Horses snorted, men coughed, and mud lined the sides of the road from the unseasonably heavy rains that had plagued the region.
The standards of Baron Cononley snapped in the light breeze as the column of men and horses advanced towards the town of Keighley. It was the first time Weston had ridden under his hereditary banners and it was a fulfilling experience. He kept glancing up at the bright blue, silver and white banners with the silhouette of a great fanged beast on them. The men at arms wore the Cononley tunics of blue and white, announcing to the world of Baron Cononley’s presence. The knights, however, did not wear their colors yet; that would come on the tournament field.
The seven mile trip from Netherghyll had been an easy and pleasant ride so far. Sutton made small talk as they crossed the miles, a cover for the curiosity that was consuming him.
When he had seen Weston arrive in the bailey with their mother on his arm, he had been seized with the urge to know why his brother was suddenly so polite towards Elizabeth. He’d spent the past five miles chatting about anything that came to mind when what he really wanted to do was ask a thousand questions that might garner him a punch in the face. So he bided his time, thinking he was very clever when he slipped in a well-timed comment.
“I noticed that you and mother seem more companionable,” he said, glancing over at his brother. “That pleases me a great deal, West.”
Weston wouldn’t look at him; he’d spent the past five miles knowing this subject would come up and trying to think of a way to avoid it. But he knew he couldn’t. He’d also spent the past five miles embroiled in more inner turmoil than he had ever known, dwelling on the revelations his mother unloaded on him and trying to figure out how, exactly, he felt about all of it. He still didn’t know.
“You and my wife, I am sure,” he grunted.
Sutton lifted an eyebrow. “Why? Has she forced you into making peace with Mother?”
Weston gave him an intolerant look. “There is no one on this earth strong enough to convince me to do something that I do not want to do, not even my wife.”
Sutton snorted. “You are a fool, West.”
Weston’s eyebrows flew up in outrage. “A fool?”
Sutton didn’t back down. “Aye,” he insisted as if daring his brother to throw a punch at him. “You are a fool if you believe any part of that statement. You forget, brother, that I have spent the past several weeks with you and your wife. I have seen how much control she has over you. If she wanted the moon, you would figure out a way to give it to her.”
Weston growled and made faces at his brother, finally lifting his big shoulders and looking away. “There is no crime in wanting to make her happy.”
Sutton was back to grinning. “Nay, there is not,” he agreed. “Truth be told, if she was my wife, I would behave in the exact same fashion. I envy you, brother; you are one of the most fortunate men I have ever known. You have a beautiful wife, a strong family, a son to carry on your name. I want what you have.”
Weston turned to look at him, the angry posturing gone from his features. “You will,” he assured him quietly. “That is why we are traveling to Keighley, is it not? We must ensnare your lovely Lady Paget.”
Sutton laughed softly, looking rather hopeful. “That is my intent.”
Weston wriggled his eyebrows. “Have no fear,” he assured him. “I will turn Amalie loose on the woman and she will belong to you by sundown. My wife is very persuasive.”
“I am coming to see that,” Sutton agreed. “The woman must work magic if she has you in her spell.”
Weston just grinned, his gaze moving over the green landscape as they moved south through the gently rolling hills. Thoughts of his wife began to turn into thoughts of his mother and their conversation. The smile faded from his lips.
“You spent more time with grandfather than I ever did,” he said in a complete change of subject. “What is your opinion of the man?”
Sutton looked at him, wondering at the sharp shift in focus and the motivation behind the question. But he answered.
“He was wise and generous,” he said, reflecting back on the broad, blond man who had raised him. “He was easy to laugh and liked to play jokes on me. But he was also a fierce fighter; I remember several years ago when I was newly returned from fostering at Pembroke, there were rumors of a marauding band of Scots plaguing the area. They struck at a few of grandfather’s holdings and I rode out with him to fight the Scots. The man was absolutely fearsome in battle, West, much like you are. In fact, you and grandfather are so similar in so many ways that it is uncanny. I loved and admired him a great deal.”
Weston listened to his brother, feeling strained and remorseful all of a sudden by the fact that the man he had always known to be his grandfather was, in fact, his father. He intended to tell Sutton when the time was right but he wasn’t quite sure how. To Sutton, he was sure, it would be far less of a shock. Sutton adored the man.
“Other than very early childhood, I never knew him well,” Weston muttered. “I really only saw him three times in my adult life; once at my knighting ceremony, once when you were gravely injured, and then that time when you….”
Sutton cut him off. “We do not speak of that incident,” he said flatly. “It would be better if you blocked that out of your mind.”
Weston fought off a grin. “She was rather…”
“Enough or I will run you through.”
Weston broke down in soft laughter. “It would make a good story to tell Lady Paget.”
Sutton rolled his eyes as he unsheathed his broadsword. He raised it threateningly at his brother. “I swear by all that is holy, if you mention one word of that to her, I shall shove this sword so far down your gullet that….”
By this time, Weston was roaring with laughter, reining his charger out of his brother’s furious path. “I will not tell her,” Weston assured his brother as he dodged the man. “My lips are sealed.”
Sutton still had the broadsword leveled at him. “Have you told anyone else?”
“Nay.”
“Not even your wife?”
“Nay. I swear it.”
With a final glare, Sutton sheathed the sword. “Well and good for you,” he said, glancing up at the angle of the sun. “We should be seeing Keighley shortly. Do you want me to announce our arrival to the marshals or do you want to do it personally?”
“You do it,” Weston said, still snickering about his brother and the incident that he was not permitted to speak of. “I need to settle my wife and children first. Amalie is not feeling well.”
“The pregnancy?”
Weston nodded his head with regret. “Poor woman. She is miserable.”
Sutton fell silent, his thoughts moving from his brother’s wife to the tournament ahead and the lovely Lady Paget. But thinking on a woman he very much wanted to know had him thinking of falling in love again, which brought him back to his brother’s question about their grandfather. It started him pondering the path of that subject again.
“Why did you ask me about Grandfather?” he asked.
Weston glanced at his brother. “Curiosity, I suppose,” he said, though that wasn’t entirely true. “Mother and I had a conversation earlier today.”
Sutton looked at him, surprised. “Truly? What about?”
Weston sighed and averted his gaze, studying the surrounding lush and green landscape as he spoke. “Many things,” he said. “Mostly, we discussed our father.”
Sutton was truly stunned; he hardly dared to hope. “And?”
Weston shrugged. “And there is a good deal more we must discuss at a later time,” he told him. “But I wanted you to know that I am… trying. I am trying to overcome everything I ever believed about her.”
Sutton’s handsome face lit with a smile. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear that, West,” he said sincerely. “Truly, I am thrilled and grateful.”
Weston merely grunted and Sutton didn’t push. It was a huge step in the right direction as
far as Sutton was concerned. As they crested the hill, the berg of Keighley suddenly spread out below them, dotting across the green fields with businesses and homes.
Smoke trailed into the sky from dozens of chimneys as people when about their business on the roads and in the fields. People were everywhere, especially with the tournament circuit in town. As Weston and Sutton paused, inspecting the sight before them and determining the best path to the tournament field on the opposite side of town, they could suddenly hear screaming back in the carriage.
It caught both their attention, but it wasn’t so much screaming as it was Colton yelling at the top of his lungs. Spurring the chargers back along the column, they came upon the cab to find Colton struggling to climb out of the window. The boy was howling as Amalie tried to pull him back inside without bumping his head on the rim of the window.
“Colton,” Weston leaned over and addressed his son. “What are you doing, lad?”
“He wants to ride with Sutton,” Amalie replied from inside the carriage, sounding impatient and weary. “West, can you please pull him out? He is kicking me in the face.”
Weston leaned over and pulled his son from the window. But Colton wasn’t satisfied. He held his arms out to his mother and chanted frantically.
“Surd!” he demanded. “Surd, Mama!”
Amalie extended the small toy sword to the boy, who took it happily. But he continued to whine until he was handed over to Sutton, who gleefully took his nephew and cantered off with him. Weston watched his brother a moment before returning his attention to Amalie.
She looked pale and exhausted from having just done battle with a two year old, and he was immediately sympathetic.
“Are you not feeling well again, my angel?” he asked.
She shook her head wearily. “Nay,” she sighed. “Your mother suggests that licorice root will help. Do you suppose we can find some in town?”
He nodded firmly. “I will send Heath at this very moment to procure some.” He sought out Heath with a piercing whistle, waving the man forward before returning his attention to his wife. “We have arrived at the town so it should be another half hour before we reach the tournament field. Can you last that long?”
She nodded. “I shall have to.”
He gave her a wink and headed back to the front of the column, commanding the men to move forward at a quickened pace. Heath joined him at the head of the group and he sent the man along his way with orders to procure licorice root.
The party of Baron Cononley made its way down the hill and into the outskirts of the busy, bustling town. Weston thought he might skirt the edge of the berg, the path of least resistance, on his way to the tournament field but as he entered the very busy village, he decided to make his presence known and parade down the main avenue. It was his first show as Constable of North Yorkshire and the Northern Dales and he realized that he wanted to announce himself.
Already, people were staring and pointing at him and he felt extremely proud to be at the head of his own delegation. His standards waved in the stiff breeze and four powerful knights on big, hairy chargers supported his ranks. There was much to be proud over. As he entered the main hub of the town, however, he realized that he wasn’t the only one announcing himself.
His puffed-up pride took a dousing when he realized that there were at least three parties ahead of him as they made their way towards the enormous tournament field. They were well dressed and well supported, just as he was. He and Sutton spied the crimson and gold of the Earl of Billingham far on ahead, followed by the green and white of Baron Bradford, and finally the yellow and red of the baronetcy of Rochdale. Big houses had come to compete this day and Weston knew they were in good company.
As they entered the main bulk of the city, Sutton tried to turn Colton back over to his mother but the boy screamed as if he was being murdered. Reluctantly, Amalie allowed her son to continue riding with his uncle, something that made the lad extremely happy and kept the peace. The child thought he was a real knight, swinging his toy sword around and smacking his uncle with it a couple of times. Sutton had to stay sharp to avoid losing an eye.
People were turning out in clusters to see the fine carriage and knights move through the dusty main avenue; children lined the streets, eager to see the knights, while whores crawled out of their hovels to catch the eye of the men to ensure they had business for the duration of the tournament.
Weston and Sutton rode through the streets on their big chargers, eyeing the children, the great parties in front of them, and the situation in general. Weston kept an eye out for Heath returning with the much-needed licorice root while Sutton pointed and explained the sights to Colton.
The party slowed down when they came to a crossroads near the tournament field, mostly because the parties in front of them were backed up as stewards recorded their arrival and then directed them to an area where they could camp. There were great clusters of smiths plying their trades, conducting business in the middle of the road. There were also vendors setting up, including a man with a little monkey. Colton saw the monkey and he began to scream.
The screaming brought his mother’s attention. Amalie’s head popped out of the cab at the sound of her son. “West?” she called. “What is Colton’s trouble?”
Weston watched his screaming son; the lad was pointing at the man with the monkey and Weston reined his charger back near the carriage.
“He wants that little beast, I believe,” he indicated the white-bearded monkey several feet away. “See it over there? The little monkey?”
Amalie’s gaze fell on the little creature as Colton nearly came apart. His screaming filled the air and was attracting attention. Frustrated and sick, she jerked open the door of the cab and stepped down into the street below. Weston made an attempt to offer his assistance but she pushed past his big blond charger and made her way to Sutton. As Colton screamed and kicked, she held up her arms.
“Give him to me, Sutton,” she instructed.
Sutton obediently handed down the boy, all kicking feet and screaming mouth. Amalie was stern with the boy.
“Colton,” she said firmly. “You will cease this behavior at once. If you continue to scream, I will not let you see the monkey. Do you understand?”
Colton stopped instantly, looking at his mother with his big, dark blue eyes. He looked so much like his father that it was frightening at times. Then he began to cry, laying his head on her shoulder as if she had just broken his heart. Amalie rocked him gently as she walked over to the man with the monkey.
The man was older, clad in strange and colorful clothing that was not from England, and very eager to show off his little pet. He had trained the little beast to do tricks for the few coins it would bring. Amalie held her suddenly-shy son on her hip, his head on her shoulder as she pointed to the monkey.
“Look, Colton,” she said, pointing. “He is smiling at you.”
The little monkey flashed his big-teeth monkey smile, removing his tiny little hat. As the old man prompted him, the monkey inched over towards Colton, who quickly forgot his tears and his sudden shyness. He was very interested as the monkey approached. Amalie held out a hand to the little creature, who grabbed on to her fingers much to Colton’s delight. Then Colton wanted to pet the monkey, who grabbed on to his little fingers as well. Colton laughed happily and the monkey, frightened, scooted back to its master.
It was noisy, smelly and dusty. Traffic was so backed up that they were virtually at a standstill on the busy avenue, but Weston didn’t mind; he was enjoying watching his wife and son play with the monkey. Aubria, who had been asleep in her grandmother’s arms inside the cab, had awoken and was now being helped out of the carriage by Elizabeth.
Weston watched as his mother took Aubria protectively in-hand and escorted her over to where her brother was playing with the monkey. After a minute or so of laughing at the monkey, now doing tricks on its master’s arm, Aubria predictably turned to her father.
“Dada?
” she pointed at the monkey. “Can I please have him?”
Weston wasn’t any good at denying his daughter whatever her little heart desired. But the expression on Amalie’s face naturally cautioned him.
“I do not think so, my angel,” he said. “He must stay with his master.”
Aubria’s lovely little features molded into a pout. “But I love him, Dada,” she insisted. “Can I please have him?”
With a heavy sigh, Weston climbed off the charger. This wasn’t an argument he was going to win on the back of a horse. As he made his way to his daughter and tried to explain to her why she couldn’t have the monkey, Sutton sat atop his destrier and grinned. Between Colton screaming for the monkey and Aubria’s unhappy tears, Weston had his hands full and Sutton thought it was all great fun.
He was having a good time at his brother’s expense until he looked over his shoulder at the traffic backing up on the crossroads and caught sight of the Clifford banners back in the pack. He flew into panic mode and bailed off his charger.
“She is here,” he hissed at Amalie and Weston. He jabbed a gloved finger at the traffic backing up towards the east. “That is her father’s banners.”
Amalie was particularly interested as she turned to gain a better look. But that took Colton away from his monkey so she handed the boy over to Weston, who was crouched down next to his sobbing daughter. Leaving Weston with two weeping children, Amalie and Sutton moved towards the edge of the avenue where there was a better vantage point.
“See?” Sutton pointed to the green and yellow Clifford banners. “Right there; that is her father’s party. The green and yellow standards.”
Amalie spied the rather large group. From what she could see, there was no carriage or wagon, but she could see at least two small palfreys among the war horses. They were difficult to make out with all of the people and clutter in the way.
“Were you formally introduced to her, Sutton?” she asked.
Lords of the Kingdom Page 23