For King and Country (Battle Scars Book 2)

by Charlene Newcomb

  “He and your lord father were in fine spirits. I heard them say we’d have more than St. Michael’s feast to celebrate tonight.”

  The hair prickled on Henry’s neck. He looked towards the house. God help us. You didn’t… Surely his father had not come to agreement with Edric and planned to announce Henry and Elle’s betrothal. “We must wait,” Henry had told Edward throughout the summer. Time and again his father assured him they would do nothing while Elle was in York. “Listen to you laugh,” Edward had said when Henry shared Elle’s letters. Apparently, Henry had been far too exuberant describing her charming stories. To Edward, that was a sign their affection for each other rang out like the bells of Westminster.

  Henry turned at shouts from village boys lugging trestles into the yard. Young children fiddled with streamers of green, white, and blue fluttering from pole torches and tables. Overseeing the meats roasting on the spits, Mary gave the young ones a stern look. She waved her dangerous-looking cooking fork and then laughed, her cheeks jiggling. A song burst from her mouth and Leda Tanner, who was helping with the cooking, joined the chorus.

  Raise the song, loud the harp

  Beat the drum, we gather round

  ’Time to feast ’neath a bright moon

  Raise the song, raise the song

  The yard opposite the fires stood bare, ready for dancers. Leda’s four-year-old twirled round and round. Marian appeared at the manor door. She clapped her hands in time to the song despite Leda and Mary’s awful crowing.

  Henry managed a smile. “Your mother may need help.”

  “To stop their singing?” Robert smirked. “Better that than working with Marcus and the others to set the trestles.”

  Handing him Soleil’s reins, Henry lifted Robert’s chin. “Is that why you have a black eye today?”

  “I’m sorry, master. They mimicked the king in chains. I told them to stop, but their tongues spilled with ugly words about the king and his knights. About my fath—about Sir Robin.”

  Henry felt for the boy. “You said nothing about…?”

  “I’ve been true to my word. Not told a soul about him.” Robert’s voice sizzled with frustration.

  Henry laid his hand atop the boy’s shoulder. “You and I know the truth. Ignore the teasing. They are jealous of your close friendship with Robin.” Henry noticed Robert’s tormenters watching them. Did he himself pay Robert too much attention? He let his hand slide away. “You must watch your temper.”

  Robert nodded sullenly.

  Henry shivered, always uneasy thinking of the consequences should Robert’s parentage be discovered. The Carpenters knew, of course, and Robin’s father had been pleased to learn Robert was his grandson. But if others found out? Robin was too close to Queen Eleanor’s inner circle. Count John’s supporters could threaten his family and force him to spy on the queen.

  “Be patient.” Henry gestured towards Marian who had turned to go into the hall. “See to your mother’s needs. Be strong for her.”

  Movement in the trees made Henry close his hand over the hilt of his sword. Leaves swirled, drifting down from the oaks. Acorns dropped, thunking one limb then another. Thick with bright red berries, the holly bushes rustled.

  Henry exhaled deeply. Staring through the thick underbrush, he watched sun and shadow dapple the leaves. He listened to the greenwood for more than just the touch of the early autumn breeze. But he would go mad thinking every noise might be Count John’s men watching Greyton.

  Still, he could not let down his guard.

  *

  Sitting in the hall, Marian held her handiwork up to the fading afternoon light. She inspected the hem of the tunic and eyed the other garments in the basket by the chair. Caressing the fine linen in her hand she thought of Robin, wishing the clothes she mended belonged to him.

  “Daydreaming again?” Matilda Brewer asked. Her son’s voice drifted in from the kitchen. They’d arrived a short time earlier to deliver barrels of ale for the evening’s festivities.

  Marian had always been fond of the older woman. Matilda knew her heartbreak over Robin’s disappearance. She knew he was Robert’s father.

  “For so many years I would not think of Robin because it hurt too much. Now that I know he is alive, it hurts more. I want him here. Safe, and in my sights.”

  “Then you’d be stitching up the tears in his clothes. Mayhap soon,” Matilda said as if reading her thoughts. “I wish I had news of the handsome knight so you’d not worry so.”

  “I try not to for Robert’s sake. But I fear I may be sewing up bloodied flesh, and God forbid should it be…” Marian’s hands trembled.

  “Soon?” Matilda sat down beside Marian. “What have you heard?”

  Marian held her hands in her lap to steady them. “Talk of war,” she whispered, her heart racing. She had always confided in Matilda, but the nature of their secrets had shifted these last few months. Their meetings were infrequent, but Robin’s old friend Milo had served as a go-between. Matilda had friends far and wide, and the Earl of Huntingdon’s steward regularly visited her for barrels of ale and for information. “The Sheriff and Lord Weston, here, with Master Edward this morn. I only caught a word or two.” She met Matilda’s eyes. “Ringsthorpe, the storehouse, and provisions for Lincoln Castle.”

  Matilda raised her brows, gave a knowing nod. “Say nothing.”

  “But Master Henry—”

  “Nothing. For his sake, as well as for the people of Greyton.” Matilda rose and walked to the window. She stared into the woods behind the house.

  Marian hurried to her side, looking into the deepening shadows. “Are they here?” she asked quietly. “King’s men?”

  Matilda closed the shutters. She looped her arm through Marian’s and swept her back to her chair. “There’d been gossip the Sheriff captured a spy weeks back, bless that poor soul, but that, I do not know. Where there is one king’s man, there may be others. If they are not here now, they will be, and soon.”

  “If I see or hear anything more, I will send word with Milo.”

  Matilda smiled and patted Marian’s hand. “Put away your mending. We are going to a party.”

  By nightfall, a huge bonfire lit the yard. Flames and sparks shot towards the stars. Torches lined the road from the mill at one end of the village to the cottages north of the manor house. Trestles overflowed with roasted goose smothered with savory sage and onions and garlic.

  Edward sat at a raised dais overseeing the celebration. To his left was Father Eustace and Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln; to his right, Henry. “Let us celebrate,” Edward said, “and ask Bishop Hugh to bless this gathering and the food we share tonight.” Heads lowered and the bishop offered a prayer.

  After the “Amen” Edward rapped the table. “Now, good people, raise your mugs and offer a toast to my son and heir, Henry.”

  Henry looked at him, clenched his teeth. Why did he feel the world closing in around him?

  “Tonight we celebrate his betrothal to the Lady Elle Weston. There’s to be a wedding in November.” Edward clapped Henry’s back. A huge roar and applause swept the village as he downed his ale.

  Henry forced a smile, lifted his drink to the villagers. November? God help us…

  The troubadour, a fine player, strummed his tunes a short while later. Edward’s fingers tapped to the rhythm of the music. There were jugglers and acrobats, a man who ate fire. The younger children gaped at his tricks, amazed. Henry took his father’s place when the dancing started. “This will be you and Robin one day,” he told Marian as he twirled her around. Every female from six to sixty demanded a turn. Everyone congratulated him on the news of his upcoming nuptials.

  “It’s a good thing, you and Elle Weston,” Matilda Brewer said when she had a whirl with Henry. “Should you not be happy with her, you come to me.” She winked and kissed his cheek.

  Her son Jack appeared out of nowhere and grabbed them both. “He’s mine, Ma.” He swung Henry away, launching him towards a table on the far si
de of the gathering. They sat and shooed away two young boys dicing. Jack poured Henry some ale. He pointed to a sandy-haired young man who had danced with as many girls as Henry. “Odo’s boy has an eye for the ladies.”

  “He won’t be in any shape to enjoy their company.” Henry laughed. “It was good of Odo to send him in his stead, but I hope Odo doesn’t expect him back in Boston on the morrow. He shall need another day to sleep off your mother’s brew.”

  Jack studied the faces around them, leaned closer to Henry. “Your friend—the ginger-hair—I saw him passing through Grantham two days past. Is it my own eyes telling me I’ve seen more of him of late riding with wagons crammed full of goods?”

  Henry chewed his lower lip, nodded. Even a blind man would have noticed the change. The truce with Count John would end on All Saints Day, a few weeks hence. The number of wagons had doubled, though the guard detail had not. More wagons, fewer guards. Worse, Henry had learned provisions were also being stored at Westorby under Edric Weston’s protection.

  Jack started to sing, his knee bouncing in time to the music. “Raise the song, beat the drum, drum, drum…” He paused, lifting his mug to his lips and taking a swig of brew. “Nice party, my lord. I shall expect even better at your wedding.”

  Jack’s wife, Eve, drew up to the table and saved Henry from saying anything about Elle. She threw her arms round Jack’s neck. “What are you two whispering about? Rents are paid, king’s taxes, they be paid. We’ve a good and plenty harvest to celebrate. I have not yet danced with you, husband, and the night grows late.” Her hand slid into Jack’s and he leapt to his feet.

  Henry felt a pang of jealousy. He’d never be able to wrap his arms around Stephan in a crowded room or dance with him at a celebration. Just the thought made him ache all the more.

  Marian swished past him with a masked man on her arm. He wouldn’t have noticed but for the man’s focused gaze on him. The man whirled Marian round and his eyes—blue and sparkling from the firelight—met Henry’s every time. When the music ended, the man bowed to Marian. He looked at Henry again and then slipped around the side of the barn.

  Stephan?

  Henry thought his heart would burst. He took a step, his feet heavy. He was afraid it had been his imagination.

  Leda Tanner caught his arm. “I’ve not had my dance with you, sir.”

  “Dear lady, I must keep you waiting a while longer. There is something I must see to.” He begged off offers from two more girls while pressing his way through the dancers. Twisting, he avoided knocking over Hugh, his hands laden with a tray of ale.

  Shadows engulfed the barn. The stink of horse sweat wafted into the sultry September air, but leather and musk—Henry knew that smell. He turned the corner and fell into Stephan’s waiting arms.

  “I have dreamed of this moment,” Stephan said, unable to tear his eyes from Henry.

  “The waiting has been dreadful.” Henry nuzzled Stephan’s hair and his close-cropped beard. His thigh parted Stephan’s legs to bring them close.

  Stephan grinned, his hands planted firmly on Henry’s buttocks. “Far too much clothing between us.”

  Henry kissed up his neck. “You always say that.” He brought his mouth down hard on Stephan’s, his thumbs gliding along the stubble on his face. Touching. Yes, his lover was here! “This will not do.” Sighing, he glanced over his shoulder towards the sounds of the celebration. “I’ll need to make a more elegant departure so they’ll not come looking for me. With this revelry, no one will hear a thing coming from my bedchamber.”

  Stephan brushed his cheek. “I shall be waiting.”

  Drunk on passion, Henry staggered back to the gathering. He grabbed William Carpenter’s ale and drank it down, did a spin with the man’s wife. Linota had to hold him up. She whacked his arse playfully. “You’ve enough ale for five men, sir.”

  “I know!” he said gleefully. “I should have another.” He reached for the goblet in her hands.

  Linota swatted his hand away. “I think not. You can celebrate your coming wedding on the morrow.”

  Henry heard his father call out. “Good to see you in such fine spirits.” Edward laughed.

  Linota guided Henry through the dancers, past tables still brimming with food. He grabbed some meat—Stephan might be hungry. He tucked it into the crook of his elbow and spun Linota around one last time. At the door of the manor, he bowed, nearly falling into her arms. “Thank you, dear lady.”

  “Goodnight, Master Henry. Sleep well, ‘cause I fear you shall not feel so good come morning.”

  Henry closed the door and leaned into it. His heart pounded wildly. He took one deep breath and then ran up the stairs to find his lover.

  *

  Music and laughter drifted into Henry’s darkened bedchamber from the courtyard, but it could have been quiet and still. All Stephan heard was Henry’s breathing, felt the warmth on his neck, his chest, his groin. Climax came far too quickly. He didn’t care, for he knew they had the night ahead.

  Before dawn, they coupled and then lay spent, close. Stephan explored the muscles and the scars on Henry’s torso like he was seeing them for the first time, rather than knowing each one intimately. “I do not want to leave.”

  “Then stay.” Henry pushed him flat on his back. His eyes caught on Stephan’s arm and he ran his thumb along a dagger-length cut only recently healed. “What is this?” he asked.

  Stephan closed his eyes and tensed, remembering the slash of the blade across his arm. His eyes flew open to a darkened room, his body stiff, aching.

  “You were wounded.” Henry’s voice brought Stephan back.

  Stephan rubbed the scar, the ghost of stitches prickling his skin. “John’s men caught me spying.”

  Henry drew to his knees and tossed aside the blanket that half-covered them. He touched Stephan’s chest, inspected his muscled thighs and calves.

  “You see? I am fine.” Stephan pushed himself up, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. Sweat clung to his face. He swiped at it, an image of his own blood on his fingers. Henry’s hand brushed his head and he winced, but he shook off the memory of the pommel striking him.

  Dissatisfied with his response, Henry pressed for more information. “Tell me.”

  “I got wind of a gathering in Lincoln.”

  “And near got yourself killed.” Henry moved beside him, jostling the bed. “We heard rumors of a king’s man captured at Lincoln Castle near midsummer’s day, but his escape sounded like a biblical tale or storyteller’s farce. The gossips say walls collapsed round him, the Sheriff and his men were like Daniel in the lion’s pit, and dozens were on their knees beseeching the name of God.” He tipped Stephan’s chin to meet his eyes. “You were there. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  Stephan remembered the day so clearly. “I thought the castle was under attack, but when the room shook beneath my feet and the walls began to crack, I knew the earth was quaking. I pounded on the door. ‘Get us out of here!’ And my God, you’d not believe it. A powerful jolt struck.” Stephan gripped Henry’s hand, and then kissed him. “I feared I might never see you again.”

  “Praise God, you are here.” Henry touched Stephan’s face, eyes blazing with fear and awe. “How did you escape?”

  *

  Henry pressed Stephan to lie back down when he finished his incredible tale. He rested his cheek against Stephan’s chest.

  “If I had lost you…” Henry choked on the words, felt Stephan palm the small of his back, his hold tender yet strong. He inhaled deeply, breathing in Stephan’s musky scent, a smell sweeter than a field of lavender. Never feeling his touch, his arms around him, was unimaginable. He ran his hand over the scar again and met Stephan’s eyes.

  Smiling down at him, Stephan said, “I hear there’s to be a wedding.”

  Henry groaned, but snuggled closer to his lover as if seeking a safe harbor. “Elle arrives with Bea within the week. I’ll insist there can be no wedding until King Richard returns. Can you get word to L
ittle John? Tell him he need not worry. We will resolve this when the king is home.”

  “Little John trusts you, as does Elle. But I will let him know.”

  “What of John and his supporters?” Henry asked, knowing there might be things Stephan could not say. “The truce ends in just over a month.”

  “Count John’s intentions are anyone’s guess. Council has guaranteed his lands, all his holdings, in return for his furnishing silver for the king’s ransom. But John plays both sides. He evaded our coastal watches and slipped back into England to get word to his vassals of his plot with King Philip.”

  “My hands are chained. Let me help.”

  Stephan drew up on his elbow. “Be patient. More than half the ransom has been collected. When Philip learned that, he sent word to John to look out for himself. ‘The devil is loosed!’”

  “The devil—the king? Has he been released?”

  Stephan laughed at Henry’s confusion. “Not yet, but Philip knows it is just a matter of time. Those two have done everything in their power to stop it. They even offered more silver to the Holy Roman Emperor to keep the king in chains for another year!”

  “God’s blood,” Henry exclaimed.

  “Queen Eleanor’s spies and the king’s own negotiations with the emperor foiled their plans. He has held court and has even aligned the emperor’s rebellious barons, promising them his support. Should the French king turn on them—and they know he will—what better allies than the English and their warrior king?”

  Henry listened, stunned. He was certain Stephan wasn’t repeating something he had heard. He’d been witness to it all. Henry dared to ask, “You have seen the king?”

  Stephan pressed a finger to Henry’s lips. He leaned close and brushed his cheek with a kiss. “I’ve shared more than I should.” He rolled away and climbed out of bed before Henry could protest.

  Henry watched him wash and dress. He desperately wanted to ask when they might be together again. But those words didn’t pass either man’s lips.