CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Two days after the event of Lord Corston and the news he bore, Ramsbury was once again facing a peaceful day as the sun rose over the dew-kissed fields and the road outside the castle was being traveled by farmers heading to Marlborough for the coming market on the morrow.
As they’d planned, Belladonna had asked Joachim to send two men out to neighboring towns to find out what they could about the battle at Newark Castle. Contrary to the calmness she’d promised Lily, Belladonna had been struggling against the hysteria that seemed to come in waves. Some moments, she was fine. But in other moments, tears would come and she had a very difficult time fighting them off. It was the fear of not knowing the truth that had her emotions in turmoil.
The fear that she had lost her reason for living.
On this morning, Belladonna had fed the dogs in the dog pen, noticing that they were all getting quite big and hairy as winter approached. There were several of them, too, so she was thinking that she might put out the word that she was selling some of the Ramsbury fine hunting hounds, prize dogs for any savvy lord. It was either that, or the dogs were going to bust out of their pen and take over the entire castle. They were sweet dogs, but they ate far too much.
The kitchens were working to full capacity this morning, baking bread for the day and preparing for the coming meals. Lily had been down early to supervise the daily schedule but now she’d gone back to bed, as she had as of late. She was exhausted much of the time as the child grew, and Belladonna suspected they would have a baby soon. Joachim’s wife concurred and had even taken to sitting with Lily, singing to her or simply talking to her, as Lily spent most of her time in bed.
After feeding the starving mutts, and passing an eye over the kitchen as the servants worked busily, Belladonna found herself wandering over to the chapel. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt drawn there. Her mother and father were there, and now Acacia, and there had been times the past few months when she had simply come to sit and think. Sometimes, she prayed, but mostly, she sat and thought about her life and her future. It seemed more important than ever now that news of Savernake’s defeat was heavy on her mind.
The chapel was cold and dark at this hour as the shadows from the outer walls prevented light from coming in through the windows. It smelled heavily of fresh earth, even though it had been a few weeks since Acacia had been buried next to her father. Belladonna wandered into the chapel, with the fine altar her father had made in Paris, shipped across the channel and then brought by horse cart to Ramsbury.
It was made from cedar wood, much like her father’s chamber door, and the twelve apostles were caved upon it, with Paul and Peter being larger figures. As Belladonna gazed at the altar this morning, she began to wonder if her father had thought he was Paul the Apostle in the last years of his life because of these larger carvings. Her father had never been particularly religious, at least not enough to imagine himself an apostle, so she wondered if the grand cedar carvings had anything to do with it.
Oddly enough, she missed those days of her father blessing the men and giving communion to everyone multiple times because he’d forgotten he’d done it before. She missed the days of seeing Dashiell walking about Ramsbury with that proud swagger he seemed to have. The days before they were courting were such exciting days; her heart would flutter wildly at the sight of him and even though he wasn’t nearly as friendly with her as he had been when she was younger, it was still a thrill to talk to him, to sit next to him at sup, and to hear him hurl insults at the men.
Bumbling pisswit!
She grinned as she thought of the knight with the endless insults.
God, she missed him.
Tears stung her eyes but blinked them away. She tried not to think of a world without Dashiell, but she told herself that even being his wife for a night would be worth a lifetime without him.
Yet… it was a lie. She was selfish. She wanted the man for the rest of her life, by her side, and she wanted to hear him scream at the soldiers and call them bumbling pisswits or sponge-headed dolts for the rest of her life. This fine, noble man who had fought for the good of England, for the good of them all, didn’t deserve death at the hands of traitors, against a king who wasn’t fit to wear the crown.
But that was precisely what she was facing.
Honestly, she didn’t think she could stand the pain.
Dash, where are you?
Moving to the altar, she knelt in front of it, bowing her head as the tears began to fall. She prayed harder than she ever prayed in her life, praying that Dashiell would come home to her. She’d sworn to be strong for Dashiell’s sake, but in moments like this, when there was no one else around, she let the tears fall freely. The pain was too great not to.
She wanted her husband back, safely.
Belladonna spent most of the morning in prayer, kneeling in the dirt, praying for Dashiell’s safe return and the safe return of Bentley. She didn’t want to be unreasonable and ask for the entire army to be returned whole and sound, so she was specific about Dashiell and Bentley. As much as Lily pretended to be strong, Belladonna knew the woman was broken inside at the thought of Bentley dying.
She could see it in her sister’s eyes.
As the morning inched towards the nooning hour and the sun had risen enough so that sunlight streamed in through the thin, lancet windows of the chapel, she began to hear the sentries at the gatehouse taking up the cry.
Someone had arrived at Ramsbury. The cries were faint and Belladonna ignored them for the most part. She didn’t want to be bothered while she was in prayer, but then she realized that if she didn’t answer the call, the servants would go on the hunt for Lily, and Lily was not to be disturbed.
Perhaps, it was another traveling lord, looking for shelter for the coming night. Perhaps, he might even have news about the battle at Newark. With that in mind, Belladonna rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her gown from where her knees were resting on the floor of the chapel. Without much enthusiasm, she headed out of the chapel.
The sun was overhead, bright and shining, and she shielded her eyes as she walked towards the gatehouse. She could see men all around the gatehouse and, finally, men were heading in her direction. She couldn’t see who they were because of the angle of the sun, but when they drew closer and she dropped her hand from her eyes, she abruptly came to a halt.
Coming towards her were the two men sent to the neighboring towns to discover news about the Savernake army.
Belladonna couldn’t seem to move towards them. She simply stood there, her heart in her throat, as the two men approached her, followed by Joachim. When they came to within a few feet of her, they bowed sharply.
“Lady du Reims,” one man with a bushy white beard spoke. “We have good news, my lady. We were nearing Swindon when we saw the Savernake banners. The army looks to be coming home, my lady.”
Belladonna was so shaken by the news that she staggered a bit as Joachim rushed to her side, grasping her arm.
“Are you well, my lady?” he asked, concerned.
Belladonna waved him off. She was solely focused on the two men who had seen the army. “They are heading this way?”
The men nodded. “Aye, my lady,” he said. “We saw the banners. We rushed back with the news.”
Belladonna’s hand was at her throat as she struggled to keep her breathing on an even keel. “You did not go to them?” she asked. “You did not go to see if the rumors were true?”
The men shook their heads but they were looking at each other, uncomfortably. “My lady,” the man with the white beard said, “it seemed to us that the army was much smaller than before. And… they were moving in groups, not all in one formation.”
Belladonna had no idea what the meant. “What do you mean by groups?” she asked. “Is that strange? Is something wrong?”
Beside her, Joachim spoke. “It could be that that the healthy men are at the head of the army, my lady, and the wounded are following behind at a slower pace.”
Belladonna digested that, but it did nothing to slow her pounding heart. If anything, she was feeling more apprehensive than ever before. “Knights,” she managed to say. “Did you see any mounted knights? Did you see my husband?”
The men shook their heads. “We were too far away, my lady,” white-beard replied. “We saw the standards and that was enough. We knew you would want to know. They should be here within the hour; at least, the first part of the army. They are coming home, my lady.”
They are coming home.
Belladonna could hardly believe it. She thanked the men and, with shaking legs, made her way back to the keep. She had to tell Lily that the army was returning. Finally, they would know everything they needed to know. By the end of the day, Belladonna would either be a widow or safely in her husband’s arms.
She prayed it was the latter.
Oddly enough, there was some encouragement in the realization that the army was nearly home. At least they would know what had happened, in the end, and those men who had left the castle those months ago would return to their home and to those who loved them. Aye, there was an odd comfort in that and, by the time Belladonna reached Lily’s chamber, she was quite calm about it.
Today, they would know the truth.
Lily was sitting up when she arrived, stitching a bumblebee on the little tunic in her hands. She glanced up and saw her sister entering her chamber.
“I heard the sentries,” she said. “More visitors?”
Belladonna shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “The army has been sighted. They should be here within the hour.”
Lily dropped her sewing, her eyes wide at her sister. “My… God,” she gasped. “Truly? They are returning?”
Belladonna nodded. “Aye,” she said calmly. “Their standards have been identified.”
Lily’s breathing began to come in rapid heaves. “Bentley,” she whispered. “And… Clayton. Bella, he cannot see me like this. You know that. We thought… Sweet Mary, we thought the army would be gone until this child is born. Now it is too late to run!”
Belladonna nodded. “I know,” she said calmly, “but Clayton will not see you. We will hide you and I will tell Clayton that you took ill and left to the seaside for your health. You know he will not care, and he most certainly will not look for you. When it is safe, Bentley will take you away.”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at her sister. “What if he does not return?”
“Then someone will take you away. Please do not worry, Lily. All will be well, I promise.”
Now, the roles were somewhat reversed. Lily was close to panic and Belladonna was calm. With the help of a few maids who were sworn to secrecy, and who knew of Lady le Cairon’s condition, Belladonna took Lily to a chamber on the top floor where the servants and visitors slept. It was two adjoining rooms, with one heavily-fortified door, and the maids were in a frenzy moving all of Lily’s possessions up to it.
With Lily safely tucked away pending the arrival of the army, Belladonna’s apprehension was growing. Her palms were sweating and her mouth was dry but, on the exterior, she seemed unusually calm. She returned to her chamber to wait out the return of the army but found she couldn’t stay there. She saw Dashiell at every turn; on her bed, standing by the hearth – everywhere. His ghost filled the chamber.
Fretfully, she fled back to the chapel, seemingly the only place she had any comfort. Gazing at that beautifully carved altar, it seemed most appropriate to pray, and pray she did. Falling to her knees in front of the altar, she began to pray furiously.
Time passed. It was slow, like the trickle of a stream, meandering with no real destination. Belladonna felt as if she were riding upon it, like flotsam, floating along with time as she waited for Savernake’s army to return and the news that her husband was either dead or alive. Just when she lost herself in the timeless ritual of prayer, the faint cries of the sentries started up again.
The army was coming through the gates.
Her heart leapt into her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes but she fought them off as hard as she could. She wanted to be proud and strong when the men came to tell her that Dashiell had been killed in battle, or she wanted to be proud and strong when he walked into the chapel in person. She planned what she was going to say to him, to tell him how much she loved him and how much she had missed him. She would tell him that her love for him had only grown over time.
There were so many things she wanted to tell him and she prayed she would have the opportunity.
More shouting went on and, soon enough, she began to hear men other than the sentries calling to one another, meaning someone had entered into the bailey. Grooms were being brought forth from the stables and she could hear servants moving about outside of the chapel. In fact, dust was blowing in from the bailey, in through the open chapel door from the feet that had stirred up the dust of the bailey.
At some point, Belladonna lost the ability to pray. She simply knelt in front of the altar, her eyes closed, listening to every shout, every bit of movement from the bailey beyond. She heard Joachim as he spoke to someone, but she couldn’t hear a response.
Until a voice came from the open doorway.
“Lady du Reims?”
Belladonna knew the voice. God help her, she knew it. Opening her eyes, she turned slowly to see Aston standing in the open doorway.
He looked beaten to hell. His blond hair was dirty and unkempt, his face stubbled, and he had a big healing gash on the side of his neck. The sight of him did not do her heart good. In fact, she could feel herself cowering, but she resisted with all her might.
Be strong!
“Aston,” she said, slowing rising. “You… you have returned.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Is my husband dead?”
Aston shook his head. “Nay, my lady.”
So much for being strong. Belladonna burst into tears, her hands flying to her mouth to keep the sobs at bay, but it did little good. She sounded as if she were dying, breathing heavily as she sobbed at the same time. She ran at Aston.
“Where is he?” she demanded. “Take me to him!”
Grasping her by the arm, Aston led her out into the bailey, into the remnants of the once-great Savernake army. Everything, and everyone, was in shambles. Men were missing arms, eyes, and limbs. They were leaning on their fellow soldiers for support. To Belladonna, they looked like the walking dead and her eyes widened at the sight.
“My… God,” she gasped. “Then it was true. The battle at Newark… it was true.”
Aston had her by the elbow, leading her towards a group of wagons over near the gatehouse.
“You were told about Newark?” he asked.
She nodded, looking at the utter devastation of the men around her. “A passing merchant told us,” she said. “But he had only heard rumor. Aston, what happened?”
Aston sighed heavily. “Destruction,” he mumbled. “We were facing off against John’s mercenary army near Newark and the odds were even until William Marshal and William Longespée changed loyalties. That weighted John’s army heavily against us. We would have been able to make adjustments had it happened before the battle, but it happened during. We didn’t know who our enemies were until they started cutting men down. They boxed us in on the east and west flanks and, when we realized that, we knew that someone would have to remain behind to fight so the more damaged units could get away. Dash led us into that battle, my lady. I have never seen anything like it in my life.”
Belladonna could hardly believe the utter devastation she was seeing among the once-mighty Savernake army.
“How many men did we lose?” she asked, her voice dull with sorrow.
Aston had his sights set on a particular wagon that had been moved over near the armory. He headed towards it.
“We left here with almost eighteen hundred men,” he said. “We lost almost nine hundred, including Clayton.”
Belladonna looked at him in shock. “Clayton is dead?”
“Aye,” he said. “So is Lord Sherston. Surely you remember him.”
“I do,” she gasped. “What happened?”
Aston sighed heavily. “He was hit by an arrow in the neck. Dash tried to save the man, but we were fighting for our own lives at the time and it was… harrowing. I hope I never see such a thing again.”
Belladonna was swept with sorrow over the loss of Anthony Cromford, a man who had been truly kind to her and Dashiell in their hour of need. It was difficult to hear of the death of a genuinely compassionate man.
“I am so sorry,” she murmured. “He was a very kind man. And my husband? Is he well?”
Aston was closing in on the wagon he’d been looking for. “He has been injured, but it has not stopped him,” he said. “But Bentley… he has been badly wounded.”
They reached the wagon, but Belladonna was still looking at Aston until someone suddenly grabbed her. She yelped with fright until she realized it was Dashiell, and his arms were around her so tightly that she couldn’t breathe. Her tears returned with a vengeance as she grabbed hold of him, inhaling his dirt and his musk, never in her life experiencing anything so sweet or satisfying.
He was home!
“Dash,” she wept. “You’ve come back to me!”
Dashiell had her so tightly that he was in danger of crushing her. “Aye,” he said, his voice raspy. “I told you I would. And I have never loved you more than I do now, at this very moment.”
Belladonna squeezed and squeezed, incapable of doing anything else, until she finally released him, at least so she could look him in the face. She was met by a very weary-appearing man with a massive gash across his face that ran from the corner of his nose all down the right side of his face and down his jaw. Someone had put stitches in it, big and black catgut stitches, and Belladonna gingerly touched the terrible wound.
“My sweetest love,” she murmured. “Does it hurt much?”
He shook his head, looking down at her. It took her a moment to realize there were tears in his eyes. “Nay,” he whispered. “It simply makes the old man look older. Now uglier. But I am alive.”
“That is the most important thing,” she said fervently. “You are still the most handsome man I have ever seen and I love you madly.”
“Still?”
“More than the heavens love the stars.”
That seemed to trigger something in him, something deeply emotional, and Dashiell kissed her deeply, listening to her soft weeping. There was such joy in her tears, such adoration in her touch. Together, they embraced away months of separation, and of fear and longing. It was happiness beyond description. But even as Belladonna rejoiced over the return of Dashiell, she caught sight of someone lying supine in the bed of the wagon.
It was Bentley.
The tall, dark, and handsome knight barely looked like himself. His hair was long and dirty, and he had a full beard upon his face. He was covered with blankets but, from the color of his pasty face, he was quite ill. A gasp of sympathy escaped her lips.
“Bent,” she murmured. “What happened to him?”
Dashiell was looking at the man, great sorrow in his expression. “An ax,” he said. “It caught him in the back. He has hovered near death since that time and the physic did not expect him to survive this long, but he has. The man has a strong will to live.”
Belladonna’s hand flew to her mouth. “Poor Bentley,” she breathed. “Where is the physic now? Why is he not here, with him?”
“We lost our physic to the de Winter army. They had more casualties than we did.”
“So you have been tending Bentley yourself?”
“As much as I have been able. I have tended my share of battle wounds in my life, but this… this is beyond any skill I possess. That Bent has survived this long is a miracle.”
He seemed too horribly depressed about it and Belladonna looked him. “Lily is an excellent healer,” she said softly. “She has learned much from the apothecary in Marlborough where she used to purchase her pessaries. In fact, we must send for the apothecary right away. Mayhap, he will know how to help Bent.”
“It would be wise. I have done all I can.”
Belladonna put her hand on his arm, sympathetically. “You are the wisest, strongest man I know,” she said softly. “I am sure Bent is only alive because of you.”
That seemed to bring on more depression from Dashiell. “He is wounded because of me,” he said. “Bent took the ax that Clayton was aiming for me. He put himself in harm’s way and the next thing I realized, Bric MacRohan cut Clayton’s head clean from his body, but not until after Clayton sunk the ax into Bentley’s back. What Bentley did, he did to save me. I… I cannot watch him die, Bella. He has survived this long and I swear, I cannot watch him die.”
Belladonna was beside herself with the details of Bentley’s injury and Clayton’s graphic death. She could see such pain in Dashiell’s eyes, so she didn’t press him about anything he’d just told her, not Clayton’s attempt on his life nor MacRohan’s rescue. None of that mattered now, not with Bentley as a casualty.
Somehow, she felt that Dashiell was crying out to her for help, as if he were too bone-weary and muddled from the rigors of war to make one more decision. He’d come home for peace, and she was going to give it to him. For all of these men, who had suffered and fought for one another, she was going to do what a wife of the noble and powerful Dashiell du Reims would do.
She was going to be worthy of him.
“We will do all we can to help him, I swear it,” she assured Dashiell, laying a warm, tender hand on his cheek. “This man saved your life and I cannot watch him die, either. Quickly, now, we must get him inside.”
Men began to move as she ordered them about, putting Bentley onto a large woolen blanket and using it as a stretcher. As Aston remained in the bailey with the army, Dashiell and Belladonna followed Bentley up to Lily’s chamber, where Belladonna put the man on Lily’s bed. Leaving Dashiell with Bentley, she ran up to the upper floor for Lily.
The floor was virtually empty, dimly lit. Belladonna ran straight to the door of Lily’s new chambers and tried the latch, only to realize that Lily had locked it. She pounded on the panel.
“Lily!” she called. “It is me! Open the door!”
Quickly, the door was unlocked and Lily’s anxious face appeared.
“Where is he?” she hissed. “Is he asking for me?”
Belladonna shook her head, but her expression was full of joy and sorrow at the same time. “He is dead,” she said. “He was killed when he tried to kill Dash. But, Lily… it was Bentley who saved Dash by taking the ax meant for him. He is badly wounded. You must come!”
Lily was gripping the door for support, startled to the bone by reports of Clayton’s death. “Clayton… he is dead?”
Belladonna nodded swiftly. “Aye,” she said. “You no longer need fear him. He can no longer hurt you, not now – not ever.”
Lily let out a sound that was something of a grunt or a groan, something that suggested complete and utter disbelief as well as relief. Perhaps it was joy in its purest form. In any case, she reached out and grasped Belladonna.
“Is it true?”
“It is. I swear it is.”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears even as delight spread across her lips. “Oh… Bella!”
But Belladonna couldn’t let her become too happy about the situation. “Save your joy for later,” she said, grasping the woman by the hand pulling her along. “Bent is here and he is in need of healing. I told Dash you had learned much from the apothecary you are so fond of, but it is possible that Bent needs a real physic. He is in very bad shape, Lily. The physic that tended him did not believe he would survive this long, but he has. He is fighting for his life.”
Lily’s head was still spinning with news of Clayton’s death, but Belladonna was correct – she couldn’t give in to the relief and joy of it now. She needed all of her focus for Bentley, who was more important to her than anything else in the world. She was too overwhelmed to feel grief at his injury. Having not seen the man, she had no idea how dire his prognosis was and, true to form, she was strong and immovable, like a rock. She knew what she had to do.
The moment Belladonna told her of Clayton’s death, she knew exactly what she needed to do.
“Bent will not die,” she said firmly as they headed down the narrow stairs, with Belladonna in front of her to make sure she didn’t fall. “He will live. And with Clayton dead, I am free to marry again, this time with a man of my choosing.”
“You are.”
“Then I choose Bent. He shall marry me now and our child will be the legitimate heir to the dukedom of Savernake.”
They came to the bottom of the stairs and Belladonna looked curiously at her sister, but she could see that the woman was completely serious.
“But… Lily, he is injured,” she said gently. “Before you can marry him, you must help him. Dash said that…”
Lily cut her off. “Bentley should have been the Duke of Savernake,” she said. “He would have been had Clayton not interfered. Bella, if the man is going to die, let him die as my husband. Surely, loving Dash as you do, you can understand that.”
Belladonna did. Had the Fates not been kind to her, she would have faced just that scenario – a short marriage to a man she desperately loved. Nay, she didn’t blame Lily in the least. In fact, she completely understood.
“Then go to him,” she said softly. “He is in your chamber. I will send for a priest from Marlborough. I will also send for a physic – you know the one? He nursed Papa through his illness last year when he had that terrible cough. I will bring them both here. If the physic cannot help you heal Bent, then the priest can at least perform the marriage ceremony and give the man last rites.”
Lily had an expression on her face that Belladonna had never seen before. It was full of hope and of dreams, things that could not be shattered.
“He will not die,” she said as if she had God’s ear. “He will be the next Duke of Savernake, the way he should have always been. For the suffering Bent has gone through, watching the woman he loves marry another man, surely… surely God will not let it end this way. Surely He will be merciful.”
Belladonna didn’t argue with her. She seemed completely convinced and Belladonna would not be so cruel as to dash her sister’s beliefs. The woman had so many dashed that, in this case, it was completely unfair not to support whatever dream she wished for. If it was for her beloved Bentley to survive, then so be it.
Love could perform miracles.
In fact, Bentley of Ashbourne did survive, although his recovery was slow. Two days after his return to Ramsbury, the priest from St. Peter’s Church in Marlborough performed the marriage mass that saw the Lady Lily de Vaston le Cairon wed Bentley of Ashbourne, who took his wife’s family name upon their marriage and became Bentley de Vaston, Duke of Savernake. It was a way for the de Vaston name to continue, and not uncommon when there were no male heirs. And when Lily bore a son nearly a week later, he was christened Merrick Edward Dashiell de Vaston, Earl of Collingbourne, the hereditary title for the male heirs to the dukedom of Savernake.
All was well in the world again.
With the birth of a new heir, and the joy of a new duke who was most worthy of the title, Ramsbury gradually returned to the happy place it had been before the event of Clayton le Cairon. What sadness there had been was soon forgotten, and Bentley and Lily, Dashiell and Belladonna spoke of Edward and Acacia with fondness, as time had the ability to soften one’s sorrowful memories until only the joy of family could be remembered. There was no mention of Edward’s madness or of Acacia’s weaknesses. There was only affectionate remembrance. Clayton’s name was never mentioned again, and there were no reminders of him, as his body had been left at Newark to be buried in an unmarked grave.
Bric MacRohan, in fact, had seen to that.
But with all of the happiness and contentment at Ramsbury, there were none happier, nor more content, than Dashiell and Belladonna. It was a marriage made in heaven, and there were those who swore they had never seen a couple more in love. They were rarely apart because, quite literally, one could not survive without the other. They were two souls that functioned as one and, in time, there were stories to be told of Dashiell du Reims and his unwavering love for his darling wife.
Life soon came full circle for the pair when, near Easter of the following year, Belladonna discovered she was expecting their first child. Upon telling her husband, the man wept with joy.
I love you more than the heavens love the stars.
And Dashiell’s love for Belladonna went even deeper than that.
The love they shared was immortal.