To the Lady Born (16 page)

“Why have you come?” he asked. “Surely it was not simply to visit me.”

Sutton was back to grinning. “And why not? Can I not visit my own brother?”

“You never have before.”

“True; but, then again, you and I have always been together up until the past few years. I have never had to go anywhere to visit you.”

“So why are you here?”

Sutton sobered, suddenly serious. “I came to deliver some news. Grandfather passed away nearly a month ago.” He paused as they set foot on the bridge, turning to look at his brother, noting how the man appeared older, wiser. “You are now Baron Cononley, Constable of North Yorkshire and the Northern Dales. Congratulations.”

Weston stared at him, digesting the information.  He didn’t say anything as he resumed walking.  Sutton followed.

“And what of her?” Weston asked softly.

Sutton glanced at him. “You mean Mother?” he shrugged, looking up at the massive keep that loomed before them. “She is well and sends her affections. She will be thrilled to know she has grandchildren.”

Weston’s jaw ticked faintly. “That may be,” he growled, “but she will never meet them.”

Sutton scratched his head, feeling the rise of the old argument. Weston had never forgiven their mother for her treatment of their father, blaming the woman for the man’s suicide. He’d hardly spoken to her in thirty years.  Sutton had been a little more forgiving for the sake of family unity, but Weston had disowned both his mother and his grandfather. It put Sutton in an awkward position.

“Netherghyll Castle is now yours,” he told him quietly. “She lives there. What are you going to do; throw the woman out of the only home she has ever known before you will take possession?”

Weston’s tick was growing worse. “She can rot for all I care.”

Sutton grimaced. “West,” he hissed reprovingly. “She is our mother, for God’s sake.  If for no other reason than that, you must show some respect.”

Weston didn’t say anything more; if the conversation continued, his voice was going to get louder and he didn’t want to frighten Aubria.  By the time they reached the keep, he set the little girl gently to her feet so she could take the stairs into the entry by herself. She didn’t like any help up the stairs.  Weston and Sutton followed her slowly until they reached the top and Aubria sprinted off, calling for her mother.  They could hear Amalie’s faint reply.

“My wife’s name is Amalie,” Weston told his brother as they mounted the steps up to the banquet hall. “I am not sure what Henry told you, but I will tell you that regardless of the woman’s past or family relations, I love her with all of my heart and she is the most beautiful, accomplished and sweet woman on the face of this earth. I would kill for her a thousand times over so be aware of that when speaking with her; if you bring up anything unpleasant that you might have heard or if you upset her in any way, know that my wrath shall be swift. Is that clear?”

Sutton looked at him with an expression between boredom and fear. “Give me the benefit of the doubt, will you?” he fired back softly. “She is your wife and my sister. I would not dream of offending or hurting her. But answer one question before I meet her.”

“What?”

“Is it true that she was pregnant when you married her?”

“Did Bolingbroke tell you that, too?”

“Nay; I heard it from others.”

“It is true.”

“Was the child yours?”

“No.”

They paused at the top of the spiral stairs; the banqueting hall was beyond and they could hear a woman’s voice intermingled with those of the children.

“Was she really raped by Sorrell?” Sutton appeared perplexed, almost pained.

Weston lifted an eyebrow. “That is old news.”

“Perhaps it is, but some of Henry’s men, who were here four years ago when Bolingbroke confiscated the castle, were more than free in telling me about it.”

Weston merely nodded faintly. “Old rumors. Old and painful. She does not deserve it.”

“Then the little girl….”

“Is my daughter.”

Sutton didn’t say anymore; he didn’t have to.  He knew the truth, puzzled by his stubborn and pious brother’s marriage to a compromised woman.  The Weston he had known his entire life would have spit upon such a trollop.  He was so rigid in his thinking when it came to things like morality and chivalry that there was no gray area, no forgiveness or compassion. But this new Weston, the man who was married with children, was not the same man he had known.  Things were puzzling, indeed.

Weston and Sutton entered the enormous banqueting hall, spying a woman and two small children at the head of the banqueting table. Servants rushed around, bringing food to the table, as the men approached. 

Amalie looked up from her attempts to feed her finicky son, her big green eyes falling on a tall blond knight beside her husband. Weston went to her and kissed her on the cheek as he faced Sutton.

“Amalie,” he said. “I would like for you to meet my brother, Sutton de Royans. He has newly arrived today by surprise. Sutton, this is my wife, Amalie, and our son, Colton.”

Surprised, Amalie smiled brightly at the good-looking knight who faintly resembled her husband. He wasn’t as handsome, in her opinion, but he was taller and had a good deal of the same muscular build. 

“Sutton,” she went to him, holding out her hand to greet him. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Weston has spoken fondly of you and I was hoping to have the chance to know you someday.”

Sutton could see, in that instant, what has his brother so captivated; the woman was positively magnificent. With her big green eyes, delicately arched brows and sweet smile, she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He took her hand chivalrously, bringing it to his lips.

“I had no idea I had a sister until just a few moments ago,” he replied. “My brother is an extremely fortunate man.”

Amalie’s grin broadened as she looked to her husband. “I can see he is your brother,” she said. “He is a smooth-tongued devil just like you are.”

Weston laughed softly. “He learned everything he knows from me.”

“I would not be surprised.”

Sutton, grinning, let go of her hand because his brother reached out to snatch it from him. Good naturedly, the men took a seat at the table as Amalie returned her attention to her picky son, who was tired and grumpy and did not want to eat. Weston and Sutton watched her with the children a moment, her gentle manner and sweet features, before Sutton resumed their earlier conversation.

“I was not present when grandfather passed away,” he said. “I received word at Bolingbroke.”

Weston was watching his wife as she tried to coerce Colton into drinking some cow’s milk. “Did she send you word?” he asked.

Sutton shook his head. “You can say her name, you know.”

Weston tore his gaze away from his family and gave his brother a stony expression. Sutton lifted an eyebrow when he saw the reaction, realizing his brother wasn’t going to refer to their mother in any other manner.

“Aye,” Sutton said after a moment. “Mother sent word to me. She knew that you would probably burn any missive she sent to you, so she asked me to deliver the news personally.”

“That was wise.”

Sutton shook his head, regretful of his brother’s attitude even after all of these years. It didn’t surprise him but he was hoping that time might have eased it. But rather than argue with his brother about it, he simply continued the conversation.

“I was able to attend grandfather’s funeral,” he said. “We buried him at the church of St. John the Evangelist.”

Weston nodded, thinking of the man he resembled a great deal. Although he had disowned the man long ago, he still felt a pang of sorrow at his passing. But the sensation confused him, feeling sorrow for a man he had sworn to hate, so he ignored it.

“I know the church well,” he smiled weakly. “Remember how you and I used to run about the churchyard and play games? The priests would throw rocks at us to make us go away.”

Sutton laughed softly. “One of them hit you in the forehead once; do you recall? Instead of running away, you ran at the priests and threw rocks at them. You hit one of them right between the eyes.”

As the men laughed at the memories, Amalie was listening. “Weston, you didn’t,” she scolded softly, fighting off a smirk. “How old were you?”

Weston shrugged. “Four or five years old, I think,” he looked at his brother. “The priests went and told father what we did. Do you remember? When we told him our side of the story, he threw rocks at the priests, too.”

They burst out laughing as Amalie grinned; memories of Marston de Royans brought good feelings.  It had been a long time since Weston and Sutton had reminisced about their father and the recollections were fond ones.   As they continued to laugh about the rock-throwing incident, a serving wench brought out ale and food.  Starving, Sutton dug in with gusto.

Meanwhile, Colton, tired and frustrated, started howling as his mother tried to feed him more bread.  Amalie picked the baby up and called for Esma, who met her at the base of the stairs to collect the little boy.  Esma cooed to Colton as she took him up to his nap.  Free of the weepy child, Amalie returned to the great hall.

She plopped down next to Aubria as the little girl chewed on her cheese.  Collecting her own bread and cheese, she took a healthy bite as she focused on her husband.

“Am I to understand that your grandfather has passed on, West?” she asked.

Weston and Sutton had moved on to the next subject, the fact that Henry of Bolingbroke had taken another quest to Lithuania to fight for the Duchy of Vilnius once again, but turned their attention to her when she spoke. Weston nodded without enthusiasm.

“So I have been told,” he said.

When he didn’t elaborate, Sutton stepped in. “He is now Baron Cononley, Constable of North Yorkshire and the Yorkshire Dales. Your husband has inherited a great legacy and a great fortune, Lady de Royans.”

Amalie didn’t react other than to keep her gaze fixed on Weston. “Does this mean we will be moving to Yorkshire?”

Weston shrugged, averting his gaze; he hadn’t thought on what they would do. Perhaps he didn’t want to.  They were happy at Hedingham and he didn’t want to disrupt that peace. On the other hand, he had a responsibility to fulfill his legacy.

“I am not sure what it means,” he said quietly. “We will discuss that at a later time. Right now, I simply want to speak with my brother, whom I’ve not seen in a few years.”

Amalie sensed his confusion, his disquiet. But she was feeling some confusion herself and would not be put off. “But you are the garrison commander of Hedingham,” she said. “And the castle is my home. I am not entirely sure I am happy about leaving.”

Weston wasn’t particularly pleased that she hadn’t respected his wishes not to discuss it. “I would not worry,” he said, eyeing her. “It is not your concern.”

She frowned. “Not my concern?” she repeated. “Of course it is my concern. Hedingham is my home.”

He looked pointedly at her. “And Netherghyll is mine,” he said, inferring by his tone that she needed to keep quiet for the moment. “Either way, we will do what I feel is best. I will not discuss it with you right now.”

Amalie could see that he was growing agitated on the subject and his words were harsh; stung, she shut her mouth and turned her attention to her daughter. 

Aubria was finished with her meal, crumbs on her face, and Amalie brushed them off and lifted the little girl from the bench and put her to the floor. But instead of accompanying her mother up the stairs to naptime, Aubria dashed to her father.  Weston lifted the little girl up and sat her on his thigh, smiling at her when she grinned up at him with a sweet little smile that was the mirror image of her mother’s.

Amalie wasn’t in any mood to deal with a disobedient daughter.  She went to her husband and lifted the child up from his lap, listening to Aubria scream as she was carried from the banqueting hall. Weston watched them go.

“She may remain with me if she wishes,” he told Amalie.

Amalie didn’t look at him as she carted the weeping child from the room. “She needs her nap.”

Weston watched her disappear into the stair well, suspecting he had hurt his wife’s feelings with his curt replies. He could feel it in her body language, in the way she spoke to him.

The truth was that anything that had to do with his grandfather or mother usually had him barking, even to those he loved. It was a subject they kept buried because it was something he never wanted to discuss. As much as he wanted to speak with his brother, he needed to soothe his wife first; but more than that, they needed to discuss their future. He shouldn’t have snapped at her.

Remorseful, he turned to his brother, smiling weakly. “Sit and enjoy your food,” he stood up from the table. “I shall return shortly.”

Sutton was well into the meal and waved him off, mouth full. “I will be here when you return.”

Weston quit the banqueting hall and disappeared up the spiral stairs.  Sutton watched him go, knowing what turmoil the man must be feeling at the latest news. But he also knew that, no matter what, Weston would fulfill his destiny. As Sutton delved into a big piece of fatty pork, he hoped that Weston’s wife wasn’t going to make that decision difficult.