“Does your father know?” Gallus finally asked.
Chad shook his head. “All of this came to light after we left Canterbury, but I am sure he will not have any objections.”
As Gallus digested what he’d been told, a grin came to his lips. “Nor do I,” he said. “Congratulations, Chad. But permission for her hand must really come from her brother. I have no authority to give you my blessing. Aurelius might have other plans for his sister, in fact.”
Chad’s expression tightened. “It does not matter if he does,” he said. “Aless belongs to me and I will have her with or without her brother’s permission.”
This was the Chad that Gallus and the others were much more familiar with – determined, stubborn, and deadly. The man always got what he wanted and woe to the man who denied him. Gallus held up a soothing hand.
“I am sure he will give his consent, but you must seek him and ask,” he said. “With Uncle Julius killed at Evesham, Lady Alessandria is now under her brother’s control. He will have the final say in any marriage contract.”
Chad rolled his eyes. “Aurelius the Idiot,” he muttered. “Oh, I know what men say of him. I heard of his cowardice at Evesham. The moment his father was killed, he withdrew all of his troops and sat on the outskirts as Simon’s forces were trampled on, including you. That is the kind of man who has a say in my happiness?”
Gallus shrugged. “It is a formality,” he said. “At least ask him. At least do your diligence. If he denies you, then marry her anyway. Aurelius will not be able to do anything about it once you are wed.”
“I would rather marry her now and just sent him a wedding announcement.”
“Then if that is the case, why did you even ask me?”
Chad frowned. “Because you are her current benefactor,” he said. “She is under your protection, not her brother’s, and that makes her your ward. You make decisions for her.”
He was correct for the most part and Gallus considered that. He scratched at his chin, eyeing Maximus and Tiberius, who were clearly on Chad’s side. He pursed his lips wryly at his brothers’ willingness to support Chad over him.
“At least send word to the man, Chad,” Gallus said. “At least ask him. If he denies you, marry her anyway. I suppose I will simply tell Aurelius that I told you to. But I want to hear what he has to say first before you do anything. Is that fair?”
Chad wasn’t happy about it but he nodded his head. “I suppose,” he said. “Will you give me a messenger to send north to The Paladin, then?”
Gallus nodded. “I already have one waiting to depart, in fact,” he said. “The man is to carry news to Aurelius of what is happening at Isenhall. I thought my cousin should know because, sooner or later, Henry will turn on him. He needs to know what is happening.”
Chad had to be satisfied with that. He was frustrated at Gallus’ attitude, frankly, but he had to respect it. But his frustration turned into a lack of self-control.
So much for limiting his wine consumption; Chad poured himself a third cup and drank it straight down before borrowing Gallus’ solar to write a missive to Aurelius regarding his sister’s hand in marriage. He had another cup or two of wine as he wrote because he couldn’t seem to get the words right, asking permission to marry the sister of a man he had no respect for. When he was finished, Gallus took a look at the message but wouldn’t let him send it because it was an emotional mess. Too much wine had made it that way.
When Gallus denied Chad permission to send the missive that night, hoping the morrow would bring a much more evenly written request, Chad’s frustration reached an epic level. The breeches came off and Gallus sat in his solar, trying to avoid looking at the buttocks that were continually flashed at him as Chad punished him for not permitting him to send a missive to Aurelius. The more Gallus tried to reason with him, the more the white buttocks flashed.
Tiberius and Maximus eventually joined them in the solar and much to Gallus’ displeasure, Tiberius, the most liberated and glib of the brothers, joined Chad in flashing his naked arse. It was all great fun until Maximus grew sick of the sight and took the fire poker leaning next to the hearth, swatting Chad across the buttocks so hard that it left a red mark. Then, he lunged for Tiberius, who was wise enough to cover up his arse and run away from his middle brother. But Chad, furious over the spanking, went after Maximus and a full-scale brawl resulted as Gallus stood by and shook his head over the antics. Men who loved each other could be quite foolish sometimes.
Gallus thought on the matter of Chad bearing himself before the world when drunk. He remembered vividly when he, Max and Ty were children and would light their Uncle Quintus’ farts on fire. It was an amusing and childish sport. But now, as a respected man who had matured over the years, he found such behavior unbecoming. Chad’s propensity for dropping his breeches in front of anyone and everyone was quite troubling. So he completely understood Maximus’ frustration and actions.
Later on at the evening meal, Alessandria found herself wondering why Chad had a black eye.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lioncross Abbey Castle
The Welsh Marches
If ever a man looked and acted like his father, it was Curtis de Lohr.
The eldest son of Christopher de Lohr, Curtis was in his sixth decade but one wouldn’t know it by looking at him. He had an agelessness about him. He was a big man, like his father had been. He also had his father’s hair color, blond that had now mostly turned to gray, and had it gathered on his neck in a long ponytail. He also wore the beard his father had always worn but in Curtis’ case, he wore it because his skin had been marred by eruptions in his youth so the beard covered the scars. Many people who had known Christopher de Lohr thought they were seeing a phantom when laying eyes upon his eldest son.
He also had his father’s temperament, fortunately. His mother had been a spitfire but Curtis had his father’s customary cool, which is why he wasn’t cursing like a lunatic at the moment. He had just finished reading a missive from Gallus de Shera. In fact, he’d read it three times. In the message, Gallus told him that Bose de Moray, whom Curtis knew very well, had informed Gallus that Henry required his fealty or very bad things would happen. Henry threatened to send an army to Isenhall and raze it. Curtis knew that Gallus would die before surrendering in any fashion to a king he did not respect, so the news was ominous at best.
It was frightening.
This information, of course, was coupled with news that Curtis’ sons, recently returned from Canterbury, had told him. Chris, Arthur, and William had returned from Canterbury the night before with a wild story of Henry’s Guard of Six against Daniel and his knights. It all had to do with a de Shera cousin, who was a ward of a convent. Henry wanted to take her as a hostage to force the House of de Shera into swearing fealty to him. It was all incredibly complex and growing worse, but one thing was for certain – Henry was determined to seek vengeance against anyone and everyone who had supported de Montfort. Not that Curtis blamed the man, for Henry had been dealing with Simon’s rebellion for many years, but to seek the kind of vengeance that Henry was aiming for bespoke of madness.
Curtis read the missive from Gallus one more time before setting it on the desk once used by his father. It was in the solar of Lioncross Abbey Castle, a castle that was as legendary as it was powerful. A massive place with a separate annex complex for troops, Lioncross was able to hold three thousand men at one time and Curtis, being Warden of the Southern Marches, held nearly that now. Even after Evesham, he still held well over two thousand men in a standing army, making him the biggest military might on the Marches if not in western England.
De Lohr was a name to be feared.
As Curtis leaned on the table, pondering the contents of the missive, he could hear his wife as she spoke to their adult daughter. The woman had lost her husband recently and had brought her children back to Lioncross to stay with her parents because her husband’s home was overrun by his brother’s family. Curtis and his wife, Avrielle, had seve
n children of their own while Avrielle had three from a previous marriage and Curtis had two from a previous marriage, so Lioncross was, at any given time, full of family. But Curtis didn’t mind; he liked it that way.
As Curtis’ attention turned to the hearth, still pondering Gallus’ request for assistance, he could hear Avrielle close by, scolding one of the grandchildren for bringing a muddy dog into the keep. Or it might have even been a muddy goat; Avrielle was angry about something. When she drew close to the solar door, he called out to her.
“Avie?” he called. “Please come to me.”
He could hear his wife fussing with the grandchild a moment longer before, soon, she was standing in the solar doorway. A still-beautiful woman at her age, with curly chestnut hair piled on her head and eyes of a clear green, she looked rushed.
“What is it, my love?” she asked impatiently. “Edward has gotten into a mess in the kitchen yard.”
“Let his mother clean him up. I need to speak with you a moment.”
“But Stella is not feeling well today,” Avrielle insisted. “Can this wait?”
Curtis shook his head. “Nay,” he said flatly. “Tell Eddie to run back into his mud puddle for the moment. I need to speak with you.”
Frustrated, Avrielle turned to say something to her grandson, who had evidently heard his grandfather and was already running back outside. Avrielle stood in the doorway and pointed to the disappearing child.
“There he goes,” she said, resignation and frustration in her voice. “He will come back covered head to toe in mud, just like his foolish dog.”
Curtis grinned. “Let him be a boy, Mother,” he said. “You have raised eight sons altogether. Why are you so surprised that Eddie wants to be dirty?”
Avrielle waved him off, irritated with his humor as he taunted her. “What is so important, Curt?”
She was coming into the room now, heading for him, and he picked up Gallus’ missive on the table. “I have some serious business to discuss with you,” he said. “Please be seated.”
There was a fine chair nearby, carved oak with a cushion, and she planted her slender body in it. It wasn’t unusual for Curtis to discuss business with her because she was the voice of reason when he needed it. She was, if nothing else, pragmatic, and he relied on that side of her. Sometimes, she was too pragmatic for her own good, but he adored that about her.
“Where are Chris and Arthur and William?” she asked. “I have hardly seen them today.”
Curtis was preoccupied with the missive, looking at it yet again instead of looking at his wife. “They are in the stables overseeing the new stock I received,” he said. “Arthur wants a new steed, as his current horse suffered some injury in battle.”
Avrielle grunted. “I have not seen them for months,” she sniffed. “I would think they would spend today with me. I want to see how they are and hear of their adventures.”
Curtis shook his head. “You do not want to hear of this adventure,” he said quietly. “From what Chris told me, Evesham was a disaster for de Montfort. The man lost his life in a hideous fashion and now Henry, once again in control, is out for vengeance.”
Avrielle knew all about the politics that were sweeping the country. She was astute that way. Much like her husband, she had heard of de Montfort’s defeat at Evesham. News like that traveled fast.
“So he is upon the throne once again,” she said. “I was wondering when you were going to tell me what happened at Evesham.”
Curtis shrugged. “We have heard that Henry was victorious but I wanted to hear it from my sons’ own lips,” he said. “Henry is, indeed, upon the throne again and de Montfort is dead.”
Avrielle nodded her head as she absorbed that information. “I never believed that de Montfort’s death would bring instant peace,” she said quietly. “Henry would not allow it.”
“You have said that before. You were correct.”
She had no pride to feed. She wished she hadn’t been correct, in fact. “What did you wish to speak with me about?” she asked. “You received a missive earlier today because I saw the messenger. Is Henry asking you to be party to his vengeance against those who did not support him against de Montfort?”
Curtis shook his head, his manner pensive. “Nay,” he said. “The missive was from Gallus de Shera.”
Avrielle smiled. “And how are Gallus and his lovely wife?” she asked. Then, her smile abruptly faded. “Sweet Jesus… he and his brothers all fought for de Montfort. Curt, did they all survive?”
Curtis nodded his head. “They did,” he reassured her. “But the vengeance I spoke of… it would seem that Henry has turned it against the House of de Shera for their support of de Montfort. Gallus and his army are torn to shreds and he has asked if I would consider sending men to reinforce his ranks at this time. It would seem that Henry is demanding their surrender and has threatened to destroy the Isenhall and the House of de Shera if Gallus and his brothers do not comply.”
Avrielle stared at him a moment. “Will you grant his request?”
“I am thinking on it.”
She continued to stare at him for a moment, pondering what he had said. Then, she abruptly stood up, wringing her hands as she thought on what her husband had told her. Having grown up in a warring household, and then having married a great warlord in the Earl of Worcester and Hereford, Avrielle knew the seriousness of warfare as well as, or even better than, some men.
“Curt,” she finally said, “if you send men to reinforce him and Henry catches wind of it, he might think you have thrown your support behind de Shera.”
Curtis nodded. “That is exactly how I see it, too,” he said. “But Gallus and his brothers are family. Their mother was my youngest sister. I cannot refuse support to family.”
Avrielle looked at him. “And risk Henry’s wrath?”
Curtis shook his head. “If Henry expects I will stay out of something like this, he is mad,” he said. “Let us look at the overall picture of the situation. I send troops to Isenhall and Henry attacks. My troops fend off Henry. Henry believes I have withdrawn support from the crown. That makes me a bigger problem far more than de Montfort ever was. Between Daniel and myself, we hold a good deal of the Marches and Southern England. Henry cannot muster enough strength to destroy us and I sincerely do not believe he would. We are far too valuable to him. Therefore, it is my feeling that if Henry sees my troops at Isenhall, he would avoid tangling with me for fear of losing me. He would leave Gallus alone.”
Avrielle mulled over his assessment. “Mayhap,” she said quietly. “But the fact remains that Gallus and his brothers are major landholders and oppose Henry’s rules. Curt, they cannot continue on like this. Send troops if you must but go with them and tell Gallus it is time to put aside their grand ideals of a government for the people. They must support Henry if they are to survive. If they do not, they will be the enemy in their own country and you will be forced to station permanent troops at Isenhall simply to protect them. Is that really how they want to live? Is it how you want to live? Without de Montfort leading this fight, Gallus and his brothers are simply rebels.”
It was the brutal truth and the pragmatic nature of his wife was coming out. She made good sense. Curtis, however, wasn’t entirely convinced.
“Avie, I cannot tell a man what his convictions should be” he said. “Each man has to decide that for himself.”
She cocked a stern eyebrow. “If he expects you to protect him, then he had better listen to you,” she said. “I know what de Montfort stood for and to a large degree, I agree with his ideals. He wanted a body of nobles to help rule the country, to make it fair for all. But de Montfort is dead now and the fire behind those ideals has died with him. Gallus and Maximus and Tiberius must realize that. It is time to lay down their arms if they want to live to fight another day. Whether or not they approve of Henry, the fact remains that he is the king and, by virtue of that fact, he deserves their fealty. Their battle is over and they have lost.”
>
Curtis couldn’t disagree. “What you say is true,” he said. “But I am not entirely sure I can convince Gallus to swear fealty to Henry. There is no reason why he should listen to me.”
“No reason except that if he does not, the House of de Shera will be crushed. It is only a matter of time.”
Curtis mulled over her words, knowing them to be true. “You are correct,” he finally acknowledged. “Then mayhap I should go to Isenhall with some men and try to talk some sense into Gallus. For his own good, he may have to consider swearing fealty to a man he hates. Not that I have any love for Henry, either, but it would be a matter of Gallus not only discounting his convictions, but also swallowing his pride.”
“Better swallowing his pride than losing his life.”
Curtis nodded. “Indeed,” he agreed. Then, he eyed his wife, standing several feet away. “As always, your counsel is welcome and true. Plus, you are beautiful to look at, so it is a double pleasure for me.”
Avrielle grinned. “You are a silken-tongued devil, Curtis de Lohr,” she said. “But… but if you do go with your men, please be careful. You are too old to be traveling about.”
He waved her off. “It will be an easy ride to Coventry,” he assured her. “Not far at all.”
“Not far?” she sniffed. “It will take you four or five days.”
He shrugged. “It will be a simple thing.”
She sighed, unhappy with his dismissive attitude. “And you will speak with Gallus and come right home?”
“I will come right home.”
She was satisfied. “Good,” she said, making her way over to her husband and depositing a sweet kiss on his head. “I love you, you old fool. But you always meddle in other people’s affairs.”
He snorted, patting her affectionately on the buttocks as she turned away. “I am not meddling,” he said, “and if I am, I was asked to. There is a difference.”
Avrielle laughed as she headed for the exit. “If I see our sons, shall I send them in to you?”
The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 212