CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Someone was knocking on the chamber door.
Bric heard it and his knightly instincts had him instantly awake, reaching for a broadsword that he no longer kept beside his bed. But that was habit. Glancing to the oil-cloth covered windows, he could see that it was barely dawn. There was a tiny bit of light poking through in what promised to be another lovely summer day.
Climbing out of bed carefully, as not to awake Eiselle, he made his way over to the door. He was nude, so he didn’t open it. Instead, he hissed through the crack.
“Who comes?” he muttered.
“My lord, some men have arrived for you,” Manducor said. “They are in the hall.”
Bric sighed heavily, glancing at Eiselle, who stirred with the raised voices. “Who is it?”
“I do not know. They simply told me to fetch you.”
“Are they armed?”
“They are knights.”
“Then find me a broadsword before I go down into the hall.”
Manducor must have wandered off to do what he was told because Bric didn’t hear a reply. Frustrated that he’d been woken so early, and the least bit curious as to who was in the hall, he found his breeches and a tunic, pulling both on. He also pulled his boots on, tying them off before quietly opening the door and slipping from the chamber.
The landing outside was dark, but there was a doorway ahead of him that opened out onto the gallery above the hall. He fully intended to have a look at the men who had come to see him before he went down to confront them.
As he moved into the gallery, Manducor came up behind him, a weapon in hand, but Bric wouldn’t take it. He just wanted it at the ready should he be forced to defend himself and his wife. In a life or death situation, that was the only way he was going to pick up a weapon again. But what he saw in the gallery wasn’t a threat at all. A grin crossed his lips as he quickly turned and headed down the spiral stairs.
Entering the darkened hall where the servants were just building the fire, Bric saw the three men over near the hearth where Royce’s mother was giving them all warmed wine to drink. Bric could see the steam wafting up from the cups in the chill of the room.
“Lock up the women and the silver,” Bric said, watching the men turn and look at him. “Someone must have left the door unlocked and now we are overrun.”
Bentley laughed as Dashiell headed right to Bric, reaching out to cup the man’s face between his two big hands.
“You ugly wretch,” he muttered, his eyes glittering with warmth. “The last time I saw you, you had a hole in your chest. God be praised that you survived it.”
Bric smiled in return. “I did, indeed,” he said. When Dashiell dropped his hands, Bric caught sight of Bentley approaching. “Lord de Vaston, I am surprised and pleased to see you. What brings you both to the wilds of Norfolk?”
Before Bentley could answer, the third figure came into focus and Bric’s eyes widened when he realized who it was.
“De Lara?” he gasped. “Bleeding Christ, do my eyes deceive me? It is really you?”
Sean shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. “It is,” he said. “It has been a while, MacRohan. But Dash is right; you are still ugly.”
Bric was truly astonished to see the legendary Sean de Lara in his hall. “Fortunately, my wife does not think so,” he said. “She is sleeping, but I will send for her right away. She will want to see you all.”
Sean held up a hand. “No need to wake the woman,” he said. “We will be here for a day or two, I would imagine, so there will be plenty of time for us to tell your wife what a terrible mistake she made when she married the likes of you. In truth, when Dash told me you’d married his cousin, I could hardly believe it. I did not think the High Warrior to be the marrying kind.”
Bric shrugged. “Nor did I,” he said, looking at Dashiell. “It was not as if I had a choice. Dash was going to force me into marriage whether or not I wanted to, so I am happy to say that it has been more than agreeable for me.”
“Then you have discovered a whole new life other than warfare?”
Bric’s smile faded somewhat. “A whole new life, indeed. It has been… soul-changing. Much has happened.”
The mood suddenly changed, turning into something vaguely uneasy. The reason for their visit was like a cloud over their heads, something that could not be ignored any longer. Rather than continue to good-naturedly insult one another, the purpose behind their appearance had to be spoken of. Sean glanced at Dashiell, who took the lead.
“So we have heard,” Dashiell said quietly. “Bric, you should know that we have come on Lady de Winter’s summons. She said that you have suffered greatly as of late and that you are not yourself. We came to help.”
Bric’s smile disappeared and he suddenly felt quite embarrassed. He loved these men, and respected them greatly, and he didn’t want them to think he was some sort of weakling.
“While I appreciate your kindness, I do not need help,” he said with forced bravery. “I am fine. Just seeing you fortifies my heart. A day of feasting and conversation with you three will heal whatever ails me.”
“It is more than that.”
The words came from the darkened hall entry and the four of them turned to see Eiselle standing in the shadows. Clad in a deep blue robe, with her dark hair slightly mussed and braided over one shoulder, she was astonishingly beautiful. Not one man in the room didn’t think so. But as she came into the hall, the light from the hearth hit her face. She was looking at her husband.
“Forgive me, my love, but I cannot let you pretend nothing is wrong,” she said. “And Keeva did not send for Dash. I did. I asked her to send him to Bedingfeld because whatever has happened with you, whatever pain and distress you feel, I fear I cannot help you. I fear that only men who understand the strains of the knighthood will understand and I pray that it is through them you find yourself again. Be angry with me if you must, but I did it because I love you. I simply want you to be well again.”
Bric was looking at her with a mixture of frustration and sorrow. His terrible secret was out, courtesy of his wife, and he couldn’t decide just how he felt about her interference.
“Eiselle, it was not necessary,” he said after a moment.
He was going to try and talk his way out of this; Eiselle could see it. Even if he was too embarrassed to admit the truth, Eiselle wasn’t. She turned to Dashiell.
“After his injury, there were rumors at Narborough that his brush with death had changed him,” she said. “Keeva saw it, and Daveigh saw it. Daveigh said that Bric became a nursemaid to the men rather than the master they needed. If that wasn’t bad enough, he went with the army to defend Castle Acre from a French raid and accidentally killed Mylo de Chevington.”
By this time, Bric was hanging his head, but he didn’t stop her. Nothing she said was untrue. But hearing his failure from her sweet lips did something to him; it made him feel so very ashamed. Reaching out a hand, he grasped her by the arm to beg her to silence herself, but it was all he could muster. He could do no more because he knew, deep down, that she was trying to help him.
“Eiselle, please…” he whispered.
Eiselle’s eyes were filling with tears because she knew this was something profoundly painful for them both. She felt she was spilling all of Bric’s deep and dark secrets, but they were secrets meant to be known by those who loved him. Men who could help him, and if they were to help him, they had to know everything.
“They were fighting in the dark at Castle Acre,” she went on, her lower lip trembling. “Mylo saw a man go after Bric, but Bric did not see this. Mylo put himself between Bric and the French knight in order to save my husband, but Bric didn’t realize it was Mylo. He thought he was about to be killed and struck out in the darkness. After Mylo died, Bric carried him back the sixteen miles to Narborough. He walked the entire way and the army walked with him. After that… after that, he was incoherent. It was as if killing Mylo had broken him. We kept him sedated with a poppy potion and brought him here, hoping the rest would do him good, but he needs more than that. Please… help him if you can. He is the most powerful and wonderful man I have ever known. I beg you… help him.”
Her voice cracked with the last few words and tears spilled over. Quickly, she wiped at her face, struggling with her composure, but Bric pulled her against him and wrapped his big arms around her. Eiselle began to weep, painful sobs, as Bric simply held her.
It was a heartbreaking moment for Dashiell, Bentley, and Sean to watch. In fact, Dashiell had to swallow away the lump in his throat. The missive Lady de Winter sent suggested things were bad, but he couldn’t have imagined just how bad they were or the exact circumstances. He glanced at Bentley, who was greatly distressed at the scene, and then at Sean, who only had sadness in his eyes. After a moment, Dashiell went over to Bric and Eiselle, in their tight embrace, and put his hand on Bric’s head.
“That is why we have come,” he said hoarsely. “I owe you my very life, Bric. There is nothing I would not do for you and I swear, I will do all I can to help you through whatever ails you. You saved my life once and now, I am going to save yours.”
Bric simply nodded his head, still holding fast to Eiselle. “I am grateful,” he whispered. “My wife is grateful. Let me return her to our chamber and then I will come back to the hall and we may… speak on things.”
“Take your time,” Dashiell said. “We will be down here when you are ready.”
Bric could only nod. Dashiell patted him on the head before dropping his hand, watching with great sorrow as Bric escorted the weeping Eiselle back across the hall and up the spiral stairs. When the pair was out of sight, he turned to the men standing behind him.
Bentley was pale with sorrow while Sean seemed to have a deeply intense look about him. Both of them were shocked by what they’d seen, reacting to it in different ways. Dashiell sighed heavily.
“We have work to do, good men,” he said. “Whatever happens, we do not leave here without restoring Bric to the man he was.”
Bentley shook his head. “We do not have all the time in the world, Dash. God, I wish we did.”
Dashiell looked at him. “Whenever you think that we do not have enough time, remember that you owe him your dukedom. Do you have time for that?”
Bentley threw up his hands and turned away, knowing he was resigned to helping Bric no matter how long it took. Even if William Marshal himself had to come and pull them away, still, they wouldn’t go without Bric.
Without the man being the confident warrior they knew him to be.
As Bentley wandered back over towards the hearth, Sean was prepared to speak. He’d spent the past several minutes observing something he’d never thought he’d see, and he was as distressed as Dashiell and Bentley were.
But unlike Dashiell and Bentley, he’d been through a time in his life where he’d nearly been killed and he, too, had struggled to come back from it. In that respect, he very much understood what Bric was going through because he’d gone through it, too.
Aye, he understood the man’s position well.
“Two years ago, I was nearly killed when the allies marched on the Tower of London,” he said. “I know you were both a part of that siege, but what you may not know is my role in the event. You know of my past with John, so I will not repeat it, but my mission when the rebels were closing in on London was to assure the fall of the Tower of London.”
Dashiell came closer to him as he spoke. “I remember that siege,” he said. “That was a very difficult and bloody event. Bric was there, too, you know. The de Winter army was one of the first armies to breach the castle.”
Sean remembered that particularly dark and terrible night. “At that point, my identity as a spy had been discovered, so the king sent his assassins after me,” he said. “They set up on me near the White Tower and they managed to badly wound me, in the chest and in the groin. As I lay there, I was certain that I was dying and I cannot describe what that awareness does to a man. There is an odd sense of peace but there is also a profound sense of disappointment. I had just married my wife, you see, and the thought of not living the rest of my life with her damaged me in a way that is difficult to describe. Only by God’s mercy did I heal, but to this day I carry a sense of gratitude – gratitude that I was given a second chance. Bric must be instilled with that sense of gratitude, too. Right now, all he knows is that he almost died, and it frightened him. That is a heavy burden for a fearless man to bear.”
Dashiell and Bentley were listening intently. “Then what do you suggest?” Dashiell asked. “Shall we speak to him? Pray with him? How do we instill this gratitude in him?”
Sean smiled thinly. “The man has to understand that he will not break,” he said. “When his wife described his timidity following his injury, I understood that completely. I do not believe he is broken so much as he may be at a crossroads. To move forward is a path of no return, of a man who will live timidly the rest of his life. But to go back means he can reclaim what he was. Therefore, we work him until he can hardly stand, and while we are working him, one of us will rush out at him with a broadsword so that he must defend himself. We must revive that killer instinct in him, the one that cost Mylo de Chevington his life.”
It seemed rather extreme. “Are you serious?” Dashiell said. “We must wear the man out and shock him in order to help him?”
Sean nodded. “Do not forget; I have been through this myself. I could be wrong, but Bric has two issues as I see it – not only is he living in fear of dying, but because of what happened with Mylo, he has suppressed the killer instinct that is stronger in him than in any man I have ever seen. Instill the gratitude, coax forth that killer instinct, and I do believe he will be restored.”
It sounded logical enough, coming from the wise de Lara, a man who had seen and experienced so much in his lifetime. In truth, Dashiell and Bentley had no choice but to agree with him, for they had no better answers. Neither one of them had ever suffered from battle fatigue, but Sean had.
He knew what he was talking about, and they had to trust him.
“Then it is fortuitous that you came with us to Bedingfeld,” Dashiell said. “How do we begin?”
Sean lifted his big shoulders. “There is no better time to begin than now,” he said. “When Bric comes down from settling his wife, tell him to find his gloves. The man is going outside with us.”
With that, he headed towards the kitchen, but Dashiell stopped him. “Where are you going?”
Sean was pulling tight his own gloves. “To the wood pile,” he said. “We are going to chop wood, cut down trees, and any other heavy labor we can force Bric into. Have Savernake get his sword and follow us. When Bric least expects it, Lord de Vaston is going to come at him like a runaway ale cart.”
Dashiell lifted his eyebrows in surprise, turning to look at Bentley, who didn’t seem quite agreeable to Sean’s suggestion.
“And do what?” Bentley asked.
“Attack him.”
Bentley’s eyebrows lifted. “Have you seen Bric when he is enraged?” he demanded. “The man could knock down a castle single-handedly. I do not want my head cut off!”
Sean simply grinned. “We must hope he tries.”
Bentley was horrified. “If he kills me, I will come back to haunt you both, I swear it.”
Sean chuckled. “Don’t you see?” he asked. “The last time Bric was charged by a fellow knight, he killed the man. You must prove to him that it was an accident.”
“How?”
“By living.”
With that, he continued on through the kitchen, disappearing out of the door that led to the kitchen yard beyond. When he faded from sight, Dashiell turned to Bentley.
“You always thought you were a better knight than I am,” he jested. “Now is your chance to prove it.”
Bentley didn’t find it the last bit funny. “Did I say I wanted to help? I have changed my mind.”
“Too late.”
Bentley wasn’t really serious, but Dashiell was. They had come to do a job and they were damned well going to do it.
“I am sorry, Bric,” Eiselle wept. “I did not tell you I sent for Dash because I feared you would be angry. I only asked him to come because I love you.”
Bric was trying to calm her down as he pulled off her blue robe, guiding her towards their bed.
“I know,” he said patiently. “And I love you. I am not angry, I promise.”
Eiselle wasn’t convinced. She sat on the bed, wiping the tears and mucus on her face until Bric found a handkerchief and gave it to her so she could blow her nose. As she wiped off her face, she looked up at him with eyes that wouldn’t seem to stop watering.
“I hope you mean that,” she said, “because I would never do anything to make you angry, Bric, but I fear that you need more help than a simple rest in the country can give. I know that Dash and those men will help you.”
Bric sighed faintly as he pushed her down onto the mattress, forcing her to lie down. “We shall see,” he said quietly. “It is difficult to know how to fix a problem when you are unsure what that problem is.”
Eiselle allowed him to push her down and cover her with the blanket. “At least you are willing to discuss it,” she said. “That takes a brave man and I am proud of you. No matter what, I am proud of you, Bric. Surely you must know that.”
He smiled, somewhat modestly. “Mayhap I do, but it is good to hear you say it.”
Eiselle reached up, touching his stubbled cheek. “Then you will let them help you?”
His smile faded and he averted his gaze. “As you said, I am willing to discuss it,” he said. Then, he kissed her hand and stood up. “I would have you rest now while I tend to our visitors. I do not want you straining yourself, Eiselle. You must take care of yourself and my son.”
She put her hand on her belly, instinctively. “Do not worry, for we are well,” she said. “I will stay to the manse while you are doing what needs to be done. I have much that will keep me busy.”
He bent over and kissed her on the head before quitting the chamber. Heading back down the spiral stairs, he could see that there was more light in the manse now that the sun had risen. The early morning sun was streaming in from the east, sending pillars of yellow light through the eastern-facing window. By the time he entered the hall, there were great streams of illumination filling the room, brightening it greatly, and he could clearly see Dashiell and Bentley over near the hearth.
Royce’s mother had brought forth bread, butter, and fruit from the kitchen. Dashiell was stuffing bread into his mouth and Bentley was smearing the stewed fruit on his bread, taking a bite as he noticed Bric approaching.
“Join us?” he asked, mouth full.
But Bric shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Only weaklings and women eat a morning meal. Where is de Lara?”
His insult sounded very much like the Bric of old, something that gave both Dashiell and Bentley hope that, somewhere beneath that beaten façade, the Bric they knew was waiting to be unleashed again.
“He is out in the kitchen yard, waiting for us,” Dashiell said as he swallowed the bite in his mouth. “He says to tell you to bring your gloves.”
Bric looked at Dashiell in surprise. “Gloves?” he repeated. “What for?”
“You shall find out.”
Bric was both intrigued and wary of such a declaration, but he dutifully hunted down his gloves and went out into the kitchen yard where Sean and a sleepy-looking Manducor were waiting for him.
As Bric found out shortly, he had good reason to be on his guard.