CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Castle Questing
Northumberland, Seat of the House of de Wolfe
William hadn’t been aware of just how long he’d been staring at the missive from his daughter. The faded yellow vellum sat on his massive desk, illuminated by the light from two banks of candles, one on either side of the table. He always kept the desk well-lit because his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be.
Hell, he’d lost his left eye in Wales over forty years ago, and he’d learned to compensate. But now as the years advanced and his body grew older and more tired, his one remaining eye wasn’t very good. He had difficulty reading and, sometimes, difficulty seeing the smaller details in things. But he pretended like everything was fine. He always pretended that everything was fine because he didn’t want his family to worry over him, but worry they did.
His family.
He’d sat staring at that vellum, pondering the contents with a mind that wasn’t quite apt to believe what he’d just read. He’d had to read it four times before setting it aside and simply staring at it. He didn’t want to believe any of it, but he knew that his daughter, Penelope, wouldn’t lie to him and he further knew she wouldn’t have sent the missive unless she had just cause.
That was what the missive was all about – his family.
As William pondered the contents of the missive, he realized that every part of his body was aching with stress and anxiety as a result. Damnation! He thought. He’d allowed the contents of the missive to get past his logical mind and into his veins, where it would pulsate through him and turn his shock into a physical manifestation. If he wasn’t careful, it would tear him apart. He could already feel it, pulling at him, tugging at his arms and legs and chest, and if he allowed it… God, if he allowed it… it could easily destroy him.
Nay… he’d come too far in his life, and he was too happy in his legacy, to allow anything to destroy him. He was William de Wolfe, the Earl of Warenton and the man known as the Wolfe of the Border. Nothing could destroy him.
Nothing but a missive bearing one name that had nearly sent him into oblivion.
James.
It just wasn’t possible. Five years after James’ death in Wales, to receive a message that suggested his son hadn’t died in Wales was foolish at best. Ludicrous, even, and stupid when all else failed. Outrageous! All of these words rolled through William’s mind as he looked at the missive. But in the midst of an explosion of adjectives, one small word also filled his mind, something that had the strength to push aside all of the others.
Hope.
But he couldn’t allow himself to feel any hope at all. It was preposterous. Furthermore, he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, tell his wife the contents of the missive because she, too, would be filled with the same stress and anxiety that he was.
William and his wife, Jordan, had ten children total, with nine living to adulthood, and only one of them lost as an adult – his beloved son, James. It was no secret in the family that William had never quite recovered from James’ death, which was why the missive from Penelope had him reeling. He’d never gotten over the guilt of having left his son behind when the English had retreated at Llandeilo. He had no body to bring home for James’ wife and mother to mourn, and that had made him feel so very weak and guilty.
And now this damnable missive, dredging it all up again.
He felt sick.
But he also knew he needed help. He needed the calm, rational eye of someone he trusted, so when he’d finished absorbing the contents of the missive, he stood up and collected the vellum, rolling it up tightly and holding it against his heart as if that somehow brought him closer to the son he’d lost. With the missive clutched to his chest, he quit the lavish solar of Castle Questing and headed to the upper floors of the enormous keep.
Castle Questing was William’s seat, and had been for forty years. Most of his children had been born here, as had many of his grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. The keep itself was more of a rectangular building, with three floors and more than two dozen rooms. There was more than enough space for a large family or two, and he shared the home not only with his wife and two of his sons, but he also shared it with another family.
In the days long past when he had served at Northwood Castle as the Captain of the Army, he’d had a dedicated knight corps of nine men. Paris de Norville was his closest friend, a man who also became family when four of William’s children married four of Paris’. Kieran Hage was also his closest friend, a bear of a man who had been third in command at Northwood, and a man who was also family by virtue of the fact that two of William’s children had married into the Hage family, including James.
When William had been granted Castle Questing by Henry III, he’d taken Kieran with him to help him establish his new seat, leaving Paris at Northwood as the Captain of the Army for the Earl of Teviot. But it didn’t matter that Paris was thirteen miles from William and Kieran; the men were as close as they’d ever been, and nothing could change that.
Nowadays, William and Kieran and their families still occupied Castle Questing. Considering Kieran had married Jordan de Wolfe’s cousin, Jemma, long ago, it made the families that much closer, so they were literally one giant family. William saw Kieran daily and had for the past forty years, through good times and bad, and even though William had brothers, he considered Kieran closer to him than a brother could ever be.
And that was why William was taking the missive to Kieran.
Taking the long flight of mural stairs up to the third floor of Castle Questing, William entered the east wing of the keep, a floor and section of the castle that was exclusively used by Kieran and his family. He was heading for Kieran’s chamber at the end of the corridor, a room with windows that faced northeast so Kieran could watch the sunrise. He didn’t move much from his bed these days, something William refused to acknowledge.
But he was the only one.
Everyone else had resigned themselves to the fact that Kieran was growing weaker by the day. His heart hadn’t been particularly healthy for the past several years. But only in the past year had they begun to see a steady decline in a man William had called the strongest man in the north.
In Kieran’s prime, there wasn’t a man in England or Scotland who could best him in feats of strength. A massive man with a big neck, broad shoulders, and hands of steel could rip men apart without the aid of a weapon, Kieran was an immovable object on the field of battle and had survived wounds that would have killed a lesser man. But this mountain of a man had a calm manner about him and always had; he was cool in any circumstance, cooler still in the heat of battle. He also possessed an ageless wisdom, something that William now sought. He needed Kieran’s level head to help him decide what to do about Penelope’s missive.
There were decisions to make and William feared he couldn’t be objective about them.
As he approached Kieran’s door, the panel opened and a small, round woman appeared. She had a tray in her hands and she closed the door behind her, glancing up to see William approach. Lady Jemma Hage had been a lush Scottish lass in her youth, and she was still lovely even in her advanced years. The fiery woman Paris had branded a banshee those years ago had been the rock of Kieran’s family, her strength beyond compare. William smiled when their eyes met.
“How is your husband today?” he asked.
Jemma’s forced smile told him something he didn’t want to know. “He is eating better,” she said in her thick Scots accent. “He finished his entire nooning meal. He hasna done that in a while.”
William looked at the tray she was carrying; there was a small empty bowl, a wooden plate with crumbs, a cup, and little else. To him, it didn’t look as if there had been much food to begin with, but he didn’t say anything. He simply smiled.
“Good,” he said. “He shall be back on his feet in little time. May I see him?”
Jemma’s smile faded. Like everyone else at Questing, she knew that William was in denial of Kieran’s health. To him, Kieran was simply resting and would soon resume his place as the commander of the de Wolfe armies. But it wasn’t the case, and Jemma as well as Jordan had tried to tell William that.
He simply wouldn’t listen.
“Ye may,” she said. “But I must speak tae ye first.”
William’s expression lost its warmth. If she was going to say what he thought she was going to say, then he didn’t want to hear it.
“What is it?” he asked warily.
Jemma sighed faintly, seeing that William was already on his guard. “William,” she said quietly. “I know ye dunna want tae hear this, but ye must know that the physic says that Kieran is growing weaker. We’ve been trying tae tell ye this, but…”
As she knew he would, he averted his gaze and pushed past her. “He is not,” he said, cutting her off. “He is simply growing old; we are all growing old. It is age and nothing more.”
Jemma reached out and grabbed his arm before he could get past her. “Would ye stop?” she hissed. “I know ye dunna want tae hear such things and surely, I dunna want tae say them, but Kieran will not rise from his bed as ye hope. The physic says his heart… ye know he has a bad heart. It is only a matter of time now before…”
William cut her off again, yanking his arm out of her grip. “It is not true,” he said, moving to the door. “I cannot believe you.”
“William,” Jemma snapped as he put his hand on the door latch. “Ye’re only making this harder. Ye need tae accept that Kieran is dying. Do ye think it doesna pain me tae say so? Do ye think I want tae lose the man I’ve loved most of my life? For my sake, ye must stop pretending everything will be okay again. Ye drive a stake through my heart every time ye do.”
William paused at the door, his jaw ticking faintly as he listened to Jemma spew things he refused to believe. His hand was on the latch but he didn’t open it. Gradually, his hand came away and he turned to Jemma.
“Please, Jemma,” he said hoarsely. “I cannot… I cannot face this.”
“And ye think I can?”
William’s jaw continued to flex. “You are giving in to the physic’s opinion. He is not God. He does not know everything.”
“He knows enough tae know that my husband is dying.”
William’s jaw stopped flexing as she laid bare the truth of the matter. It was so very difficult to hear. “I… I simply cannot believe it.”
Jemma understood. William was very attached to Kieran, and Kieran to him. The older the two became, the deeper their connection.
“Ye must,” she said quietly. “Not facing the truth will not change things.”
William closed his eye as if to ward off what she was saying. He knew she was right, but he didn’t want to agree. He simply couldn’t.
“I met Kieran when I was quite young,” he said after a moment, realizing there was a lump in his throat. “I am sure you have heard the story. He and Paris and I were all fostering together at Kenilworth, with the same master, before our master moved to Northwood Castle to serve the Earl of Teviot. We all came to Northwood together, including Kieran’s brother, Christian. I think I was ten years and four; so was Paris. Kieran was a year younger, and Christian was not quite nine years of age. Even back then, Kieran was a lad of considerable strength. Paris and I would go around making bets with the other squires that Kieran could wrestle them to the ground and we made a good deal of money off of Kieran’s strength. But then, our master heard what we were doing and punished us. He took all of the money we had earned from the bets, telling us that the money belonged to him and not to us. Did Kieran ever tell you about that?”
Jemma was listening to the story with a faint smile on her lips. “He has told me some of it, but not all of it,” she said. “He said ye whored him out.”
William burst into soft laughter. “We did,” he said, his white teeth flashing. “God help us, we did. And he went along with it, the big dolt that he is. But even then… even then, Jemma, I knew that Kieran and Paris and I would be friends forever. There are some people who mark your heart like that. Kieran has always been the brother I wish I had and the thought of losing him… I cannot face it.”
Jemma’s smile faded as she saw William tear up. He was emotional in his old age. “I cannot pretend tae know the bonds of men who have faced life and death together,” she said quietly. “All I know is that the bond they share is as strong as anything I’ve ever seen, and I know Kieran feels the same way about ye. If avoiding the truth is the only way ye can deal with the situation, then I’ll not fault ye. But Kieran knows his time is limited and he worries about what will happen when he leaves us all behind. All I ask is that ye dunna worry him needlessly about it. If he sees that ye’re strong and accepting, it willna make him so anxious.”
William sighed heavily and hung his head for a moment. There was a simple but powerful truth in her words. Finally, he nodded.
“I understand,” he said softly.
Leaving Jemma standing in the corridor with her tray of dishes, William opened the chamber door and stepped inside. He immediately spied Kieran, lying on a very large bed that faced the windows, and he could see three small boys crowded up on the side of the bed as they spoke to Kieran.
William forced a smile, seeing three of his grandsons. They were also Kieran’s grandsons, as William’s daughter, Katheryn, had married Kieran’s son, Alec. Edward was the oldest, at nearly ten years of age, followed by Axel, who was eight, and Christoph, who was five. Edward was the spitting image of William, while Axel and Christoph looked much more like Kieran’s side of the family. As William approached the bed, Christoph ran towards him.
“Poppy!” he cried. “They have my sword and will not give it back!”
William took Christoph’s hand as he came next to the bed to see, exactly what was going on. Kieran was holding a small sword, very dull, with Edward and Axel looking at William quite innocently.
“We were showing it to Kee,” Edward insisted. They called Kieran “Kee”, something Edward had called him when he’d been very young because he could not pronounce his grandfather’s name. It was a pet name that all the children called their grandfather. “Axel gave Christoph the sword, but Kee thinks it is too heavy for him.”
William recognized the sword he’d had made for Edward when the lad was quite young, something Edward had given to Axel, and now Axel had given it to Christoph. He held a hand out to Kieran, who handed it over. He pretended to feel the weight of it.
“It is rather heavy for a young lad,” he said to Christoph. “Axel, why did you give this to your brother without permission?”
Axel frowned, looking very much like Kieran in that gesture. “Because I want a new one,” he declared. “Edward got a new sword, so why can I not have a new sword?”
William looked at Kieran, who simply shook his head. “All young men want the latest and finest weaponry,” he said. “We did.”
It was true, but William didn’t want to get into an argument with his grandsons, not when he needed desperately to speak with Kieran. He handed the mock weapon back to Axel.
“You will not give this to your brother without permission,” he said. “If I find Christoph with it, I will take it away from you both. Is that clear?”
Axel nodded solemnly, as did Christoph, but Christoph was starting to cry. He began to wipe his eyes furiously.
“Can I not have it, Poppy?” he asked, rather pathetically.
William was quite a pushover for his grandchildren, so it was difficult to stand tough against them. He had to force himself.
“Not that one,” he said. “Mayhap I shall commission a new one for you, one that is not quite so heavy for you.” When Christoph’s tears instantly disappeared, William motioned to the door. “Go, now. I must speak with Kee.”
There was grumbling all the way to the door as Axel wanted to know why Christoph would get a new sword, but not him. He was the one who wanted a new sword, anyway. When they started squabbling next to the door, William cleared his throat loudly and pointed to the door again, and they quickly disappeared through it. As the door shut on the complaining grandsons, William turned to Kieran.
“I told you not to spoil them so much,” he said. “Now they all want swords?”
Kieran grinned. “Doesn’t every man?”
“They are not men yet.”
“They have Hage and de Wolfe blood. They were men the moment they were born.”
William cocked an eyebrow. “And excellent point,” he said. Then he paused a moment, scrutinizing Kieran. The man looked pale and his breathing was labored as it always was these days, but the dark eyes were still bright. “Your wife says you have had a good day today. How do you feel?”
Kieran shrugged. “The same,” he said. He pointed to a stool near the bed. “Sit down. Visit with me a while. All I have had is children and women to talk to this morning.”
William snorted as he pulled up the stool and planted his big body on it. “I have actually come on business,” he said, his humor quickly leaving him. “Serious business, Kieran. I received a missive from Penny today.”
Kieran’s eyebrows lifted. “Lady de Shera? What does she have to say?”
William thought to tell him, but he couldn’t quite put it into words. Instead, he handed over the missive to Kieran, who took it curiously. William sighed heavily and averted his gaze, so Kieran unrolled the missive, turned it towards the light, and began to read.
William dared to look up a few moments later, when Kieran was about halfway through, and he saw the man’s eyes widened. It was Kieran’s daughter, Rose, who had been married to James at the time of his death, so Kieran had a stake in this almost as much as William did. Kieran read through it once and then started a second time, now reading the missive aloud.
“… the utmost importance that I relay to you the following information told to Chris de Lohr by Corbett Payton-Forrester, who was the garrison commander for William de Valence at Gwendraith Castle until the Welsh captured it. Corbett has told Lord de Lohr of a new wave of Welsh rebellion moving through Southern Wales, led by a man who is rumored to be the bastard son of Llywelyn the Last. He is rallying the Welsh and already several castles have fallen to the rebels. Upon the capture of Gwendraith Castle, Corbett was taken prisoner by this son of Llywelyn. He has met the man, and seen his face, and has told Chris that he believes this new Welsh leader to be none other than my brother, James. He has begged Bhrodi to come to Lioncross Abbey to discuss this new threat and Corbett’s assertion that the new Welsh leader is my brother that we believed dead. We are leaving on the morrow, but you must come to Lioncross, too, Papa. If this new Welsh leader truly is my brother, then you must come immediately. My love to you and Mama, Penelope.”
Hearing the missive read aloud did something to William; the shock he’d experienced after reading it for himself was replaced by a massive measure of apprehension. There was something about hearing it in Kieran’s calm, deep tone that sent bolts of anxiety through him and he stood up, unable to sit because his body was beginning to twitch. He began to pace over towards the windows.
“It must be a ghost,” he finally said, “a phantom dredged up by the Welsh to throw the English off-balance. It is no secret that James died in Wales. We were all there, Kieran. I held him and you held him. He was dead.”
Kieran could hear the edginess in William’s voice, the uncertainty as well. “We certainly thought he was,” he said. “Paris said he was.”
William made it to the windows, looking out over his beloved Castle Questing. “Christ,” he finally hissed. “The guilt I felt at leaving James behind. The anguish I went through, that I still go through, not having brought my son home. You know this to be true, Kieran, and now this? Why would Corbett Payton-Forrester, whose father is a good friend of mine, say such a thing? Has he no idea how this will hurt my family?”
Kieran’s gaze moved back to the yellowed parchment. “William Payton-Forrester is a man beyond reproach,” he said. “He has raised his sons in the same way. You know Corbett; he is a good man. He knew all of your sons, including James. I do not think he would make a mistake on a subject as fragile as this one is. If he says that he has seen James, then mayhap you should take him at his word.”
William whirled around to face him. “This is madness. My son is dead.”
Kieran met his gaze. At the same time, he lifted up the parchment. “Is he?”
William stared at him. Then, the tears began to come as his mind allowed the possibility that what Corbett said was true. What if… what if… what if? With a growl, he closed his eye, warding off something that was both impossible and painful.
“Nay,” he hissed. “It cannot be. It is a mistake. James died in Wales five years ago. We all saw it; we saw it when we fled like cowards and the Welsh stripped my son of his de Wolfe tunic, waving it in the air like a victory banner as we left him behind. We saw it. I even went back to look for his body a year after the battle, and there was nothing. You know I went back for him, Kieran. I could not leave my boy there.”
Kieran could see the anguish in William’s expression. “I know you did,” he said. “You did all you could to recover him, but you were unable to. William, no one wants this to be true more than I do. You know I loved James like he was my very own son. When he married Rosie, I was overjoyed. No one understands your pain more than I do.”
“And now?” William demanded as he moved away from the window, coming towards Kieran. “Now what? I am so angry that I want to kill but, in the same breath, I feel such… such guilt. Christ, Kieran; what if he wasn’t dead when we left him in Wales? That very possibility has filled my nightmares and has left me sickened with the thought that I’d left my wounded son in Wales. I abandoned him. And now? My God… now, is it true?”
Kieran could only shake his head. “There is but one way to find out,” he said quietly. “Do as Penny asks. Go to Wales and see for yourself.”
William seemed to calm unnaturally fast at the simple, but truthful, words. He stared at Kieran a moment before retracing his steps back to the bed, sitting heavily once again on the stool. He suddenly looked very old and very weary.
“I knew that was to be my destiny the moment I read the missive,” he muttered. “If James is alive, really alive, then I must know. But… God, Kieran, what if he hates me for leaving him there? I do not know if I can survive such hatred from my sweet James.”
Kieran reached out, grasping William’s hand. He squeezed it tightly. “You must remember who you are speaking of,” he said. “We are speaking of a man who loved you more than anything on earth. He would understand why you left him behind.”
“Then why did he not come home?” William asked painfully. “If he did not die, and has survived these years, why did he not come home?”
“I do not know.”
“He had a wife and children here. Surely that would be enough to bring any man home.”
Kieran let go of his hand and sat back in his bed. “And that is another issue,” he said. “Rosie. She has since remarried and is very happy. I do not know how she is going to take this news.”
William shook his head. “Do not tell her, not until we know for certain,” he said. “Until I discover the truth, there is no reason to tell her. Right now, there are far too many questions with no answers. But should any of this be true, my fear of James’ hatred is all too real.”
Kieran sighed heavily. “You will not know anything until you go and discover the truth for yourself,” he said. “But whatever happens, William, know that you did all you could in Wales. Had there been another way not to leave James behind, we would have taken it. You cannot shoulder any guilt for that.”
William lifted his eyebrows, a gesture of resignation. “And yet, I do,” he mumbled. “I always will. But you are correct; I will not know the truth of Corbett’s report until I go to Lioncross and speak to him. Then I shall go to Wales and see for myself.”
Kieran squeezed his hand again. “And I wish I could go with you, with all my heart,” he said. “But alas, I am afraid I cannot make the journey. It is difficult for me to admit that, but it is the truth.”
Now they were on the subject of Kieran’s failing health and William exhaled sharply; he didn’t want to hear the defeatist tone in Kieran’s voice. “Mayhap you cannot make the journey, but you will be here when I return,” he said. “And if James is alive, I will not return without him.”
“When will you leave?”
“Immediately. As soon as I tell Jordan. I fear that my wife must be told of this.”
“Who will you take with you?”
William thought on his sons, men who were finer and stronger knights than he could ever hope to be. Each one, great in his own right.
“Scott is south, at his holding of Castle Canaan,” he said. “Troy is in Scotland, but he is not too far away should I need him. Patrick is at his garrison of Berwick Castle and Thomas is at his garrison of Wark Castle.”
“Thomas has not been there very long. How is he faring?”
William shrugged. “Well, from what Troy and Paris have told me,” he said. “I do not want to check on him for fear he will think that I do not trust him, so Troy and Paris have looked in on him. They say he is doing quite well, surprising from my youngest and sometimes grossly irresponsible son.”
Kieran smiled faintly; Thomas de Wolfe was the youngest son in a great family of knights and he had, indeed, been grossly irresponsible for much of his young life. But that had changed a few months ago when William finally gave him a command. For Thomas, it had been his moment to grow up, so the news was hopeful that he finally had. With the de Wolfe name, there was little choice.
“He’s had much to live up to, William,” Kieran said. “He just needed his moment to shine.”
“He will, I am sure.”
Kieran fell silent for a moment as he further pondered William’s coming journey. “When you go to Wales, take Scott with you,” he said. “Troy and Patrick have their hands full with Scots raids at the moment and should not leave their garrisons. Scott is the only one who could possibly spare the time, and you should not go alone to face this. Take Nathaniel, too. My youngest son knew James well, and I am sure that he would like to accompany you. Will you take him?”
William nodded faintly. “Nat is an excellent knight, like his father,” he said, “but I cannot take him with me. I will send him to Scotland to take over Troy’s garrison while Troy comes with me. Troy would never forgive me if I did not bring him with me.”
Kieran understood. The de Wolfe brothers were very close-knit. “And Patrick? If you take Troy, then you must take Patrick. He would be hurt if you did not.”
William knew that. “Alec is at Berwick,” he said, referring to Kieran’s eldest son. “He is perfectly capable of handling any situation while Patrick is gone.”
The situation was settled. “Very well,” he said. “Send Nat to Scotland and leave Alec at Berwick. But take a contingent of men with you when you go south. Eight hundred, I should think. You are heading into Wales, after all, and you do not want to go undermanned.”
William knew that. “I will,” he said. “Anything else, General?”
There was a twinkle in his eye when he said it. Kieran had been his second in command for a very long time, and he was the great organizer in such matters. William never had to worry with Kieran in charge of mustering the army.
But there was something more to that question, at least in Kieran’s view. He’d been watching his dear friend deny his health issues for several years, but never more strongly than he had as of late. Kieran was growing worse, but William refused to admit it. Now, with a months-long trip impending, they were reaching a crucial point in their relationship and, fearing that he might not be around when William returned, Kieran knew he had to speak what was on his mind and in his heart.
The time had finally come.
“Aye, there is,” he said. “I want you to listen to me without arguing. Will you at least do that?”
“I never argue with you.”
“You are doing it now.”
William chuckled. “Very well,” he said. “I will not speak another word. What else will you say?”
Kieran’s good mood faded. “What I am to say is very important,” he said. “There is a very good possibility that I will not be here when you return, William. The physic says my heart is growing worse by the day and there are times when I can hardly breathe. You know this. I know you do not want to acknowledge this, but you must. I have things that I need from you and I want to be assured that you will do them.”
William was looking at him with an expression of great sorrow. “Kieran…”
“William, please.”
William sighed heavily; he was cornered, and he knew it. “Very well. Continue.”
Kieran did. “I do not know what the future brings, so I must have my say,” he said, lowering his voice. “I have imagined this moment many times and thought of what I would say to you. What do you say to someone who has been closer to you than a brother? What do you say to someone who has meant everything to you, as much as you and I have meant to each other?”
William couldn’t help it; his eye began to fill with tears. “I do not know,” he said. “I have been asking myself the same thing.”
Kieran’s eyes began to grow moist and he reached out again, taking William’s hand and holding it tightly.
“I want to take a good look at you,” he said. “It will more than likely be my last look. And I want you to know that the day I met you was the best day of my life. I have watched you become the greatest knight England has ever seen, but your greatness as a knight cannot compare with your greatness as my friend. Nay, as my brother. You have always been my brother, William, and I want to thank you for everything. Life with you has been quite a journey.”
William’s tears were beginning to spill over, his head bent over his hands as he clutched Kieran’s fingers. “And I cannot imagine completing this journey without you,” he whispered. “I knew this time would come but I supposed I’d hoped we would die at the same time. I do not know what I am going to do without you, Kieran.”
Kieran put a big hand on his lowered head. “You will have Paris,” he said. “I realize that is a poor substitute for me, but he will have to suffice.”
William grinned through his tears. “A poor substitute, indeed,” he said. “He loves you almost as much as I do. He will miss you very much.”
Kieran smiled weakly. “He will not admit it,” he said. “But there is something more, William, something that is most important to me.”
“Name it and I shall make it so.”
“My wife. My passing will destroy her even though she pretends to be strong. You will make sure she is taken care of, please.”
“She is family. Of course I will take care of her; you need not ask.”
“And our grandchildren – you and I share several. In the years to come, make sure they remember me from time to time. Tell them… tell them how much I loved them.”
William’s tears flowed like rain. “I will, I swear it,” he said. “They will know how great their Kee was.”
“Kee,” Kieran chuckled softly. “I remember when Edward first called me that and it stuck. I hated it, but I could not shake it. Now, I love it. I want it to be the last thing I ever hear.”
William simply nodded, squeezing the man’s hand. “My tears are selfish tears, you know,” he said, wiping at his face with one hand. “I do not cry for you. You will go to sleep and when you awaken, you will find yourself young and strong again, and I envy that. I cry because I will be without you, and I will miss your quiet wisdom and your great strength. I do not know if I have ever told you that I love you, Kieran, but I do. I love you as deeply as a man has ever loved his brother and I swear to you that our grandchildren, and their children, will know of you. You will be well-remembered.”
Kieran’s dark eyes glimmered. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I am grateful.”
“Is there anything else?”
Kieran nodded. “Kevin,” he said. “I’ve not seen my son in quite some time, ever since he left for The Levant.”
William knew that. Kevin Hage, Kieran’s beloved son, had left England for The Holy Land because the woman he loved, William’s youngest daughter, Penelope, had married another man and Kevin had been unable to cope with the loss. He’d left for The Holy Land with Kieran’s blessing, but William knew how hard it had been for Kieran to let his son go.
“I know,” he said after a moment. “What would you have me tell him when I see him?”
For the first time, Kieran seemed to grow quite upset. “I never imagined that I would not speak with my son ever again in this life,” he said, fighting off tears. “Kevin is special to me. I love all of my sons very much, but Kevin… I understand him. He has a tender heart, something he tries so hard to protect, but he is simply incapable of hardening. I suppose that is what I love so much about him. William, when you see him again, will you tell him… tell him how much I loved him and how proud I was of him. No matter what, I was proud of him. I want you to tell him that my last thoughts were of him. Will you do this?”
William nodded. “I will.”
“Thank you.”
There wasn’t much more to say after that. They’d said everything they needed to. Kieran finally let go of William’s hands and opened up his arms, embracing William as they both found an outlet for their quiet tears. It was an embrace of everlasting friendship and of the bonds of brotherhood that could never be broken. When William finally released him, he kissed him on the forehead and stood up.
“You must know I have been dreading this moment,” he said. “I suppose that is why I have been avoiding this. I did not believe I could face it. But now… now I feel as if I have said what I needed to say. I am content, but I will say again how much I will miss you. I do not want to let you go.”
Kieran smiled weakly. “I know,” he said. “But I am tired, William. I am tired of being ill, of not being able to function as a normal man. I spend my days in this bed, remembering when I was young and strong and healthy. I do not like my family seeing me this way. It is no way for a knight’s life to end. I had always imagined that I would die a glorious death in battle, but it seems as if I am to die an old man in my bed.”
William was struggling not to weep again. Kieran had never spoken of his personal feelings on his health woes, so to know how much they affected him was difficult to hear. The powerful knight was no longer powerful; he was trapped by a dying body and deeply saddened for it.
“Is that so bad, dying in your bed?” he asked. “You have lived a full and wonderful life, Kieran. I do not mind the notion of dying in bed, with my wife by my side. I always thought the only glorious death would be the one in battle, but I have since changed my mind. A peaceful death, surrounded by my family, is more glorious to me. Mayhap it is the mark of a truly loved man.”
Kieran’s gaze moved to the windows that faced northwest. There was blue sky beyond in a warm autumn day. Memories of the years flashed in his mind, of him when he was young, and of William when he was young. They had, indeed, been glorious days, but what William said resonated with him – he was more content now than he’d ever been. And he had been fortunate enough to have loved deeply. After a moment, he tossed back the coverlet and put his feet on the ground.
As William watched, Kieran stood up, slowly and laboriously, and began to walk towards him. It wasn’t the usual proud gait that William remembered, but more of a shuffling gait from a man who shouldn’t even be out of bed. But William stood his ground as Kieran approached, looking the man in the eye when he came close. Kieran smiled faintly.
“I did not want your last memory of me to be as I lie in my bed,” he said, taking a deep breath to steady himself since his heart and lungs didn’t work well these days. “Remember me as I was, William. Remember me as the powerful knight who was honored to serve with you.”
William lost the battle against the tears once more. They streamed down his face. “I will,” he said. “It has been an honor to serve with you, also, Kieran Hage.”
Kieran nodded, feeling rather proud that he’d been able to face his friend on his feet one last time. “Now,” he said huskily. “Go to Wales and find your son. I will try to be here when you return, but if I am not, then this parting was well-made.”
William was trying to be brave about this, but he couldn’t seem to be. He couldn’t speak for the lump in his throat. Lifting his hand, he touched Kieran on the cheek.
“You will always be young and strong to me,” he whispered. “Godspeed, Kieran Hage. I will look forward to when next we meet again, in this life or in the next.”
With that, he turned and left the chamber, feeling more sorrow and anguish than he could imagine. It was true that all of the denial he’d had about Kieran’s health had hit him hard but, in the same breath, there was a satisfaction to the conversation. They’d said everything that needed to be said, and William could go forward now with his friend’s wise counsel. But, God, he missed him already.
Farewell, Kieran…