Isadora cowered as Courtly spoke up. “Auntie, she will have it done,” she said, rather firmly. “You need not threaten her.”
Ellice looked at Courtly, her eyes narrowing. “You accuse me of threatening her?”
“You just did.”
Ellice didn’t like being questioned in the least. She lived at Kennington and ruled it with an iron fist, verbally abusing cringing servants. Her eldest niece was questioning that omnipotent power and that did not set well with her.
“Your mother,” she finally snorted. “You look and act just like her. She did not know when to control her mouth, either.”
Courtly didn’t want to back down from the woman but she had no desire to fight with her, either. There was something very petulant and wicked about Ellice at times, something Courtly didn’t want to tangle with. It would only come to no good end, mostly hers. Therefore, she lowered her gaze and turned back to her sewing.
“Thank you for providing us with shelter tonight, Auntie,” she said politely. “If we could have some soap sent to us so that we may wash the smoke smell away, we would be grateful.”
“I have no soap for you.”
Courtly didn’t acknowledge the nasty retort. “Then we will see you this evening at sup. Good day, Auntie.”
She was essentially dismissing her aunt but doing in the nicest possible way. It was gaining the upper hand without obviously gaining it. Everyone in the room knew she was sending the woman on her way. Ellice frowned at her niece. She rather liked verbally sparring, even if she didn’t like insolence, and was somewhat disappointed that Courtly had backed down. It frustrated her.
“Courtly Love,” she scoffed as she turned away. “It is a foolish name. I told my brother it was a foolish name when you were born but your mother insisted. She said it was the embodiment of what a true lady should be; chaste and virtuous. What a foolish, foolish woman your mother was.”
She was muttering as she turned for the door, heading out of the room without even shutting the ornately carved door panel of darkly stained oak. As the woman wandered down the corridor, Isadora leapt up from the bed and slammed the door, throwing the bolt.
“I do not want to stay here tonight!” she declared again. “Auntie is an evil witch!”
In spite of her tense expression, Courtly broke down into giggles. “Mayhap we shall not have to,” she said. “Mayhap Papa is, even now, scouring the outskirts of Kennington for a place to stay. I am sure he does not wish to remain here as much as we don’t.”
Isadora remained by the door, listening to the corridor outside. She hissed. “I can still hear her,” she said, frowning. “She is telling the servants not to bring us any soap!”
Courtly sighed heavily, shaking her head. “I shall speak with Papa,” she said. “Not to worry. We shall have what we need. In fact, we should make a list of all we lost. Will you do that, Issie? Make a list?”
She proposed the list to distract her sister and the ruse worked. Isadora was flighty, and a bit dramatic, but she was also very intelligent. She nodded eagerly and came away from the door.
“I shall think of everything we had,” she said. Then, her expression saddened. “I lost my pink, silk dress.”
“And I lost my red brocade.”
Isadora nodded, ticking off the contents of her bag in her head. She had been schooled by the monks at St. Mary’s Church in the village of Trelystan when she had been younger, mostly because she had demanded of Kellen that she learn to read and write. With Courtly away fostering at the time, Kellen had been unable to deny his lonely, youngest daughter and took her to the monks at the church, whereupon they undertook the task of teaching the seven-year-old to write with the lure of much coinage donated by Kellen.
Four days a week, Kellen would take his daughter to the church and the monks would teach her how to read and write. Isadora, extremely bright, learned quickly and stopped going to the church after a year. At that point, Kellen should have sent her away to foster with her sister but found he simply couldn’t bear to do it. His daughters reminded him of his wife, and he missed her greatly, so shortly after Isadora stopped going to the church, Kellen recalled Courtly from Prudhoe Castle. The older sister returned, reunited with her younger sibling, and Kellen proceeded to continue the girls’ education himself.
The results were that the girls learned mathematics, military tactics, some literature, and military history. Kellen imparted upon them what he knew, that being mostly things that only knights would know from their schooling and fostering. Therefore, the girls were quite educated as a page or squire would be, and Courtly conveyed what she had learned at Prudhoe, so Isadora wasn’t too one-sided. She could sew and sing, and knew how to run a household. But she liked mathematics and writing much better.
“I need parchment and quill!” Isadora announced as she hunted around the ill-furnished room. “What shall I use to write?”
Courtly glanced around. “I am not sure there would be anything here,” she said. “Make a list in your mind and then we shall write it down later. For now, think on everything we had. That is a good start.”
Isadora was already busy with her mental list. She began rattling off the contents of her satchel, counting the lost pieces on her fingers, and then prompting Courtly to do the same. As Courtly stitched the hummingbird and listed off the possessions she had lost, Isadora committed what she could to memory.
When she began speaking of her pink, silk dress and how she was determined to have another one made, Courtly’s thoughts drifted to the red brocade she had lost and how she would not be able to wear it at the feast that night. All she would be able to wear for Sir Maximus was the smoke-stenched, dark green wool that she currently wore. It was all she had in the world.
So much for making an elegant impression on a man she realized that she wanted very much to impress.
CHAPTER THREE
The One-Eyed Raven Inn
Oxford proper
“Kellen de Lara is a man with a formidable reputation. Saving his daughters unquestionably puts you in his debt.”
The words were spoken by Gallus de Shera, the eldest de Shera brother and the current Earl of Coventry. He was the intelligence behind the trio of brothers, men known as the Lords of Thunder, while Maximus was the muscle and Tiberius was the life force that kept them all bound together. These men, this tight-knit group, were some of the most powerful men in England.
All three brothers, and the entire House of de Shera, were staunch supporters of Simon de Montfort and his opposition to King Henry, and they were currently in Oxford because de Montfort was convening the greatest group of barons yet, men that would place demands upon a king who seemed more intent on deliberately forgetting all of the pledges he had made over the past several years to his barons, pledges that were extraordinarily complicated during this dark and complicated time. The gist of the situation was that de Montfort intended that in this place in time, and upon this country, there would be fairness and equality. He intended that the barons should have a say in how the country was run, among other things, and the de Shera brothers would be a part of that bold, new world, hence their presence in Oxford. They were here for a purpose, and that purpose was soon to come.
As the afternoon of the most eventful day began to wane towards evening, the three brothers and their four sworn knights sat in the common room of an inn they had taken over upon their arrival to Oxford four days earlier. There were gourd pitchers of cheap wine on the table before them and the remains of a few loaves of bread. The men-at-arms they had brought with them, at least most of them, were in various positions around the room, eating and drinking and cavorting with several women that could only be described as easy prey. In the smoke-hazed tavern, the knights ignored the antics of the men around them and settled in to discuss not only the events of the day, but future plans as well.
Called The One-Eyed Raven, the inn had a cavernous common room but only five sleeping rooms, all of which belonged to the de Shera party fo
r the duration of their stay in Oxford. The main room was long, with two barkeep areas full of barrels of wine, cups, and other implements, and tables enough to seat up to sixty people at times. Most of the tables were crudely built and were tables in only the literal sense; whether or not they actually held together under the weight of food or wine was another matter entirely. A small hearth by the door and then another larger hearth about mid-point in the room kept the big chamber warm and smelling of acrid smoke. A large pack of dirty, mean dogs congregated near the bigger hearth, waiting for scraps of food to fall upon the uneven dirt floor.
In the midst of the noisy and smelly common room, the de Shera group listened to Gallus. Maximus sat next to his older brother, having just explained, between big gulps of wine, what had transpired with Kellen de Lara’s daughters earlier that day. It had barely been a mention from Maximus during the course of a conversation that had been dominated by talk of de Montfort’s parliament but Gallus thought it was a rather important event. He veered talk away from de Montfort’s gathering for a few minutes to focus on his humble brother’s heroics.
“Truly, Max,” he said. “You saved the man’s daughters. I seem to remember hearing that he only had two daughters and that his wife was long dead. It is a great thing you did.”
Maximus didn’t like praise. He simply shook his head. “Anyone would have done the same thing.”
Gallus fought off a grin. Maximus was far too modest. “Mayhap,” he concurred. “But it was you and Garran. What did de Lara say to you? Does he even know?”
Maximus nodded. “He knows,” he replied. “I waited with the daughters until he returned from his errand. He thanked me profusely and told me that he is in my debt.”
Gallus looked at the others. “You see?” he said. “The great Lord Sheriff of the Southern Marches is now indebted to my brother. That is a great ally to have, Max.”
Maximus merely grunted, drinking of his wine. He wasn’t thinking of the de Lara debt so much as he was thinking about the eldest de Lara daughter. He hadn’t been able to get the woman out of his mind since he met her, and with the rose-scented oil tucked safely away in his tunic, the obsession with her was growing. The dulcet vision of silken blond hair and big, blue eyes was ingrained in his brain, something he could not and would not shake. But he was terrified to let on his thoughts, even to his brothers and trusted knights. He glanced around the table, and most especially at the men sworn to his family. The talent and bloodlines of de Shera knights ran deep.
De Wolfe, de Moray, and du Bois. The eldest sons of the great Wolfe of the North, William de Wolfe, served them. Scott de Wolfe was a big, brawny man with blond hair, greatly resembling his Scottish heritage and his twin, Troy, was dark and muscular like their father. Garran, of course, was the son of the mighty Bose de Moray, a former captain of the guard for Henry III, and Stefan du Bois rounded out the powerful group. Young, but extremely strong, big and intelligent, Stefan was descended from the great House of de Lohr on his mother’s side and the formidable House of du Bois on his father’s. Aye, ’twas a mighty stable the House of de Shera was privileged to command. Maximus considered himself extremely lucky.
But aside from the great bloodlines, the knights were also very trustworthy and Maximus considered them all close friends. Perhaps when he was willing to divulge what he was thinking about the eldest de Lara daughter, he would mention it to them. Perhaps. But he wasn’t ready to take that step. Maximus had never been known to show attention to a woman, any woman, because he was more of a warrior than any of them. He breathed, slept, and ate the knighthood. He feared the shock of knowing the Thunder Warrior had an eye towards a certain lady might send them all into fits.
“We have been invited to sup with de Lara this eve,” he finally said, watching a host of surprised faces turn to him. “He invited all of us. I told him I did not know of my brothers’ plans but assured him that I would join him.”
Tiberius looked at Gallus. “I have no plans,” he said, already thinking on a fine meal at the de Lara table. It would undoubtedly be better than the meal at the inn. “What about you?”
Gallus shook his head. “I have no such plans, either,” he replied, but instinctively, his attention turned to the rooms above them where his pregnant wife was resting. “However, I am not entirely sure how well Jeni feels. I am not sure if she will want to accompany us.”
Maximus shrugged. “Then you should remain with her,” he said. “Has the licorice root helped?”
Gallus nodded. “Somewhat,” he replied. “The chamomile has helped even more. At least she has been able to eat something.”
Maximus nodded. “I am glad it helped,” he said. “Mayhap it is not my place to say so, but it might have been better for her had she remained at Isenhall.”
Isenhall Castle near Coventry was their home and seat of the mighty Earl of Coventry. Gallus held the title and had since it had been passed down through their mother. In fact, thoughts of home brought about thoughts of their beloved mother, who had been quite ill as of late.
Any mention of Isenhall had their thoughts turning to Lady Honey de Shera, the matriarch of the family. Her given name was Charlotte, but Gallus’ father had called her “Honey” because he had declared her as fine and as sweet as honey. Everyone called the woman Honey, including her sons. Moreover, they were very attached to her and her illness was weighing heavily upon them. Being away from her during this time did not bode well for any of them.
“Nay,” Gallus finally muttered, his good humor fading as he toyed with his wine cup. “My wife wanted to come with me and I could not deny her. With her difficult pregnancy, it is my sense that remaining behind with Honey would have been more of a strain upon her. You know that she would want to tend Honey, or aid the physics at the very least, and that is too much for her at this time. And she cannot help Honey no matter how hard she would try. Nay, it is better to let her come with us and get away from the death vigil. But, with God as my witness, even though we are in Oxford for this great gathering, my heart is not here. It is back at Isenhall with our mother.”
Maximus and Tiberius sobered greatly at the thought of their languishing mother; a cancer in her belly, the physics had said, and the woman had lain at death’s door for more than a month. She was unconscious most of the time but had become vaguely lucid twice, at least enough so that they could communicate with her. The first time, only Gallus’ wife had been with her but the second time, Maximus had been present. His mother’s words of wisdom still rattled in his head.
“Honey knows how we feel,” Maximus murmured as Tiberius took a very large drink of wine. Tiberius was more emotional than the rest of them and tended to weep at the mention of his dying mother. Maximus eyed his younger brother before continuing. “She knew about de Montfort’s gathering in Oxford, the parliament that he is convening. She has known about it for months, before she fell terribly ill. When she awoke from her deep sleep and asked me what I was doing praying beside her bed, I told her that we would remain with her until the very end. Jeniver heard me, and your wife further heard when Honey told me that the world would not stop because of her. She told me that we had a responsibility to England and that we had to go with de Montfort. There was no arguing with her about it.”
Tiberius, unable to contain his emotion, wiped at his eyes. “So we left her with only a physic for comfort,” he said, grieved. “I did not want to come to Oxford. I told all of you as much. I wanted to remain with my mother.”
Gallus and Maximus looked at their brother, not unsympathetic. “And risk Honey waking up to your face, seeing that you had not continued with your commitment to de Montfort and to England?” Gallus pointed out. “She would climb out of her deathbed and beat you with a switch, and you know it. We discussed this before we left, Ty. We can do nothing to help her. Our mother’s fate is consigned to God. We are doing what she wants us to do. We are securing England’s future, for us and for our children.”
Tiberius wasn’t happy but he u
nderstood. It was what their mother wanted, and no one disobeyed Honey and lived to tell the tale. With a heavy sigh, he poured himself more wine. Maximus watched his brother, knowing the man was hurting like they all were. There was nothing they could do for their mother and, for the powerful de Shera brothers, it was a difficult fact to accept. Resigned, he moved to pour himself more wine also, noting the expression of his knights across the leaning table. His gaze fell upon Scott.
“Your father should be in town,” he said to the brawny knight, changing the subject away from the gloom of Honey de Shera. “He said he would meet us here from when we last saw him at Kenilworth. Has he contacted you yet?”
Drawn into the conversation, Scott shook his head. “He has not,” he replied. “I am sure he will be here any day now.”
Gallus nodded. “I have sent men out to scour the town, leaving word for him at other inns,” he said. “He will know where to find us when he arrives.”
“I expect my father to arrive shortly, also,” Stefan spoke up from the end of the table. “You know he will want to be a part of this, on behalf of the Earl of Canterbury. David de Lohr is a very, very old man and does not travel, so he will send my father in his stead.”
Gallus lifted his eyebrows. “I have not seen my uncle in many years,” he said wistfully. “He is, in truth, my mother’s uncle, but David is a living legend. I remember him well from my childhood, visiting Canterbury on two occasions. The man is well into his eighties by now.”
Stefan grinned. “He is my great-grandfather,” he said. “I grew up with the man. He celebrated his eighty-eighth year this past March but I would wager he could still take all of us on in a sword fight. Old de Lohrs never die. They live on and on until someone finally digs a hole in the ground and forces them into it. Even then, they will not go easily.”
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