Tevin stared at him, realizing he was right. In the blink of an eye, the powerful Viscount Winterton had become the extremely powerful Earl of East Anglia. He reached out, grabbing Myles by the wrist as if to confirm the truth. His eyes were wide on Myles, who broke into a smile.
“Aye, Tevin,” he affirmed quietly. “It is you. What is your first command, my lord?”
Tevin struggled to push through his shock. He now commanded thousands. “I… I am not sure,” he hissed. “This is a day I never thought would truly come, at least not like this.”
“The day has come. Give me a command.”
Tevin maintained his grip on Myles’ wrist. “It is strange that all I can think of at this moment is my father,” he said softly. “He was Winterton for so long. It was always my father who would succeed as the earl, never me, at least not until four years ago when I lost both my father and Torston.”
“I remember.”
“Now that the time has come, I feel…surprise. Unadulterated surprise.”
Myles’ expression tightened. “You must put that aside,” he said. “I realize you are shocked, Tevin, but much requires your attention at the moment. Be shocked later if you must, give in to your astonishment at that time, but right now we require your level head. We need it. Much is going on and we require your wisdom in all things. What will your first command be, my lord?”
Tevin looked at the man, knowing he was correct in every facet. Too much depended on Tevin at the moment and he drew on that strength, that inner force of character, to settle himself. He had to. Forcing himself to think, he pushed himself off the table.
“Have Geoff’s body taken out of here,” he said as he moved towards the door. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his cousin lying in a heap on the floor. “Have the servants prepare his body so we can move him to Rochester Cathedral.”
“It will be done,” Myles said smartly. “But what of you? What shall you do now?”
Tevin’s mind was working. “I will be riding for Cantia and Arabel,” he said. “There is nothing more important to me at this moment, not even Anglia. However, you will send word to all of our allies, including Matilda and Stephen, informing them that I have assumed the earldom at Geoff’s passing. You will also call a meeting with all of my close allies to discuss the situation and how it will now affect them. My loyalties shall be made clear.”
Myles paused by the door, bringing Tevin to a halt. “What would that be, my lord?”
Tevin’s jaw ticked. He was gaining confidence and lucidity by the second. Now, he was doing what he was born to do. Finally, Anglia was in the hands of someone wise and intelligent. It was time to reclaim Anglia’s good name and take a stand in this land of chaos and greed. When Tevin looked at Myles, it was with all seriousness.
“Brac Penden did not die in vain, regardless of who we support” he said pointedly, with emotion. “Discover who holds Dartford Crossing and tell them that I would meet with them when I return. I would suspect we are already allies. Stephen is the rightful king and I intend to support the man.”
Myles nodded, warmth in his pale blue eyes, as he marched off to carry out the earl’s orders. Tevin stood in the doorway a moment, still stunned, yet knowing what he had to do. Even though he’d never truly lusted after Geoff’s title and power, he realized he was more than ready to assume the mantle. He’d been bred for this moment.
He was East Anglia.
*
Val was dead asleep when the door to her chamber opened, creaking and old. In fact, it was stuck, making noise that awakened her. Exhausted and drugged on something the surgeon gave her, she could barely open her eyes.
Myles came into the room, kneeling down next to the bed. His fair face was serious as he put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Val?” he said softly. “Are you awake?”
She inhaled, long and deep, before nodding her head. “I am,” her eyes lolled open, looking at him. “What time is it?”
“Almost dawn,” Myles caressed her shoulder gently. “I have come to tell you that something has happened.”
Muddled though she may be, those words had meaning to her. Val blinked her eyes, struggling to focus. “What has happened?” she looked apprehensive. “Tevin? Is he well?”
Myles shushed her softly, cutting her off. “Geoff is dead,” he informed her. “Your brother is now the Earl of East Anglia. I am summoning men at this moment to spread the word, and then I am riding to Dartford Crossing to find out who holds the bridge. Your brother needs to speak with them. I am telling you all of this in case Tevin comes to you. He is somewhat overwhelmed by everything at the moment so he make seek solace with you. I wanted you to be prepared.”
Val understood most of what he said, but she was still focused on Geoff’s death. Her pale face slackened. “Geoff is dead?” she repeated in a whisper. “What happened?”
Myles sighed as he moved from caressing her shoulder to stroking her hair. “He attacked Tevin in anger,” he said quietly. “Your brother was trying to protect himself and accidentally killed him.”
Val’s eyes widened. “My God,” she gasped. “Where is my brother?”
“Inside the keep, but I suspect he will make his way out here to you shortly.”
“Is he not riding for Cantia and Arabel?”
“Aye, he is. He says there is nothing more important to him at this moment, not even Anglia.”
Val thought on that a moment. Then she tried to sit up. “I must go to him,” she grunted. “I must find my brother.”
Myles threw an arm across her shoulders, preventing her from rising. She was fairly weak and didn’t give him much of a fight. He was able to push her back to the bed without a significant struggle.
“He will come to you, I am sure,” Myles insisted softly. “Be at ease, Val. I do not want to see you further injure yourself.”
There was something in his tone that made Val take a closer look. For a man who, as long as she had known him, had only spoken of warring things and other trivial subjects, it was a tone of voice she had always wanted to hear from him. Perhaps his sympathy for her injury would cause him to say something sweet to her, something she had longed for. Perhaps he would say that he felt more for her than just knightly camaraderie.
“Why not?” she asked softly.
He appeared confused by the question. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you not want to see me injure myself further?”
Myles stared at her. But as he did so, something in his blue eyes changed. They seemed to soften, grow liquid and warm. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
“Because I do not,” he whispered. “That is all you need to know.”
She could sense humor and her dark eyes glittered. “That is not true,” she murmured. “I need to know everything. Tell me, Myles.”
His smile grew although he fought it, biting his lip as he averted his gaze. “I cannot tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am a coward.”
She grinned. “Myles de Lohr, you are no such thing. Tell me why you do not wish for me to injure myself further or… or I swear I will never speak to you again.”
He cast her a sidelong glance. “Never?”
“Never. Never, ever.”
“That is a very long time.”
“It is. Are you willing to take that chance?”
He sighed heavily, although he was still having difficulty looking at her. “Can you at least give me time to determine what it is I need to say before you cut me off completely? I do not want to say the wrong thing.”
She did giggle, then. “How on earth can you say the wrong thing? Myles, you had better tell me what I wish to hear or there will be serious consequences.”
His grin broke through. “I do not like consequences.”
“Would it be easier if I spoke first?”
His grin faded and he looked at her, then. In fact, he looked both curious and hopeful. It was a strange combination.
Her smile faded as well, though it didn’t vanish completely. She gazed at the man, his handsome face, someone she had known for many years. She had always been very fond of him, made stronger now with age and experience. She couldn’t remember when she hadn’t longed for him in a way that made her heart race and her palms sweat. Reaching out, she gently touched his wrist.
“Very well,” she whispered. “Promise you will not laugh.”
“I will not laugh, I swear.”
She nodded her head, almost reluctantly, as she summoned her courage. “I know I am not a fine lady with elegant pursuits,” she admitted. “But I am strong, brave, and of good character, and I swear I would love you forever if given the chance. I would do all in my power to make you happy and content, Myles. Perhaps you do not feel the same way about me but I would be honored if you would at least give me the chance.”
His smile was completely vanished as he stared at her with big eyes. After a moment, he took the hand she had placed on his wrist and brought it to his lips, kissing it reverently. Val had no idea why tears sprang to her eyes, but they did. They streamed down her temples as she watched him gently kiss her hand, her wrist. It was the most wonderful moment she could have ever imagined. When he was finished kissing her hand, he moved to her head, very carefully cupping her face between his two big hands. He just stared at her.
“You are far braver than I am, my lady,” he murmured. “You have spoken everything that is within my heart but I have been too afraid to speak the words. I never thought… I did not believe you would be receptive.”
She grinned at him, thrilled beyond measure at his tender touch. She had dreamt of this moment and now that it was upon them, she could never have imagined it to be this wonderful.
“I am receptive,” she whispered.
He lifted his eyebrows. “Enough to give up the sword to become my wife? I do not want to marry a woman who can out maneuver me in battle or best me in a fight.”
She giggled. “I promise that I shall lay my sword down if I am your wife. Unless, of course, you ever have need of me.”
His eyes glittered as his gaze drifted over her forehead, her eyes, the shape of her lovely face. “I will have need of you,” he whispered as his face loomed closer. “But not in that fashion.”
His lips claimed hers, a sweeter kiss neither of them had ever known. He suckled her lips, tasting her for the first time, thinking he’d been a fool not to have done it sooner. The gentle kiss turned passionate and, instinctively, he moved to put his arms around her and pull her close but she yelped in pain as he tried. Startled, horrified, he backed off.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I did not mean to hurt you.”
She laughed it off, her lips red and moist from his attention. “Not to worry,” she assured him. “It is of little consequence considering I have been waiting for weeks for you to kiss me as you just did.”
His grin returned, as did his hands to her face. “Why did you not tell me this?”
It was her turn to look horrified. “And risk your rejection, or worse? You would have thought me to be a horribly forward creature.”
“I would have thought you to have given me an invitation of a lifetime.”
She giggled and he kissed her again, being very mindful of her injuries. But he had duties to attend to, much as he was reluctant to leave her. Only when Val swore she would not leave the bed and would wait impatiently for his return did he force himself away from her. Heart racing and limbs tingling, he quit the knight’s quarters.
Tevin wondered why Myles had such a huge grin on his face when he saw him crossing the bailey a few minutes later. Realizing he had just come from the knight’s quarters, he began to suspect why.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The day had been long and tense, bouts of fear coming in waves as the sun traveled the sky. Sometimes, Cantia was quite calm, but other times, she was in tears of terror. Yet none of those feelings were particularly productive. As Cantia sat in her prison along with Hunt and Arabel, she truly wondered what was to become of them.
The camp had been active all day. At least, what she could hear from inside her dark and smelly prison made the place appear very active. Sounds of people were all around her, shouting, working, doing what they needed to do in order to survive. After Gillywiss had left them, no one had bothered them except for a woman who had come to bring them food. She brought them a rather large fare of small apples, pears, three roasted rabbits, and two large loaves of dark bread. Cantia and the children had eaten until they nearly burst.
With bellies full, they were able to think more clearly. Arabel still seemed to be feeling poorly, having slept all morning and into the afternoon, and Cantia was very concerned for the girl. There was a hole dug in the ground in one corner of the hut that they quickly discovered was the chamber pot because it smelled up the entire room. Cantia had helped the girl use it, once, as Hunt sat at the other end of the hut and faced the wall to afford Arabel some privacy.
Arabel had been embarrassed that she required such assistance but there wasn’t much she could do about it, so she thanked Cantia profusely for her kindness and swore she’d be as little trouble as possible. Cantia had merely smiled and touched the girl’s cheek affectionately. As a mother, it was in her nature to be helpful to a child and she truly didn’t mind. Every time she looked into that beautiful face, she saw Tevin. She was happy to do what she could.
The dusk settled cool and dark, and as the moon began to rise, silver shadows were cast upon the land. Owls hooted and other creatures of the night rooted around for their supper as Cantia sat on the ground next to Hunt, her arms around the boy as the hut grew very cold and dark. As she rocked Hunt, attempting to lull him to sleep, the door to the hut jerked open.
Startled, Cantia stopped rocking her child as Gillywiss entered the chamber and pulled the door shut behind him. He had a fish oil lamp in his hand, a bowl of liquefied fat with a floating wick that gave off a significant amount of smoke and light. His dark eyes found her in the dim hut and, as she had seen earlier in the day, he flashed her a rather crazed expression complete with big toothy smile.
“My lady,” he greeted. “And how are you faring on this beautiful night?”
Cantia was in no mood for his jovial attitude. “Cold,” she said flatly. “It is cold and dark in here.”
He looked around as if just noticing the darkness. “So it is,” he said, finding more interest in her bags over by the wall. “Do you not have something warm to wear?”
Cantia watched him set the lamp down and pull open a satchel. “We need a fire,” she said. “The children need warmth that cannot be provided by clothing.”
Gillywiss was back to digging around in her bags, pulling forth the garments he had so carefully replaced earlier in the day. As Cantia watched, the man began pulling them on again, inspecting the fine fabric, running his fingers over the delicate stitching. It was the second time that day he had come to put on her clothes and rifle through her belongings, and Cantia was quite curious about his behavior. In moments like this, she could almost believe he was non-violent and rather sympathetic. In fact, she thought she might try to take advantage of his fascination for her wardrobe.
“My lord,” she said softly, “if you like the coats so much, I would happily exchange them for our freedom.”
Gillywiss looked up from the orange-colored surcoat he was presently inspecting. His dark eyes were curious on her, perhaps even interested, but before he could reply, Arabel spoke.
“My lord,” she said in her sweet, child-like voice. “I am the Lady Arabel du Reims. My father is Viscount Winterton. As Lady Cantia said, he will reward you greatly for delivering us to him, but I would like to offer you all that I have so that you may let us go. I… I have fifty gold crowns, some jewelry, a white goat and a black and white pony that I would give you if you will only let us go home. I promise I will have these things brought to
you if you will… please, I just want to go home.”
The last words were spoken in tears. Cantia went to the girl to comfort her, pulling her up into her arms and rocking her gently. Arabel was so tiny that it was like holding Hunt on her lap, and Cantia soothed the girl softly.
Gillywiss was watching the exchange carefully. He wasn’t very adept at hiding his feelings so he looked away, back to the satchel, and began to pull out more belongings. He could hear Arabel weeping and Cantia’s soft words, and it fed both his guilt and his irritation. As his rummaging began to grow more agitated in motion, he began to realize there was someone beside him. He turned to see Hunt’s big blue eyes gazing up at him.
“Do you have a boy?” the child asked.
Gillywiss seemed reluctant to answer but he did. “Nay,” he replied. “No boy. Just girls.”
“A wife?”
“She is dead.”
He turned his attention back to the bag and Hunt joined him. The little boy reached into his mother’s bag and pulled forth a beaded belt, handing it to Gillywiss. The man slowed his digging, meeting Hunt’s gaze with some reluctance. It was clear that he was having some difficulty ignoring what was going on around him. Arabel’s weeping was pathetic and sorrowful, and Gillywiss was feeling it.
“I am not a bad man,” he finally said, looking over at Arabel and Cantia. “There are those in this village who would slit a man’s throat as easily as speak to him, but I am not one of them. You have nothing to fear from me.”
“Please take my offer,” Arabel sobbed. “I want to go home. I want to see my father.”
Gillywiss looked at the frail young girl, his sense of remorse growing. He wasn’t any good at fighting off his feelings, torn between knowing he shouldn’t care yet inherently caring. A sick child’s tears were not to be ignored.
“You would do this?” he finally asked her, some disbelief in his tone. “You would give me everything you own just to go home?”
Arabel nodded vigorously. “Aye, I would. Will you not accept, sir?”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 63