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 understood. 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.”
Gallus smiled knowingly at the knight who was his distant cousin. “My grandfather, Christopher de Lohr, passed away eleven years ago,” he said. “The man lived a very long and very full life. His was a great loss.”
Stefan’s smile faded. “I do not believe my great-grandfather has gotten over it,” he said. “I can still hear him sitting in his solar at Canterbury, speaking to an empty chair. My mother told me that he was speaking to his brother. He did that for years. He probably does it still.”
Gallus thought on the legendary de Lohrs, as his mother was Christopher de Lohr’s youngest daughter. He was very proud to carry those legendary bloodlines. As his thoughts lingered on his very big and very wise grandfather, a man he had much admired, Maximus finished what was left in his wine cup and set the empty cup on the table.
“As much as I would like to reminisce about our grandfather, I have other plans for this evening,” he said, changing the subject back to the focus at hand. Then, he looked around the table. “Who is going with me to de Lara’s table?”
The knights were already standing up, as was Tiberius, eager to experience something other than the stale food and stuffy atmosphere of The One-Eyed Raven. But Gallus remained seated, looking up at the group on their feet.
“I should remain with my wife,” he said, with some regret. “If she is feeling better, mayhap w
e will come later. Where are you going, anyway?”
Maximus pointed towards the south. “Kennington House,” he said. “Since their hostel burned, de Lara will evidently be staying there.”
Gallus’s eyebrows drew together. “Why were they staying in a hostel in the first place if they have a home outside of the city?”
Maximus snorted. “Lady Courtly told me that they do not stay there because her father’s sister resides there and they cannot stand one another,” he said, his grin breaking through. “This should be an interesting evening, then. Are you sure you do not want to come?”
“Nay.”
“Not even for the entertainment value of de Lara fighting with his sister?”
Gallus grinned. “I will think on it,” he said. “If it is a good fight, make sure to tell me about it.”
Maximus shook his head. “I will not,” he said. “If you cannot summon the will to come, why should I tell you anything? You will be left to wonder.”
Gallus waved him off. “Go, then,” he said, watching his brothers and knights turn for the door that would take them out to the livery. “And if the sister starts throwing pots, I hope you get caught in the crossfire.”
He heard Maximus laugh all the way out the door.
Kennington House
Courtly and Isadora sat in the massive hall, listening to their father and aunt screaming at each other in the kitchen that was across the yard from the hall. The small servant’s door was open, the one that led to the yard, and they could hear every word spoken as the fight raged. From the gist of what was being spoken, it was apparent that Ellice had no intention of providing a meal to her brother’s guests and Kellen was enraged. Since he controlled the de Lara fortune, he threatened to stop his support of Kennington if Ellice didn’t produce a feast of epic proportions. Even with the warning, Ellice was still not inclined to do so.
The girls sat at a large table, one of four large tables in the massive dining hall of Kennington, surrounded by a cold room, dead hearth, and no food. It was dark outside, as night had fallen, so the ladies were essentially sitting in the dark and cold, wondering what was going to happen to the evening’s meal. Guests were expected at any moment and they had nothing to offer.
At least, nothing to offer from Ellice, but Courtly had never been one to sit around and lament a situation. If there was something that could be done, she would find it. She was rather resourceful that way, as the bed-linen rope had proved earlier in the day. She was a thinker, a doer, and this situation simply wasn’t acceptable. Her aunt was being stubborn and belligerent as far as she was concerned, and she was growing nearly as frustrated as her father as she sat there, arm around Isadora, listening to the battle.
Courtly didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of a man she truly wanted to impress, but with her smoke-filled dress, she was already at a disadvantage. No food for a feast would be the last nail in the coffin. The man would run off and tell the world that the House of de Lara was filled with savages. Not that she cared what the world in particular thought, but she was greatly concerned with what Sir Maximus de Shera thought. It was an odd sensation to actually care what a man thought about her. She’d never experienced that before. Therefore, as she listened to her father scream at her aunt, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She would not let Aunt Ellice ruin her chance with Sir Maximus, which was exactly what would happen if she didn’t do something.
“Come along,” she said, standing up from the dark and cold table and taking Isadora by the hand. “We are going to the kitchen to see what we can do about preparing the evening meal.”
Isadora was yanked along as they crossed the floor to the servant’s entrance that led to the kitchen yard. “But what will we do?” Isadora asked, intimidated. “We cannot make Auntie change her mind!”
“I do not intend to make her change her mind. I intend to do her job.”
“What do you mean?”
“We will cook if we have to.”
“But I do not know how to cook!”
Courtly ignored her whining sister. They quit the hall, out into the cool, dark night with the kitchen directly across from them. Already, they could see Kellen and Ellice standing by the door, arguing in the dim light of the yard.
“I will tell you what to do,” Courtly said as she eyed both her father and her aunt. “I learned a great deal about cooking at the kitchens of Prudhoe Castle. Lady d’Umfraville had fostered at a great house in France and she knew a good deal about cooking and food. It is very simple, truly.”
Isadora was still fearful but she didn’t argue. She simply allowed her sister to pull her along, stumbling across the rocky ground at times. By the time they reached Kellen and Ellice, who were standing in front of the kitchen door, the older adults were looking at them with varied degrees of curiosity, although Ellice’s expression was mixed with hostility. At her limit of patience with her stubborn aunt, Courtly addressed the woman.
“Auntie, I mean no disrespect, but Papa invited a very important knight to sup with us this evening and I will not permit you to ruin it,” she said flatly. “I do not know why you seem so willing to treat all of us as if we are your enemy, but it is ridiculous and selfish. If you are going to be nasty and rude, then do it with your own people. I will not permit you to ruin my reputation or Papa’s reputation simply because you do not know what it means to be kind and generous. Now, get out of my way. I am going into the kitchen and see to the evening meal before all is lost.”
Ellice looked at her with a great deal of shock and contempt. It wasn’t the words that shocked her so much, but the look of steely determination coming from her niece. The woman meant what she said.
“You are not entering my kitchen, you little toad,” Ellice snarled. “If you step one foot in there, I will beat you within an inch of your life.”
“You will not,” Kellen said, his voice low and threatening. “If you lay a hand on her, I will forget you are my sister and kill you where you stand. Is that in any way unclear?”
Ellice looked at her brother, her eyes narrowing. “You would not dare touch me.”
“Try it and see.”
Ellice’s jaw worked furiously. It was clear that she was beyond fury but smart enough not to tempt fate. Her brother was bigger and stronger than she was and could quite easily carry out his threat. Now, she was losing ground in the argument and not liking it in the least. She had been holding her own until Courtly had appeared. Now, the volatile situation had taken an ominous turn and she was trying to figure out how to prevent it.
“Well?” Courtly said, breaking into Ellice’s thoughts. “Will you move aside or will I push you aside?”
Ellice’s venom turned back to her niece. “If you touch me, you will regret it.”
Courtly smiled thinly. “If you touch me, you will regret it,” she replied. “Papa has brought his men with him. They are camping in the courtyard and will take up residence in the hall shortly. You do not stand a chance against Papa and his men, so you may as well move aside before Papa has you physically removed from your own home. That would be shameful.”
It was a dig at her aunt’s obstinacy, something that did not go unnoticed by Ellice. She was so furious that her face had grown pale and her lips were drawn into a tight, ugly line. She knew she had no choice in the matter now that her niece was making demands and she furthermore knew that if she made any move to touch or push the woman, she could very well find herself with a broken neck because her brother was very protective of his daughters.
Jaw ticking, grinding her teeth, Ellice had no choice but to surrender. God, she hated that feeling. She took a small step away from the door, just enough so that Courtly and Isadora could slip inside. As the girls disappeared into the darkened structure, Ellice focused her hate on her brother.
“This is not over,” she growled. “This is my home. You cannot come here and make demands, Kellen. You have been trying to control my life since we were small children and our parents l
et you. I came to Kennington to get away from you and your controlling ways. I will not let you give the commands at Kennington now. This is my home.”
Kellen’s expression was impassive. He knew what she was alluding to but he refused to comment on it. To do so would only create worse of an argument.
“It is my home,” he said. “I only let you live here by my good graces. But I am coming to think that is a mistake. You are a nasty, embittered shrew, Ellice. God help you, for I cannot.”
Ellice’s jaw ticked and, for the first time since Kellen’s arrival at Kennington, a measure of emotion flickered in the woman’s eyes. Deep-seated resentment and deep, agonizing emotion. The reflection in her dark eyes was evident, hinting at old pain, long past.
“If I am a shrew, then it is of your making,” she said hoarsely. “You have created what you see. This is not over, Kellen. It is not over in the least.”
With that, she walked away from her brother, something she rarely did when they were arguing, and headed to the exterior stairs that led to the master’s chamber of the manor. Kellen watched her go, surprised she had given up as she had. It wasn’t like the woman to surrender an argument. But he let it go, mostly because he was glad she had acquiesced as she had. He didn’t want to fight with her all night and by her final words, he suspected that was where they were headed before she abruptly turned away. Relieved, he went to check on his daughters.
Kellen stuck his head into the kitchen to see how the girls were getting along and noted that Courtly was on her knees in front of the hearth, trying to light it with a flint and stone. She was trying very hard but the flint was being stubborn and it was dark, making it difficult to see.
“Court?” he asked. “Do you require any assistance?”
Courtly nodded firmly. “Can you please start the fire, Papa?” she asked, handing the man the flint and stone as he ducked into the low-ceilinged room. “When you’ve done that, I will need help. Mayhap you can track down a serving woman or two. Also, Issie and I are in desperate need of soap. We smell like smoke and I cannot greet our guests smelling like a fire pit.”
England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 5