Peter sat by a tiny vent in the loft. He could see the stable yard below and the snow swirling, but if he shifted position, he could also see the dark sky above. Mostly, he was watching to see if any of the Welsh decided to come back into the stable yard where they were.
As he sat there, panic abruptly set in. In the rush to leave the kitchen, Peter realized that he had left his Somerhill tunic behind. He’d draped it over a peg right next to the hearth so it hadn’t been on the stones when they’d scooped everything up. They’d been so busy grabbing everything on the ground that he’d neglected the peg.
Damnation! He thought.
Leaving his post by the vent, he scooted across the hay to where the others were sitting.
“I left my tunic on the hearth,” he whispered, feeling sick and ashamed. “We were so busy collecting weapons and mail that I completely forgot that it was hanging on the peg in the hearth. I must return for it.”
Andra, who had been reapplying some of the arnica fat to Christopher’s head, looked at him in concern. “Nay,” she said. “I shall return for it. You must remain here and out of sight.”
Peter knew she was right although he didn’t like the idea of a woman fixing his mistake. He’d left the tunic behind and he wanted to retrieve it, but he also didn’t want the Welsh to see him. Reluctantly, he nodded.
“Very well,” he said. “It is hanging on the peg to the right. It is green.”
Andra nodded, wiping her hands off on a nearby rag before rising and making her way over to the hole in the loft. David was already lowering the ladder, assisted by Peter. They watched her climb down it and head off into the night.
David sighed heavily. “If they find it, we must be ready to lead them away from the stable,” he said quietly. “We have no way of knowing how many there are and it would be the three of us against them.”
Peter looked over at Christopher, who was trying very hard not to close his eyes. “My father cannot fight in his condition,” he muttered, returning his focus to his uncle. “What shall we do?”
David pointed down into the stable. “Get down there and watch,” he said. “If we see the Welsh coming into the stable yard, we must lead them away. Run as far and as fast as you can go and try to lose them.”
Peter thought on the darkness of the night and the fact that he’d be going out into the freezing cold again. But it couldn’t be helped. His father was injured and he would have to ensure that the man didn’t have to face another battle this night.
He wasn’t going to let the Welsh finish what they’d started.
“I will,” he said confidently, climbing onto the ladder. “Are you coming?”
David nodded, holding up a hand to beg patience while he crawled back over to where Christopher and Marcus were.
“If the Welsh find his tunic and come out to look around, Peter and I will lead them from the stables,” he whispered. “You two remain here. Bury yourself in hay if you have to. You do not want a fight in the confines of this loft.”
That was very true. There would be no room to move and it would be easy to be cornered. Marcus put Christopher’s hand on the compress so he could hold it steady himself while he reached for his weapon.
“I’ll go,” he said. “You stay with Chris.”
But David shook his head. “I run faster than you do,” he said. “If they make it up here, Chris will need your power. You will have to fight for two of you.”
Holding the icy cold rag on his head, Christopher grunted. “I am not an invalid,” he said unhappily. “If a fight comes, I can hold my own.”
Marcus and David looked at him, pale and injured, and knew that was a lie. He wouldn’t last long in a fight.
“I’ll stay,” Marcus said reluctantly. “If you must lead the Welsh away, where will you run to?”
“Back to the river,” David said. “They’ll be able to follow my tracks in the snow, at least for a little while. I’ll have to lose them in the river.”
“Tell Peter to be careful,” Christopher said. “He has the de Lohr heroic streak in him and I should not like to lose my son at such a young age while he is off trying to save me.”
David nodded, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I will do my best.”
Marcus reached out, grasping David’s arm. “Be careful,” he said. “You have that de Lohr heroic streak in you, too. A dead hero is of no use to anyone.”
David gave him a wry smile, perhaps one of the most genuine moments the two had shared in years. It was as if they were back in The Levant again, drawing strength from their camaraderie as they faced life and death together. It was something Marcus had thought was long gone. David probably thought so, too.
It was a good moment between them.
With that, David grabbed his sword and crawled back to the hole in the loft, sliding down the ladder and heading out into the night.
Marcus left Christopher long enough to pull up the ladder, crawling over to the vent to look out over the yard and part of the stable block. He couldn’t see David or Peter, which was good, so there was nothing to do but sit back, remain alert, and wait.
Still, he was nervous.
Glancing at Christopher as the man leaned back against a pile of hay and held the compress over his lump, Marcus remained at the vent, watching and waiting for any hint of the Welsh. The snowstorm seemed to have eased up a little. It was still blowing, but not as strongly as it had been. The worst seemed to have passed and now snowflakes were blowing around, almost gently, as the clouds above began to clear up a little.
“It seems hard to believe that this is Christmas Eve,” Marcus murmured, his eyes on the yard below. “When I rode into Lioncross earlier today, I did not imagine this would be the way we would spend the night. I was hoping to be quite drunk by now and in bed with my wife. Mayhap we would get a little present of our own next summer. We need more children if we are going to catch up with you and Dustin.”
He smirked as he said it. Over against the hay, Christopher smiled faintly. “You have been rather slow about it,” he said. “But you have two lovely daughters and a strong son. There is much to be grateful for.”
Marcus’ smirk faded. “There is,” he said. “And I am, believe me. Gabrielle is… I am not even sure how I can describe her. She saved me. She saved me when I didn’t even know I needed saving.”
“Tell me,” Christopher said softly. “You and I have not had a heartfelt conversation in many a year, Marcus. In fact… I cannot recall the last time.”
“I know,” Marcus said quietly, his gaze still on the yard. “And I will say what you will not. There has not been the opportunity or mayhap even the desire to have a heartfelt conversation with me. Things have not been the same with you and David and me for quite some time.”
Christopher sighed faintly, settling back on the hay and feeling extremely sleepy, although he didn’t want to tell Marcus for fear the man would come over to him and shake him to keep him awake. He didn’t want to remain awake; he wanted to sleep. But his thoughts lingered on Marcus’ statement. He knew what the man was referring to. Frankly, he was surprised he had even voiced it.
“Times change,” he muttered, his eyes closing even as he tried to keep them open. “Men change. It does not mean it is a change for the worse, simply… different.”
“But I do not want it to be different,” Marcus said, some emotion in his voice. “You know that I only have one brother, a man I’ve never been close to. The stupid monk who inherited our father’s fortune and holdings and promptly gave them over to the church. Everything that belonged to Leister, gone. God, I’ve never forgiven him. I hate him with everything in my soul for doing that.”
“But you have Somerhill.”
“And you know what I had to do to get that.”
Christopher did. Sordid deception and a self-induced injury that almost ended his career as a knight. That had been back in the days when they’d first returned from The Levant, when Christopher had first married Dusti
n and everything had been so unsettled.
“Those are days I do not like to think of sometimes,” he admitted, his tongue thick as he was losing the battle against his exhaustion. “There were moments of brilliance, but those were few and far between. The treachery, the politics…”
“You mean me.”
“I mean everyone. You were simply caught up in it like we all were.”
Marcus thought that Christopher was being rather magnanimous considering Marcus had tried to steal Dustin away from him those years ago. He knew that was the shadow hanging over them, the event that no one would talk about. It had been like that for over ten years.
Ten long, painful years.
It was time for that pain to come to a head.
“It was more than that and you know it,” he said quietly. “Hear me out, Chris. Let me say this because it needs to be said. Those events from years ago are something we all hoped would be forgotten, even as we spoke of forgiveness and tried to move past it. But I do not think you’ve ever forgotten. I know David hasn’t. It’s like this giant shadow that hangs over us every time we come together. I want so much to go back to the friendship we had before, in the days of Marwah and Ezz, but I’m afraid that will never happen again. I ask myself if this is the new normal with us, if this is all it is ever going to be. In The Levant, I felt like the third de Lohr brother. I wonder if it was simply the setting, the fact that we were so far from home, and our common goals that bonded us the way we did, because ever since we’ve come home, things have been different and I do not know how to fix it.”
Marcus was met with silence. He didn’t dare look at Christopher for fear he’d see the man’s emotions on his face, telling him that the situation couldn’t be fixed. Feeling increasingly emotional, he cleared his throat softly.
“When we went through that ordeal with Dustin those years ago, David accused me of being out for some kind of revenge against you,” he said. “Even all these years later, those words still ring in my mind. We’ve never talked about what I did those years ago, Chris. Since it happened, we haven’t really discussed it. I thought that it was better to let things lie since the situation was over and done with, but I think that was a mistake because it occurred to me once that I never apologized for what I did. Certainly, I told you I would stop pursuing your wife. I told you that I would stop fighting you for her, but I never apologized for what I did. I think there was a long period of time when I did not think I had to because I did not think I’d done anything wrong. But once I fell in love with my wife, I realized how wrong I’d been. I should have never fought you for Dustin, Chris. A man’s wife is sacred. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. It is sorrow and guilt I will live with for the rest of my life, whether or not you choose to forgive me.”
He was met with silence. Marcus dared to turn to Christopher, who was laying back against the cold, dry hay. His hand was up by his head, holding the compress, but other than that, he wasn’t moving.
“Chris?”
Still no reply or movement. Moving from his position by the vent, Marcus crawled over to Christopher only to see that the man’s eyes were closed. He didn’t even look like he was breathing. In a panic, Marcus put his ear to Christopher’s chest, listening for a heartbeat. With the snow howling outside, whistling through the eaves, he couldn’t hear anything. He put his fingers to Christopher’s neck and thought he felt a pulse.
“Chris?” he said, shaking him. “Chris, wake up. You mustn’t sleep. Chris?”
There was no response. In fact, the harder Marcus shook the man, the less of a reaction he got. Christopher’s arms ended up going slack and the compress fell to the hay. Marcus slapped him, twice, but it was too noisy an action so he stopped.
Christopher was limp.
Lifeless.
Horror welled in Marcus.
“Nay,” he breathed. “Oh, God…nay. This cannot be. Chris, answer me!”
He grabbed the man by the arms and shook him one last time. Christopher’s head bobbled around, but he didn’t open his eyes. With nothing else to do, Marcus pulled Christopher up against him and held him tightly.
“Please, no,” he whispered, the tears coming. “Please do not leave me. Do not put this burden on me, holding you while you breathe your last. Do not go before you hear how sorry I am for everything, Chris. David was right. I was jealous. I was trying to seek vengeance upon you, somehow, because you had everything I wanted. You were so great, but you were no greater than I was. Or mayhap you were. I thought I deserved everything you had but, in the end, I failed. I did not show any of the honor or integrity I thought I had. You were greater than I.”
By the time he was finished, he was weeping. Holding Christopher tightly, he rocked him gently, weeping into the man’s hair. What he didn’t see was David, with no ladder to climb, heaving himself back up into the loft.
Marcus didn’t see anything but his own grief.
“You are everything I wanted to be,” Marcus sobbed. “You said that Peter has a heroic streak in him, but he gets that from you. You are a hero, Chris. You are my hero. Mayhap I tried to steal your wife so that I could be you. I was fighting so hard for something out of my control, just as I did as the younger brother to a man who didn’t care about anything he would inherit. That brother of mine who told me I was a sinner, a worthless whelp, as he gave over my family’s legacy to the church when he inherited it. And I could do nothing to stop him. Mayhap in you, I saw a chance to reclaim… something. I do not even know. All I know is that I love you as the only brother I have ever truly had and for everything I have done, I am sorry. Sorrier than you’ll ever know.”
He faded off into sniffles of grief, still rocking Christopher’s limp body. Behind him, David had heard everything. He had heard the apology, the soul-baring confession, but more than that, he saw his brother limp in the man’s arms.
His heart was in his throat.
“Marcus?” he said, his voice trembling. “What is wrong?”
Marcus turned sharply, startled by David’s appearance. But he couldn’t stop the tears. “He has gone to sleep,” he said, his lower lip quivering. “He will not awaken. David… you are my brothers and I treated you so terribly. I am so sorry for what I did, for all of the horrors I put you and Chris through. I know you will never forgive me and I do not blame you, but I had to tell you. I have tried to tell Chris, too, but he has gone to sleep. I am afraid he will not wake up.”
David had walked into a wall of emotion that had just collapsed on him, stone by stone. Marcus’ apology had knocked the wind out of him but the sight of Christopher’s limp body had swept his feet out from beneath him. He crawled over to Marcus and Christopher, separating the two of them rather roughly, struggling to feel for a pulse on his brother’s neck. It was there, but it was faint. He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply with relief.
“He knows you are sorry,” he said, looking up at the man with raw emotion in his face. “He’s always known, Marcus.”
Marcus had stopped openly sobbing but the tears wouldn’t stop falling. “Tonight seemed like the night to speak on something we’ve not spoken of since it happened,” he said. “As that old woman said, it is a night of peace on earth and good will towards men. It is a night of forgiveness and family. David… you and Chris are the only family I have. I have always considered myself your brother, in spite of everything, but I realized I had never apologized for what I did. Tonight… that is my gift to you and Chris. An apology from a man who has nothing more to offer you. I am sorry.”
David sat there, staring at him. In truth, he’d never seen Marcus so vulnerable. The man was always supremely confident, defiant and stubborn in everything he did, so this confession of sorts was something David never thought he’d witness.
David may have been quick to temper and quick to judge, but he was also surprisingly intuitive. He could see that Marcus meant every word.
“You and I have had some contentious moments, that is true,” he said. “It is no secret ho
w angry I was at you for what you’d done to Chris those years ago. Strangely enough, he was never as angry as I was. He even defended you at times. I’ve never seen a man with more patience but that is because he loves you. He considered you his brother, too. Even when Chris and I were not speaking to each other for a time, he never stopped loving me. It was my fault, our separation, but he forgave me. And he has forgiven you, too. It seems that Chris has a bigger heart than both of us, Marcus.”
Marcus nodded. “He does, indeed,” he said, looking at Christopher as the man now lay between him and David. But his focus eventually moved back to David. “I hope we will be able to return to the relationship we once had, David. Men grow up, they mature, they realize their failings… and I have done that. You are my brother in every sense of the word and I have missed you.”
A smile spread over David’s lips. “As I have missed you,” he said. “It is Christmas, after all. It is time for blessings and a new beginning.”
“May we have that?”
“I would like that.”
Marcus smiled, reaching out to take David’s hand, who squeezed it tightly. It was the moment they’d been hoping for, a bright and shining moment of forgiveness and grace.
The healing had begun.
But they couldn’t dwell on it, at least not at the moment. Christopher was their priority and they returned their focus to the man.
“Andra gave Chris a poppy potion,” David said. “It is possible that the potion is making him sleep like this. I suppose all we can do is wait until it wears off.”
“And if it does not wear off?”
David looked at his brother, pasty and pale on the hay. “I do not know,” he said honestly. “I cannot believe that it will not. I have to believe that he will awaken, Marcus.”
Marcus nodded, feeling despondent, but also feeling lighter of heart and more joy than he had in years. It was a strange combination. He and David were reconciled and as far as he was concerned, that was the greatest Christmas gift he could ever receive. As he settled back to wait out the night, the sounds of voices could be heard. It was faint, and over the rush of the wind, but unmistakable.
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