‘If I have it,’ she said. ‘I have possessions, but there’s no certainty whether...’
‘Ian told Louve what he’d done. That you and the legend were hidden in a location no one knew.’
‘So even the reason of him loving me and taking me to Forgotten Keep was a lie? It wasn’t me or the children he wanted safe; it was some foolish scribbles.’
‘He...lost more of his control after you were gone, Séverine. I can see it no other way than he broke his own mind to save you.’
‘Is this your attempt to make me feel shame when it’s not me but all of you who are to blame?’
‘There’s only two of us against our parents now.’
Ian was gone. No, she couldn’t think about him and finish what needed to be said. ‘You are truly making an alliance with your brother.’
‘I know it is as unbelievable as a legend with a treasure, but it’s true. I approached Reynold and we made a pact to end their reign.’
‘And do anything to do it, including lying to me.’
‘I didn’t lie to you because of the treasure,’ he said, then turned and cursed.
This was worse. ‘You were to tell me immediately. Let me guess. You were to ask me for it when there was some trust between us. After all, what if I had sided with King Edward in the six years?’
‘That’s not the reason I waited.’
She laughed, but it was bitter, because she felt that thorn. ‘I know that because it was apparent to you I hadn’t sold myself over an elusive scrap of felled tree the moment you saw me carrying kindling.’
‘Séverine, I waited because I—’
The thorn turned to a shard. ‘You care for me? Lies! All of it. You have no feelings because if you did, you would know how much this hurts me.’
‘They’re flawed, I’m flawed, but—’
‘True? I won’t believe you again. Now tell me what any widow deserves to know.’
He exhaled roughly, rubbed his arm as if it pained him. She felt no pity for him. She only waited.
‘He wasn’t well,’ he said. ‘In the hall of the fortress, with witnesses, he threw a dagger at me...and then Louve threw a dagger towards him. Louve’s dagger struck true, but—’
‘Louve again.’
‘A mercenary who is aggravating, but he made company with Reynold.’
‘And somehow with you, as well. Thus, he’s at Warstone Fortress because Ian’s dead, and he’s holding it safe while you find me to get this parchment.’
It was more than that, and he didn’t know how she’d react. She had run...but there were her children. ‘Reynold and I never wanted that estate and signed it away to him. My parents have their own estate, Warstone’s was completely Ian’s. Naturally, it should go to his children, but...’
‘You did what?’ she said.
‘You ran,’ Balthus said. ‘We couldn’t leave the estate vulnerable to our parents. Of course, it hasn’t been sealed by France’s king yet, and it may not be, but we’ve delayed—’
‘You gave my sons’ inheritance away to a hired sword?’
‘Yes.’
‘How far do your schemes go?’
‘Séverine—’
She shook her head once. ‘No. I won’t believe your feeble apologies, either. Have no concerns, Warstone, you’ll still obtain that parchment, and I’ll gladly hand it over. When I do, I never want to see you again.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was the rushed whispering of her boys that wrung her from a sleep stretched with anger and despair. She could feel their presence at the doorway long before the smell of warmed wine and fresh buttered bread wafted into her room from where they stood. They’d arrived at Forgotten Keep long after the sun had set the previous night. If it hadn’t been a full moon, and the fact someone had lit a lone torch at the entrance to the small keep, they might have ridden past it. In the end, it had been Sarah’s horse that had seemed to know where to turn on the path.
The moment she’d called out, the guard, who must have been half-asleep, lit more torches and alerted the handful of servants still living there. It was a chaotic but comforting greeting. Much could have changed since she’d run. Warstones could have razed it to the ground or the servants she’d left could have been slaughtered by her angry husband. The fact it was all still here with more repairs done was almost too much to bear and more tears fell.
Exhausted, she’d done what she could to assist, which wasn’t much for it seemed as if the household had been mostly prepared for their arrival though they were earlier than expected. So the moment the boys had been cared for, she’d found her own bed, and fell on it. Now, if the light was any indication, it was well past time for prayers and breaking her fast. Rubbing her sore eyes and damp cheeks, she called out, ‘Come in, boys. I’m fine.’
Sitting up, she brushed her gown down her front in a vain attempt to straighten herself while Clovis carried the tray and set it on the table nearest her, and Pepin shifted awkwardly. Watching their hesitation broke her heart and she waved her arms to bring them closer. Pepin shuffled forward, but Clovis stood as still as an ice crystal on an icicle. Snatching the bottom of his tunic, she yanked him to her. He gave only a sign of surprise, not protest. A heartbeat later Pepin leaned his weight into them, and she opened her arms a bit more to gather him close.
It was one of the sweetest moments they’d ever shared as the little family they were, and all too brief for when Pepin wriggled, Clovis jabbed back with his elbow, and Pepin kicked out.
‘Come, you two.’ She tried to sound firm, but their familiar rivalry fortified her heart more.
Séverine released her children, who scrambled back and stood before her. Their legs were tangled in her gown, their hesitant expressions a bit less solemn.
‘I’ve worried you.’
Pepin gave a quick shake of his head, but Clovis said, ‘You’ve been worried.’
Séverine’s breath caught. ‘Here I thought I was being clever not showing you.’
‘You’re clever, Mama.’ Pepin glared at Clovis. ‘Mama’s clever.’
Séverine braced herself for the fists to fly and for her to intervene, but...
Clovis looked like he wanted to argue but didn’t. His discomfiture, and the fact he did not straighten his clothing or hair after she’d ruffled both, made something odd happen in her chest. He was growing up. He was young, and had far to go to become self-sufficient, but in the time with Balthus, he’d changed.
‘Clovis doesn’t believe I’m not clever, Pepin, it’s just sometimes difficult to hold feelings in.’
‘Like yesterday,’ Pepin said. ‘You had feelings everywhere.’
‘I did.’
‘We heard you from the courtyard, too. You cried in your sleep.’
Oh!
‘Is it all right now?’ Clovis asked. ‘Will you be all right now?’
She gave a small smile to let them know she was well. ‘I was all right before, during and most definitely afterwards. It was only a bit more than usual.’
Seeing their still-concerned faces, she added, ‘You’ve never seen me that way before, have you, but many people need to cry.’
‘See, Clovis!’
‘She doesn’t mean you.’
‘I mean... I mean both of you.’ She patted the bed. ‘Here, come and sit.’ When they did, she continued, ‘We’ve been busy all your lives, haven’t we? Always moving. But we never spoke about it.’
‘Clovis moaned about it!’ Pepin pointed out.
At Pepin’s comment, Séverine put her hand on his legs and he stopped.
‘He was right to object to it,’ she said.
Clovis shifted next to her, and she clasped her hands in front of her. ‘You would have been right to complain, as well. All your lives you’ve met children who didn’t move from home to home, who knew their frien
ds for years and years. Were you envious of them?’
Pepin shook his head, but as she kept her gaze on him, his eyes got bigger and shone with tears.
One look at Clovis’s expression and she knew he had felt similar longings. ‘Did you ever wonder why we did what we did?’
‘To play hide-and-seek,’ Pepin said. ‘Loads and loads of hide-and-seek.’
‘So Father never found us,’ Clovis responded.
Séverine started.
‘How did you—? You don’t remember him, do you?’ When Clovis shook his head, she added, ‘But you heard about him from Imbert and Sarah?’
‘They whisper about him all the time,’ Pepin said. ‘And we ask.’
Of course they had.
‘Is he bad?’ Clovis asked, his chin jutting out.
‘No, he’s not. She wants to see Father! Don’t you, Mama? He hasn’t caught to us, like Balthus.’
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. Her eyes were welling up and her children were blurring before her. She dropped her face into her hands.
‘Pepin, be quiet!’ Clovis said.
Séverine rubbed her face. ‘No, no, we need to talk. We haven’t talked, it’s just that you’re my children and...’
She looked at their worried faces. This wasn’t what they needed. They needed her to be strong for them when she told them. When she said what was absolutely necessary and not one word more, they needed to know she was there for them. She was there as she’d always been and would always be.
But how to tell them their father, who they couldn’t possibly remember, was dead? They’d care because they were starting to feel the loss of a father in their lives.
‘What your mother is trying to say—’ Balthus emerged from the doorway ‘—is something that it is my responsibility to tell you.’
Séverine straightened, pulled her children in close. She didn’t like him being here, but wouldn’t say anything to her children. All morning he’d checked the reinforcements of this small keep. Much work had been started and mostly done, but more was needed if they were to stay here for any period of time. He hoped she wouldn’t stay. It wouldn’t take much for his parents to find this or add it to their strongholds since they’d potentially lost the Warstone Fortress.
‘I think I’m the judge of whether something is or is not your responsibility.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But this is something I would like to do.’
‘I owe you no favours, Warstone.’
‘Neither would I ask them.’
‘Mama?’ Clovis said.
Séverine turned to her sons. ‘Balthus is your uncle. Your father’s brother.’
‘You’re family?’
Balthus knew by the look in Séverine’s eyes to keep this as simple as possible. ‘I am.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Pepin said.
Balthus eyed Clovis, who didn’t look surprised like his brother. ‘Because I had terrible news to tell you and didn’t know how to tell it.’
Séverine gasped, and he knew he was going further than she wanted, but it needed to be said. Truths needed to be told. He’d learned his lesson.
‘Is that why you were shoved in the pit?’ Clovis said.
‘Yes, your mother guessed.’
‘He’s dead,’ Clovis said, turning to his mother. ‘Our father is gone, isn’t he?’
Pepin wavered, and Séverine grabbed him immediately. Balthus wanted to hold them all.
‘Yes, he is,’ Séverine said.
‘He never made it,’ Pepin sobbed. ‘To find us.’
Séverine stroked Pepin’s hair, soothing him, and Balthus broke down. Striding over to the family, he placed his hand on Clovis’s shoulder, but the boy wrapped his arms around his waist and Balthus almost fell to his knees.
When Balthus opened his eyes, he saw Séverine’s gaze on him. He wished he could understand all the thoughts in her green gaze. Wished he could sit on the bed next to her and hold her. Wished his arm wasn’t bound so he could hold them all closer than he already was.
But even with all those wishes and wants, he didn’t deserve them, and she knew it. She brushed Pepin’s face and looked into her son’s eyes, then she grabbed Clovis and brought him to her side.
Balthus felt the loss of warmth.
‘We’ll make it through this, but there’s much to talk about,’ Séverine said. ‘Can you give me that?’
Looking as brave as any boy, Clovis grabbed his brother’s hand.
‘Now, go off and explore.’ She pushed them away gently.
Balthus tried to smile when Clovis looked over his shoulder at him before he closed the door, but he knew it was a weak attempt to ease the boy’s concern. They were young, though, and good. Séverine saw to that.
Séverine made a sound and straightened her shoulders. ‘Do your parents know of this keep?’
‘They might now, but Ian wouldn’t have left you here if they had. He was trying to protect you.’
Something crossed her face he couldn’t quite discern. Was she disappointed this keep was discoverable? If so, did that mean she was contemplating staying? She had to see it wasn’t adequate yet for protection and, though well hidden, if it had inhabitants, they were bound to build enough of a community to draw even more wandering families.
‘Thank you for allowing me to tell them,’ he said.
‘Clovis has got close to you.’
For him to earn his nephew’s affection was humbling, but from Séverine’s expression and tone, it worried her. Yet another reminder that what they had, if anything, was fragile and he’d ruined it by not telling her about Ian’s death. ‘He’s young. There will be others after me who will hold his attention. There’s an old watch guard. He’ll have the skills to teach the boys swordplay and how to squire.’
Frowning, she looked away, clearly conflicted regarding that information. He was as well, for he wanted to train, play with and watch her sons grow into men. He wanted to—No, it had been his own deeds that had caused this rift, and one he couldn’t apologise enough for.
‘I’m sorry, Séverine.’
‘For what?’ she said. ‘Their father being dead and now they’ve inherited positions that kings will attempt to control? Or for ripping me out of the life I wanted in the abbey? That life is so far away now... Do you know I haven’t been able to attend church daily let alone the three times a day I did? I was always too scared I would be recognised.’
‘Do you think your soul is lost, Séverine? Do you think that if you died today, with no confession, you’d go to Hell? Because that’s a lie.’
‘Adding blasphemy to your sins?’
He took the verbal strike. ‘You have the most complete soul I’ve ever known.’
‘Remember what I said about Warstone praise?’ She looked away. ‘I’ll go to the abbey today.’
‘I’ll go with—’
‘No, I’ll get what I left there, then you’ll be gone. If what you’re looking for is not there, I won’t help you find anything else. You may have helped me tell my boys the horrific tale of their father and his family, but you’re all part of that. And just as I don’t want them involved, I don’t want you involved. I don’t want to see you ever again.’ She rose. ‘Now, excuse me.’
He moved to one side and watched her walk past him with her head held high. He kept the door open so he could watch her turn the corner and go out of his sight.
He felt everything. Her pride, her acknowledgement that he had told her about his brother’s death. He had felt Clovis’s small arms around his waist. He loved them all.
And he knew he’d protect them like his brother had wanted to.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘What are you doing here?’ Séverine said.
‘You’re not walking to the abbey on your own,’ Imbert said.
&nbs
p; Had Balthus told them? ‘It’s a short walk. I simply need to see if they kept those books and things I left there.’
Sarah pointed to the pouch at her waist. ‘To retrieve them? I thought they knew they were only to protect them.’
She’d only brought a few coins. She’d given much over the years to both this abbey and the one near her parents’ home, but it had been some years before, and it was best to be prepared.
‘If they’re there, you might have more than you can carry,’ Sarah said. ‘Perhaps I can help there.’
‘I’m here to keep Imbert company,’ Henry said.
It was more than that. ‘Did Balthus tell you all this?’
‘Balthus?’ Henry scratched his chin. ‘I think he’s with the boys and Lionel.’
She almost asked about Lionel, but a conversation wasn’t what she wanted at all today. It was supposed to be a quick walk to the abbey and back. Not her and a thousand other people. She needed to think.
Scowling at all of them, she hurried her pace. None of them got the hint, though, and followed alongside her.
‘Lionel is the son of Paul, the old watch guard. Did you know he died?’ Henry said. ‘I remember him well. Couldn’t hold his ale. I’ll have to test this Lionel out soon.’
‘You won’t get a boy sick!’ Séverine said.
‘Lionel’s a man,’ Imbert said. ‘Inherited his father’s sword. He’s quite skilled from what I can see. Balthus is testing him.’
As if Forgotten Keep were some great manor house that needed trained watch guards. Why was Balthus bothering? He would be getting his parchment and leaving. As for her... She’d only wondered whether his parents knew of this keep, not that she’d be staying here.
Except she was thinking about staying here. But she needed to study all the consequences of that and couldn’t do so in peace because she had a stablemaster, his wife, and a butcher for company!
‘And the boys?’ she said.
‘They have sticks,’ Imbert said. ‘You’ll be pleased to know they’ve already impressed Lionel with their skill.’
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