Now, Kellen would take away her weakness. He would take away Maximus and then things would return to the way they were before the introduction of Maximus de Shera. Kellen would make sure of it.
Maximus has lost track of how many men he had killed, but he knew he was up in the dozens at this point. Infantry was simply no match against a mounted knight. Additionally, he had seen Bose de Moray on the outskirts of the battle, fighting against a group of Fitzgeoffrey men, and Maximus saw quite clearly when Garran intervened and helped his father chase off those he hadn’t killed. It did Maximus’ heart good to see Garran, whole and healthy, and shortly thereafter, he saw Davyss fighting off a group of Fitzalan troops.
Davyss’ distinctive sword, named Lespada, the sword of his ancestors, gleamed in the weak light as the clouds gathered and the rain fell. Davyss was a fearsome fighter and after Maximus dispatched a particularly aggressive Frenchman, he paused a moment to watch Davyss in action. The man was impressive to watch. But his appreciation turned to concern when a Fitzalan man leapt onto the back of Davyss’ horse and grabbed Davyss around the neck.
The knight was at a distinct disadvantage from the way the man had grabbed him and Maximus knew that if he didn’t do something, Davyss would be in real trouble. Removing a razor-sharp dagger from the folds of his armor, Maximus charged through the sea of fighting men, close enough to pull his horse to a halt and launch the dagger straight at the Fitzalan soldier.
The result was instantaneous. At about twenty feet, Maximus had planted the dagger into the neck of the soldier and the man fell back, toppling off the horse and landing heavily on the ground. Davyss, regaining his balance, turned around with shock to see the man on the ground and a very fine knife hilt sticking out of his neck. It was not the knife of a foot soldier. Lifting his eyes, Davyss saw Maximus several feet away.
When their gazes met, Maximus simply lifted a hand to Davyss and turned back around, returning to his corner of the battle, and Davyss knew at that moment that he owed Maximus his life. The Thunder Warrior had used that fine dagger with great skill to save him. More than that, it was a friend saving a friend no matter what side they fought on. It would always be that way. With a faint smile, he resumed his battle.
Back in the midst of his fighting, Maximus was busy with a pair of de Winter soldiers who were trying to pull him off his warhorse. The black and white jennet was very nasty in battle and gave one of the men a serious bite wound. The horse had also managed to head-butt another man to the ground and proceeded to trample him. As Maximus kicked a man in the head and engaged another in a fairly dangerous sword battle, he had no idea that Kellen was coming up behind him. He had no idea that the man had his crossbow trained on him but hadn’t had a clear shot at him because of the mad boil of men between them. When Maximus pitched forward to slug a man in the head who was grabbing for his horse’s reins, Kellen let his arrow fly a little too late and the arrow sailed over Maximus’ head.
Frustrated, Kellen reloaded and moved closer, but Maximus was still unaware. He was too busy fighting more French mercenaries that were now ganging up on him. As he used his feet, fists, and sword to fight them off, the thunder of hooves could be heard and Maximus looked up to see Bose de Moray bearing down on him. The man had a crossbow aimed right at him and as Maximus lifted his sword to fend the man off and hopefully deflect the arrow, Bose let the arrow fly.
Maximus threw himself sideways in the saddle to avoid being struck and the arrow sailed right past him, missing him by a fairly wide berth. It did, however, hit something behind Maximus because he heard the grunt as the arrowhead impacted flesh and bone. Turning briefly to see who had been hit, Maximus was startled to see Kellen laying on the ground behind him, an arrow in his throat. A crossbow was still clutched in his hand even though his life was rapidly slipping away as blood gurgled up out of his mouth. Maximus stared at the man a moment before turning his astonished gaze to de Moray.
Bose was several feet away with his crossbow lowered. He pointed a gloved finger at Kellen. “I watched him as he tried to kill you once,” he told Maximus. “He shot an arrow at you but missed and he was reloading. I was not going to let him have a second shot at you.”
With that, he reined his horse around and thundered off, back into the midst of the fighting. Stunned, Maximus didn’t have time to dwell on Kellen. There was still too much fighting going on around him and he found himself swept up in the wave of battle, the surge of hand to hand combat where it was either kill or be killed. He didn’t intend to be killed. His wife was already going to have to suffer through the death of her father now. Maximus wouldn’t let her suffer through his death as well. Thanks to de Moray, she wouldn’t have to.
The fighting went on into the night.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Oxford
“Do you think they might return today?”
Courtly asked the question. Four days after Maximus, Gallus, and Tiberius had left for Warborough, Courtly and Jeniver were sitting in the common room of The One-Eyed Raven, a platter of bread and cheese and small apples between them, but neither one of them felt much like eating. It was mid-morning and the common room was fairly full of smelly and loud people, all of them eating or drinking or both.
But the ladies weren’t paying much attention to what was going on around them. They were focused on their missing husbands, the battle at Warborough, and a messenger that had arrived from Isenhall late last night. The news he bore had not been good. This morning, their depression on the situation in general ran rampant.
“It is difficult to say when they will return,” Jeniver said, picking at her bread. “It is difficult to say just how long a battle will last. If they were fortunate, they chased Henry off straight away, but if they were not fortunate, then it is probably still going on.”
Courtly sighed faintly. “But it has been four days,” she said softly. “Surely the messenger we sent to Maximus regarding my father has found him. Surely Maximus knows by now.”
Jeniver glanced at her friend, seeing how worried she was. There was much turmoil and strife going on in their world these days. “I am sure he knows,” she assured her. “I am sure Maximus is safe, or at least as safe as he can be in battle. You needn’t worry so much.”
It was a silly thing to say. They were both greatly worried and both trying to pretend that they weren’t. Courtly’s thoughts lingered on Maximus and on her father for a few moments before she happened to catch sight of the Isenhall messenger. The man was eating ravenously, having ridden very hard for five days to reach Oxford to deliver his news. Courtly thoughts shifted from those of her husband to the information the messenger bore, something that had compounded their strain and anxiety ten-fold. It was news they had been expecting yet dreading it just the same.
“What was Lady Honey like?” she asked Jeniver. “I am sorry I will never have the opportunity to meet her. I had hoped to.”
Jeniver’s eyes filled with tears at the thought of Lady Honey’s passing. But her tears weren’t for Honey. The woman had suffered from her cancer terribly in her later days and death had finally put an end to that pain. Jeniver’s tears were for her husband and for Maximus and Tiberius, men who were very attached to their mother. She knew how hard this would be on them. She sniffled, wiping at her eyes.
“She was a small woman who ruled the House of de Shera with an iron fist,” she said quietly. “She was very kind, very loving, and quite intelligent. She is everything you would think the mother of the Lords of Thunder would be. Her death is going to be a tremendous blow to them.”
Courtly already knew that. She noticed that Jeniver was still fighting off tears and she reached out, patting the woman on the hand.
“I am very sorry for all of you who knew her,” she said. “My heart breaks for Maximus. He has spoken quite fondly of his mother.”
Jeniver nodded her head, grasping Courtly’s hand and holding tightly to it. “He will need your comfort,” she whispered. “They will all need our comfo
rt. We have no right to grieve at all. We must be strong for them.”
Courtly nodded. “I intend to be,” she assured her. “Certainly, they will want to return home right away, to attend their mother’s burial. Who was left behind at Isenhall who can make such decisions?”
Jeniver shrugged. “When we left, there were only soldiers, a majordomo, and a physic to tend Honey,” she said. “We also left Gallus’ young daughters behind with their nurses, but the children cannot make such decisions. I would imagine the majordomo has taken charge.”
Courtly’s thoughts lingered on Isenhall, the castle where she would live but had not yet seen. Based on Maximus’ description, she imagined it to be quite a mighty fortress.
“I did not know that Gallus already had children,” she said, eyeing Jeniver curiously. “You never mentioned it.”
Jeniver thought of fair-haired Violet and lovely, little Lily. “Haven’t I?” she asked, thinking. “I suppose it just never came up.”
“They are not your children, too?”
Jeniver shook her head. “I am Gallus’ second wife,” she said. “Gallus’ first wife died in a fall two years ago. Gallus has two daughters.”
Courtly’s heart began to ache for Gallus, now for a bigger reason. “Then he has already suffered great loss of a woman in his life,” she said. “I am very sorry for him. He has much to bear.”
Jeniver nodded, trying not to tear-up again as she thought of her husband and the death he had suffered through. “He is a strong man,” she said. “He has had to be.”
Courtly didn’t have much to say to that so she simply squeezed Jeniver’s hand again, holding it to comfort her. As she pondered the suggestion of playing more card games simply to distract themselves, she noticed a figure on the walkway overhead as Ellice emerged from her sleeping chamber.
Since Ellice’s arrival four days before, she’d not left her niece’s side. She had been strangely comforting to Courtly as she began to experience a new relationship with her aunt, one that she could have never imagined. Ellice had been considerate, thoughtful, and wise, certainly not the bitter spinster Courtly had known all of these years. It was rather strange but also rather wonderful.
Courtly poured Jeniver a measure of boiled fruit juice and then poured some for herself as Ellice came to the table. The older woman eyed Isenhall’s messenger as she sat.
“Good morn to you, ladies,” Ellice said, hungrily reaching for the bread. “I see the messenger is still here. I had hoped, for your sake, that his arrival yesterday was all a bad dream.”
Courtly moved to pour her aunt some juice but Ellice waved her off in favor of watered ale. “Unfortunately, it was not,” Courtly said. “It is all very real.”
Ellice took a big bite of bread. “Has the man you sent on to Warborough returned yet?”
Courtly shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “I fear we are in for another day of waiting and wondering.”
As they sat at the table, resigning themselves to another day of anxiety, there seemed to be a great commotion in front of the inn. They could hear horses, people shouting, and a few startled patrons bolted in through the front door as if the devil himself were chasing them. It was evident that something great was happening out on the street.
The three-man de Shera escort, sitting at the table next to the ladies, stood up, eyeing the door with some concern. The man in charge of the escort turned to Jeniver.
“My lady,” he said. “Mayhap you should retire to your room for the time being. It sounds as if there may be some trouble about.”
Jeniver didn’t argue with the man. She’d been through this drill before. Sometimes loud and obnoxious men came to the tavern and it was safer if the women weren’t in the common room. Therefore, Jeniver stood up and Courtly stood with her, both women making their way to the stairs that led to the upper levels. Ellice, hardly caring if rough men were about to enter the tavern, simply picked up her food and moved to another part of the tavern, back in a corner that was hidden from view. As Jeniver and Courtly reached the bottom of the steps, the door to the inn flew open and a shout from across the room stopped them.
“Courtly!”
Maximus stood in the doorway. When Courtly realized her husband had returned, she nearly fell off the bottom step in her haste to reach the man. She cried out with surprise, with relief, as she ran across the room, being thwarted by tables and chairs and people in her attempt to reach him. Maximus, too, was dodging obstacles, but he met his wife somewhere in the middle of the room and threw his arms around her, lifting her into his massive, warm, and safe embrace.
Courtly wept as she clung to Maximus, her arms wound around his neck so tightly that she was very nearly strangling him. They stood there in the center of the room, holding one another, as Gallus rushed past them, sweeping his emotional wife into his arms as he greeted her. Tiberius entered the room as well, without a scratch, followed by Scott, Troy, and Stefan. Troy was sporting a rather large bandage on his neck but out of all the de Shera knights, he seemed to be the only one who was injured. More men piled into the room, exhausted de Shera soldiers, and began shouting for food and wine. They had returned from battle, safely, and it was time to celebrate the fact.
It was loud and chaotic as Courtly and Maximus held one another, re-affirming bonds, each assuring the other that their beloved was safe. Courtly finally pulled her head from the crook of Maximus’ neck, beaming at him through her tears of joy.
“You are safe,” she breathed.
He nodded, kissing her deeply. “I am,” he confirmed, his lips on hers. “I am well.”
Courtly ran a hand over his bearded face, partially covered by the mail hood he wore. “Did the messenger reach you?” she asked, breathless. “Did he tell you about my father?”
My father. Maximus’ joy diminished somewhat as he set Courtly carefully to her feet, his hands moving to her arms, clutching at her. As he gazed into her happy but concerned face, he struggled to bring forth the words that would tell her all that had happened. There was a great deal to tell and he hardly knew where to begin.
“He did,” he finally replied. “The messenger did not find me until after the battle, however, when it was all over.”
Courtly sighed heavily, with great relief. “God be praised,” she murmured. “Aunt Ellice thought that my father was going to try to kill you because he found out that I had fled the escort assigned to take me to Trelystan.”
Maximus gazed seriously at her. “How did he discover this?”
“A soldier assigned to the escort returned to tell him that I escaped,” she replied. “He also told my father about the de Shera men who had intercepted the escort and tried to take me away. My father could only assume that I had escaped to run off to you and Auntie thought that he planned to kill you because of it.”
It was essentially what the messenger had told him. Maximus peeled back his mail hood, revealing wet, sweaty hair beneath. He seemed so weary, so very weary, as he grasped Courtly gently and began to pull her towards the stairs. He wanted to take her to their chamber to inform her of her father’s death. He didn’t want to tell her here for all to see where her grief would be public. But as he pulled her towards the stairs, he happened to see a man he recognized sitting at one of the tables. The man was a soldier he had left behind at Isenhall. He knew the man very well. He came to a startled halt.
“Why is Chambers here?” he asked, pointing at the man. He looked at his wife, his brow knitted with both curiosity and foreboding. “When did he come?”
Courtly looked at the Isenhall messenger, who had spied Maximus long before Maximus spied him. The man stood up, moving towards Maximus and speaking before Courtly could answer.
“My lord,” the messenger said, appearing rather strained. “The majordomo sent me. He wants me to tell you that your mother, the Lady Honey de Shera, has passed away. He begs you and your brothers to come home immediately.”
Maximus stared at the man, unable to react to the shocking
news. Gallus, standing with Jeniver several feet away, had also heard him, as had Tiberius, who was on the stairs, heading up to a bedchamber because he was so exhausted. But the messenger’s trembling words had all three brothers frozen in time and space, unmoving as they processed what they had been told.
In fact, it seemed as if the entire room had come to a halt, the messenger’s terrible words hanging in the air as the Lords of Thunder were informed that their beloved mother had finally passed away. Months of illness and weeks of anxiety and worry had now come to a close whether or not they were willing to accept it. It was final, as only death could be. As the brothers continued to stand, paralyzed with shock, Gallus was the first one to move. The look of grief on his features was indescribable as he made his way, haltingly, to the messenger.
“When?” he asked hoarsely.
The messenger, too, was wrought with sorrow because everyone at Isenhall knew what Honey meant to her sons. The woman had been so ill for so long but had lasted longer than she probably should have.
“Seven days ago, my lord,” he replied. “It has taken me five days to reach Oxford. I only arrived yesterday. I came as soon as I could.”
Gallus stared at the man, digesting his words. “Was…?” he began, choked, and started again. “Was her passing peaceful?”
The messenger nodded. “She died in her sleep, my lord,” he replied. “She had awoken, briefly, the night before to ask that your daughters be placed in bed with her. Then she went back to sleep and never awoke. She was not alone, my lord. Lady Violet and Lady Lily were with her. She was comforted with her grandchildren.”
Gallus’ eyes filled with a flood of tears. He sat, heavily, in the nearest chair and Jeniver rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his head and neck, holding him to her breast as he wept. Maximus was still rooted to the spot, his gaze on the messenger as if unable to move or speak at all. Courtly was gravely concerned for him but she was distracted when Tiberius, as the news hit him, sat down on the steps leading up to the second floor and openly wept. The Lords of Thunder were crumbling before her very eyes.
England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 28