CHAPTER TWENTY
Bedingfeld Manor
One week later
The fire in the hearth snapped quietly as Eiselle, Bric, and Manducor sat in the hall of Bedingfeld Manor.
It was after sup on a lazy summer evening, and the doors of the manse were open to let the cooling breeze flow through the house. The day had been a warm one, and the fire was more for light than for warmth. Servants had brought in banks of tallow candles that now shed their yellow glow around the room, casting away the darkness of the coming night.
Bric and Manducor sat on opposite ends of a small table near the hearth, a vicious game of chess between them. This was their second game, even though they had been playing most of the week, but the first game took two days before Bric had finally triumphed, and this game was nearing the end with Bric inching towards victory yet again.
Manducor was beside himself because of it. As Bric had quickly come to learn, the man was a poor loser. He groaned, grunted, cursed, and tried to cheat his way to victory, but Bric watched him closely and was able to tell when he tried to do anything unseemly. This thoroughly upset Manducor, who denied cheating to the point of nearly throwing a punch at Bric for the intimation. But he wasn’t foolish; he’d tangled with Bric before and knew the man’s strength, so not even in the spirit of friendly competition would he try and strike the man.
For certain, he would lose more than just the game.
As Bric sat silently and stoically, studying the game board for his next move while Manducor drank more wine and farted to break Bric’s concentration, Eiselle sat over by the hearth and sewed on the interior for a heavy robe she had been making for Bric, one she’d been working on since before he left for Castle Acre. She had the leather pieces for the exterior of the robe, tanned and softened by the tanner at Narborough, and now she was stitching together the fine interior that was made of brown wool with a silk pattern sewn into the back of it.
As she worked, her ears were attuned to the men playing chess, fighting off a grin when Manducor would make a spectacle out of himself. In truth, she’d been watching their relationship for the better part of a week and she was pleased to see that Bric was at least willing to do something other than stare aimlessly from a window. He’d done that the day after their first walk in the garden, when she’d tried to coerce him into engaging the servant boy and Bric had run off as a result. She’d come into the manse later to find him sitting in their chamber, simply staring out of the window. It took her some time to realize he’d been staring at the garden, watching her the entire time.
He’d apologized to her for snapping at her, and she’d forgiven him on the spot. In truth, she’d forgiven him before he’d even asked for forgiveness, but she still didn’t think it was a good idea for her to cling to him day in and day out. Certainly, she wanted to be there if he needed her, but she worried that her constant hovering presence would both annoy and cripple him.
And that was where Manducor came in.
In speaking briefly to the priest, she explained her fears, thinking that Bric would need the company of a man more than ever. A man who understood what he was going through. Manducor didn’t exactly understand Bric’s demons, but he knew the man needed someone to give him a sense of worth and respect. Perhaps, it would even help him regain his confidence. That was why he played chess with him, or backgammon on occasion, resolved to let Bric win when the truth was that Bric was winning regardless. It was something that had put a smile on Bric’s face, much to Eiselle’s delight.
And there was something more she hoped might put a smile on his face, although she wasn’t quite sure how to tell him. The nausea she’d been feeling in the mornings and sometimes in the evening had been constant, and growing worse, and even with Bric’s breakdown, he still made love to her every night, telling her how very much he loved her. It began to occur to Eiselle that she hadn’t suffered through her menses since her arrival to Narborough, which had been several weeks earlier.
With her upset belly and tender breasts, Eiselle was thinking that, perhaps, she might have conceived. In speaking to one of the older female servants that had come with her from Narborough, the woman convinced her that she was, indeed, pregnant.
It was a secret Eiselle had been holding in for an entire day. She and Bric had never discussed children and given the fact that his nerves were frayed, she wasn’t sure the news would be well-met. But she quickly decided that the man had to know because it wasn’t something she’d be able to keep a secret forever. At some point, he was going to figure it out, especially the way he liked to make love to her, so a rounded belly wouldn’t escape his notice.
The man had to know.
But she would tell him later, in the privacy of their bedchamber, because he was enjoying himself with Manducor at the moment. She continued to sit by the fire and sew, glancing up at him every so often. When their eyes met, he would wink at her and she would smile in return. She loved the man so much she couldn’t put it into words, and she knew he felt the same way. She just wanted to see him well again and although she’d never been one to pray very much, she was coming to pray daily that Bric would find his sense of self again.
He was too great a man not to.
Eiselle was just putting the final stitches in part of the silk pattern when someone appeared beside her. Looking to her right, she saw that it was young Royce, or Sir Royce as he had introduced himself. She’d learned that the child who had challenged Bric to a duel with sticks was the son of a woman who worked in the kitchen. His father, she’d been told, had died the previous year of a fever.
Eiselle had discovered that when she’d asked about the boy, and evidently he wasn’t supposed to be in the garden when the lord and lady were present, so he’d been punished as a result. All week, his mother had kept him to the kitchens, so Eiselle was surprised to see the lad standing beside her with a wooden plate laden with something baked. She smiled at him but the smell of baked goods hit her in the nose and with her strange stomach as of late, she immediately felt nauseous.
“Goodness,” she said, trying to lean away from the tray of delights. “What did you bring me?”
Royce didn’t seem particularly pleased to be forced into servitude. “My mam says I should give these to you, my lady.”
Slightly confused, Eiselle looked over her shoulder to the door that led into the kitchen and saw Royce’s mother standing there, smiling encouragingly. Assuming she was trying to teach her son how to be a proper servant, Eiselle played along.
“They look… delicious,” she said. “What are they?”
Royce sighed heavily, as if he wished he was anywhere but offering food to the lady. “Mam made them,” he said. “They have oats and… and honey… and… and currants. Mam says to eat them.”
Eiselle took one of the little cakes simply to appease the child, but she had no intention of eating it. Even looking at it was making her stomach roll. She pointed to Bric.
“Go and ask Sir Bric if he wants a cake,” she said. “Go ahead.”
Turning towards Bric, Royce shuffled his way across the floor. When Manducor saw him approach, he reached out to take more than one cake but Royce quickly pulled the tray away.
“Nay,” he said. “Not you. The lord.”
Eiselle started to giggle, turning her face away when Manducor looked at her in outrage. Bric, however, smiled faintly and with some approval.
“As it should be,” he said. “I should always be served first before this hairy boar.”
Royce held the plate up to him. “Mam says to eat them.”
Bric cocked eyebrow. “She does, does she?” he said. Then, he inspected the small cakes, selecting one. But he didn’t eat it right away and Royce looked at him with some worry, so he forced himself to take a bite. “Delicious. Thank your mam for sending these to me.”
Royce nodded, but he didn’t leave. He simply stood there, watching Bric eat the honey cake. There was wonderment and awe in his expression, much as there had been in the garden when they’d first met. Royce was clearly enamored with Bric.
“Are you a knight?” he finally asked.
Bric was still chewing. “I am.”
“I want to be a knight.”
Bric swallowed his bite and looked at the child. Clearly, the boy had no concept of the knighthood, or how men achieved such things. But he remembered from the first time he’d met Royce how the child had been pretending to hold him off with a stick. But to Royce, it had been the biggest broadsword in the land. He’d even challenged Bric to a fight, which didn’t go particularly well in the child’s favor.
As Bric gazed at the little boy, he felt himself softening, just a little. He’d never been around children much, leaving the training for squires and pages to the knights with more patience, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel some compassion for a very small servant boy who had no idea of the way of the world. In fact, he envied the child for his innocent view of the world. For Bric, that innocence was long gone, with disillusion and doubt taking its place.
He longed for those days when nothing in the world bothered him.
He wondered if he’d ever know them again.
“Are you sure you want to be a knight?” he asked after a moment. “Why not follow your father? What did he do?”
The child made a face of distaste. “He tended the garden,” he said. “I do not want to tend the garden. I want to fight!”
Bric lifted his eyebrows. “That is a fine goal, but it takes training and discipline,” he said. “The knighthood is only for the sons of noblemen, I am afraid. Tending a garden is not so bad.”
Royce frowned. “But I am strong,” he pointed out, holding up an arm to show Bric his muscle as the tray of cakes wobbled dangerously. “I would make a good knight.”
“I am sure you would, but I am afraid it will not be possible,” Bric said. “But when you are old enough, and if your mother allows it, I am sure Lord de Winter would permit you to be a soldier for the de Winter army. You would still get to fight.”
“Can I have a sword?”
“You can, indeed.”
That seemed to give Royce a good deal of hope and he smiled brightly at the idea. But Royce’s mother, realizing that her son was making a nuisance out of himself, rushed forward to collect her bold son. Royce saw her coming and began to run. The platter with the cakes tumbled to the ground.
“Nay!” he said as he ran away from his mother. “I do not want to go! Nay!”
Royce’s mother was beside herself with embarrassment. Before she realized it, her son had taken her on a chase twice around the hall as Eiselle, Bric, and Manducor watched with varied levels of amusement and annoyance. When the child started to make the third round, Manducor stuck out his foot and the little boy went sprawling.
“There,” Manducor said quite casually as he turned back to the chess board. “That solves that.”
Bric looked at the poor lad who was now being hauled up by his mother. As the woman apologized profusely whilst dragging her son away, the child reached out and pinched Manducor on the arm. As Manducor howled and lifted his hand to hit the boy, Bric burst into laughter and stopped him.
“Nay,” he said. “Do not strike him. He is bold and fearless. You’ll not retaliate.”
Manducor was fuming, but he had his satisfaction when Royce’s mother swatted the child’s behind as she pulled him into the kitchen.
“Ha!” he said as he heard the boy scream. “I have my vengeance!”
The problem was that Bric could hear the crying, too, and for some reason it upset him. He didn’t want to see the child’s spirit crushed because he rather liked a spirited child, a servant boy who didn’t understand he had limitations. It was only when one grew up and understood the world at large, and the frailty of life, did limitations become apparent. Nay, he didn’t like hearing the lad cry one bit.
He turned to Eiselle.
“Mo chroí,” he said softly. “Will you please see to the lad? He should not be punished. I do not want to hear him cry.”
Eiselle smiled at her husband and his tender heart when it came to a crying boy. From the hardened man she had first met, it was a little surprising. But it gave her hope that, indeed, he might be pleased that in a few months, he, too, would have a boy, if God was willing. Putting her sewing aside, she stood up and headed towards the kitchen where she could hear the lad weeping in the distance.
For whatever reason, she felt somewhat woozy after standing up. Perhaps she had stood up too quickly. Whatever the case, she thought she could simply walk it off but the closer she drew to the kitchen door, the stranger she felt. Her head began to swim and spots danced before her eyes, and the last thing she remembered was reaching the door leading into the kitchen and trying to brace herself against it.
And then… nothing.
Shadows were dancing on the wall of the darkened chamber when Eiselle opened her eyes again.
It took her a moment to realize she was in her bed as the familiar surroundings came into view. She rolled onto her back, immediately feeling a stabbing pain on the side of her head. She winced as her hand flew to her scalp, only to feel a lump.
“Ouch,” she muttered.
Bric was suddenly in her line of sight. “Ah,” he said softly. “You have awakened. How do you feel?”
Eiselle blinked up at him. “I do not know,” she said. “What happened?”
He smiled at her. “You fainted.”
Eiselle seemed shocked. “I did? Are you certain?”
Bric chuckled. “Do you remember how you got here?”
She looked around a little. “Nay.”
“Then you fainted. I brought you here.” His smile faded as he sat down on the bed beside her, putting an enormous hand on her forehead. “You gave me quite a scare, love. Can I get you anything? Wine? Something to eat? Mayhap you need to eat something. God only knows, you’ve been tending to me like an angel and have not taken care of yourself.”
She waved him off. “God, no,” she mumbled. “Nothing to eat.”
The way she said it concerned him. “Why? Are you ill?”
Are you ill? Eiselle hear his words and she almost denied them but, as she thought about it, there was perhaps no better time to tell the man he was to be a father. Perhaps that was why she had fainted in the first place; her body had been doing strange things as of late, with pains where she’d never had pains before and something terrible happening to her belly that made her feel like she was burping up fire.
No better time than the present.
“I am not ill,” she said quietly. “My belly has simply been upset as of late.”
“More upset than usual?”
She eyed him. “What do you mean by that?”
He fought off a grin. “I know your stomach pains you from time to time,” he said. “Sometimes you belch louder than I do. It is a prideful talent, Wife.”
She tried to scowl but ended up laughing. “I cannot help it,” she insisted. “Besides – it is unseemly to discuss such things.”
“I have never discussed it with anyone but you.”
“See that you don’t.” Eiselle watched him snicker, thinking that it was good to see him laugh, even if it was at her expense. “Be serious, Bric. I must speak with you.”
He wasn’t catching on to her solemn tone. “About your stomach?”
“In a way. It is upset for a reason.”
“What reason?”
“We are going to have a child.”
That stopped his giggles in an instant and the smile vanished from his face unnaturally fast. He just stared at her for a moment before his eyebrows lifted in a deliberate motion.
“We are?” he asked in a strangely low tone.
Eiselle nodded, though she couldn’t tell if he was happy or enraged about it. Her nervous stomach began to do flips.
“We are,” she said quietly.
As Eiselle looked at him anxiously, Bric couldn’t quite catch his breath. The room began to rock to the point where he had to stand up from the bed, holding on to the bedposts for support. His mind was whirling with something he’d honestly never thought about even though, in hindsight, it was stupid that he hadn’t. He’d been bedding his wife daily, sometimes twice a day, and taking delight in her supple body as he’d spilled his seed into her, again and again.
Of course she was pregnant; his powerful Irish seed had taken root. It shouldn’t have been a great surprise.
But it was.
Whirling to face her, Bric could see that she was verging on tears, concerned with his reaction. Or perhaps it was because she didn’t want to bear a child. Perhaps she was afraid. In any case, now he wasn’t sure how to react even though his momentary surprise was about to turn into a joyous explosion.
“Bleeding Christ,” he finally breathed. “Eiselle…”
“You’re not happy!” she said, bursting into tears.
He was back on the bed in an instant, his hands on her arms as she covered her face. “I am,” he insisted. “With God as my witness, I am. It is simply that I wasn’t expecting to hear the news. Are you happy?”
Eiselle’s hands came away from her face as she looked up at him, the tears miraculously fading. “I… I think so,” she said. “It is difficult to be happy when I do not feel very well. But I am happy if you are happy.”
He just looked at her, the silver eyes glimmering with warmth and hope and the light of a thousand dreams for the future. Then, he started to laugh, pulling her up against him and holding her so tightly that she burped when he squeezed too hard. That made him laugh even louder.
“Oh, mo chroí,” he murmured. “My heart. My dearest, sweetest heart. Am I happy? Aye, I am. I truly am. A son, Eiselle. We shall have a son and he shall be the greatest knight the world has ever seen.”
Eiselle had her arms around his neck, holding him tightly as she realized that he wasn’t upset by this at all. She felt a huge amount of relief.
“It could be a lass,” she said. “I have no way of controlling such things.”
He released her from his grip so he could look her in the eye. A big hand came up to cup her face. “It will be a son,” he said with quiet authority. “God and I are not terribly close, but I intend to have a talk with the man. Our child will be a boy, Eiselle.”
There was no convincing him otherwise so Eiselle simply smiled at him and he kissed her, twice, before laughing low in his throat and throwing his arms around her again. She could literally feel his giddiness and it made her feel comforted, safe, and loved.
His joy was contagious.
But as he celebrated, Eiselle inevitably thought of Keeva, who had only suffered loss after loss of pregnancy. She and Keeva were dear friends and she was certain the woman would be happy for her, but it still hurt her heart to know that Keeva would be wounded deep-down that the pregnancy was not her own. It wasn’t strange that she should think of Keeva at a time like this since Keeva had often shared her childless trials with her.
“I have been thinking,” she finally said.
He was still holding her tightly. “About what?”
She sighed faintly. “Keeva,” she said. “She is my friend, Bric. I am concerned that our joy will hurt her somehow. All of these years with Daveigh and she has wanted a child so badly. How will we tell her of that we are to have a child, so soon after our marriage?”
Bric released her from his embrace. He wasn’t unsympathetic, but he certainly wasn’t going to let the thought run his joy.
“Keeva is a strong woman,” he said. “She has suffered many disappointments, but we cannot keep the news from her simply to spare her. She will be hurt if we do not tell her.”
Eiselle knew that. “I am sure you are correct,” she said. “She will be happy for us in spite of her personal feelings, I know. She is giving that way.”
“She is.”
“Mayhap we will give our son the name of her father to honor her. She is your cousin, after all.”
Bric cocked an eyebrow, that imperious eyebrow Eiselle has seen back in the days before his injury. She was quite happy to see it now.
“My son will have the name I choose for him,” he said firmly. “But… I am sure he will have several names, not the least of which will be my father’s name, mayhap Daveigh’s name, your father’s name, and God only knows who else. Our son will have twenty names by the time we christen him.”
Eiselle giggled, thinking of a baby with a name longer than he was. Bric kissed her on the cheek before standing up, his mind full of thoughts of a strong son. It was joy beyond measure.
“This summer season has been… difficult for me,” he said, his gazing turning to the window and the night outside. He could hear the night birds singing. “It is hard for me to admit that, but it is the truth. Other than our marriage, it has been the most difficult time of my life. But this… this brings me happiness as you cannot imagine, Eiselle. You bring me happiness.”
Eiselle sat up in bed, feeling well enough to stand up. “Do you remember what you told me before you left for Castle Acre? You told me that I was more than your heart could have ever hoped for. You are more than my heart could have ever hoped for, too, Bric. I am so proud that our son will have you for his father, and you can teach him everything you know to ensure that he grows into a fine man.”
“Your faith in me is everything. I hope that I can live up to it.”
He didn’t say anything more than that. Bric’s smile faded because, inadvertently, she’d reminded him about his duties as a father, to teach his son what he knew. To teach him about being a knight, and all of the strengths and nuances that went along with the profession.
Two months ago, he would have been eager to teach his son about being a knight, but as he thought on it, he could only feel anxiety and uncertainty. Was he even capable of teaching his son about being a knight? With everything he’d been through as of late, he wasn’t even sure he could ever pick up a sword again. Eiselle had tried to coerce him into picking up a stick to mock-fight with a child, and he couldn’t do it.
What made him think he could ever touch a sword again?
It was something he didn’t want to voice to Eiselle. She’d married a knight, the High Warrior, and not a weakling who couldn’t even stomach looking at a blade. He was terrified she was going to think less of him if, after their sojourn to Bedingfeld, he still wasn’t capable of resuming his duties. But for his son, he badly wanted to.
He simply wasn’t sure if he could.
As he stood there and struggled with his inner turmoil, Eiselle wandered up to him and he put his arm around her, kissing her on the top of the head as they gazed out over the garden to the east. It was dark, but torches along the wall of the manse lit up some of the night, and they could see a glimpse of the garden, dark and shadowed beneath the sliver moon. Bric pulled her close against him, feeling her in the curve of his torso, wanting more than anything to make her proud of him.
Never in his life had he ever suffered such self-doubt.
It was completely alien to him, and ever had been since the odd pangs of nerves and fear had started to pull at him when he’d healed from his injury. The first time he’d gone out to work with the men, as light as that had been, had been the first time he’d ever felt afraid that he’d might be injured again. It was that fear of his own mortality that he couldn’t seem to shake, something he’d never before considered.
But it also occurred to him why.
He had a wife he didn’t want to leave.
For the knight who had been a polished professional his entire life, the introduction of emotion, as much as he loved Eiselle, had been the beginning of his downfall. Now, with a child, he wondered if he wasn’t going to crumble completely. He wanted to stay with his family, not leave them. He didn’t want to die like Mylo had.
God help him, that was the core of his problem.
He didn’t want to die.
Sweeping Eiselle into his arms, he carried her back to their bed, losing himself in the passion that overcame him so easily when it came to her, the woman he loved with all his heart.
Tonight belonged to them.