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CHAPTER TWENTY

T he first arrow hit Donnell in the ribs, sending the man crashing to the ground. Riding behind him on a small gray mare, Emberley and Romney shrieked as more arrows began to fly out of the trees, hitting four more soldiers and sending them to the ground.

The remaining eight soldiers unsheathed their weapons and began shouting, somewhat disoriented because Donnell, their leader, had been struck down and was incapable of delivering orders. The men of the escort party tried to form a perimeter but more arrows flew out of the dark trees and struck down two more.

The men began screaming to each other and the horses, startled, began to scatter. Panic enveloped the group and the little gray mare bolted off in spite of Romney’s attempts to rein it to a halt.

Emberley, seated behind her son on the mare, was tossed off in the ensuing confusion but oddly enough, ended up on her feet. She had literally jumped from the little horse when it bucked and now stood on the muddy, dark road, watching the men around her scatter. Arrows zinged overhead, hitting two more men and she shrieked, squatting down on the road and covering her head with her hands. She had no idea where the arrows were coming from and therefore had no idea where to run. So she stayed put, arms over her head, and called to her son.

“Romney!” she cried. “Come back! Come…!”

Another arrow zinged over her head and she screamed again, ducking down low and trying to roll herself into a ball. Then a wave of horses roared in from the south, shielded by the dark trees. She couldn’t see who they were but suddenly, one of them came to an abrupt halt beside her and mud flew up in her face. Sputtering, she tried to stand up and run, but strong arms went around her.

“Kitten, are you all right?”

She recognized the voice. Startled, breathless, her enormous eyes struggled to see the face in the darkness, a face she had never imagined she would see again. Her avenging angel had arrived, the archangel Gabriel, and the hosts of heaven were with him as they went about systematically smiting Julian’s evil escort. With a cry, Emberley threw her arms around Gart’s neck and began weeping hysterically.

“Gart,” she sobbed. “It is you!”

Gart held her tightly, watching his men race off after the remainder of de Moyon’s escort. He could hardly speak for the lump in his throat, holding Emberley so tightly that he was surely crushing her.

“Aye, kitten, it is me,” he murmured, joyously kissing her cheeks and bumping her with his helm. “Are you well? You have not been injured, have you?”

She shook her head earnestly, and then began to look around frantically. “Romney!” she gasped. “The horse ran off and…!”

“He is well, my lady,” de Lara suddenly appeared, walking towards her in the darkness and leading a small gray mare. “I caught him before he could get too far.”

Romney, spying Gart, leapt off the horse and ran to the man, throwing his arms around his legs. Gart reached down and picked the little boy up, hugging him tightly even as he held Emberley. He realized, even as he held them in his arms, that he was shaking uncontrollably with relief and happiness. He could hardly believe he had them, alive and warm. They were safe and unharmed. He kissed Romney on the cheek before returning his focus to Emberley.

“Tell me truthfully,” he put his enormous hand on her face and forced her to look up at him. “Did they treat you well? Are you…?”

She cut him off. “They treated us as well as they could,” she replied. “They made sure we were fed and as comfortable as possible. Romney and I are fine. Romney has been very brave.”

Gart gazed into her eyes, haunting things in the shadows of the moonlight, reacquainting himself with her beautiful face. He’d missed her desperately. Then he noticed the gash on her neck and the dark stains around the top of her surcoat. His expression darkened.

“What happened to your neck?” he asked through clenched teeth. “What did they do to you?”

It had been five days since the gash and she’d nearly forgotten about it, as it was healing nicely. Her hands flew to her neck, her fingers flitting nervously over the scab.

“It is nothing,” she assured him. “It is healing very well.”

“Who did it?”

“I did it.”

His brow furrowed. “ You did it? Emberley, if you think I….”

She cut him off, her arms around his waist and her head against his armored chest. “Please,” she begged softly. “No harsh words between us. We have not seen each other in weeks. I do not want our first words to be those of anger.”

With a heavy sigh, Gart pulled her back into a tight embrace. He didn’t believe her about the gash but in hindsight, it really didn’t matter. She was healing and healthy. That was all he cared about.

“The rest of the children are still at Trelystan, correct?” Gart asked softly.

Her head was against his chest and she nodded. “They are,” she looked back up at him again. “How did you know we had been taken?”

Gart could see his men coming back through the trees. “Lord de Lara sent a messenger,” he replied. “We barely had time to intercept your escort. Thank God we anticipated the road they would take and were here to meet them.”

Gart’s men began returning from the chase, swarming around them as de Lara turned the gray mare loose, smacking it on the rump so it would run off. Gart pulled Emberley tightly against him so she wouldn’t be bumped by the excited horses, moving aside when they came too close.

“Are they all dead?” Gart asked his soldiers.

One man nodded. “Aye, m’lord,” he replied. “We killed every one of them.”

“Make sure these men lying on the road are dead also,” he instructed. “We will leave no survivors to tell de Moyon of the attack.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“Make it look like bandits if you can, sloppy.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

As Gart’s men went to the men on the road and began slitting throats for good measure, Gart gathered Emberley by the hand.

“Come along, my lady,” he said quietly. “We must get you and your son to safety.”

Emberley watched Gart’s soldiers ensure the death of the de Moyon escort. There was some disgust and trepidation in her expression as she realized what they were doing.

“Why are your men doing that?” she wanted to know. “Why are they defiling the dead like that?”

Gart put his arm around her, trying to shield her from the sight as he led her back to his charger. “Because we cannot leave any witnesses,” he told her. “Julian must not know where you are or who has you.”

She gazed up at him. “But he will see your arrows,” she said. “I am not a warrior but even I know that each army’s arrows are distinctive. Since he is allied with de Lohr, will he not know de Lohr arrows?”

Gart handed over Romney to Kevin as they reached the horses. “We did not use distinctive arrows,” he told her. “We used arrows that David had stored in his armory, arrows confiscated off the Welsh.”

She eyed him as he lifted her onto his saddle. “Julian will have no way of knowing where we are?”

“Nay.”

“But what about my babies?”

“I will send Kevin for them immediately.”

Emberley fell into contemplative silence as Gart mounted behind her, relishing the feel of his arms around her, his lips on her ear as he spurred the charger back into the darkness. She felt safe again, so very safe and happy to be with him, but fearful of the future. Even though Gart had saved her from joining Julian in London, it did not eliminate the problem. They still had the same concerns and issues. She was still very apprehensive.

Settling back against Gart as they rode through the night, Emberley’s apprehension did not abate. As the lights of Bellham Place came into view, the anxiety only grew worse.

*

Lady Emilie de Lohr was as sweet as she could be. She wholly embraced Emberley upon her arrive to Bellham and immediately whisked the lady and her son to a chamber where they could bathe and rest.

The warmth and charm of Bellham welcomed the weary woman and her equally exhausted child, and Emberley was introduced to the Earl of Hereford. David greeted her fondly and she responded in kind, remembering the baron from his visit to Dunster.

After the introductions were finished and Lady Emilie appeared, Emberley panicked when she realized that she would be separated from Gart, but Gart had gently assured her that he would not be far if she needed him. As Gart went with David and Christopher behind closed doors, Emberley and Romney followed Emilie up the stairs.

Bellham was a truly luxurious place with big, spacious rooms and comfortable beds. With Romney in the next room being tended to by a pair of servants, Emilie tended Emberley personally. She helped the lady strip off her bloodied, dirty clothes and climb into a massive copper tub of steaming water.

With the help of a few young maid servants, Emilie proceeded to wash Emberley from head to toe, using valuable and expensive products on her hair and skin. The heady scent of lilac filled the room as Emberley relaxed in the tub, scrubbed and soaped and scraped. She felt better than she had in days, listening to Romney in the next room as he argued with the old female servant about not wanting to get out of the tub. But along with her son’s voice, she could hear others.

The chamber they were in was directly above the solar and through the floor she could hear raised male voices. Mostly, she could hear David’s voice as if responding to something he didn’t much like.

Emberley had been relaxing against the back of the tub but as the voices grew louder, she sat forward in the cooling water, listening to the arguing with increasing trepidation. Someone even said something about arresting Gart– she heard it clearly. Even Emilie, inspecting some of her garments to loan to Lady Emberley, could hear the raised voices and the threats of discipline. She glanced uneasily at Emberley and their eyes met.

“It seems to be a lively discussion,” she smiled weakly at Emberley.

Emberley listened as they threw more threats around, hearing Julian’s name mentioned more than once.

“They are angry with Gart,” she said softly. “They want to punish him.”

“Nay,” Emilie shook her head. “They would not dare.”

But Emberley wasn’t convinced. “They are angry that he rescued me.”

Emilie wasn’t sure what to say to that so she said nothing. Instead, she busied herself and pulled forth a soft lamb’s wool sheath and a soft, billowy sleeping robe in shades of yellow. Emberley was taller than she was, rounder of the breasts and bum, and only Emilie’s most flowing garments would fit the lady. She also set aside a pair of surcoats that were too big for her but would fit Emberley well. One was a mustard yellow linen and the other was a dashing scarlet, both well-made pieces. Satisfied, Emilie went to the tub to collect the huge piece of drying linen that had been laid before the hearth to warm.

She held up the linen. “Would you like to dry off now?”

The water was rather cool. Still listening to the shouting below, Emberley climbed out of the tub and Emilie wrapped her up in the enormous towel. Emberley moved to the hearth to warm up and dry off as Emilie collected a phial of lilac-scented oil. But as Emberley stood there, drying her tender skin and listening to the raised voices on the floor below, her apprehension bloomed.

The voices were growing angrier. After the harrowing flight of the past few days, compounded by the early pregnancy, Emberley’s emotions weren’t as strong as they normally were. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing Gart to punishment. It was too much to take and she suddenly broke down into great heaving sobs.

“Gart,” she was sobbing so hard that Emilie could hardly understand her. “Please… I want Gart. Do… do not let them send him away.”

Concerned, Emilie went to the woman to comfort her but Emberley collapsed on the floor in a fit of panic and tears. She was sobbing loudly and Emilie knelt down, hugging her gently.

“He is only downstairs, my lady,” she said soothingly. “He will not leave this house, I swear it. He will….”

“Please,” Emberley grabbed one of Emilie’s hands and squeezed hard. “Please… I want Gart. Please .”

Stricken with sorrow and sympathy, Emilie clutched Emberley’s hand. “I will bring him to you,” she assured her softly. “Please do not cry. I will bring him right away.”

Emberley was far gone with tears and panic. As Emilie fled the room, she could hear the angry male voices even from the staircase, descending to the dark first floor and heading towards the solar. The voices grew louder, mostly David’s and Christopher’s, and she knocked loudly on the heavy chamber door. The voices instantly quieted and, after a long moment, the door creaked opened and David’s face appeared.

He was not pleased as he focused on his wife. “What is it?”

Emilie was not pleased in return at his gruff greeting. She gave a shove, pushing the door open, something out of character for the normally docile woman. Her frowning gaze was on her husband.

“I hope you are satisfied,” she said in a low tone. “Your shouting, angry voices have been heard all over the house and have greatly upset Lady Emberley.”

David sighed heavily, running a hand through his blond hair. “We did not….”

Emilie cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand, something under normal circumstances she would have never done. But her dander was up and she was bolder than usual. Her eyes found Gart, standing over near the lancet windows. She waved him towards the door.

“Gart,” she said softly, firmly. “Go upstairs to Lady Emberley. She is hysterical and has asked for you.”

With a look of great concern, Gart pushed himself off the wall and walked towards Emilie. “Is she all right?”

Emilie waved him through the door. “She is exhausted and upset. Go and comfort her.” As Gart passed a questioning glance at David, Emilie put up a hand as if to block their view of one another. “Enough of this– Gart, do as I say and go to your lady. David, you and Christopher will continue this conversation at another time when you will not upset the entire house and hold. You are loud and rude with your shouting and I will no longer stand for it. You have upset everyone, including me.”

It was as much as a stand as Emilie had ever taken. Surprised, David looked at his normally sedate wife before casting his brother a shocked glance. In no mood to tangle with his lovely bride, David put up his hands in surrender.

“As you say, sweetling,” he backed down. “I am sorry if we upset you, I truly am.”

Christopher, too, was rather shocked at Emilie’s demanding behavior. He would have expected it from his own wife, a spitfire of a beauty he was madly in love with, but Emilie had always been exceedingly submissive and sweet. She was as passive as a woman could be. Realizing they must have indeed been overbearing and loud, he, too, supplicated.

“I am sorry, Emilie,” he said softly. “We did not mean to upset everyone.”

Emilie was righteously upset, her brow furrowed at both her husband and brother-in-law. She pointed a finger at Christopher.

“She heard you,” she told him. “She heard you speaking of arresting Gart. How could you say such a thing?”

Christopher sighed heavily, looking at his brother for assistance. David should be the one to deal with his angry wife because he was better suited for it. Christopher was more geared towards his own wife, a woman who would take a swing at him if she was so inclined. David saw his brother’s imploring expression and took the hint.

“He is not going to arrest Gart,” he assured her. “Chris simply does not know the situation as you and I do. He does not know what Gart has been through with the lady. I was attempting to explain it to him.”

Emilie looked at her brother-in-law. “With all of the yelling you have been doing, have you bothered to stop and listen to what David and Gart have been trying to tell you?” she asked. “Gart is in love with a woman whose husband has beaten her mercilessly since they were married. You know Gart Forbes and you know what kind of man he is. He is strong and virtuous, not given to whims of passion. I have known him for four years and I have never caught wind of the man paying inappropriate attention to a woman. He is not the kind. He is trying to save that woman from hell and all you can do is speak of punishing him because of it. What kind of man are you that you would say such a thing?”

Christopher quickly found himself on the defensive. He held up a calming hand to his lovely sister-in-law. “Emilie, I am not trying to be cruel, but the fact of the matter is that the lady is married and Gart….”

Emilie cut him off strongly. “The fact of the matter is that Gart is trying to do what a truly virtuous man would do. He is trying to save the woman he loves from the clutches of a beast.” Now she was beginning to tear up, overcome with the sorrow and strife of Gart’s story. “What if Dustin was married to a man who beat her mercilessly? Would you walk away from the woman and consign her to her fate or would you try and do something to help her? Put your wife in Lady Emberley’s position and speak to me again of punishing a man who would save her.”

Christopher didn’t have an easy answer to that. Inevitably, he thought of his beautiful wife, the Lady Dustin de Lohr, in the clutches of a monster and he could see the situation from Gart’s point of view. He sighed once again, looking to his brother and seeing that the man was clearly on his wife’s side. As much as he hated to admit it, Emilie made some sense. He knew Gart and knew what kind of man he was. He was the kind of man that most knights aspire to be. Perhaps this wasn’t simply a matter of lusting after another man’s wife.

Perhaps things weren’t so clear-cut after all.

*

Gart took the stairs two at a time racing to the chamber above the solar where Emberley was. He could hear her weeping as soon as he neared the door. Bolting into the room, he found her collapsed in front of the hearth. He went to her, falling swiftly to his knees.

“I am here, kitten,” he threw his arms around her. “I am here. Everything is well.”

Emberley wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly, sobbing into his neck. “Do not leave me,” she begged. “Please do not leave me.”

He soothed her gently. “I will never leave you, you know that.”

“But… but they are going to arrest you.”

He shook his head. “Nay, they are not,” he assured her. “We are simply trying to figure out what to do. I will not be arrested.”

Emberley’s tears were not soothed. Gart picked her up off the floor, wrapped up in the damp linen, and carried her over to the large bed. When he tried to set her down, she refused to let go. In fact, she was holding him so tightly around the neck that she was nearly strangling him. He could feel her trembling in his arms.

“Kitten, let go so I can remove my armor,” he said softly, gently. “I swear I will not leave this room. Loosen your arms, sweet.”

She shook her head and he tried to gently pry her arms free, but the more he would pry, the tighter she would hold him. He finally gave up and sat down on the bed, pulling her onto his lap and simply holding her. It seemed that she needed that most of all at the moment. The armor was cold and undoubtedly jabbing her, but she never said a word. She simply held tight as her sobs faded. Gart did his best to soothe her, saddened that the shouting downstairs had upset her so much.

As he stroked her damp head, calming her, he glanced over and noticed Romney standing in the door of the adjoining chamber. The boy stood there, wide-eyed as he watched Gart and his mother. Having been through as much as his mother had been over the past few days, he was showing great resilience. Emberley was a wreck, yet Romney was not. Gart smiled weakly at the man-child who was growing up before his very eyes.

“Come in, Rom,” he encouraged softly. “Your mother is fine. She is simply exhausted.”

Dressed in soft, cotton hose and a long-sleeved, white cotton tunic that was too big for him, Romney came into the room, eyeing his mother. He finally sat down next to Gart, his young face serious with concern.

“Mama?” he said softly. “Are you still sick?”

“Still?” Gart’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean still sick?”

Emberley was calmer as she lifted her head from Gart’s shoulder, her red-rimmed gaze moving between Romney and Gart.

“Nothing to worry over,” she told Gart softly. “My belly has been upset.”

Gart looked seriously at her. “Should I send for a physic?”

She leaned into his ear. “My belly always aches when I am with child,” she whispered. “Romney does not know that.”

Gart cleared his throat softly, almost nervously, hoping Romney had not heard his mother. He smiled at the boy, perhaps a bit too brightly, which looked out of place on his serious face.

“Your mother is fine,” he told the lad. “It is time for you to go to bed now. We will speak in the morning.”

Romney didn’t move. He continued to sit next to Gart, his big, blue eyes moving between the knight and his mother.

“You killed my father’s men,” he finally said to Gart.

Gart’s gaze was steady on the boy. “I had no choice, Rom. They were taking you and your mother to London to be with your father. I did it to save you both.”

Romney chewed on that statement, the wheels of thought turning in his smart, young brain. “If I had my sword, I could have helped you.”

Gart smiled faintly. “You will be a fine knight someday. I will be proud to serve with you.”

Romney blinked. “You will?”

“Of course.”

“But you serve someone else, that baron who was with my father when you first came to Dunster.”

Gart’s smile grew. “That is Sir David de Lohr, Baron Thornden. His brother is the Earl of Hereford and the earl happens to be downstairs at this very moment. The earl is a very powerful man. He was friends with King Richard the Lionheart.”

Romney looked interested. “Did he fight the savages in the Holy Land?”

Gart nodded. “Both David and the earl fought in the Holy Land, as did your Uncle Erik and I. That was where we met.”

Romney grew excited. “Did you and Uncle Erik know the king?”

“We did,” Gart replied. “I will tell you all about it someday.”

Romney nodded eagerly. He seemed to be thinking very hard about something, his young brow furrowed in concentration.

He slid off the bed and wandered towards the hearth where the big tub of cold bathwater still sat and the phials of mysterious oils and soaps. He inspected everything, absently, his mind on other things. He had so much to say and wasn’t sure how to express himself adequately. All he knew was that there was great turmoil in his young life and all of it centered around his father. When Gart was near, everything was happy and joyful. He loved Gart. But when his father was around, the circumstances were miserable and frightening. He hated his father.

Gart and Emberley watched Romney wander near the hearth, carefully picking up the glass phials of oils and inspecting them carefully. He was, if nothing else, a curious and thorough child. Sufficiently calm now that she was in Gart’s embrace, Emberley sighed and laid her head back against his shoulder.

“He has been very brave over the past few days,” she whispered. “He never complained once.”

Gart watched the boy pick up a bar of soap and smell it. “He is a fine lad,” he confirmed. “You have raised him well.”

A grin spread across her lips. “That is not what you first thought when he robbed you at Dunster.”

He thought back to that day. It seemed so long ago. “I must give credit to a lad who would rob someone three times his size,” he smirked. “Did he continue to try and rob Lord de Lara after I left?”

She laughed softly. “I am not going to tell you.”

“Why not?”

She sat up, looking at him with a grin. “Because you threatened to tan his buttocks if he continued and I do not think he should be punished.”

Gart lifted an eyebrow. “I told him not to rob the viscount.”

She curled up on his lap, arms around his neck and stroking his face. “The viscount loved every minute of it, as do you,” she said softly. “He is a good boy, clever and happy. You are helping to ensure that. Even in the brief time he has known you, you have taught him much.”

She knew how to soften him. He let the subject of Romney’s disobedience go, swept up in the warmth and adoration flowing between them as she stroked his face and gently kissed his jaw.

“Can I get out of my armor now?” he asked softly, closing his eyes as she kissed his chin.

Emberley nodded and climbed off his lap, still wrapped up in the enormous linen towel. She wrapped it all around her arms and shoulders, completely covering up as she approached her wandering son, who was now inspecting the finely painted wall with a meadow scene.

“Rom,” she said softly. “Go to bed now. We have had a busy day.”

Romney turned to his mother, seeing that she seemed much better than she had only minutes earlier. He knew it was because of Gart. He took her outstretched hand and allowed her to lead him towards the adjoining chamber.

“When will Orin and Brendt come here?” he wanted to know.

Gart, over by the bed as he removed his armor, heard the question. “I am sending someone to retrieve them tomorrow,” he told the boy. “You need not worry. They will be here soon and we will all be together again.”

Romney paused at the door that led into the dark bedchamber beyond. His eyes were on Gart. “And then what will happen?”

Gart peeled off his hauberk and tossed it into the corner. “And then we will be happy. Beyond that, I cannot tell you more.”

Romney grew serious. He let go of his mother’s hand and went to Gart as the man stripped off his mail coat.

“But what of my father?” he wanted to know. “He sent for us to be with him in London. What will happen when we do not come and he knows we are with you?”

Gart faced the boy, contemplating the question. “I am working on a solution to that problem,” he told him honestly. “Baron Thornden and the earl are helping me. That is what we were speaking of downstairs. They are smart and powerful men. They can help us find a solution.”

Romney wasn’t entirely convinced. “But how can we be with you if my mother and father are married? He will want us with him. He will not let us stay with you and I want to stay with you.”

“You will have to trust that everything will work out in the end. Great men are working hard to help us.”

“But do they know I do not want to be with my father? I want to be with you.”

Before Gart could continue the conversation, Emberley took his hand again and pulled him back towards his bedchamber.

“We will speak more of this tomorrow,” she said softly, firmly. “It is time for bed now.”

Romney let his mother take him to bed and tuck him in. She kissed him and smiled at him, making sure to leave a small taper lit as she closed the door softly so he wouldn’t be in total darkness. He lay still and obedient until she shut the door.

Then, he climbed out of bed. He was a man on a mission.