Crying and begging would not change things. It would not stop the man from doing his sworn duty for king and country. She’d known that all along but she still had to make a stab at it. Realizing nothing could change his mind, she nodded unsteadily.
“You are correct,” she wiped at her eyes. “I am sorry to show such weakness. I am sorry if I brought you shame.”
He frowned at her. “You did nothing of the sort,” he scolded gently. “I would be joining you in your tears except that it is unseemly for a man of my station to weep like a woman. But I assure you it is only by the grace of God that I am able to remain strong. I need you to be strong for me, sweetheart. I am depending on it.”
Chloë struggled to get a grip on her composure, forcing herself to focus. He needed her strength and she would give it to him. She had cried enough; now was the time to show Keir what she was truly made of.
“I will not disappoint you,” she said, wiping at her eyes one last time and squaring her shoulders. “Can you tell me when you estimate you will reach Chester? It will bring me comfort knowing where you are, and when.”
He nodded, rising from the bed and reaching out his hands to her. She placed her small, warm hands in his big palms and he carefully pulled her out of bed.
“We should reach Chester in three days if the weather remains good,” he told her as she went to the wardrobe to search for a clean shift. “Once we arrive, I have three weeks before I must leave for Wales.”
She turned to him, her face alive with hope. “Three weeks?” she repeated. “Could… could I come with you to Chester? I promise I will not be any trouble.”
He smiled at her. “I wish you could, truly. But I will be in a war encampment surrounded by thousands of men. It would not be safe or comfortable for you. I hope you understand my reasons when I tell you that you cannot come.”
Disappointed, Chloë let the subject drop and turned back to the wardrobe. “The missive from the king said something about Harlech,” she said as she pulled out a soft yellow shift. “Is that where you are going?”
He nodded. “My orders are to ride for Harlech Castle by the first of October,” he watched her pull out her shoes. “Moving a few thousand men and dozens of wagons, that should take about a week. We will be traveling through the heart of Wales, which will make the trip itself dangerous. I do not know how big the rebellion is but if they have already taken five castles, then it must be enormous.”
Surprisingly, she wasn’t harried by his chatter of big rebellions and dangerous travel. She listened carefully, absorbing the information.
“Who is this Welsh prince wreaking such havoc?” she asked. “Do you know of him?”
He shook his head. “Nay. There are dozens of Welshmen that proclaim to be the next Prince of Wales, but this man seems to have rallied a good many Welsh to his cause. I am curious to know more about him.”
She was thoughtful as she pulled out a lovely golden surcoat. “How long were you fighting in Wales the first time you went?”
He didn’t want to tell her the truth but he knew he could not lie to the woman. “Nearly two years,” he replied honestly. “But take heart that I survived all that time against Welsh archers and rebels who were lurking at every turn. It is my intention to survive this time also.”
She turned to look at him, her pale face regaining some color. “I know,” she smiled weakly. “I will be watching the road every day for your return. Will you write to me?”
He nodded. “Of course I will, as often as I can,” he went to her, standing before the woman and inspecting her ethereal beauty in the weak light of the room. “I do not want you to become distressed if I do not send missives regularly or if there are large gaps of time in between communications. Such is the nature of war. You will have to have faith at all times that I am alive and well, and yearning every day to return to you. Understood?”
“Understood.”
He reached out, cupping her face in his hands and staring hard into her big brown eyes. He could have stared at her forever.
“There is such longing already in my heart for you that I cannot begin to describe it,” he confided. “I will miss you with every breath I take. But I swear to you, with God as my witness, that I will do everything in my power to return to you, Chloë. You must have faith in that. You must have faith in us.”
Chloë struggled not to tear up as she gazed at him. “I do,” she whispered. “I love you, Keir.”
He smiled tenderly. “And I love you,” he murmured. “It is that love that keeps me strong.”
He touched his forehead to hers, closing his eyes at the feel and warmth of the woman. He loved her so much that he could hardly express it. With a lingering kiss to her soft mouth, he let her go.
“Get dressed and come down to the bailey to see me off,” he told her softly.
Chloë nodded, the lump in her throat preventing her from speaking. Keir winked at her as he quit the room and she hurried to dress as he had asked. All the while, she kept her focus on their conversation, on his promise to return to her. She had to focus on it, to live on it, otherwise she would surely crumble.
Keir had told her to get dressed and to meet him in the bailey, and that was exactly what she would do. Then she would bid farewell to the only man she had ever loved.
She wondered if it was possible to die from a broken heart.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ingilby read the missive with increasing agitation. In the great hall of Ripley Castle, those around him watched and waiting, seeing his reaction and expecting the explosion to follow. The soldier who had delivered the missive went so far as to take a few steps back and away from the man. He didn’t like the color of his face.
But Ingilby didn’t explode. His cheeks turned red and he actually might have frothed at the mouth, but he didn’t explode. He read the missive in his hand, twice, before setting it deliberately to the feasting table and rising to his feet. He sighed heavily as he moved away from the table, pacing, his mind whirling with thought and prospect. Dogs scattered out of his way as he moved around the room, kicking aside a dog that didn’t move fast enough.
“So he has pledged her,” he muttered, wringing at his hands. “Anton de Geld has pledged my goddess to St. Héver, in fact. No wonder the man threatened me. Now it all makes sense.”
There wasn’t anyone to answer him other than the soldier who had delivered the missive. He had taken the vellum from a rider bearing Coverdale’s colors and watched with curiosity as the man handed over the stamped and rolled missive, and then tore off in the direction he had come from as fast as he could. The Ingilby soldier promptly delivered the missive to his liege.
“The messenger from Coverdale did not say anything, m’lord, other than the missive was meant for you,” the soldier replied. “He rode off before I could question him.”
Ingilby cocked an eyebrow at the man. “Of course he did,” he spat. “He is a coward. Coverdale is a coward. They are all cowards!”
He was roaring by the time he finished and everyone in the hall tensed. As Ingilby postured angrily, Alphonse entered the hall, moving quickly towards Ingilby. His mail made a loud jingling noise as he moved, his fine Valencia leather boots thumping across the floor. By the time he came to a halt, he was breathing heavily.
“My lord,” he said in his heavy Spanish accent. “Forgive me for being late. I was….”
Ingilby waved him off irritably, pointing with great accusation to the missive lying on the table.
“We have our answer, Alphonse,” he said angrily. “Do you know why St. Héver threatened me? Well, do you?”
Alphonse shook his head, wondering if he should know the answer and rather concerned that he did not. “Nay, my lord.”
“Because he is to marry Lady Chloë!” Ingilby roared at him. “He is her betrothed. No wonder the man has threatened me!”
Alphonse wasn’t sure what he was talking about so he went to the table and collected the vellum that Ingilby was indicating.
The man was jabbing both hands at it. Alphonse looked the carefully scribed missive over but had to have Ingilby’s majordomo read it to him. He could only read Spanish. When he heard the contents, spilled by the old majordomo in a shaking voice, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“My lord,” he turned to Ingilby with an elated expression. “This is a perfect happenstance, do you not see?”
Ingilby snarled at him. “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “This is not perfect. This is terrible!”
Alphonse was seeing a glimmer of hope in the situation where Ingilby was not. He shook his head emphatically.
“Nay, my lord,” he said insistently. “Do you remember why you sent me to Hellbeck to secure St. Héver’s son in the first place? Do you remember what you told me?”
Ingilby wasn’t in any mood for riddles. He ground his teeth with frustration. “Of course, I do,” he snapped. “I wanted to have the boy so I can use him against St. Héver and Coverdale the next time I….”
His sentence abruptly halted and his face suddenly lit up as if a great and overwhelming thought had just occurred to him. Looking to Alphonse who also had an expression of joy on his face, Ingilby’s rage suddenly turned to delight.
“The boy,” he breathed. “The boy… if I have his boy, St. Héver would do anything to regain him, would he not?”
Alphonse nodded confidently. “Indeed, my lord.”
Ingilby was growing increasingly thrilled. “Perhaps even exchange his new bride for the boy?”
“Any father would, my lord.”
Ingilby crowed. He clapped his hands and began trotting around the room, throwing his hands up in the air in a thrilled gesture of joy. When the dogs didn’t move fast enough out of his path, he kicked them happily and when the servants didn’t move fast enough, he kicked them also. In the great smelly, smoky hall of Ripley Castle with its stale rushes, stale people, and thread-worn banners hanging from the ill-kept gallery, John Ingilby displayed his joy. As he skipped past the majordomo, he suddenly came to a halt and grabbed the man by the neck.
“Send word to St. Héver at Aysgarth,” he said. “Tell the man that I have the son he has been looking for. He may have the boy in exchange for Chloë de Geld. Those are the terms. If he refuses, I will kill the boy and dump the body at the gates of Aysgarth.”
The majordomo fled. Ingilby felt hopeful, more hopeful than he had felt in a very long time. He turned to Alphonse.
“Where is the boy?” he asked.
“In the vault, my lord,” Alphonse replied. “He seems to want to escape so I chained him up.”
Ingilby thought on that a moment. “Bring him to me. I would see this child.”
Alphonse moved to carry out the man’s order. He wasn’t concerned that Ingilby would discover that the boy in the vault was not St. Héver’s son for one obvious reason – Ingilby had never seen St. Héver’s son. The child would deny he was the knight’s offspring, but that was to be expected. Once the child was exchanged for the beautiful woman that Ingilby called the goddess, Ingilby would marry Lady Chloë immediately and there would be nothing St. Héver could do about it when he discovered he’d been tricked. In fact, Alphonse would ensure that the boy was not turned over to the knight until Lady Chloë was Lady Ingilby and not a moment sooner.
Confident, somewhat relieved, Alphonse descended to the vault of Ripley Castle in search of the little blond boy with the big brown eyes.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cassandra and Chloë had always been close, but this went beyond that. Cassandra hadn’t left Chloë alone for even a moment since Keir departure the day before when Keir had asked her to stay with her sister as much as possible to make sure the woman was well. He was very worried about her, as Cassandra was. Chloë simply didn’t look well, the emotional and physical toll of the past few days’ events weighing heavily on her.
Keir’s departure hadn’t been particularly dramatic or wrought with great sobs, but as Keir and Chloë quietly embraced one another, his forehead against hers as he whispered words of love and comfort only Chloë could hear, the emotions radiating from the pair had been palpable. Kurtis and Cassandra had felt it with great sadness, as had Coverdale and Michael. Even Lady Blanche had seemed touched by it while Anton tried not to watch, fearful that his guilt might get the better of him. He wasn’t oblivious to it, but he still believed he was doing what was best for his daughter. If St. Héver perished, it would be easier to marry her off as an unwed maiden.
When Keir had finally pulled away with a gentle kiss to her lips, Chloë had held her anguish admirably. She had even given him a smile and wave as he mounted his charger and moved to the head of the army. She had held the smile until he quit the gates, disappearing from view, but the moment she knew he couldn’t see her anymore, the tears came.
Kurtis and Cassandra quickly took her away so the entire castle wouldn’t see her breakdown. They had taken her up to her third floor chamber where she collapsed on the bed in muffled sobs. She remained in bed all day and all night, and Cassandra remained with her. She even slept with her sister even though she was a newlywed and her new husband slept alone in the chair near the hearth. At this moment, they were all family, bonded together to tend Chloë during this dark time. It was what Keir wanted.
As the day after Keir’s departure dawned bright, the birds singing loudly, Cassandra tried to convince Chloë to get out of bed, but Chloë wouldn’t budge. She lay in the bed where she and Keir had shared many wonderful hours, staring at the lancet window with the bright blue sky beyond as if imagining some distant place and time where she and Keir were always together, never apart. Kurtis muttered to Cassandra that at least Chloë wasn’t crying, but Cassandra found no comfort in that statement. At least crying was the release of emotion. What Chloë was doing went beyond expending emotion; she was staring off as if the world around her did not exist.
Near the nooning meal, Blanche came to Chloë’s room to see how her daughter was faring. Chloë was still lying in bed, staring out of the lancet window, and Blanche tried to speak with her daughter in an attempt to elicit a response. But Chloë barely responded, ignoring her mother for the most part, until Blanche finally gave up. She had a servant collect her sewing and she sat in the corner, working her needlework, watching for any hint of life from her youngest daughter. Already she could see that Chloë was withering away and she began to seriously question her husband’s decision.
Chloë remained in a daze for another three days. She barely moved, and only then it was to use the privy. Cassandra tried to force her to eat but Chloë would have none of it. Blanche tried to use tough motherly intervention to coerce her daughter into eating, but it resulted in Chloë in tears so Blanche backed away. In spite of her austere façade, Blanche wasn’t truly forceful or firm with her children. She felt the girl’s pain but didn’t know what to do about it. Finally, on the dawn of the third day, Kurtis intervened. He had to. He didn’t want to tell his brother that he had watched the woman he loved waste away to nothing. He seriously feared for her life.
On the fourth day of Keir’s departure, the day dawned bright and cool. Blanche hadn’t yet made her way up to Chloë’s bower for the day and Cassandra had gone to the kitchens to see if she could find something to tempt her sister. Alone with Chloë in the early morning hour, Kurtis summoned his courage and made his way over to the bed.
“Chloë?” he addressed her but she didn’t look at him. He tried again. “Chloë, I want you to look at me. Look at me and listen to what I have to say.”
Chloë continued to stare at the open window but, after several long seconds, she turned in his direction. The brown eyes were distant and vacant but she was at least looking at him. Kurtis sighed faintly, his jaw ticking just as Keir’s did when there was much on his mind.
“Three years ago, I received word at Alnwick Castle that Pendragon had been breached and my brother’s family killed,” he told her. “I rode day and night until I reached Pendragon only to find a brother
who was in much the same state as you are now. He had just come upon the burned body of his wife and daughter, and Pembury and de Velt had chained him to the walls of the vault at Pendragon so he would not kill himself in his grief. Are you listening to me?”
The dazed look in Chloë’s eyes faded and, as Kurtis watched, she seemed to become somewhat lucid. It was like watching the sun come out from the clouds, or a candle suddenly lit. He could see the light in her eyes. Her delicate brow furrowed and a pained expression crossed her fine features.
“I am listening,” she answered. “He did not tell me that he tried to kill himself.”
Kurtis shook his head as he sat on the foot of the bed. “He did not in the literal sense,” he clarified. “He threatened to and, taking him as a man of his word, Pembury did the only thing he could do. He did not trust that Keir would not hold true on his threat. In any case, he summoned me and I found a man I did not recognize chained in the bowels of the vault. When Madeleine and Frances died, something in Keir died also. It remained dead until last week when I saw my brother for the first time in months and he spoke of you. Whatever magic you have over him Chloë, restored the part of his soul that died that day. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at you and hear it in his voice when he spoke your name.”
By now, Chloë was gazing at him with a mixture of joy and tears. “I did nothing but love him,” she whispered.
“I know,” Kurtis replied, reaching out to take her cold, pale hand. “Chloë, please understand that it would kill Keir to see you like this right now. I know you are afraid and I know it pains your heart to be separated from him, but you must have faith that he will return to you. I know my brother better than anyone and I know he will do everything in his power to return safely from Wales. But if he were to see how you are right now… it would shatter him. You do not want to do that to him, do you?”
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