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Gart looked around for a vessel to put the herbs in but could only come up with the bowl he had used to pour water in. Collecting it off the floor, he poured the water out and placed the herbs in the bottom of the bowl, mashing them all together with a little rosewater and the bottom of an earthenware cup he had found. Being that this was the children’s chamber, it was full of clutter, both useful and garbage. It looked like a pack of wild animals lived there and not three little boys.

When the weeds were mush, he turned to Emberley. The three boys followed him and began jumping on the bed when they drew near their mother. Gart softly admonished them to stop jostling her around, so Brendt and Orin contritely climbed off. Lacy was lying next to her mother, sucking her thumb and looking up at Gart with big, blue eyes. Gart took the paste of herbs and began to smear it on Emberley’s swollen ear.

“Can I help?” Romney wanted to know.

Gart held up the bowl and the boy put his fingers in it, very carefully putting it on the exterior of his mother’s ear as Gart talked him through it. Orin and Brendt saw what they were doing and wanted to help, too, so Gart had them smear the stuff on her bruised hands. As the four of them carefully rubbed on the goo, Emberley began to stir.

Her dark blue eyes fluttered open and she quickly realized that there were more people in the room. Dazed, she began to move around but Gart put a big hand on her shoulder to steady her.

“Be still,” he admonished. “You are being well tended.”

Emberley blinked, catching sight of Lacy lying next to her and Orin’s big grin, missing two front teeth. She couldn’t help but smile weakly, reaching out a battered hand to touch Orin’s cheek and realizing there was something smeared all over it. She blinked to clear her vision, looking at the green mess on her hands.

“What is this?” she asked weakly.

Gart stood over her, big hands on his hips as he gazed down at her. “Medicine,” he said. “Your sons were eager to help.”

Her blue eyes twinkled at him. “They are not such bad boys after all.”

Gart smiled. “Nay, they are not,” he agreed. “In fact, they are very helpful.”

She returned his smile, prevented from speaking when Lacy suddenly sat up and put her arms around her mother’s bruised neck. Emberley groaned as the little girl hugged her and kissed her cheek with sloppy, baby kisses. Gart instinctively moved to lift the little girl up so she wouldn’t hurt her mother, but just as quickly he stopped himself, unsure what to do. Emberley looked up and saw his indecision, and her smile broadened.

“You have not yet met the Lady de Lacy Isadora de Moyon,” she said. “My husband named her for his good friend, Walter de Lacy. She is not yet two years of age and you must be careful that you do not let her too close to you. She will hug you and kiss you until you pull her away.”

Gart watched the little girl smother her mother in kisses, feeling those odd warm feelings swamping him again. In pain and injured, Emberley hugged her baby and let the girl deliver slobbery kisses. It was sweet and touching. Then he looked at Romney, the oldest, stoically putting green slime on his mother’s injured ear while Orin and Brendt put it on the knuckles of her left hand. It tugged at his heart to watch these children, trying so hard to be brave and help their injured mother, strong and intelligent sons of a bastard who did not deserve them. It both deeply touched him and deeply angered him. Something inside him, deep down, was starting to transform.

He couldn’t put his finger on what kind of transformation, but it was something he’d never felt before. He began to suspect it was jealousy but he largely ignored it, unsure how to handle it and not wanting to devote time and energy to it. He was jealous of what Buckland had. As he watched Emberley and the children, he realized it was more than simply taking Erik’s place as an uncle and protector. He wanted this family for himself.

Someone pounded sharply on the chamber door, jolting him from his muddy thoughts. The children froze, terrified, and Emberley looked fearfully to the bolted panel. They could hear Julian yelling on the other side.

“Open this door!” he shouted. “Open it, I say!”

The children looked to Gart, terrified, as he put a calm finger to his lips to indicate silence. He was controlled, which helped the children in their reactions. His influence was calming. Motioning to Romney, he pulled the boy off the bed and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“You will open the door,” he murmured. “I will hide. Do not tell your father I am here. Is that clear?”

Romney nodded solemnly. “I will not,” he whispered, turning sternly to the family on the bed. “No one tell Father that Sir Gart is here!”

As Orin and Brendt nodded fearfully, Gart patted Romney’s head. “Good lad,” he hissed. “Go and open the door.”

Romney’s big and anxious eyes were on Gart as he moved for the door. Gart, however, remained composed as he moved to stand next to the door as he had done earlier when the children had entered the room. He was such a big man that there was no other place for him to hide. He had to put himself behind the door when it opened and pray that was enough. As long as the door remained open, he had a chance.

He flattened himself against the wall as Romney put his hand on the latch. Gart nodded confidently to Romney and the boy unbolted the door and opened it. Julian was in the process of pounding again when the panel jerked open and Romney stood in the doorway.

He scowled at his son. “Why did you lock the door, boy?”

He didn’t give Romney a chance to answer before he pushed into the cluttered chamber, his gaze falling on the mussed bed where Emberley and his other three children were. He didn’t seem to notice their fearful expressions but if he did, he didn’t care. His countenance was unrepentant as he stood over the bed, inspecting Emberley as she lay wounded. He looked her over and finally shook his head.

“I hope you have learned your lesson this time,” he told her. “Were you not disobedient, I would not have to punish you.”

Emberley would not look at him. She clutched Lacy up against her, knowing Julian wouldn’t try to hurt her with the baby in her arms. Julian could beat her from morning to night but, strangely, he wouldn’t touch the children. Still, the tension in the room was palpable and the small family tensed, waiting for Julian to take notice of the enormous knight hiding behind the door panel and terrified of the consequences.

“Aye, Julian,” she replied softly. “I understand.”

Julian just stood there, eyeing her. He was finely dressed for his trip, wearing his standard colors of dark green, white and gray. When he seemed satisfied that his wife was adequately wounded from his thrashing, he began to pull on his fine leather gloves.

“I am leaving for London this morning,” he told her. “The queen’s requirements may keep me in London for quite some time, so I do not know when I will return. It could be months.”

“ Bon voyage , Julian,” Emberley murmured.

He paused, irritated, still clutching one of his gloves in his hand. “Is that all you will say?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, feeling the familiar fear at his tone. “We will look forward to your return, my lord.”

That seemed to satisfy him. The man had no use for her but he wanted to feel appreciated and wanted, as if she were completely dependent upon him and longed for his return. The wrong words would result in another thrashing and Emberley was in no condition to receive another beating. She had to make him feel as if they loved him if there was any hope of her survival.

Julian lingered, eyeing her and the children, before turning on his heel and marching towards the door. Romney was standing there, holding it open for his father, and Julian paused in front of the boy, gazing down into his sweet little face.

“Perhaps I shall take you to London with me someday,” he put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “It is time you are introduced to Court. While I am there, I shall also make arrangements for you to foster. The time has come.”

Romney looked up at him innocently, leaning back against the door and sandwiching Gart between the heavy oak panel and the wall.

“Aye, Papa,” he said.

That was as far as Julian could go in showing his son attention. He went to put on his second glove but it fell from his hands, slipping on the floor and falling partially behind the panel. Emberley, watching the exchange between Julian and Romney, was seized with terror as Julian bent over to pick it up. It was very close to Gart’s boot, the toe of which she could see a couple of inches from the glove in the shadow of the open door. But Romney was fast and he picked up the glove and handed it to his father before the man could make a reasonable effort.

“Here, Papa,” he pushed the glove at the man. “Will it take you a long time to get to London?”

Sharp even at his young age, Romney was trying to divert his father’s attention and get him out the door. The situation was becoming too uncomfortable for the young man and he knew what his father was capable of. He wasn’t fearful for Gart as much as he was fearful for his mother. But Julian didn’t know his son very well. He’d spent the majority of the boy’s life ignoring him or in London or France, so he had no idea what was deep in the lad’s heart and the fear he had for what his father was capable of.

At his son’s words, Julian simply felt important as his son seemed eager to glean his knowledge. Now that the boy was getting older and more intelligent, Julian began to think that perhaps he was worthy of his attention.

“I will be gone at least a month, perhaps more,” he told him. “It is a long journey to London.”

“May I see you off, Papa?” Romney asked eagerly.

Julian slapped the boy on the shoulder as he quit the chamber. “Of course.”

“Papa, why are you going to see the queen?”

Julian winked at him. “Because she is my very special friend, boy. We are linked, body and soul, and if she were to die, I would die as well. I will explain more to you when you grow older.”

Julian went first through the door and Romney followed. The boy shut the door softly, leaving the room oddly still in his wake. Gart stood against the wall, listening to the fading sounds of Romney and his father descending the stairs before moving away from the wall and silently throwing the bolt to lock it. He listened until the distant voices fell silent before turning to Emberley.

She was looking at him from the bed, her dark blue eyes wide with apprehension. When she realized that Julian had come and gone from the room without discovering Gart, it was more than she could bear. She had been living the last few minutes in total terror, especially when Julian dropped his glove. She was sure her life was over at that moment. As Gart watched, her features crumpled and her head fell to the mattress. Frightened and relieved sobs filled the air.

Gart went over to the bed, his gaze moving over the children who were looking at their mother with confusion and fear. He put an enormous hand on Emberley’s shoulder.

“Be at ease, kitten,” he comforted. “He is gone, hopefully for a very long time. All is well.”

She began wiping at her cheeks furiously, smearing green slime from the crushed herbs across her face. It took him a moment to realize the sobs had turned to weepy giggles.

“You called me kitten,” she sniffled. “I have missed it.”

He gave her a half-smile, looking around for the wet linen he had used to clean off her ear and using it to wipe the green smears on her cheek.

“I shall call you it often if it pleases you,” he replied softly.

Emberley heard something in his tone, something that suggested other than brotherly concern, and it jolted her. She was wildly resistant and wildly thrilled at the same time. Muddled, confused, she thought perhaps she was reading too much into it. The man had literally been her shadow since their reunion yesterday and he had brought her a great deal of comfort, reminding her of times when she didn’t live in daily fear of a brutal husband.

She didn’t want to become dependent on Gart somehow, clinging to the vaporous memories of a dead brother, one who had always protected her. But even as she entertained those thoughts, she knew it wasn’t true. Gart was different. He was a proud and powerful man.

Sickened by her thoughts, she simply smiled weakly in response to his statement.

“Would you please do something for me, Gart?” she asked softly.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Do not ask me to leave again because I will not.”

Her weak smile turned genuine. “Nay,” she chuckled softly. “I was not going to ask you to leave. I was going to ask you to take the children to Gerta. I wish to sleep and I cannot do that if they are here.”

Gart looked around. “Is this not their room?” he asked. “Where is your chamber? I will take you there. You will be more comfortable.”

“Perhaps later,” she said softly. “Right now, I do not want to move.”

He understood. There had been times in his life when he had been so badly thrashed that he didn’t want to move, either. Nodding his head, he moved away from the bed and went to the lancet window, peering down at the bailey below.

The fog from the early morning had lifted and the day was dawning sunny. Everything smelled crisp and clean. He could see part of the bailey from where he stood, enough to see a portion of the gatehouse and the fact that Julian’s escort to London was now congregated near the big oak and iron gates.

Men and servants were milling about, mounting horses and securing provisions, and he watched for quite some time until Julian came into view. He caught a glimpse of the man as he slipped out the front gates on his big, white horse, followed by several men-at-arms bearing the colors of Buckland. All were well-armed and seasoned. Following the horses were two wagons loaded down with provisions and trunks.

Gart could see a portion of the road outside of the walls and he watched as Baron Buckland’s party faded into the horizon. Only then did he feel genuinely relieved that the man had departed, jolted from his position near the window when someone pounded on the chamber door. He moved to the panel, lifting the iron latch as Romney barged in. The young lad looked right at Gart.

“He is gone now,” he assured him. “He will not come back for a long time. Mother will be well now.”

Gart looked over at the bed where Emberley had fallen asleep beside her thumb-sucking daughter. Orin and Brendt were still on the bed, whispering between them, pointing at Emberley’s head. Every once in a while they would grab at Lacy’s feet and she would kick at them and whine. Now that Julian was gone, their source of terror, the relief was palpable. The children were acting like children, care-free, and Emberley was fast asleep. The tension, the terror, was over for now.

“Aye, she will,” he told the boy. “She will be fine.”

He moved over to the bed. Watching Emberley sleep stirred something deep inside him, an indefinable warmth that he tried to chase away but couldn’t. He realized that whatever he was starting to feel wasn’t healthy or normal, at least not for him, but the feelings were so strong that he couldn’t seem to fight them off. They were wrong and he knew it, but he didn’t particularly care.

He put his hand on Romney’s shoulder. “Come along,” he said quietly. “I told your mother I would take you and your siblings to Gerta. Where is she?”

Romney shrugged. “In the hall, I think. She was there the last time I saw her.”

“Then let us go so that your mother may sleep uninterrupted.”

He motioned Orin and Brendt off the bed, but Brendt got tangled in the coverlet, so he lifted the boy off and unwound his feet. Lacy, seeing that her brothers were leaving, suddenly stood up on the mattress and whined, lifting her arms to be picked up. Gart looked at the little girl, sweet like a little cherub, and waited for Romney to take her, but the oldest brother was already over by the door with his two younger brothers. Gart hesitantly reached out and picked the baby up, whereupon she promptly wrapped her fat, little arms around his neck and put a slobbery mouth on his cheek.

Gart didn’t know what else to do but carry her over to the door. Little Lacy delivered a couple of very wet kisses to his rough cheek before hugging him tightly, her little face against his. Gart’s momentary surprise, and perhaps disgust at the tongue-to-his-cheek kiss, was abated as Lacy hugged him. There was something inherently sweet and settling about the toddler in his arms, a gentle slice of life he had never before experienced. His intention to put her down once they reached the door changed. He hugged her back, smiling weakly when Romney and the other boys pointed at him and laughed.

“Mother told you not to get too close,” Romney taunted. “She will kiss you until your whole face is wet.”

Gart lifted an eyebrow as Lacy squeezed him enthusiastically. “Does she do this with everyone? Even strangers?”

Romney shrugged as they headed out the door. “Almost everyone,” he said. “But she usually wants to be put down by now. She likes you.”

As if to punctuate the statement, Lacy began to deliver open-mouth kisses against his jaw. She was babbling baby-talk the entire time, happy and chatty. Gart suffered through the baby’s wet kisses in spite of everything, thinking it was rather sweet. Mildly repulsive, but sweet.

Romney had been correct. By the time they found Gerta in the great hall, Gart’s entire face was wet with baby kisses.