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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“W hy can I not go with you?” Romney was on the verge of a full-blown tantrum. “I can be your squire.”

Gart was patiently packing his bags. “I do not need a squire.”

“I can tend your horse, then. I will not eat much, I swear it.” Romney, his wooden sword in hand, went to Gart and put his face between Gart and the bag the man was packing. When Gart looked down, all he could see were big, blue eyes staring up at him. “Can I please come with you? Please? ”

Gart sighed. “If you go with me, who will take care of your mother?” he ran a big hand over the boy’s brown hair. “If I am gone, there is only one man I would trust with her protection and that is you. Would you disappoint me so?”

Romney’s face screwed up in a terrible frown. As he was thinking of a serious reply, Emberley entered the chamber with her arms laden with freshly washed garments. She went to the big bed in the center of the room where Gart was packing his bag and carefully laid them out across the heavy wool coverlet.

“These are dry,” she told Gart as she peeled the top layer off, a tunic, and began to carefully roll it up. “I have six of them. There are four more drying in the sun.”

Gart glanced over at the stack. “Is my padded tunic in that group?”

She nodded. “It is at the bottom. It was very dirty and required more cleaning than the others. Have you never cleaned it, Gart?”

“Never. It has years of sweat and blood on it.”

She made a disgusted face as Gart moved around the side of the bed, around the pouting Romney, and fingered the padded tunic at the bottom of the pile.

“It is soft,” he looked at her, surprised. “How did you accomplish that?”

She smiled. “You mean it does not feel like a prickly patch? I must have cleaned it incorrectly.”

He grinned at her and carefully pulled the tunic out from underneath the pile. As he inspected the seams and wear of the tunic, Brendt and Orin rushed into the room and dove onto the bed. The neat pile of clean tunics scattered as the boys jumped about and Emberley screeched.

“Orin!” she grabbed the boy by the arm and pulled him off the bed. “Brendt, get down. Go play in your chamber.”

Brendt was gleefully bouncing on the scattered tunics until Gart grasped him around the waist and put him on the floor. Then he was unhappy and started swatting Romney with his wooden sword. Romney, upset because Gart would not take him along on his impending trip to London, grabbed his youngest brother by the collar.

“Stop hitting me,” he told him. “Come on– let us go somewhere else.”

“Where?” Orin wanted to know.

Romney was leading his brothers from the room, whispering to them as he went. Gart’s ears were peaked to their clandestine hisses even as he and Emberley straightened out the pile of mussed tunics. He turned to the boys as they neared the chamber door.

“I told you what would happen should you engage in robbery again,” he said pointedly, cocking an eyebrow at the three brothers when they paused in the doorway to look at him. “You have already tried to rob Lord Stephan, twice, in his own keep. One more infraction and I will blister your backsides. Is this in any way unclear?”

Romney sighed, extremely unhappy with the way the day was panning out. “We did not rob him.”

“Rom, I have warned you about lying.”

“I am not lying,” Romney insisted. “We were playing and accidentally poked him with our swords. We did not rob him.”

Gart wasn’t falling for it. “I suppose the fact that you tried to cut his purse from his belt was an accident, too,” he shook his head. “If you ever want to be a knight, you will cease this behavior. Knights are not thieves and they are not liars.”

Unhappy, confused and defiant, the three of them quit the chamber and crossed the hall to the chamber on the opposite side of the landing. It was their bedchamber and their playroom combined. Stephan de Lara, Viscount Trelystan and Lord de Lara, had gladly given the chamber to the four de Moyon children. It was the same chamber his two boys, Sean and Kevin, had occupied in their youth. The old man was thrilled to hear the laughter and clamor within the old walls of Trelystan Castle again, even when three of his young guests had tried to rob him.

Emberley and Gart could hear the boys playing in the other room, listening to battle cries and mysterious items crashing to the floor. Twice, they heard something fall as the boys wrestled and twice, Gart looked to Emberley to see if they should go check on them, but she merely shook her head and continued rolling tunics. He assumed that if she wasn’t worried, he shouldn’t be either. Besides, there was no screaming so all must be well. He was still getting used to having three lively boys around. He admired her calm and acquired patience.

They had arrived at the enormous border castle of Trelystan Castle four days prior after the harrowing five day flight from Dunster. They had arrived exhausted and hungry, and after Kevin explained the situation to his father, the old man was more than happy to provide Gart and Emberley safe haven. He hated the king, his queen, and everything about the throne so as Kevin predicted, he was quite happy to have the refugees. Their reasons for their arrival didn’t matter to him in the least. He seemed more than eager to have guests.

Gart began to see at the onset that Stephan was an old and lonely man, which partially accounted for the fact that the man was so happy to have visitors. He lived rather sparingly, with only a few servants in the keep, but a mountain of soldiers at the castle. Gart guessed around eight hundred and he was told there were just a little over nine hundred men. The other two castles, Caradoc and Hyssington, carried slightly more. In all, Viscount Trelystan had nearly three thousand men at his disposal, all along the Welsh border where things could be moody and volatile. It was an impressive show of power and Gart began to feel some safety at the sheer numbers. Not even Buckland carried that many men.

With their arrival at Trelystan, he now had time to breathe and think. Before he could get involved in too much reflection, however, Kevin reminded him that he was expected in London in about two weeks to lead de Lohr’s men into France. Gart found it fairly ironic that he was expected to support a man whose wife he had essentially stolen, but he didn’t linger on life’s little ironies. Buckland deserved worse.

Gart hadn’t said much to Emberley about the duties expected of him as one of de Lohr’s commanders, mostly because he didn’t want to upset her after such a strenuous trip from Dunster. He had spoken of his orders once before so he knew that she was aware of them, but she’d never said a word about it. Even so, he knew he could not delay too much longer before heading to London. He also knew he had to make things clear with her about what was to happen and the future of their life together.

When the subject eventually came up, he again mentioned his need to leave for London, casually, specifically designed so Emberley would not be overly worried about it. He only mentioned his need to speak with de Lohr face to face and naught much else. His plan to keep her calm had so far worked and Emberley had even offered to help him pack for his trip. They found themselves in the big chamber that they shared, packing up his clothing and other items to take with him on his trip. As the boys banged about in the other chamber, he tucked his padded tunic into his saddlebag and sat on the bed.

He watched Emberley as she carefully rolled his clean tunics, packing them into his saddlebags. She was so graceful and fluid in her movements that he simply liked to watch her. She was enchanting.

“I should take the remaining tunics,” he said softly. “I tend to change frequently.”

She didn’t look at him as she neatly packed in the garments. “I know,” she said. “I have never seen a man change his clothing so much.”

“I do not like to wear clothes that are too soiled.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Yet your padded tunic, the one you wear beneath your armor, has not been washed in ages until today. Why is that?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I do.”

“I do not think you will like the answer.”

“Tell me.”

He sighed faintly, reaching out to take her hand. “Because…,” he paused, playing with her fingers. “Because it was the tunic I was wearing when Eric perished. It still had his blood on it.”

Emberley’s expression turned to one of horror. Her hands flew to her mouth and tears immediately began to pop out of her eyes. “And you let me wash it?” she was deeply upset. “Why did you not tell me? I would not have touched it.”

He reached up, calmly soothing her. He eased her onto his lap, his big arms wrapping around her.

“It is time,” he acknowledged, hugging her gently. “I clung to it to remind me that we are mortal and life can end tomorrow. It was a superstitious, bitter reminder. But with you… you show me that life is worth living and infinite in its joy. I wanted you to wash it because I wanted you to touch it. Now it has your scent on it and not your brother’s. It comforts me. Does that make sense?”

She wiped at her face, calmed by his words. “It does,” she looked at him with her big, blue eyes. “Are you sure?”

He smiled, kissing her damp cheek. “Of course,” he said. “Now, we must have a serious talk about what the next few weeks will bring.”

She nodded her head, wiping away the last of the tears. “You are going to London to see de Lohr. What will you tell him about what has happened?”

Gart took a deep, thoughtful breath. “Kevin has gone on ahead of me and has already broken the news, I am sure, so my visit is simply to confirm it. More than that, you are aware that my original visit to Dunster was because Buckland was trying to coerce de Lohr into providing support for Isabella’s lands in France.” He looked up at her, his chin resting on her arm. “When Kevin came to Dunster to warn me off of Buckland’s escort, he also told me that I am still expected to head up de Lohr’s contingent to France.”

Emberley was calm. “I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Kevin told me.”

Gart lifted an eyebrow. “He did?” he said. “When did he do this?”

“We had time to talk on the journey here.”

Gart frowned. “You did? Where was I when you were talking to him?”

She could sense jealousy and she grinned. “Playing with the boys, mostly, and loving every minute of it. De Lara was simply making conversation with a lonely woman while you were off rough-housing.”

Gart gave her a lingering glare, much like he did with the boys when he doubted their sincerity. But her grin broadened and he gave up, shrugging his big shoulders.

“Well,” he said. “I suppose there is nothing else I can tell you, then. De Lara seems to have told you everything.”

She shifted, wrapping her arms around his big neck. “You can tell me what you plan to do once you reach London.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, gazing into her beautiful eyes. He kissed the tip of her nose.

“I will ask to be released from my oath,” he said quietly. “And then I will ride to Albemarle and demand my inheritance. I have already spoken to the viscount and he has agreed to allow you and the children to remain here, well protected, until I return.”

Emberley was trying to be brave, trying not to think about all of the obstacles facing them, but it was a struggle. “When do you suppose that will be?”

“It is difficult to say,” he replied honestly. “But it will not be any longer than absolutely necessary. I will return for you, kitten, I swear it.”

She gazed at him and he could see the thoughts rolling through her mind. In spite of his effort to keep the conversation light, he could sense the emotions rolling in like a fog. The feelings covered them, bound them, creating anxiety at what they were about to face and a sense of longing at being separated.

“I do not doubt that you will,” she said softly. “But I fear what will happen if de Lohr will not release you from your oath.”

“He will not have a choice.”

She shook her head at him. “Gart, you have worked many years to achieve your post. David de Lohr is a powerful baron whose brother is the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. You are part of the de Lohr battle machine and that is not something to be taken lightly. If you walk away from that without permission, your reputation will be damaged forever.”

He wasn’t surprised that she understood a good deal about the knighthood and politics. She was a bright woman. He gave her a gentle squeeze.

“I do not see any reason why de Lohr would deny me,” he replied quietly. “As much as he has done for me, I have done equal for him.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged, looking down to her hands cradled in her lap and reaching to collect one. He brought it to his lips as he spoke.

“I have served de Lohr for six years and before that, I served William d’Aubigney of Belvoir,” he said. “D’Aubigney was a supporter of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was battling for Potigny Castle in Burgundy. I served in France for a year and was subsequently joined by David de Lohr for a time, at one point, saving his life from assassins sent by the king. It is a complicated tale but suffice it to say that David asked for my fealty and rewarded me handsomely for saving his life. Since then, I have been his top commander. I have served him well.”

“He will not want to let you go.”

“I am sure he will not. But he is not unreasonable.”

She watched him as he kissed her fingers. “What if he wants you to go to France before he releases you?”

He sighed. “He will not.”

“But what if he does?”

He cupped her face in his two enormous hands, kissing her cheek. “Kitten, you worry overly,” he smiled at her. “Trust me that I will do what is necessary in order to return to you.”

She couldn’t return his smile. There was too much apprehension in her heart. “What about Julian?” she whispered, succumbing to her fears. “Surely the escort has returned to London by now to tell him that I have disappeared. He will….”

He cut her off, kissing her soft mouth. “I do not want you to worry about that,” he told her firmly. “You will let me worry about Buckland. I will do what needs to be done in order that you and I should enjoy a safe and comfortable life.”

She eyed him, thinking on the Gart she knew, had known, of her brother and the adventures the two used to have. She had heard stories as a girl, from her parents, though Erik or Gart would not confirm them. She cocked her head after a moment, thoughtfully.

“I seem to remember that even newly knighted, you and Eric had seen battle against Prince John twelve years ago,” she said. “It was in the fall sometime, I think. I had only seen you and Erik for a couple of months after returning from Chepstow until you were off again.”

Gart nodded faintly. “We fostered at Kenilworth and the bishop called us into service in a skirmish against John,” he remembered that battle with a smile. “It was near Oxford and the first true battle that Erik and I fought together. We were a fearsome sight.”

She smiled because he was. “I remember when you both came back to Morton,” she said. “The first night back, Erik made my mother ill with tales of your battle prowess, as I recall, telling her of a man whose head you tore clean from his body.”

Gart just looked at her and smiled and Emberley’s hand trailed down his right arm and lifted his hand. His fist was nearly as large as her head and she inspected the scarred knuckles, the calloused palms. They were powerful, skilled hands.

“He told the truth, did he not?” she asked softly.

He bit off his smile, modestly. “Does it matter?”

She looked at him. “Tell me the truth.”

He sighed, smile fading as he met her gaze. “It is one of many skills I have.”

She gazed deeply into his eyes, her expression intense. “Gart, I want you to swear to me that you will not kill Julian unless it is in self-defense. No matter how much I hate the man, he is not worth the risk.”

His smile was gone. “What risk?”

She lifted her eyebrows at him as if he were daft. “If you were found out, you would be executed for such a thing and Julian would yet again ruin my life. He would take you from me and I could not live with that.”

Gart wasn’t pleased by her statement but, deep down, he knew she was right. Eventually, it would get around that Gart Forbes had absconded with Baron Buckland’s wife and if Julian turned up dead, all fingers would point to him. He wanted to live a safe and healthy life with Emberley and the children, without Julian hanging over their shoulders, but killing the man would only exacerbate the issue.

Truth be told, he was actually considering killing the man to be rid of him. He was vile and evil and deserved nothing less for the way he had treated Emberley. His thought had nothing to do with ridding himself of a rival. He was eliminating something that caused pain and horror to Emberley. But her soft plea had him reconsidering.

He pulled her into a warm, soft embrace, his face tucked into the crook of her neck. “Do not worry, kitten,” he whispered, kissing her neck. “I will do what is best for all of us. You must trust me.”

“I do. I always have. But I am understandably worried.”

“No need,” he nuzzled her. “All will work out as it should, I swear it.”

She sighed with resignation, her arms tightening around him. “I love you, Gart.”

“And I love you, deeply and for always. When I return, it will be to marry you.”

Emberley didn’t know how to respond to that. With Julian still alive, she had no idea how he would accomplish such a thing even though she wished for it, as he did, with all her heart. But Gart seemed confident that everything would work out in their favor so she did not dispute him. To do so would have been to doubt his word.

All she could do now was hug him tightly and pray.