to say the least.”
He kissed her gently, rocking her in his big arms. “I know,” he murmured. “And for that, I am sorry. But you are sweet and gracious and endearing to everyone and I do not expect that to change with my mother. She will fall in love with you as I have.”
Amalie wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Everything will be all right,” she whispered. “Perhaps with time there will be some civility towards your mother.”
“I would not bank on it.”
She pulled back to look at him. “Perhaps not,” she said. “But would you at least do something for me, please?”
“Anything.”
She knew he would, too, if she asked. For his sake, she felt that she should ask.
“When the time is right,” she said carefully,” and you are feeling enough at ease, will you please ask your mother why she did what she did? Why she left your father for your grandfather? Your only knowledge of the event is from a six year old child’s perspective. As an adult, I would encourage you to gain an adult’s perspective. That way, if you continue to hate the woman until you die, you will at least base it upon the answers received as a grown man and not an impressionable child. Please, West? I do not like seeing you in such turmoil. Maybe knowing the truth would ease you.”
His first instinct was to refuse her. But gazing into her big green eyes, he was reluctant to admit that she had a point. He simply
pulled her against him, his massive hand on the back of her head as his arms wrapped tightly around her.
“I cannot make any promises,” he murmured. “But… I will think on it.”
She hugged him tightly. “That is all I can ask for,” she said. “Until that time, if it ever comes, would you at least try to be civil? I do not want the children to see how you behave with your mother and behave towards her in the same fashion. I do not want them to think it would be acceptable behavior towards me someday, either.”
She had a point; Aubria and Colton were extremely impressionable and he didn’t want his own feelings and actions clouding their young minds. After a moment, he nodded.
“What I feel towards my mother is my burden alone,” he said. “I do not expect my entire family to take up arms on my behalf. Your concern is noted and I will do what I can to amend accordingly.”
She smiled. “Thank you, sweetheart. You are a kind and compassionate man.”
He kissed the side of her head, pulling back to kiss her mouth. It was the first time he had been truly alone with her in a couple of weeks and his kisses grew hungry, amorous.
Amalie clung to him, responding to his desire, knowing that an onslaught like this usually led to passionate lovemaking, something that was usually a daily event with them but something they’d not had the privacy for since they had left Hedingham. But they were both bundled up against the weather and Weston was in full armor, so he reluctantly backed off, smiling at her as he gave her a final, lingering kiss.
“Let us return to the hall and retrieve the children,” he said softly. “I am sure our chambers are prepared by now. I would like for you to lie down and rest and I know the children will be tired as well.”
She nodded, licking her lips and still tasting him upon them as he led her from the small, dark chamber. But as she walked from the room, she swore she could feel the ghost of Marston de Royans lingering behind her. She wasn’t sure why, but she thought she could. Odd, she thought. She wasn’t hard pressed to admit the chamber gave her an eerie feeling.
Chapter Sixteen
Weston couldn’t wait any longer; he’d already dressed in his heavy linen breeches, his leather breeches over those, a heavy tunic and a thick leather vest over that. He’d even lingered over pulling his boots on, but he could no longer delay as he waited for Amalie. He was expected in the armory to finish dressing in his heavy armor, something he would need for the day ahead.
On the first of November, the day of Keighley’s tournament had arrived and Weston has entered to compete against a field of some of the best knights the north of England had to offer.
But dampening his excitement was the fact that Amalie was feeling horrendous. It was early morning and she couldn’t even move in their bed without heaving. She wanted to go to the tournament so badly that she was driven to tears by the fact that she felt so awful.
Weston busied himself in their enormous chamber, pretending to fiddle with this or fuss with that, when what he was really doing was waiting for her to sit up in bed and announce she was going to get dressed. But so far, he hadn’t seen any improvement.
When he was finished with the boots and there was nothing more he could do, he finally rose from the chair he had been seated upon and made his way to the bed, gazing down at his wife. She lay on her back with an arm over her eyes, as pale as the linens she lay upon. He sighed heavily, resting his enormous hands on his hips.
“I must go and don my armor, my angel,” he told her. “Will you be all right?”
She nodded, but even the mere motion of that caused her to retch. The problem was that there was nothing in her stomach to come up, so the action was painful. Lying sweaty and spent on the linens, she rolled onto her side, hand over her mouth as she heaved, while Weston put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He hated seeing her so ill.
“Oh… Ammy,” he bent over and kissed her pasty cheek. “You cannot go anywhere today. You must stay here.”
She burst into tears, so very close to the surface. “I do not want you to go without me.”
“Then I will not go,” he assured her. “I will stay here with you.”
She opened her eyes, great green things in her ashen face, and looked up at him. “But you must go,” she insisted. “You are the new Baron Cononley; you must show your power and skill to your subjects. It is important.”
He pursed his lips and lowered himself onto the bed beside her. “It is more important to take care of my wife,” he told her. “If you stay here, then I will stay here.”
She wiped at her eyes. “But… but the children have been looking forward to it,” she said sadly. “Colton wants to see all of the knights. He will be so disappointed.”
Weston smiled faintly. “I know,” he said. “Sutton has him so worked up about it that all he talks about is swords. He calls them ‘surds’.”
That brought a smile to Amalie’s pale lips. “I know,” she whispered, giggling weakly. “And the chargers are not horses; they are ‘he-he’.”
Weston laughed softly, kissing her hand. “He is such a joy,” he said. “Every day is a day of discovery with him. I feel as if I have been reborn through the eyes of my two year old son; everything is so wonderful and new.”
Amalie’s smile lingered. “For Sutton, too,” she murmured. “I swear Sutton spends more time with him than you do, if such a thing is possible. He makes your brother long for a son of his own.”
Weston nodded thoughtfully. “Which is why he is already dressed for the tournament today,” he said. “Remember that the lovely Lady Paget de Clifford will be there. I do not believe that Sutton will take ‘no’ for an answer this time.”
Amalie sighed faintly. “I was hoping to introduce myself and perhaps put in a good word for your brother.”
Weston could see that she was growing distressed again over not attending so he hastened to keep the mood light.
“Here is what we will do, my angel,” he kissed her forehead and stood up. “I will send some bread up to you; you can eat that, can you not? It will settle your stomach as I go to the armory and finish dressing. By the time I am dressed and all of our gear is packed into the wagons, you should be feeling better and dressed yourself. I will return for you then.”
She looked at him dubiously. “I will try,” she agreed. “You know I will.”
“I know.” He winked at her and turned for the door. “I will make sure that Esma and Neilie have the children up and dressed.”
Amalie waved him off and closed her eyes, hearing the door shut softly. Her mind wandered to the children, now up and getting dressed, excited for the day’s events, and her proud and strong husband as he prepared for his first tournament in six years.
Amalie wasn’t particularly thrilled that he hadn’t competed in awhile because she was fearful that perhaps his skills were not up to par, but Weston didn’t seem concerned about it. He was more excited than any of them, excited to show his power and talent off to his new subjects. He intended to show all of North Yorkshire what the new baron was capable of.
The past two weeks at Netherghyll had been peaceful for the most part as Amalie and the children became familiar with their new surroundings. Weston and Elizabeth had stayed clear of one another; from the moment all of her possessions were moved into her new quarters in the long, two story building attached to the keep, Elizabeth had been something of a recluse.
Every night, Weston and Amalie would sup with the children and Sutton, with no sign of Elizabeth. Weston never said a word about it but Amalie suspected Sutton wasn’t particularly pleased with his brother’s disregard for their mother; it was becoming increasingly apparent.
For the first week, Amalie thought it was probably more of a blessing that the woman hadn’t shown her face. It made for peace amongst everyone as Weston settled in as Baron Cononley and as Amalie settled in as Lady of the Keep. But as the second week of their residence progressed, Amalie was coming to feel bad that Weston’s mother had made herself a pr
isoner in her own home. So twice she had tried to visit Elizabeth and twice Elizabeth had sent her away, claiming illness. Amalie was fairly certain the woman wasn’t sick. She would have to be clever in her approach since Elizabeth was deliberately being reclusive. Amalie was foolish, she knew, in grand dreams of Weston eventually forgiving his mother so they could be one big happy family, but they were her dreams nonetheless.
Amalie lay in bed on this bright November morning, thoughts of Elizabeth de Royans on her mind, as Esma entered with a tray of food and drink. Amalie tried not to retch at the sight of it and lay in bed, eating bread, for several minutes while Esma went about cleaning up the chamber. They all knew Amalie was pregnant again and, as with her previous two, she tended to be quite sick at the onset, so Esma was very conscious of that. She urged Amalie to sit up after a while, hoping that the bread had settled everything down.
Fortunately, it had. Amalie was feeling much better, enough so that she was even able to eat some of the porridge and honey on the tray. There were pieces of apples, cut up, and she ate those as well.
Feeling well enough to get dressed, she bathed quickly in warmed rosewater that Esma brought her, scrubbed her face, brushed her teeth with a soft reed brush, and donned a lamb’s wool sheath so soft that it was like feathers. Over that, Esma dressed her in a radiant scarlet surcoat that went brilliantly with her coloring. Esma also styled her hair in a fashionable braid that draped over one shoulder, into which she wove ribbons of scarlet and gold. A golden belt embraced her hips and sturdy golden slippers on her feet. All in all, she looked spectacular considering she still wasn’t feeling completely herself. But Amalie was determined to attend the tournament.
As soon as Amalie opened the door to her chamber, she ran headlong into Neilie escorting Aubria and Colton down the stairs. The children saw their mother and ran to her, and Amalie ended up carrying Colton down the narrow spiral stairs of the keep. Esma and Neilie fussed at her for doing so, as Weston had done several times also, but she waved them off, kissing her son and hugging him happily. He was with Weston or Sutton so often that she felt she didn’t get to see him nearly enough.
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