Geoffrey came to her at a slower pace and waited ’til she rose from her task. Taking hold of her from behind, his arms encircled her waist, bringing her against the warmth of him. She felt his breath against her neck and for one moment she enjoyed the bliss of being in his arms.
“Do not be cross with me, Kenna,” he whispered huskily in her ear. “We are still getting to know one another and I like it not when you are angry with me.”
She turned in his arms and took in the boyish look in his face. She reached up and brushed back a lock of his black hair that had fallen across his brow. He smiled at her and she felt her heart melting at such a look. Quirking her brow, his smile only broadened as his green eyes sparkled with mischief. How can I stay mad with him when he looks at me so, she mused?
“You must have driven your parents mad by wrapping them around your finger if you gave them such a glance as you have just given me,” she managed to muster. “Has no one ever told you, nay?”
His deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I suppose someone may have said it a time or two.” He leaned down to kiss her and only managed a short chaste kiss that was apparently none to his liking.
“Not now, Geoffrey. We must away to intercept Lord Dristan,” she said hastily, as she swatted his hand and began again to pack up their gear. “He will walk into a trap otherwise. Sir Hugh knows about the tunnel.”
Geoffrey roughly took hold of her arm and studied her features. They were full of concern that could not be doubted. “Sir Hugh? And what damn tunnel?” he growled.
“The escape route from the floor housing Berwyck’s family,” she replied just as harshly. “We are wasting precious time Geoffrey.”
“You still say ’tis under siege?” he questioned.
“Aye, but if you still do not believe me, then see it for yourself. Just exercise caution so we may yet live to see another day.”
Their horses saddled, they made their way from their haven and began their trek towards Berwyck. They had not traveled far afore Geoffrey halted their progress and tied their horses to a tree. They crept through the forest and crouched down low behind some bushes to remain unseen.
A twig snapped and Geoffrey quickly turned back towards Kenna, motioning her to remain silent. She gave him a look that wordlessly said she was trying. But a knight, hearing the sound, halted his progress to peer into the darkened forest surrounding him. Kenna took Geoffrey’s hand as she held her breath whilst terror overtook her. The soldier continued his vigilant inspection at no particular point of reference. He took several steps in their direction ’til his name was called. Unsatisfied, the warrior took one final look about him afore he reluctantly moved on. Kenna’s breath left her as she sagged against Geoffrey and trembled. He gave her hand a comforting squeeze.
In disbelief, they watched the tail end of what, she assumed, was a long procession heading directly towards Berwyck. There was no other destination, other than the castle, leading along this path. She watched as Geoffrey’s head shook in disbelief, still trying to deny that which he saw. A look passed between them almost as if he said aloud that he never should have doubted her words.
Motioning for Kenna to return to her horse, Geoffrey turned and crawled back to the tree where their mounts were tied. Once certain that no others followed, they mounted then kicked their horses into a full gallop, making their way south towards London. As the miles passed, Kenna tried to get Geoffrey to slow his pace, but he ignored her. Blood began trickling down his leg and Kenna could only pray Lord Dristan was already on his way home. With his coming, she hoped her liege had acquired a few more men than those with which he had left. He was going to need them.
Thirty-six
Candles lit the large room in the west wing of the White Tower, filling it with a smoky haze that floated to the ceiling high above the heads of those gathered there. The richness of the room was evident everywhere one cared to look, and ’twas obvious King Henry II was in residence at the Tower of London. Wine flowed freely, and servants ran to fill empty chalices upon demand. There was no lack of food to fill their hungry stomachs, and ’twas all at the expense of the monarch. What was there not to love about being at court?
Overcrowded as they waited for an audience with the king, men and women mingled amongst themselves whilst a few musicians played for their amusement and pleasure. For the women, they could care less that the lute players performed most wondrously. They were too busy whispering in hushed tones the latest gossip holding their interest at court. In turn, the men conspired greedily with one another to form alliances in their quests to acquire more land and power. If their conversations waivered from this subject, ’twas to speak of their mistresses or on the recent turn of events in the latest war against the Welsh.
’Twas in this very room that Dristan and Ian kept close vigil of the intrigues playing out around them and running rampant like a plague to those not careful to evade its clutches. As Dristan gazed about the room, a small grin formed on his face. ’Twas not so long ago that he himself would have been amongst those enjoying the pleasures of court and what the ladies here freely offered for a night in his bed. Glancing about the chamber, he noticed one lady in particular whose favor he had tasted of. She waved at him, but Dristan did not so much as acknowledge that he saw her.
Much had changed at court, or mayhap, ’twas he who had changed now that he had a lovely wife waiting for him at home. If it had not been for the summons he had received from King Henry, Dristan would still have been happily enjoying wedded bliss with Amiria by his side. Now, looking around, he could only despise those at court and the games they played. The sooner his audience was over with the king, the sooner he could return back to his estate and Amiria. ’Twas only the thought of his wife and what he was missing without her nearness that surely kept his sanity in check. He had not thought that he would miss her so.
Two women passed by Dristan and Ian and, from their flirtatious stares, ’twas evident the two men would have been welcomed into their beds this night. Their giggles reached them when they stopped a short distance away. Snapping open their fans, their eyes raked over Dristan’s body. His bored stance from their obvious antics did not deter their eagerness in attempting to capture his attention. One even dared much when she asked her companion loud enough to be heard if she thought Dristan of Blackmore was well endowed since the rest of him was so impressive.
“Merde! I am not sure how much more of this I can take,” Dristan complained, wearily as he scanned the room again, ignoring the women’s pouts. “How could I forget how annoying court life can be?”
“’Tis no small wonder I stay in the north. This is no place for me, my lord, no matter the offerings that are freely presented,” Ian murmured as his eyes raked the two nearby women. He presented them a slight smile and was encouraged when they both returned it. “Mayhap a small dalliance with one of those fair ladies would appease my desire for a willing woman and ease my memories.”
“Be careful, my friend, lest you take what belongs to another,” Dristan warned. “One damsel, although quite beautiful, belongs to the Earl of Brindle. He is a close friend of the king, or so I have heard, and one not to anger. I understand him to be very possessive of his wife. ’Tis common knowledge a man or two has met their demise at the end of his blade for just the offense of a mere glance towards his lady.”
“They both may still be worth the risk,” Ian replied, ignoring Dristan’s cautious words of advice.
“’Tis your head,” Dristan returned and watched in amusement as Ian’s face changed with the thought of his head being lopped off. “I thought you might change your mind,” he continued with a chuckle.
“You might as well have tossed me in the Thames, my lord. I can almost feel the cold chill of an axe against my neck.”
Dristan laughed and clapped his hand upon Ian’s shoulder. “Do not despair, Ian. I am sure you will find your needs well met soon enough.”
Ian grumbled something unintelligible and motioned for h
is chalice to be refilled. A servant obliged him and he began to drink his fill of the heady wine.
Conversations that were but a moment ago filling the room were quickly silenced as an antechamber door was opened to reveal King Henry and King William of Scotland entering the room. The women sank into a deep courtesy whilst the men bowed afore their king. The two men both bore solemn expressions whilst they made their way to a raised dais where chairs had been set aside for them to take their ease.
King Henry motioned for all to rise and the conversations resumed at a quieter level. He whispered to his man, who then straightened to scan the room.
“Dristan of Blackmore,” the man called, the sound carrying throughout the room.
Dristan made his way through the crowd with Ian following behind. He bowed low, giving homage to his king afore rising.
“Ah, Dristan,” King Henry said with his soft French accent. He leaned over to King William. “Dristan has been a most valuable knight to my cause in vanquishing those who rise up against me,” he praised, watching King William’s reaction to his words, who only nodded and kept his own counsel. Returning his attention back to Dristan, the king continued. “Allow me to introduce you to King William of Scotland who is my . . . guest.”
“Your Majesties,” Dristan said, bowing. “May I present Sir Ian, recent guardsman at Berwyck Castle?” He gave Ian a slight nudge, spurring his companion to bow.
“Aye . . . aye,” Henry replied off handedly. He rose since he had a restless spirit and did not care to sit lest he was eating. “Come gentlemen and walk with me.”
Dristan and Ian followed the king, who made his way from the room whilst all bowed when he left. They did not go far, and yet they found themselves surprisingly in a relatively large chapel inside the White Tower.
The king turned and clasped his hands behind his back, rocking to and fro upon his heals. “So tell me good sir . . . what brings you this far from Berwyck? I would have thought you to be enjoying wedded bliss by now Dristan with the fair Lady Amiria. Tell me I shall not be disappointed in you and the directives I gave you?”
“Nay, sire. All is well and we but wed recently.”
“She is a fine match for you. Have you tamed that wild side to her nature then?”
Dristan looked stunned that he would think such a thing. “Nay, Your Grace. I find her most pleasing just the way she is.”
Henry smiled as he stroked his chin. “Ah then ’tis now a love match. Good! I knew you would be the best Lord for Berwyck. Such good news. So what, pray tell, would take you from your lovely wife’s side and bring you to court amongst all those vipers that bow, paying me homage, and yet still conspire against me behind my back? Speaking of vipers, I hope you have Sir Hugh in line?”
Dristan and Ian looked at each other surprised at the king’s words. “My liege, I came at your bequest.”
“I have not ordered you to come afore me.”
“My pardon, Your Majesty,” Dristan said, reaching inside his cloak, “but I received your missive stating ’twas most urgent I travel to London.”
Henry reached for the parchment, turning it over. “I did not send this to you Dristan. The seal is a close resemblance to be sure, but this is neither my writing nor my scribe’s.” The king handed the parchment back and Dristan took it, frowning.
“I am a bit bemused then, Sire.”
“Aye, well, I may not have sent this, but I did receive a message from your man Sir Hugh, stating how you were raiding the villages in your hamlets. I have been most suspicious of Sir Hugh’s motives of late,” Henry said with a wave of his hand. “I knew his words to be false and assumed you would handle such matters as you saw fit, since you have never failed me afore. Killing your own serfs is not in your nature, despite your fierce reputation otherwise.”
“I am honored at your confidence in me, my liege,” Dristan said humbly. “I fear that Hugh may be up to more mischief than I realized, since he went missing err I left Berwyck. With your permission, I shall leave at once to ensure all is secure in your name.”
“But of course. I will send extra men with you just in case you are in need of them,” the king replied. They began striding their way back to those milling around for his attention. He spoke briefly with his aid, who scurried away to relay the king’s message to his soldiers.
Henry came to the raised dais and took his dress sword from his belt. “Afore you go, Dristan, I must bestow something upon you, if you would but humor me.”
“I am ever at your service, my liege.”
“Such loyalty over the years should not go unrewarded. Take a knee my valiant and trustworthy knight, and forevermore shall you be titled Lord Dristan Blackmore, first Earl of Berwyck.”
Dristan knelt afore his king and bowed his head as Henry tapped both shoulders with his sword. Stunned, he was told to rise, and he did so whilst attempting to mask his shock of what had just occurred. Mon dieu, he thought. I’ve just been branded an Earl.
“Now, my friend, get thee back to Berwyck and especially Sir Hugh,” Henry ordered as he clapped Dristan on his shoulder. “I have confidence you will put all back to order, Lord Dristan.”
“By your leave, Your Majesty,” Dristan replied, bowing once again as Henry waved him on.
Dristan and Ian hastened to depart from the White Tower and more importantly the confines of court life in London. Looking around, he realized King Henry would be giving him an army of at least one hundred men to command. Time was of the essence. He made his way to Thor and vaulted into the saddle. Raising his arm, he signaled the knights to proceed. Slapping his reins, he put his horse into a full gallop.
Dristan felt a desperate urgency Amiria was in need of him and felt compelled to ensure for himself she was safe. May God help any who thought to take that which was his and that most certainly included his wife.
Thirty-seven
Amiria paced her confined chamber like a caged lioness. That Riorden would dare restrict her to her quarters infuriated her beyond words. Her nerves stretched to the point of breaking in twain, her anger seethed that he would dare cast her out like some witless female, ill adept in the protection of her clan. She was more than capable of defending her home. Had she not proven her worth once afore, she debated to herself?
“Ugh . . . I can stand no more,” she fumed. “Lynet! Help me with this armor afore I lose what little I have left of my sanity.”
“He willna like it,” Lynet predicted.
“Aye! You have said as much afore yet only about my husband,” Amiria chided. “I cared not then, nor do I care now about the orders of stubborn men. Our clan needs me.”
“But, Amiria,” Patrick interrupted, “how can this be? You are but a woman.”
Amiria whirled to face her young brother and came to his side. “Aye, Patrick, I am only a woman, but I am a determined one at that.”
She heard him muttering to himself and took a moment to give Patrick a small hug of reassurance. Turning, she gave her attention back to the deed at hand. Despite its weight, Lynet proved most proficient at hefting the heavy metal onto her body.
“Have you forgotten the guard?” Lynet inquired with a lift of her delicate brow.
“Do not fret. The guard, I can handle.”
“Then mayhap I will go to Kenna’s dwelling. I am sure our people are in need of a healer.”
“You must change your dress, Lynet. There is hose and tunic with a plaid in my chest that will be more serviceable to your mission,” Amiria ordered and continued on at the shocked look upon her sister’s face. “Just don it and quickly.” Satisfied, she watched her sibling make fast work of changing her clothes.
“What of me?” Patrick gasped. “I want to help too.”
Amiria came and knelt down to her brother and brushed her hand down his soft black hair in a light caress. She gave him a smile. “Nay, Patrick, not today, but soon will you train with our Lord Dristan and become a mighty warrior, just as he is.”
“Do not leave me here,
Amiria, by myself,” he whined.
“’Tis the first place they will look if the curtain wall is breached. With our freedom, I want you to run to the garderobe and bolt the door. Do not come out lest you hear my voice. Do you understand me, Patrick?”
“But it stinks in there, Amiria.” He grimaced. She could not blame him his thoughts of being locked up in such a small place with the stench for possibly hours on end.
“Which is why they willna look there,” she said gently and took the boy by the shoulders. “I need to know you are safe, little one. Will you obey me?”
Patrick gave a slight nod of acceptance, and Amiria placed a kiss upon his forehead. Her brother glowered at such a sign of affection, causing Amiria and Lynet to give a brief laugh, given their circumstances.
“Let me find you something more befitting a serf than a young squire,” she said and went to the trunk to find a soft vest and shirt she had worn in her youth. She ruffled his hair and smudged some dirt upon his upturned face. She smiled in satisfaction at her sibling’s transformation then turned to flee the room.
Amiria slid the bolt and opened the door. She was startled that none stood vigil at the door.
“I canna believe it. Where is the guard?” exclaimed Lynet.
Patrick whistled his own sense of amazement. “He is going to be in so much trouble once Riorden hears of this.
Amiria partially shut the door. “I am sure he must have been called away, but it matters not where he went; only that he is gone.” She turned to look upon her siblings as if to memorize their faces. “Be safe and remember I love you,” she said with a small catch in her voice. Life was short and she would not want them to ever think she did not care for them in the event she fell like Aiden.
Lynet gave her hand a brief squeeze afore scampering towards the tower stairs to make her decent. Amiria took a deep breath when she caught her last glimpse of Patrick as he, too, rounded the corner leading towards the garderobe. May the Blessed Virgin Mary watch over them, she prayed.
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