To the Lady Born (18 page)

“I would not know,” he replied. “I have lived here for four years, in the castle of a man who is the king’s lover, and the king has never even acknowledged the fact that Bolingbroke has acquired Hedingham.  I am, therefore, curious.”

They trotted down the stairs to the upper bailey. “Do you suppose the king is demanding you vacate the castle?”

“I suppose we shall find out.”

“What will you do?”

“I was leaving, anyway.”

The corner of Sutton’s mouth twitched. “When do we leave for Netherghyll?”

They emerged into the bright September day and headed for the gatehouse as Weston wriggled his eyebrows wryly. “Ahead of the king’s troops, who are probably heading in our direction as we speak.”

Sutton laughed softly as they crossed the bridge and continued into the lower bailey, which was busy at this hour.  Peasants brought supplies, the blacksmith was shoeing an unhappy horse, and several dogs ran about and barked at people.  It was the usual chaos on any given day. The gatehouse was already in view and they could see several soldiers milling about as they approached.  As they drew near, Heath broke away from the group and jogged towards them, his mail and armor jingling.

“A messenger from Richard, West,” he said, flipping his long red hair out of his eyes. “I kept the man at the gatehouse. I did not know how comfortable you wished to make him so I held him there.”

Weston nodded as he continued towards the gate house with his brother, now with Heath in tow.

“A royal messenger?” he repeated.

“Aye.”

“Did the man say what his message was?”

Heath shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “He said it was a message for Lady Amalie de Vere.”

Weston passed a glance at Heath, at his brother, wondering what message the king could possibly be sending to Amalie. As he reached the great stone gatehouse, the soldiers cleared away and the royal messenger came into view.

It was a knight in fine armor, a big man, young, with hazel eyes and a handsome face.  He stood by the portcullis, relaxed and seemingly unconcerned with all of the Bolingbroke men milling around him.  Weston walked up to him without delay.

“I am Sir Weston de Royans, Baron Cononley,” he used his title for the first time, feeling the satisfaction of it. “I am the garrison commander for Hedingham. I understand you have a missive for the Lady Amalie.”

The knight nodded. “I am Sir Range de Winter, my lord,” he introduced himself. “I come from the king directly with a message for the lady. Is she available that I might deliver it personally?”

“I am Lady Amalie’s husband,” Weston told him. “She is occupied with our children at the moment. You may deliver your missive to me and I will ensure that she receives it.”

The knight didn’t argue or question.  He simply nodded, passing a glance at the soldiers surrounding them.

“Then perhaps I may deliver the message to you in a less traveled area,” he said. “It is rather sensitive in nature.”

Weston nodded, once, and motioned the knight to follow.  De Winter followed him, a big man with long legs.  Heath and Sutton also followed at a distance, their curious eyes on de Winter.  The four of them made their way towards the keep but as they crossed the bridge to the upper bailey, Weston suddenly came to a halt and turned to de Winter.

“I do not wish to go to the keep where my wife is,” he told him. “No one can hear your missive here. You will tell me what message the king has sent to my wife.”

De Winter spoke without hesitation. “The king wishes to inform the Lady Amalie de Vere that her brother, Robert, was killed in a hunting accident,” he said. “The Duke of Ireland’s body is due to arrive in London sometime next week and the king thought that his sister would like to attend his funeral.”

Weston struggled not to show his surprise. “A hunting accident?” he repeated. “Where did it happen?”

“In Leuven, my lord,” de Winter replied. “He was hunting wild boar and was gored.”

Weston stared at the man a moment before finally shaking his head, turning away as he absorbed the information. “So he was in France?” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “We thought he was in Ireland.”

De Winter continued with his missive. “There is more, my lord,” he went on. “Aubrey de Vere has been granted the title Earl of Oxford by the king and Hedingham has been restored to the de Veres.  Lord Aubrey will be arriving next month to take charge of Hedingham.  If Bolingbroke does not surrender peacefully, the king has assured the Earl of Oxford the support of crown troops in his quest to regain the castle.”

Weston turned to look at him, piecing together what he’d been told.  He couldn’t decide if he was insulted by the king’s threat of military action or not.  Maybe he was even relieved by it because now there would be no choice for Amalie to go to Netherghyll.  In an odd way, his path had been set in stone now. His new life was about to begin and he wasn’t the least bit sorry. Already, Hedingham seemed like a distant memory.

“So the king’s chamberlain and uncle to Robert and Amalie, having fallen out of royal favor with Robert’s behavior, is now suddenly back in the king’s graces and granted the earldom of Oxford, including Hedingham Castle.” He took a few steps towards de Winter, closing in on the big knight. “And you are here to tell me that if I do not vacate my troops from Hedingham, then the king and de Vere will lay siege to Hedingham to regain it?”

“That is the gist of it, my lord.”

“Does Bolingbroke know?”

“This I would not know, my lord.”

Weston studied the man a moment before turning away, digesting the surprising information.  This day had been full of surprises all the way around.

“He probably does not know,” Weston muttered to himself as his dark blue gaze lingered on the great pond of Hedingham. “He has returned to Vilnius and would therefore not have received the news yet. But it would be my assumption that he will relinquish the property rather than risk a battle at this point. Things have been peaceful for the most part for the past few years and a battle for a holding would only cause problems for Bolingbroke.”

De Winter stood there, watching de Royans, feeling the stare from the knights behind him. He wasn’t afraid; he knew he wasn’t in any danger.  But he was not insensitive to the political and family dealings going on; there was an abundance of it.

“I have been requested by the king to receive Lady Amalie’s answer, my lord,” he said.

West looked at him. “Answer to what?”

“If the lady will be attending her brother’s funeral and also if Bolingbroke intends to relinquish Hedingham without bloodshed.”

Weston didn’t have to think on his answer; he already knew what it would be. “My wife will not be attending the funeral of the man who fled England like a coward and left her to the mercy of the enemy,” he said flatly. “As for the surrender of Hedingham, tell the king that Aubrey de Vere can have it. I will pull Bolingbroke’s troops out of here before the week is out.”

It was less of a battle than de Winter had expected; he was, frankly, astonished that Bolingbroke’s garrison commander gave up without a fight.  Saluting smartly, he turned on his heel and returned to the gatehouse.  As the man’s bootfalls faded off down the road, Heath approached Weston as Sutton watched de Lara walk away. Heath’s manner was timid.

“What do we do now?” he asked quietly.

Weston lifted his eyebrows. “You heard the man,” he said dryly. “We must vacate the premises.  Send word immediately to Bolingbroke of our intentions; the man has returned to Vilnius to fight for the Duchy there so I do not expect him to receive the news in a timely manner; still, it must be sent.  You will tell Henry that I am ordering all Bolingbroke troops returned to Bolingbroke Castle and Hedingham surrendered to Aubrey de Vere on the orders of the king.  On a separate missive, I will be informing Henry of Bolingbroke that I am resigning my post effective immediately in order to assume my rightful position as Baron Cononley.  Heath, you will be returning with troops to the Bolingbroke Castle.  I will take John with me to Netherghyll.”

Heath looked as if the man had just struck him. “I have to return to Bolingbroke?” he repeated. “Why me? Why not send John?”

Weston put a hand on Heath’s shoulder; he could see the man was upset by the directives. “You did not let me finish,” he assured him. “After you have returned Henry’s men to Bolingbroke, you will proceed to Netherghyll to serve at my side.  You are an excellent knight, Heath; I would not be without you.”

The sun shone again in Heath’s expression as he smiled and bolted off, intent to carry out Weston’s instructions.  When the red-headed knight left, Weston turned to Sutton. His brother was grinning at him.

“It has been an eventful day for you,” he observed. “But, as with all things, the mighty Weston de Royans does not crumble.  The bigger the burden, the stronger he becomes.”

Weston smirked. “Eventful day indeed,” he said, motioning the man with him as he headed back towards the outer bailey where most of the soldiers were. “It will be a minor issue to clear out of Hedingham and return Henry’s troops. The bigger issue will be packing my wife, my children, and the entire household.  It will be a massive undertaking.”

Sutton’s smile faded as they entered the heart of the big lower bailey. “You told the king’s messenger that your wife will not be attending her brother’s funeral,” he said. “Will that be her decision as well? She may wish to go.”

Weston shook his head. “She will not, believe me,” he said. “Her brother… well, suffice it to say that she has no great love for the man.  Every bad thing that has happened to her has been a direct result of his actions. The man was vile and despicable and I would be lying if I said his death brought me sorrow.”

Sutton suddenly grabbed him by the arm, forcing Weston to look at him.  There was much bafflement on Sutton’s face as he spoke.

“West, I have to ask this,” he said, his voice low and hissing. “You are not the same brother I have known since birth.  The man I knew was rigid in his beliefs of right and wrong, of good and evil. I arrived today to find out that you not only married a woman who had been compromised by another man, but you are raising her child as your own.  The brother I have known would have spit upon such a trollop before taking any interest in her.  What on earth has changed you?”

Weston’s dark blue eyes glittered. “My wife is not a trollop and if I ever hear you refer to her as one again, I will kill you. Is that clear?”

Sutton put up his hands in supplication. “A figure of speech, West. I was not intending to insult her.”

Weston would not forgive so easily on a subject so close to his heart; if his brother said it, he was thinking it, and that upset him greatly. “Yet you did,” he growled.  “I will not hear that come out of your mouth again.”

Sutton took a step back, his hands up in a sincere show of apology. “I did not mean to,” he insisted. “I was only making a point. I simply wanted to know why you have changed so much. It is truly puzzling.”

Weston knew it was a legitimate question, something no one who knew him before he met Amalie had dared to ask of him.  But Sutton was asking and he was expecting an answer.  Weston didn’t want to answer him, mostly because any answer would make him sound like a hypocrite, but he respected his brother enough that he reluctantly responded.

Forcing himself to cool, he raked his hand through his cropped blond hair, thinking on how he would respond. He was careful in his reply.

“People change, I suppose,” he said quietly, averting his gaze.  He didn’t want to look into his brother’s probing eyes. “’Tis true that my life has been devoted to piety, chivalry and honesty. ‘Tis also true that I viewed unchaste women as great sinners.  That still has not changed.  But Amalie… she was different from the moment I met her, I suppose. Everything that happened to her was not her fault; she was the victim of an unscrupulous knight and a weakling brother.  I never blamed her for what happened to her and loved her regardless. She does not deserve the stigma that has been held over her head, the whispers of shame that have followed her.  She is a good and true woman and I will kill anyone that says otherwise.  If that is the explanation you seek, then you know the truth of it.”

Sutton nodded faintly, absorbing the information, inevitably thinking about their mother.  If Weston was capable of accepting a soiled woman as his wife, then perhaps he was capable of forgiving the woman who gave birth to him. Sutton was encouraged.

“Good enough,” he clapped his brother on the shoulder, a twinkle to his dark blue eyes. “I am glad you have some humanity in you now.  It was rather difficult living up to your perfect standards all these years.”

Weston grinned in spite of himself.  “My standards are still perfect.”

Sutton laughed softly and together, the two of them continued to the courtyard where the troops were beginning to assemble thanks to the shouts of Heath and John.  Weston would address the men and inform them of their future directives.  Then, he planned to head to the keep to inform his wife of the latest news.

From this point on, their lives were going to change.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Seated in the carriage that had once belonged to her mother, Amalie was struggling not to retch with the rolling motion. In the two weeks since they had left Hedingham, any movement at all set her stomach to lurching.  That, coupled with traveling with two very small children, had her absolutely miserable.  She couldn’t focus on herself because the children needed her, so it had been a huge struggle to overcome her misery in favor of the children.

Weston hadn’t been insensitive to the fact; he had watched her health deteriorate for days since leaving Hedingham.  He had two hundred men, five wagons and three knights with him, a large brigade that traveled northward from Essex en route to Yorkshire.

They had two hundred miles to cover before their arrival to Netherghyll, something he was increasingly excited about.  But Amalie’s early pregnancy misery dampened his enthusiasm as he grew increasingly concerned for her health.  The constant travel was making her symptoms worse.              The news of her brother’s death had been lingering with Amalie since their departure from Hedingham, but not because she was grieved by it.  There was almost seven years in age difference between them and they had never been particularly close; Robert had been involved in court intrigue and rumors that he was the lover of the king had plagued the entire family for years.  To Amalie, he was a distant acquaintance who happened to be her brother and nothing more. She didn’t feel the animosity or anger towards him that Weston did. She simply didn’t care one way or the other, in spite of everything, and when Weston informed the king that she would not be attending her brother’s funeral, she agreed with his decision. She was eager to put all of that ugliness behind her and move forward with her life.

The first week and a half, they passed through Essex, Cambridgeshire and Lincolnshire. The weather had cooperated and the travel had been fairly pleasant.  But Amalie had been positively green in the carriage, so much so that on this day as the caravan passed into South Yorkshire, Weston finally took the children from his wife and gave them over to Neilie and Esma, riding in one of the big provision wagons driven by Owyn. Weston kept the young man in his troops purely out of respect for the fact he had once saved Amalie’s life, and Owyn had assimilated himself as one of Weston’s loyal men.  He was no longer the smitten soldier; he was now a de Royans warrior.

Weston put Sutton up on point and rode next to the wagon carrying his children to better protect them.  But as the day passed, Aubria wanted to ride with him, a definite no-no as far as his wife was concerned because she didn’t like the children around the excitable chargers. But Weston relented and allowed the little girl to sit in front of him. He could only hope that Amalie was asleep and unaware that he was breaking her rules. 

Seeing his sister riding with their father, Colton began to scream because he wanted to ride on the warhorse, too, prompting Weston to recall Sutton from the head of the column and send John to replace him. Sutton took his nephew, a blond headed little boy who acted quite a bit like Sutton had as a youngster, and rode carefully with him for a mile or so. He was scared to death that he was going to drop the child somehow. But Colton wasn’t satisfied riding slowly so Sutton began to trot with him, then canter, until finally he was riding like the wind up and down the column to a chorus of Colton’s delighted screams. 

Weston watched the antics, grinning.  Even the men at arms were grinning.  Aubria was a much less demanding audience, sitting on her father’s armored legs, satisfied with the slower pace so long as she had her poppet with her.  Sucking her thumb and holding her baby, she eventually drifted off to sleep. 

But trouble was coming. It wasn’t long before Amalie stuck her head out of the cab, roused by her son’s cries, to see what was going on.  Weston saw her head and tried to get his brother’s attention, but Sutton was having too much fun spinning his warhorse in circles and listening to Colton’s uncontrollable giggles. 

By the time Sutton realized he was being hailed, Amalie had seen the goings-on and was furious.  She shouted to the soldier driving the cab and he came to a halt.  Sick, exhausted, she climbed out of the cab as the entire column came to a stop.

Knowing he was in a good deal of trouble, Weston spurred his charger to where she was now standing in the dusty road.  He smiled sweetly at her as he approached.

“Hello, my angel,” he said softly.  “What can…?”

She cut him off with a hand gesture that looked like a guillotine falling. “What is your brother doing with Colton?” she demanded, pointing to the pair. “I cannot believe you would allow him to be so reckless with my baby.”

Her sickness was affecting her mood, now a frightening thing that could burst in all directions if he wasn’t careful. He kept his voice calm and soft.

“Do you not trust me enough that I know when Colton is in danger?” he asked patiently. “My brother is quite competent and careful. He is simply entertaining his nephew while Mother sleeps. I see nothing wrong with it.”

She just growled at him, having no answer to that. Stomping her foot angrily, she burst into tears as she turned back for the cab. Weston watched her climb in with a heavy heart, hissing softly as he bade the carriage driver to remain still for a moment.  Then he spurred his charger back to the wagons, handing over his dozing daughter to Esma.   He swiftly returned to the carriage and dismounted.

Weston went to the window of the cab, his enormous head filling it up as his gaze fell on his miserable wife.

“I am sorry, my love,” he reached in and tried to grasp a hand. “I did not mean to upset you.  Sutton and I were merely entertaining the children so you could rest. If I thought my brother had been reckless with the boy, I surely would have stopped him.”

Amalie sobbed into her handkerchief.  “He is just a baby,” she wept. “You cannot be so rough with him. What if the horse falls? What if he is thrown? What would I do without my Colton?”

Weston sighed, feeling like a lout.  He finally managed to grasp her hand and squeeze it gently.

“Would you feel better if you rode with me awhile?” he asked gently. “I know the rocking of the carriage makes you ill. Why not ride with me and get some fresh air?”

Kerchief to her mouth and nose, she reluctantly nodded. Weston opened the cab door and helped her out.  Gently, he lifted her onto his charger and then mounted behind her. With a wave of his big arm, he directed the column forward once again.

It was much better riding with Weston on his horse, which had a surprisingly smooth gait. Amalie leaned back against him, her tears fading and her stomach settling somewhat.  Over to her right, Sutton had taken up with Colton again and was now jogging around, turning wide circles in the grass, and Colton was yelling with delight.  He was holding on for dear life, bouncing up and down in his uncle’s strong grip.

Both Amalie and Weston turned to watch Sutton entertain the boy, who was absolutely thrilled.  It was hard to be angry when Colton was having so much fun. He kept turning his big beaming smile up to his uncle, demanding that he go faster.  He kept saying ‘up, up’ and kicking his feet, not exactly precise communication but Sutton knew what he meant. Sutton looked to Weston, who merely shrugged and looked to Amalie. Unwilling to dampen her son’s enthusiasm in spite of her fears, Amalie simply waved them on.

The Sutton and Colton Show went on the rest of the afternoon.  Amalie had calmed riding with her husband on his great warhorse, feeling better than she had in days.  She eventually fell asleep against him and he moved himself to the middle of the column, protected by the surrounding soldiers since he was compromised with a sleeping woman on his lap.  He didn’t expect any trouble with a column this size but he wanted to be safe.

Just after sun down, he called a halt and they set up camp.  While he left Amalie and the children inside the cab, Weston made sure their lodgings were set up and a warm fire was burning in the portable bronze furnace.  Neilie and Esma fixed the beds, which were piles of rushes covered by furs and coverlets.  The soldiers set up a blazing bonfire and roasted a three-point buck over it.  The smells of roasting venison filled the night, usually a delicious smell but now something that made Amalie gag.

It was a cool night, quiet and peaceful, as Amalie sat with Weston, Sutton and the children for their evening meal. Colton was now quite attached to his new best friend and ate off of Sutton’s trencher.

Aubria, very much her father’s child, sat next to Weston as he gently fed her pieces of well-cooked venison. Amalie picked at her meal, struggling to swallow her bread and cheese, having absolutely no appetite for meat. She watched her children with the two big knights, thinking Colton’s infatuation with Sutton to be rather sweet.

Sutton seemed like a calm, considerate man, much like her husband. She had spent a small amount of time with him and had come to know him somewhat, but her morning sickness had prevented too much contact. She was sleeping or miserable a good deal of the time.

Watching Sutton with Colton, his gentle manner, warmed Amalie to the man. He seemed genuinely affectionate towards the little boy, who was growing tired and becoming a handful for his uncle.  Finally, Amalie put her plate aside.

“Sutton,” she extended her arms in Colton’s direction. “I will take him to bed now. Thank you for entertaining him today.”

Colton saw his mother coming and began to howl.  Sutton picked him up and handing the kicking child over to Amalie, who put her hands on his ankles to still the kicking feet.

“My pleasure, Lady de Royans,” Sutton said, his eyes twinkling. “He is an intelligent, strong lad.”

“Please call me Amalie,” she smiled wearily at him. “And he is a handful. You can admit it.”

Sutton grinned. “He reminds me a good deal of his father.”

Weston, drawn into the conversation, looked up from feeding his daughter. “That is not true,” he countered. “He is exactly like you were, Sutton; brilliant and wild.”

Sutton just grinned, watching Amalie calmly, firmly, instruct her son to stop kicking.  Feet stilled, Colton began to cry, exhausted from his busy day, and Amalie rocked him gently.

“I am going to put him to bed,” she told Weston. “Please bring Aubria when she is finished eating.”

Weston nodded. “I will, my angel.”

She disappeared into the big tent, leaving Sutton and Weston with Aubria.  The little girl had been eating steadily but finally slowed down, exhausted and full. When she began rubbing her eyes, Weston picked her up and carried her to the tent as well.  Sutton sat alone by the fire for several minutes before Weston and Amalie reappeared without the children. Weston had his wife by the hand as he led her back over to the fire.

“You should really lie down, my angel,” he was saying as she sat next to Sutton. “You are exhausted and we have a full day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Amalie waved him off, accepting the cup of wine that Sutton poured for her. “I would simply like some time with my husband, without screaming children. Is that too much to ask?”

Weston grinned as Sutton suddenly stood up. “Perhaps I should leave,” he teased. “I have a feeling the soldiers would rather have my company.”

Amalie waved him down. “Sit,” she commanded softly. “I have not had much of a chance to speak with you over the past few weeks. I should like to come to know my brother.”

Sutton sat back down, grinning, and reclaimed his cup. He took a gulp of the tart, sweet wine. “What would you like to know?”

“Are you married?”

Sutton shook his head as Weston snickered. “I am not,” he said. “But not for lack of trying.”

Amalie lifted an eyebrow. “Do tell the story,” she said. “I cannot imagine a handsome and strong man like you having difficulties with women.”

Sutton shrugged, eyeing his brother, who continued to snort. “Well,” he said reluctantly. “I only just met her when I returned for grandfather’s funeral.  Her father is Lord Clifford of Skipton Castle.”

Amalie smiled. “Is that so?” she warmed to the conversation as Weston stretched out behind her, his big torso against her back. “What is her name?”

Sutton sighed faintly, as men usually do when recalling a beautiful woman. “Paget,” he said. “The Lady Paget de Clifford.”

Amalie’s smile grew; she could see that he had a dreamy-eyed expression. “What does she look like?” she asked.

Sutton shrugged, looking to her cup. “The most beautiful woman I have ever seen besides you,” he glanced up, winking at his grinning brother. “She has long brown hair and the most beautiful brown eyes. She looks like a goddess.”

Amalie sipped at her wine. “Have you spoken to her?” she asked. “Does she know of your interest?”

He half-nodded, half-shrugged. “I have spoken with her on a few occasions,” he said. “The last time I saw her was when I was heading out of town to go to Hedingham.  She was shopping in town and I spoke with her briefly until her father chased me away.”

Before Amalie could reply, Weston entered the conversation. “You must be persistent, Sutton,” he advised. “You must go after what you want. If I had not gone after Amalie, she would still be at the nunnery and I would be a very lonely man.”

Sutton’s eyebrows lifted as his gaze moved between Weston and Amalie. “The nunnery?” he repeated, surprised. “Do you mean to tell me that you violated the sanctity of a nunnery to capture your bride?”