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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“A nd you are sure your wife is with de Lohr?” the priest asked.

Standing in the nave of Westminster Abbey that also served as the baptismal font, Julian nodded submissively to the man who had asked the question.

“I am certain, Your Grace,” he said humbly. “My wife has seen fit to run to de Lohr and away from me. He holds her even now, more than likely at Bellham Place. That is the de Lohr residence outside of London.”

“Is she his mistress, then?” the priest asked.

Julian tried to look distressed. “I can only surmise,” he said. “As I explained to you, I have tried to retrieve her myself but they will not turn her over to me. She is my wife by God and the laws of England, and I need your help to retrieve her. I must take her home where she belongs. Our children need their mother and it is my right to have my wife.”

The priest was a mid-level operator in the world of Westminster. It was the most senior man Julian could speak with and he could see his tale was having an impact. The priest called over another priest and the two of them began conferring softly, undoubtedly about how to help Baron Buckland. Julian watched and waited.

Having bypassed several smaller churches near the Tower of London in favor of the grand dame of them all, he thought it best to cultivate the sympathies and services of Westminster simply because it was one of the oldest and most prestigious churches in England.

Having been at the door of the church at sunrise, he had attended Mass as any other pious parishioner, voicing the right prayers at the right time, pretending to be devoted when the truth was that he had not attended Mass in years. The only time he went to Confession was when Isabella did, and since she would no longer see him, his life was in great disorder. He was focused on retrieving his wife and retreating to Dunster where he would lick his wounds and rethink his strategy. But he needed help.

The two priests finished their conference and motioned for Julian to follow. He did, through the tall columns of the cathedral, across the stone floor that had seen generations of kings walk upon it. The priests left the church proper and headed south, towards the cloisters and other small buildings that dotted the grounds. Julian followed swiftly.

It was becoming a sunny day with the moisture from the Thames heavy upon the air. Julian was swearing beneath his fine tunic and hose, feeling the sweat run down his back as he followed the priests to a stone cottage to the southwest of the cloister block. One priest knocked on the door and was admitted by a servant, instructing the second priest and Julian to remain outside.

Julian stood nervously in the moist air, slapping at the bugs biting his skin and scratching around his neck. The second priest was in heavy, woolen robes so he imagined the man was more miserable even than he was. The man kept scratching at his groin. After an eternity of waiting, the door to the cottage finally opened again and the first priest beckoned Julian inside.

The cottage was small and dimly lit. The floors were uneven as Julian’s eyes grew accustomed to the light. To his right near the hearth sat a man in bleached, woolen robes with two servants attending him. One servant was carefully shaving the top of the man’s head while the second servant brought food and drink. Julian locked eyes with the man expectantly.

“I am a Canon of Westminster,” the man said in a rich, full voice. “My name is Father Mellitus. You are Baron Buckland?”

Julian nodded– now he was getting somewhere. A canon was one of the governing priests of the abbey and he struggled to keep his excitement at bay. Now, he knew he had someone who could help him without dispute.

“I am, Your Grace,” he said respectfully. “I am Julian Edward de Moyon, Third Baron Buckland. My seat is Dunster Castle in Somerset. I have come to you with a horrible problem that only you can help me with.”

Father Mellitus chewed on a piece of cheese. “My priest has told me,” he replied, his dark gaze sizing Julian up. “I have heard the name Buckland. I seem to remember hearing of a concubine of the queen, a man by the name of Buckland. Is that you?”

Julian stared at the man a moment, wondering if he was about to be chastised. If his plan was going to work, he was going to have to project a submissive, victimized state. It never occurred to him that the priests of Westminster would recognize his name as the queen’s lover, even though he made sure the rumors about him and the queen flew fast and furious around London. Now, he was hoping the reputation he had taken such pride in wasn’t about to sink his hopes.

“It is,” he lowered his head dramatically. “Please understand, Your Grace, that I had little choice in the matter. Isabella is the queen, after all, and I must do as she commanded. I was her slave and unable to break free. I prayed daily that she would tire of me and am fortunate that she has. Her attentions are elsewhere.”

The priest eyed him, setting the cheese down. It was clear that he did not believe him.

“I see,” he muttered. “I am told you have come here involving a matter about your wife.”

Julian nodded eagerly, his head coming up. “David de Lohr, Baron Thornden, has taken my wife from me. He will not give her back. I have tried to rescue her but he killed my men in the attempt. Now she is at Bellham Place and I humbly beg for the church’s intervention in this matter. I want my wife back and de Lohr will not turn her over to me.”

The priest dipped his fingers in a water bowl that a servant brought and wiped them off on an offered piece of linen.

“Thornden cannot keep another man’s wife,” he said. “What would you have me do?”

Julian was careful to make his wants clear, as if he were begging for their help to restore his marriage.

“I would plead with you to ride for Bellham Place and retrieve my wife under the protection of the Church,” he asked urgently. “De Lohr cannot deny the Church’s request. He will be forced to turn her over.”

The priest stood up from the chair, wiping a linen towel over his freshly shaved head. He eyed Julian, annoyed with the request but understanding he had a duty to the man. If someone was holding his wife hostage, then it was up to the Church to deliver her to her rightful husband. There was no great mystery in that. He tossed the towel aside.

“How long has she been de Lohr’s captive?” he asked.

“Weeks, at the very least, Your Grace,” Julian said pleadingly. “Please help me, Your Grace. I must return her home. Our children need her.”

The priest held out his hands as his servants began shoving on his rings of office.

“I will send a missive to Bellham and ask that the lady be returned to you,” he said. “You will deliver the missive yourself.”

Julian shook his head. “They will kill me, Your Grace,” he said, feigning fear. “I fear they will only release her to a priest when they are forced. I fear that only your divine presence will give me back my wife. Please, Your Grace– will you please help me and go personally?”

The priest sighed heavily, fiddling with his rings once they were on. He turned to Julian, thinking that he simply didn’t have time for such nonsense. But the man seemed genuinely distraught so perhaps he needed to do as he was asked simply to get it over with. Otherwise, the situation would drag on and Mellitus would be to blame, especially if the circumstances went from bad to worse.

“Very well,” he said, clipped. “I will travel to Bellham Place and retrieve your wife for you.”

Julian nearly collapsed with relief. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he bowed several times in a gesture of gratitude and respect. “May I ride with you? I want to take my wife home right away.”

Mellitus simply nodded, sneezing and wiping at his nose with a linen towel. “We will go before Vespers.”

“Today?” Julian asked hopefully.

Mellitus looked at Julian, struggling to keep the impatience off his face. “Aye, today.”

Julian left the canon’s quarters and took position out in the garden with a clear view of the man’s cottage. He remained rooted there until the man was ready to leave for Bellham.

De Lohr would pay now. They would all pay.

*

Gart let Emberley sleep the next day well into the morning. She was exhausted and pregnant, and after her harrowing adventures, he thought it best simply to let her rest.

Emilie tried to insist that she would take care of Lady Emberley so that Gart could go about his duties, but Gart wasn’t going to relinquish the task. It made for a warm, if not odd, standoff as Emilie insisted and Gart politely refused. When Romney finally awoke, Gart saw the opportunity to focus Emilie on the child, which she did so happily. With Christina and Romney in hand, Emilie took delight in tending the children.

Gart did indeed have duties to attend to but he spent most of the morning with Emberley as she slumbered peacefully. Sitting in a chair by the low fire in the hearth, he quietly sharpened his sword against a pumice stone, alternately watching Emberley and paying attention to his blade.

He was content simply sitting with her. She was safe and in his line of sight, and that was all he could ask for in the world. She slept the morning away as he finished sharpening his blade and, finished, quit the chamber with the intention of returning to his possessions for other assorted blades that needed sharpening. He could sit and sharpen, and watch Emberley at the same time.

He took the stairs down to the ground floor, hearing voices from the reception room. He could hear Romney’s voice and that of a squealing baby, so he crept to the door and peered inside to see Romney playing with little Christina. The baby was thrilled with Romney, laughing hysterically as he pretended to poke her belly. Emilie sat nearby with sewing in hand, smiling at the antics.

Gart grinned as he watched Romney and the baby, thinking how much he missed Orin, Brendt and Lacy. Those two little ruffians and the slobbery baby had his heart. His plan had been to send Kevin to retrieve the children but David quashed that scheme because he wanted Kevin to remain at Bellham for the time being, especially with Buckland so unpredictable.

With plans changed, Gart intended to send ten of his own men to Trelystan to collect the children, men that the children were already familiar with thanks to their stay at Dunster. It was something he intended to do before the day was out. He wanted the rest of the children with him and Emberley as quickly as possible.

As Gart moved away from the door frame, Romney apparently saw the movement and jumped up, running to the door. He caught sight of Gart just as the man was entering the corridor that led to the kitchens.

“Gart!” he yelled. “May I please come with you?”

Gart paused in the archway, giving the boy a half-grin and waving a big arm at him, indicating for the boy to follow. Romney bolted after him happily.

He followed Gart out into the rear yards behind the kitchen where a staircase led down into the basement armory. It was a warm day, moist, and the summer bugs were thick in the trees overhead.

As Gart descended the stairs to the basement, Romney kicked dirt around, picked up rocks and threw them in the fish pond, and then began throwing rocks at the soldiers on duty. One man was hit in the neck and turned around to yell at Romney until he saw Forbes. The soldier quickly moved the other direction.

Triumphant, Romney followed Gart down into the armory and immediately began touching everything he could get his hands on. As Gart sheathed his broadsword, he noticed Romney and his five hundred hands.

“Leave well enough alone,” he told the boy, motioning him over. “Come and help me with this.”

Romney went to him obediently, noticing Gart’s familiar bags. Be it instinct or habit, he immediately began to rummage through Gart’s bags.

“Out,” Gart snapped softly when he saw what the boy was doing. “If you do not keep your hands to yourself, I am going to tie you up and hang you from a tree.”

Romney grinned but removed his hands. He gazed up at Gart. “What are you doing?”

Gart was in another bag, pulling out small daggers. “You can help me sharpen these.”

Romney was eager to do so but yanked his hand away when he reached out to grab one without permission and Gart smacked it. Frowning, he rubbed at his stinging fingers.

“When are Orin and Brendt coming?” he asked.

Gart removed two more small daggers from his bag. “Soon,” he told him. “I am sending my men to retrieve them today.”

Romney watched Gart carefully set the daggers in a row. “Can you tell your men to bring my sword, too? I left it at Trelystan.”

Gart nodded as he inspected a nick on one of the daggers. “I suppose so,” he glanced at the boy. “Perhaps we can even have a real one made for you.”

Romney’s eyes widened. “Truly?” he asked. “Can I have a crossbow, too?”

Gart wriggled his eyebrows. “Your mother has been clear in her decision against the crossbow,” he said. “But perhaps we can convince her that a real sword would be in order.”

Romney was so excited he could hardly stand it. With an invisible sword in his hand, he began jumping around the armory, fighting mail coats on frames and doing battle with unseen enemies. Gart watched him with a smirk.

“You will be a fearsome knight someday,” he told him. “But your new sword will be quite dull until you grow older.”

Romney didn’t care. All that mattered was that Gart had promised him a real sword. He continued fighting the unseen enemy until he bashed into a mail coat on a frame and tipped the entire thing over. Gart just looked at him and shook his head.

“Pick it up,” he commanded softly.

Contrite, Romney tried and tried to heave the frame up but it was far too heavy for him with the mail upon it. Finally, Gart took pity on him and stood the frame up while Romney tried to straighten the mail coat. When he was finished, he looked at Gart with a big eager grin and Gart broke down into snorts of laughter, running his big hand over the boy’s blond head affectionately.

On the way out of the armory, Gart carried four daggers and Romney had one in a heavy sheath. Gart was concerned the boy would trip and impale himself so he gave him the weapon with the thickest sheath.

Romney was surprisingly careful, however, carefully taking the steps and then very carefully crossing the kitchen yard. Once inside the manse, he continued to be very careful with the blade as he moved through the corridor and into the entry hall with its big, stone steps.

As they reached the stairs, little Christina spied Romney out in the entry hall and began to squeal for him. Romney didn’t want to play with the baby, because he was far too big for that sort of thing, but then he noticed that there was a tray of sweets in the reception hall and that had his attention. Emilie saw the pair as they went to mount the steps.

“Romney,” she said happily. “Your mother is awake and will be joining us shortly for a meal. Will you please join us also?”

Romney was lured by the treats but he also wanted to help Gart sharpen the daggers. Gart saw the boy’s indecision and pulled the sheathed blade out of his hand.

“Go and enjoy the treats,” he told him. “I will save this blade for you.”

Romney scratched his head, looking up at Gart. “Are you sure?”

“I am.” Gart threw his chin in the direction of the reception room. “Go. I will send your mother down.”

Romney skipped off the steps and into the reception room. Gart could hear Christina crowing happily at the boy’s appearance, which made him smile. Romney seemed to have that excited effect on children, like a Pied Piper that could lead them all into delirious childhood joy. He had the air of leadership about him, even at such a young age. Mounting the rest of the steps, he knocked softly on Emberley’s door.

“Come,” she said, muffled behind the panel.

Gart pushed the door open, his gaze falling on Emberley as she secured a linked copper belt around her hips. She was wearing a pale yellow linen surcoat with a square neckline, a garment that enhanced her figure beautifully. Her blond hair was free-flowing, wavy because it had been braided in her sleep, and a pretty shell comb secured the front of her hair off her face. Gart sighed dreamily at the sight of her.

“Good morning, my lady,” he greeted softly.

She beamed at him, smoothing down the bodice of the surcoat. “Good morning, Sir Gart,” she went over to him, leaning against him and kissing him sweetly. “Did you sleep well, sweetheart?”

He kissed her again, nuzzling her face with his nose. “I always sleep well when you are with me,” he murmured. “How do you feel this morning?”

She stood back from him and adjusted the copper belt. “I feel remarkably well.”

“No belly ache?”

She shook her head. “Not this morning.”

He went over to the table where he had set his pumice stone and set down the collection of daggers in his hand. Then he returned to Emberley and scooped her up in his enormous embrace. He hugged her tightly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He just stood there and held her, her feet dangling more than a foot off the ground.

“It is so good to simply feel you in my arms,” he whispered against the side of her head. “This reminds me of the days back at Dunster when it was just you and me and the children, without a care in the world.”

She held on to him, drowning herself in the man’s massive body and warm power.

“We will know those days again,” she assured him softly. “Perhaps it will be in Burgenland, high on a mountaintop, but I swear we will know those days again.”

He kissed the side of her head and set her carefully to her feet. His green eyes were serious.

“I know that you have already considered this, but if we are forced to flee, we cannot be legally married,” he said, his voice low. “But I swear to you, in my heart, mind and body, we will be more married than any two people have ever been on this earth. I will call you my wife regardless.”

She smiled at him, holding his big hands in her small warm ones. “And you shall be my husband,” she whispered. “Marriage is a foolishly inconsequential thing compared to the love and devotion you and I have. Marriage could not make us any richer.”

He returned her smile, kissing her hands gently. “Lady Emilie has a grand meal spread out below for you,” he told her. “Rom is already down there, eating everything of noteworthiness, I am sure.”

Emberley wriggled her eyebrows. “Perhaps I had better join them before everything is eaten and gone. Will you be joining us?”

He escorted her to the door, opening it for her. “Later,” he told her. “I have a few things to attend to now that you are awake.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

He dipped his head in the direction of the table that held the pumice stone and daggers. “I have been sitting with you all morning in case you woke and needed me.”

She smiled and shook her head. “I am not a child that needs to be tended every moment, Gart,” she pinched his cheek affectionately. “Although I thank you for your sweet devotion, you could have easily gone about your duties as I slept.”

He fought off a grin. “I know,” he replied, almost defiantly. “But I wanted to watch you sleep. I have not had that privilege in some time.”

She laughed softly, touched by his words, as she quit the room. Gart took her hand as they descended the steps. As they neared the bottom of the staircase, talking softly between them, Emilie caught sight of the pair and rose from her chair. She appeared in the door of the reception room, her lovely face alight with a smile.

“Lady Emberley,” she greeted. “It is good to see you looking so well this morning.”

Emberley smiled at the truly likable woman. “Thank you, Lady de Lohr,” she said. “I slept very well in your lovely chamber.”

Emilie came towards her, hand outstretched. She was looking at Gart as she spoke. “You have monopolized her enough, Gart,” she scolded lightly. “I should like to come to know my new friend. Go now, and do whatever it is knights do these days.”

Emberley laughed at Gart’s fallen expression as she took Emilie’s hand and the two of them looked quite companionable. Gart sighed, putting a hand over his heart.

“You have hurt me deeply, Lady de Lohr,” he jested. “I suppose I am being chased away.”

“You are,” Emilie winked at Emberley. “But we will be right here, have no fear. Your lady will not be far from you.”

Before Emilie could pull Emberley away, Gart bent over, cupped her face with one hand, and kissed her cheek sweetly. With a wink and a rather provocative rake of her body with his gaze, he quit the entry hall and disappeared towards the rear of the manse.

Emberley watched him go before turning to Emilie and realizing the woman had been studying the interplay between her and Gart quite intently. Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink.

“He loves you a great deal,” Emilie said softly. “I can see it in everything about him.”

Emberley was floating on clouds, deliriously in love with the man. “As I love him also,” she admitted, not sure what more she could say on the subject. “Have you known Gart long?”

Emilie clutched her hand as they retreated back into the reception room where Romney was stuffing himself with apricot sweets.

“I have known him for four years,” she said. “He is a good man. I am so glad he has found happiness with you.”

“I have known him most of my life,” Emberley replied. “He was my brother’s best friend before my brother perished in The Levant.”

They reached a pair of comfortable chairs and Emilie indicated for Emberley to sit, which she did. Romney came over to his mother and she pulled the big lad onto her lap. But he didn’t want to stay too long, just long enough to be hugged, before slithering off to return to the tray of sweets.

From that point, the conversation was light and gay. Emilie discovered that Emberley was hysterically humorous and the pair laughed uproariously as they enjoyed warmed, watered wine and a variety of foods. The more Emilie came to know of the woman, the more sorrow she began to feel for her plight. She didn’t deserve what life had dealt her until she met Gart.

Around midday, Romney was starting to feel like a caged animal as he paced around the reception room while his mother and Lady de Lohr conversed about their respective childhoods.

Emberley could see that her son was restless so she casually suggested that they all go for a walk around the grounds. Emilie agreed quickly, giving sleepy Christina over to a servant as she took her new friends outside to show them the grounds of Bellham Place.

The day was moist and warm, and within a few minutes of being outside, Emberley’s face was rosy and damp from the weather. The linen was a cool fabric and kept her relatively comfortable as she and Emilie began to walk the path to the lovely formal gardens north of the manse. There were massive oak trees lining the path and Romney tried to climb every tree he came across.

Emilie watched the boy try to sprint up a tree. She laughed when he fell off the tree and rolled around in the damp grass.

“Am I to understand that you have three boys, my lady?” she turned to Emberley. “I cannot imagine three boys with such vigor.”

Emberley gave her a half-grin. “Truly, you have no concept,” she shook her head with feigned resignation. “My boys are full of life and mischief. When Gart first came to Dunster, they robbed him as he entered the keep.”

Emilie burst out laughing. “They robbed the great Gart Forbes?”

Emberley giggled along with her. “Do not be so quick to laugh,” she told her. “They robbed your husband as well and would have beat him had he not given them a pence each. That was enough to keep the hounds at bay.”

Emilie laughed harder. “Say not so,” she begged, watching Romney race on ahead. “They are brave young men to attack such powerful knights.”

Emberley was forced to agree. She shaded her eyes from the sun, watching Romney pick up rocks and throw them at birds.

“Gart has tried to break them of it,” she admitted. “When we went to stay at Trelystan Castle, they robbed the lord of the keep several times before Gart found out about it. He made them return everything but then we found out that Lord de Lara had quite willingly gone along with the robberies. He even let the boys take him hostage and he ransomed himself with the promise of a gold crown each. That was when Gart put a stop to everything.”

Emilie was giggling throughout the story. “I hope I get to meet your boys some time,” she said. “Do you think they will try to rob me as well?”

Emberley shook her head. “They only rob men, thankfully. But I would still be careful if I were you.”

They paused by a fountain that was fed by a stream running across the property. Flowers of all kinds were blooming, foxgloves and hollyhocks reaching to the sky in a riot of color. Romney was throwing rocks at the crows that kept swooping in and Emberley thought it was all quite heavenly but for the absence of her other three children. She tried not to think of Orin and Brendt and Lacy because it only brought her to tears. She knew that Lord de Lara was spoiling them rotten and that they were well tended. Still, she missed them.

Emilie was watching Romney, oblivious to Emberley’s longing for her other children. She pointed to the boy.

“He has good aim with his rocks, my lady,” she observed. “He will make a fine marksman.”

Emberley turned to her. “Please call me Emberley,” she said. “It seems odd to be so formal with someone who has very nearly saved your life.”

Emilie smiled broadly. “You will call me Emilie,” she insisted. “Or Em. I will answer to either.”

Emberley lifted an eyebrow. “I am called Em, also. We very nearly have the same name.”

Emilie giggled. “The same name and the same blond hair, but that is where the similarities end.”

Emberley cocked her head. “Why do you say that?”

Emilie looked rather hesitant to speak, her gaze drifting over Emberley’s delicious figure, something that had not gone unnoticed by her or by the men at Bellham. She began to make hand gestures around her waist and bosom.

“Well,” she said. “You have… you are much better endowed than I am and… well, you are quite attractive.”

Emberley could see what she meant as she held her hands over her breasts like great cups and she burst out laughing.

“It is the pregnancy, I assure you,” she said. “My breasts grow enormous as the child grows.”

Emilie grinned in return. “As I recall, mine did as well. I look forward to that day again and, I am sure, so does my husband. He was quite… pleased.”

The two of them giggled like girls as the sounds of thunder caught their attention. Turning to the south, they could see a pair of chargers approach from the rear of the manse where the stable block was located.

Emberley recognized Gart’s black and white charger as he roared towards them. It was then that she noticed that Gart was leading a cream-colored pony with a black mane and tail. Romney saw Gart coming and he was nearly run over as he ran out to meet him.

Gart had to settle his charger down as the horse reared up, having been abruptly prevented from stomping on Romney. Kevin was beside Gart astride his silver charger, having brought up the rear.

“Gart!” Romney was jumping up and down, his focus completely on the pony. “Can I ride him? Can I please?”

Gart was dressed casually in a heavy tunic, breeches, big boots and a mail coat. On his hands were enormous leather gloves. He grinned down at the excited child.

“Lord de Lohr said you could ride him while you are at Bellham,” he handed the pony over to Kevin as he dismounted his charger. “What do you think of him?”

Romney was beside himself with excitement. “He is strong and fine,” the child gleefully ran up to the pony and began stroking his face. “What is his name?”

Gart looked over at Emberley, winking at her smiling face. “His name is George,” he replied, moving to the boy and lifting him up into the saddle. He put the boy’s feet into the stirrups and took the reins from Kevin, handing them over to Romney. “Do you think you can ride him?”

Romney nodded eagerly, kicking the pony in the sides to get him going. As the adults watched, Romney directed the pony straight through the flower garden, knocking over a tall stalk of hollyhocks. Emberley winced.

“Rom!” she called. “Take the pony out of the garden!”

Romney steered the pony out of the garden but not before tramping over several other bushes. Emberley sighed heavily, looking apologetically to Emilie.

“I am sorry,” she said. “He has not ridden by himself very much. I will make sure he stays out of the garden.”

Emilie waved her off. “No need,” she assured her. “He is welcome anywhere, even in the garden.”

Emberley chuckled softly, turning to Gart as the man stood there, watching Romney trot around on the pony. She greeted Kevin amiably as she made her way over to Gart.

“That was sweet of you to bring him a pony,” she said. “He has been pacing the floors endlessly all morning. This will give him something to do.”

Gart smiled at her, wrapping an enormous arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his torso.

“I could see this morning that he needed something to occupy his time,” he replied. “Without Orin and Brendt, there is no one for him to play with.”

Emberley nodded, watching Romney bounce around in the saddle as the pony trotted. “Have you sent your men for the other children yet?”

Gart nodded. “They left about an hour ago,” he told her. “They have strict instructions to ride hard to Trelystan, collect the children, and return as quickly as they can without causing the children undue stress.”

Emberley sighed. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I miss my babies. It will be so good to have them in my arms again.”

“It will be good to have all five of you back in mine.”

They grinned at each other and Gart kissed her forehead. As they turned back to watch Romney, the boy kicked the pony a little too hard and the little beast bucked, sending Romney flying off onto his arse.

As Emberley flinched, Gart let her go and made his way over to the boy, who was picking himself off the dirt and rubbing his bum. Kevin spurred his charger after the runaway pony, corralling the animal near the main gates of Bellham and leading him back over to the little boy with the bruised pride.

“Are you well?” Gart looked Romney over, brushing the dirt off the boy’s back. “No broken bones?”

Romney shook his head, looking rather sheepish. “I… I was not holding on tightly,” he told him. Any excuse was better than the truth that the horse had managed to throw him because he was inexperienced. “I will hold on tighter next time.”

Gart simply nodded, unwilling to damage the boy’s pride further, as Kevin brought the pony back around again. As Gart instructed Romney how to mount the pony from a standing position, they began to hear dogs barking upon the wall. Bellham Place had several dogs, in fact, some roaming around the grounds in packs while others were used by the sentries. Three or four dogs stood at the closed front gates, barking through the iron grate.

Gart didn’t give any thought to the dogs as he helped Romney mount the pony again. Even Kevin wasn’t paying any attention. Emberley strolled upon her son, watching him adjust himself in the saddle and commenting on his proud stance on horseback. She suspected his pride needed some mending after the fall so she made a good attempt.

Romney made a second attempt to ride the pony, reining it in the direction of the open lawn area to the east of the garden. Gart took Emberley’s hand, pulling her out of the way as Romney tried to direct the stubborn little pony.

Emilie eventually joined them. As the four adults watched Romney take another try at riding horseback, a sentry from the gates came jogging over to their group. Gart heard the mail grating and turned just as the soldier was upon them.

“My lord,” he saluted Gart. “A party approaches the gates.”

“Who?” Gart asked.

“Papal standards, my lord,” the guard replied. “Blue, red and yellow.”

Gart stared at the man a moment before looking to Kevin. “Westminster?” he cocked his head, confused. “Those are his standards. Do we know any other papal standards that bear those colors?”

Kevin shook his head. “I do not know of any,” he replied. “Westminster is only four or five miles to the west. It must be them.”

Gart’s confusion was growing. “Why would they come here?”

Kevin sat straight in the saddle and reined his charger for the gates. “I shall find out their business.”

Gart watched the man trot away, still relatively unconcerned at the visitors. He took Emberley by the hand and directed her towards the manse.

“I am not entirely sure who this is or what they want, so it would be best if you and Emilie retreated to the house for now,” he told her, a kiss to the temple. “Lady Emilie, I shall inform your husband we have guests.”

The ladies were unconcerned, doing as they were told. “What about Rom?” Emberley asked.

Gart turned in Romney’s direction, emitting a piercing whistle between his teeth and waving the boy over when the child turned to look at him.

“I will collect him,” he told her. “Go inside now and prepare for visitors. I will be in shortly.”

Arm in arm, Emilie and Emberley headed for the manse. Gart watched them go before turning to make sure Romney was on his way. The boy was heading in his general direction even though the pony was trying its hardest not to cooperate.

Gart turned one last time to make sure Emberley and Emilie were near the manse, which they were. They were just entering the door. Returning his attention to Romney as the child directed the stubborn pony towards him, he was startled when Kevin suddenly roared up next to him. Dirt and rocks hit Gart in the legs as Kevin came to abrupt stop.

“It is Westminster,” he said, sounding breathless. “Get Emberley upstairs and lock her someplace safe, Gart. We have trouble.”

Gart’s brow furrowed with concern. “What kind of trouble?”

Kevin’s handsome face was deadly serious, an expression that Gart would never forget as long as he lived.

“Buckland is with him.”