They slept deep into the night, the best night’s sleep either one of them could ever recall.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was just before dawn as Tate made his way out of the keep and headed towards the building that housed the knights; he was going with a particular purpose in mind. Having just left Toby sleeping soundly, he was determined to find Stephen and clear the air between them. But his thoughts inevitably kept drifting back to Toby, her delicious body in his arms and the myriad of emotions that continued to assault him.
It was true; he felt as if he was suffering a gentle onslaught of emotions that he never believed himself capable of. It was something terrifying and wonderful, something that caused him to lose control as if he was a weakling. Whatever power Toby had over him, it was stronger than all of the might he had ever faced. All she had to do was give him a word, a look, and he surrendered like a fool.
But he had to get a grip on himself as much as he was able to. The first step would be to straighten out whatever odd situation had evolved between him and Stephen. And the second would be to determine the next course of action with Mortimer on their heels. Still, thoughts of Toby filled his mind and it was an effort to concentrate on issues that he knew must be the priority.
The knight’s quarters was a stone building built against the side of the outer wall. It was a badly lit structure with small, cell-like chambers. Tate entered the building and into a small common room with a muted fire burning in the hearth. He’d barely closed the door when one of the cell doors flew open and Kenneth appeared with a sword in his hand. When he saw it was Tate, he lowered the weapon.
“’Tis you,” he muttered.
“Aye, it’s me,” Tate replied. “Where’s Stephen?”
Kenneth yawned, tossing the sword back onto his bed. “He relieved me upon the battlements about an hour ago.”
Tate turned for the door but Kenneth stopped him. “Is something amiss?” he asked.
Tate paused after opening the panel. “Nay,” he said after a moment. “I simply must speak with him.”
Kenneth wisely kept his mouth shut, suspecting that whatever it was did not involve him. If it was a private conversation between Tate and Stephen, there was little doubt as to the subject. As Tate shut the door behind him, Kenneth wondered if he should follow to make sure there was no bloodshed with the undoubtedly volatile subject. On second thought, however, he decided to stay his course and simply remain an uninvolved bystander. With a woman involved, it was the safest course to take. Or so he believed.
Tate mounted the steep stairs to the battlements of the gatehouse, his trained gaze moving over the cold and dark landscape, searching for anything out of the ordinary. With a gaping hole where the main gates used to be, he was particularly on edge even though there were thirty soldiers patrolling the gap. A loop half-way around the wall walk brought him right to Stephen.
The big knight was on the west wall, in quiet conversation with one of the knight’s from Warkworth. The bulk of their army had remained, at least until the gates were repaired, so several hundred soldiers and a few knights lingered. When Stephen saw Tate, he excused himself from the conversation and went to his liege.
“Nothing to report, my lord,” he said. “All remains quiet.”
Tate nodded, his dark gaze moving over the pre-dawn landscape once more. “Very well,” he replied. Then he continued to stand there, gazing over the view but not really seeing it. Stephen stood beside him silently, vigilantly, as he always had. Tate finally crossed his arms and emitted a heavy sigh.
“Stephen, I must ask you something,” he said.
“Of course, my lord.”
“You and I have long been friends, have we not?”
Stephen nodded slowly. “It has been my honor.”
“We have seen much of life and death together.”
“Indeed we have.”
“I consider you one of the finest men I have ever served with.”
“A true privilege, my lord.”
Tate turned to look at him. “I would not want anything to ruin that.”
Stephen returned his gaze. “Nor would I.”
Tate cleared his throat, a waver in his confidence. “I find that I must be honest with you, Stephen. I suppose I should have been from the onset but I was unsure how to go about it.”
“Speak your mind, my lord.”
Tate lifted his eyebrows with some hesitation. “I am attempting to,” he cleared his throat again. “You were with me when Catherine died.”
Stephen’s expression visibly eased. “Aye, my lord. I was there.”
Tate was having difficulty looking at him. “I was positive that I would never recover from it. But it seems that I was wrong.”
Stephen could see where this was leading; he’d known it from the start. It was only a matter of time before Tate confronted him about the situation with Toby. After the gift of the kitten earlier, it was expected. There was no point in dancing around the subject as Tate was doing so he cleared his throat, averting his gaze.
“In truth, my lord, I never had a chance,” he said quietly. “She has eyes only for you.”
Tate stopped fidgeting and looked at him. “What?”
Stephen’s gaze moved to the landscape beyond the walls. “Mistress Toby,” he clarified. “She has eyes only for you. I suppose it was my pride that caused me to see only what I wanted to see. I knew you were growing fond of her as I was. I thought I could win her over but I was wrong.”
Tate stared at him. “I remember back in Cartingdon when Kenneth jested with you about marrying her and ruling the town. Do you recall?”
Stephen nodded “I do.”
“You clearly showed no interest.”
“I had none at the time.”
“What changed your mind?”
“What changed yours?”
They gazed at each other for a moment before breaking into soft laughter. It was a welcome moment in a situation that could have quite easily gone the other way. As small as the gesture was, it was a relief, a moment between friends that signaled things were righting themselves. Tate finally shook his head.
“I have no idea,” he muttered. “All I know is that day we ventured into the mist to inspect sheep, something inside me changed. The woman already has unearthly beauty but that day, I saw incredible strength in her as well. Beyond that, I cannot explain more. All I know is that I see a chance for happiness with her again and I will take it. The woman is coming to mean a great deal to me.”
Stephen’s cornflower blue gaze lingered on him a moment. “Do you love her?”
Tate looked at him as if surprised by the question. He was about to deny it but found, in his heart, that he could not. He averted his gaze as if suddenly defeated, unable to muster the strength to deny the obvious. “I believe that I do.”
“Have you told her?”
“Nay.”
“You should, you know. She loves you as well.”
Tate looked at him again. “How would you know that?”
Stephen’s eyes glimmered. “I do not for sure. But if she looked at me the way she looks at you, then I would know that she loves me.”
Tate felt strangely empowered by that statement, as if his heart suddenly sprouted wings. It felt light, happy. “If that is true, then I am indeed blessed,” he said, turning to look Stephen fully in the face. “But I am deeply sorry if my relationship with her affects our friendship.”
Stephen’s gaze lingered on him. “It does not,” he said quietly. “It would take much more than that to destroy the trust that you and I have achieved over the years.”
Tate puffed out his cheeks with relief. “I had hoped so but in truth I was not sure. When a woman is involved, things can go very badly.”
“We are better than that, my lord.”
“I hoped so.”
“Besides that, we have more pressing matters to focus on.”
“Indeed we do.”
“There are the missing gate
s, the threat of a Mortimer counter-attack, and our imminent trip to London which has thus far been delayed.”
Tate nodded faintly, thinking of the priorities that had faced him two days ago were now becoming sidelined by his growing involvement with Toby. But Stephen was correct; there were more pressing matters that must be the priority. It was a struggle for Tate to refocus on something other than Toby.
The silence between them settled, though not uncomfortable. Tate had said what he had meant to say and Stephen had conceded. More than that, there was a clear understanding now. They both felt relieved by it.
“Congratulations on your betrothal, by the way,” Stephen finally said. “May you have much joy in this marriage.”
“Thank you.”
“There is one more thing, however.”
“What is that?
Stephen turned to look at him, an intense look to his eye. “Should anything ever happen to you, know that I will take very good care of your widow.”
Tate’s eyes widened. Then, he burst out giggling like a fool. Stephen tried to hold back the chuckles but soon he was roaring with laughter. After a few moments of uncharacteristic snorting, Stephen sobered with dramatic speed and wiped the smile from his face.
“I am serious.”
Tate abruptly stopped laughing and gawked at him in outrage. He balled up a fist and took a swing at Stephen’s jaw, but in the process burst into more laughter and ended up almost falling over the parapet when Stephen side-stepped the blow. Hooting and snorting, the two of them made their way back towards the gatehouse as the sun began to rise in the distant east. But the laughter soon turned to conversation and by the time they hit the gatehouse, they were already discussing the priorities of the coming day. It was as if no contention had ever been.
In the bailey below, Kenneth heard the chortling. He stood below the wall walk, watching Tate and Stephen, hearing the laughter and saying a silent prayer that he wasn’t picking up body parts. He had been standing there since Tate had left the knight’s quarters, watching and waiting. With a woman involved, he had no way of knowing what turn the situation would take. He was glad it wasn’t the wrong turn.
Without even trying, Toby could have done more damage than Mortimer’s army could have ever dreamed of.
*
Toby awoke to the sounds of shouts coming from the bailey. Every so often, a dog would bark or a bird would screech. She was lying on her back on the bed in the master’s chamber, one arm over her head and the other clutching the coverlet to her naked chest. She lay there a moment, staring up at the ceiling and forgetting, for a split second, where she was. She didn’t recognize the place. Then, remembrance dawned.
It all came tumbling upon her. She remembered Tate from the night before and her heart began to pound at the mere thought. She remembered everything, from the moment he had first touched her until she had fallen asleep in his powerful embrace. Warm delirium swept her as she thought on the power, the passion, and the excitement. She thought it might have been a dream until she lifted her hand and smelled Tate on her flesh. She lay there a moment, inhaling deeply, feeling her body tremble at his scent. She should have been shocked at her behavior, ashamed at the very least, but she found that she was neither. She felt a fulfillment in her soul that she’d never had before. But her warm thoughts faded as she looked around, noticing that she was quite alone in the bed and in the room.
She sat up, still holding the coverlet to her chest. The kitten suddenly leapt onto the bed and she petted the little beast absently. Her thoughts drifted to the night before once again and she thought of Tate’s magical touch, the heat of his mouth, the gentle power of his body when he took her. She hadn’t been prepared for that intimate action but had very quickly succumbed to his passion. It had been the most powerful physical and emotional event of her life, propelling her onto a plane that she had never known to exist. But now that she found herself alone in the bedchamber, embarrassment was beginning to join her puzzlement.
Perhaps Tate had left because he had been embarrassed, too. He had left without a word. Perhaps he left because he realized it had all been a horrible mistake. From the deeply personal memories of the night before to a creeping humiliation, she wrapped herself in the coverlet and went in search of her clothes. As she made her way to her neatly stacked trunks, she passed next to the hearth and made a startling discovery.
Someone had drawn a smiling face into the ashes. Toby stood there a moment, staring down at the two eyes and big smiling mouth. That had not been there the previous night. It occurred to her that Tate must have drawn the face when he had left that morning, not wanting to wake her but wanting to leave some mention of his passing. One corner of her mouth twitched and then the other; soon, she was laughing softly, laughing harder when the kitten walked through the face and left little paw prints all over it.
As she finally reached her trunks, she also noticed a basin of clean water on the nearby table. That hadn’t been there last night, either; nor had the small wooden platter of cheese and bread. She felt awful that she had thought poorly of Tate, that he had abandoned her after their night of passion. Obviously, the man had put a good deal of thought into greeting her with a pleasant morning and she adored him for it. Her heart was swelling so with happiness that she was sure it would burst. With a huge smile, Toby dropped the coverlet and grabbed her cake of lavender and lemon rind soap.
When she finished washing with the soap and tepid water, she dried off with a linen sheet they had brought from Forestburn and proceeded to dress in pantalets, a linen shift and brown surcoat that emphasized her slender waist. She brushed her hair furiously and pulled it away from her face with a strip of cloth that wrapped all the way around her head, tying a bow just behind her right ear. It was a very flattering style for the heart-shape of her face.
As she pulled on her shoes, she threw bits of cheese to the kitten. When all of the bread and cheese were gone, and she and the kitten were fed, she collected the cat and quit the chamber with the intention of taking the kitten outside to relieve itself. But more importantly, she wanted to find Tate. The kitten was just a convenient excuse.
The keep was dark as she made her way down the deadly stairs. She hardly heard a sound. But as she neared the great hall, she could hear the men inside, mostly wounded, and she ventured into the cavernous room. It was dim and smelling of smoke from the fire in the hearth. The very first thing she saw was Stephen directly to her left, tending to one of his patients. He looked up and their eyes met. Startled to see him, Toby did the only thing she could do; she smiled timidly.
“Good morn to you, Sir Stephen,” she said. “I fear I must have been more exhausted than I thought. I seem to have slept long into the morning.”
Stephen’s gaze lingered on her. “No harm done. You obviously needed the rest.”
She shrugged faintly, looking around the room and petting the cat in her arms. “May I help you this morning?”
Stephen finished securing the bandage of the man he was working on and stood up. “There is not much to do,” he followed her gaze around the room. “Most of the men seem to be healing steadily. The only thing you could possibly do is lift their spirits with a kind word.”
“Perhaps they would like to pet my cat.”
He looked at the animal and cracked a smile. “I fear that grown men aren’t as attached to felines as women and children are.”
She grinned, noticing that he did not seem tense or angry with her this morning. Perhaps Tate had taken her advice and spoken to him. She could only hope.
“I am going to find my young friend with the chest wound,” she said pointedly. “I will wager that he would like to pet my cat.”
Stephen’s smiled faded. “He is not here.”
“Oh? Where is he?”
He hesitated. “He passed away last night.”
Her face fell. “Oh,” she whispered, looking pained. “I had hoped… you said that you thought he would….”
Stephe
n moved towards her, wiping his hands off on a rag. “I said that he would survive provided that poison did not set in. Unfortunately, it did. It took him very quickly.”
Toby nodded, realizing that she was blinking tears away. But she couldn’t stop them. “He was so young,” she wept softly. “He was only sixteen years old. He was just a boy.”
Stephen stood next to her, wanting to comfort her but knowing that he should leave that to Tate. It had been made clear to him that Toby was the property of his liege. Still, she was upset and he put his big hand on her back in a comforting gesture.
“Do not weep for him,” he said quietly. “He is no longer in agony. He is with God.”
“But he was so young.”
“I know,” he patted her back and took his hand away. “But that is the way of war. It does not take young or old into consideration.”
Toby wiped at her eyes and turned away, heading for the keep entry. Stephen watched her go, his cornflower eyes lingering on her slender beauty. He found himself once again regretting that he had not been successful in his wooing attempt. But he could not linger on regrets; if his discussion with Tate earlier that day was any indication, the man was in love with a woman he once thought dreadful. Stephen was glad that, at least, she was in good hands. Tate didn’t view her as a contest won. With a final glance at her shapely backside, he turned back to his patients.
The weak morning sun was bright and Toby dried the last of her tears, shielding her eyes from the glare. The new keep stairs were braced up against the stone edifice and Toby took the stairs gingerly; they seemed to sway a bit, which made her nervous. When she reached the bottom, she looked back up the stairs to see just how precarious the stairs really were. Shaking her head at the rickety steps, she turned around and almost ran headlong into Wallace.
His hair was wild and he smelled like manure. Toby took a step back from the man just so she wouldn’t be so close to him.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 188