CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
October
“Do you remember this lad, Eiselle?” Keeva asked. “The majordomo from Bedingfeld seems to think you do.”
In the great hall of Narborough on an unseasonably warm October day, Eiselle found herself looking at Royce. The child was dirty and red-eyed, indicative of his emotional state, and simply by looking at him, Eiselle could see that something terrible had happened.
“We met during our stay at Bedingfeld,” she said, going to the child and peering at him with concern. “Royce? What has happened, lad? Why are you here?”
Royce’s lower lip began to tremble, and he wiped at his eyes, smearing more dirt across his face. “He… he was going to take me to the priests,” he said, pointing to the cloud-haired old servant from Bedingfeld. “I don’t want to go! I want to fight and Sir Bric said I could be a soldier!”
The old man didn’t have much patience for the boy. “He’s a foundling now, m’lady,” he said, stress in his tone. “His mother was killed when a cow kicked her last month, and we’ve no use for a foundling at Bedingfeld. I am taking him to the priests at St. John’s in King’s Lynn. I have heard they have a foundling’s home, but he insisted on coming to Narborough to see you first. I am sorry if this angers you, m’lady, but he would not go quietly until I brought him here.”
Now, the boy’s red face was starting to make some sense. It was a sad turn of events for young Royce. Still, Eiselle wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t as if she could take on the burden of the child. She had a child of her own on the way and the pregnancy was exhausting her, so she knew she wasn’t capable of watching after a lively little boy.
Still, looking into that sad little face, she knew she couldn’t send him to the priests. She’d heard horrible things about foundling’s homes and she couldn’t subject Royce to such terrible treatment. That sweet little boy who only wanted to fight.
Torn, she put a hand on his shoulder.
“I am sorry about your mother, Royce,” she said. “Do you not have relatives anywhere? A grandmother, mayhap?”
Royce shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Not even an aunt or an uncle?”
Again, Royce shrugged, still wiping his eyes furiously of the tears that wouldn’t seem to stop. “Can’t I stay with you?” he begged. “I will be no trouble, my lady, I promise. My mam told me to be good, and I will be. I will be good for you.”
The plea from the child was weakening Eiselle but she seriously wondered what Bric would say if she chose to accept responsibility. As she pondered the problem, she glanced up and saw Manducor sitting at the end of the feasting table, eating what was possibly his fifth or sixth meal of the day. He was a man who had no responsibilities whatsoever, and as she watched the man eat, a thought occurred to her.
She turned back to Royce.
“You and the majordomo will sit down and wait for me,” she said, looking to the harried majordomo. “Sit at the end of the feasting table and I shall have food brought out to you. Lady de Winter, may I have a word with you?”
Keeva followed her to the far end of the feasting table where Manducor was chewing loudly on bread and cheese. He was also drinking his fill of wine, burping loudly, something he was trying to cut down on because the sound of it, and the frequency, made Eiselle sick to her stomach these days. Any burp had her gagging so, as she approached, Manducor turned his head and struggled not to burp loudly in her presence.
“What is it, Eiselle?” Keeva asked. “How well do you know the lad?”
Eiselle paused at the head of the table, making sure to include Manducor in the conversation. “All I know of the child was that he was sweet and helpful when Bric and I stayed at Bedingfeld,” she said. “But the child had more interaction with Bric because he very much wants to be a knight. I believe Manducor had some interaction with him, too.”
Manducor looked down the table where the skinny little lad was sitting rather sadly. “That little monster,” he grunted. “I know him. He is the devil.”
Eiselle pursed her lips wryly. “He is not the devil,” she said. “Bric seems to think well of him.”
“He pinched me.”
“You deserved it. You tripped him.”
Manducor didn’t reply, mostly because she was right, but he let her know his displeasure by emitting a burp that made her frown. All the while, Keeva was listening closely, looking at the boy every so often as he sat with his head lowered.
“So… what does he want?” Keeva finally asked. “Does he want to stay here? He is far too young to be used in any capacity as a servant.”
“He is the devil!” Manducor hissed.
Eiselle shushed the man sternly before answering Keeva. “I feel a great deal of pity for the child,” she said. “He should not be sent to the priests at the foundling’s home. If someone can simply watch over him and make sure he is fed and taken care of, I am sure that when he is a little older, he will make a fine servant or even a soldier. He is very bright.”
She was looking at Manducor when she said it, who immediately took her meaning. “Nay!” he boomed, standing up. “I will not be that devil’s keeper.”
Both Eiselle and Keeva put their hands up to silence him. “Be still,” Keeva hissed. “You do nothing else around here except eat my food and drink my wine, and once in a great while you decide to help Weetley with his patients. But even so, I would not entrust a child to you. With your appetite, you would probably make a stew out of him.”
Manducor knew better than to snap back at Lady de Winter, so he simply lowered his head and sank back into his seat, returning to his wine and ignoring the women standing near him.
But his reaction was a disappointment to Eiselle. In truth, she had been hoping that Manducor might offer to mentor the boy and see to him, but that was not to be. Keeva was right; he didn’t do much at Narborough other than eat and drink, and look after Eiselle on occasion because he felt some fatherly obligation towards her, but that was the limit of his service. Perhaps it was for the best that he refused to look after Royce; she wasn’t at all sure the man had the patience to deal with a child, and especially not a child he carried a grudge against. Without Manducor as an option, she looked to Keeva.
“Bric seems to think something of the child, but I cannot accept such responsibility without his consent,” she said. “Besides, we have our own child coming in the spring and I must focus on my baby.”
Keeva nodded seriously. “That is true.”
“But you have no such obligations, Keeva. What about you?”
Keeva looked at her in shock. “Me?”
Eiselle smiled faintly. “You,” she said. “As I said, Royce is a bright child and I found him sweet and eager. Look at him; he is not un-handsome. He is well-formed and I am sure he will be stronger with a regular diet. I am quite sure he would become a fine young man under your strong and steady hand.”
Keeva grunted hesitantly. “Eiselle, I cannot. He is a servant.”
“That makes no difference, does it?”
“What in the world will Daveigh say?”
Eiselle grasped her gently by the arm. “He is just a little boy, Keeva,” she said. “Tiny, even, and his only choice will be to go to the foundling’s home where the priests will probably starve him and work him to the bone. I could not live with myself knowing he was being abused like that, and given that you are a kind and caring person, I do not believe you could allow the child of one of your servants to be mistreated.”
Keeva was staring at the young boy, shocked by Eiselle’s suggestion. But the more she looked at the child, the more she could feel herself considering it. A little boy, Eiselle had said. That was true – he was quite small for his age. The obvious consideration was that such a child could replace the children she never had, but Keeva couldn’t go that far. No one could replace what she had lost. But could she take care of the boy? Of course she could. Could she nurture him and ensure he grew up obedient and strong? Absolutely.
Eiselle seemed to think well of the lad and it was true what she’d said – that foundling’s homes could often be brutal places. To send the boy there would be condemning him to a terrible life. Perhaps Keeva was getting soft in her old age, but she found herself relenting to Eiselle’s suggestion.
Perhaps she could, indeed, help a lost little boy.
“Very well,” she said. “I am not sure what Daveigh will think about all of this, but I can watch over the boy and make sure he is taken care of. I will tell the majordomo to leave him here.”
With that, she headed over to the end of the table where food was just being brought around to the hungry child and the old man. Eiselle watched, her heart happy, as Keeva began talking to the pair. Eiselle knew that Royce would be in very good hands.
As Keeva took Royce by the hand and led him away, Eiselle felt proud of herself. What could have been a terrible circumstance had ended up for the better, and she was satisfied. She was about to leave the hall and return to her chamber when she heard Manducor’s voice behind her.
“So the little devil has a keeper now,” he said. “When Lady Angela left with her husband, God rest his soul, she took her little monster with her. Now you have brought another monster into Narborough.”
Eiselle looked at him. “I could not permit him to go to the foundling’s home,” she said simply. “I thought you would make the generous decision to watch over him, but it seems as if you have no generosity.”
With that, she stuck her tongue out at him and Manducor snorted. “The boy and I would not get on,” he said. “It would be like water and fire.”
“You do not know that. Besides… I think Narborough is missing something without Eddie’s screams echoing off the walls. It will do us all good to have a child about, as Keeva’s ward.”
Manducor simply lifted his shoulders. “She will cool the fire in him, to be sure,” he said. “She is a fearsome lady. Besides… I do not need a child to watch over, but she does. She has not had her own children, but I have.”
Eiselle heard the sadness in his tone when he spoke. Or perhaps it was simply resignation – a man resigned to his past. He wasn’t one to mention his children, or even speak of personal things, not even his identity, which truthfully drove Eiselle mad with curiosity. Manducor kept himself quite removed personally from everyone, including Eiselle and Bric. The smelly priest with the penchant for farting had attached himself to them, as an advisor or a companion or even simply an annoying presence, and when Bric had been struggling with his battle fatigue, Manducor had been with him constantly.
To Eiselle, that meant that the man was nearly part of their family and she knew almost nothing about him. As he sat at the feasting table with a distant look in his eye, perhaps thinking on the children he had lost, Eiselle sat down across the table from him.
“You have much to offer a child,” she said. “What about my child? When he comes, will you simply ignore him?”
Manducor looked to his wine, unable to meet her eye. “Mayhap,” he mumbled into his cup. “He will probably be a devil, too.”
Eiselle fought off a smile as her hand instinctively moved to her gently rounded belly. She was only four months along, but her belly was growing nicely and she was certain she could feel the baby kick from time to time.
“He will not,” she insisted. “With Bric as his father, would you truly think such a thing?”
Manducor chuckled, setting his cup down. “I would not,” he said. “Bric would not allow it.”
“Nay, he would not. But I do want to ask you something.”
Manducor cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Nay, I will not be his godfather. He already has one in de Winter.”
She shook her head. “It was not that,” she said. “But there is something else I have been thinking on. Whether or not you realize it, I have known you as long as I have known my husband. You performed our marriage mass and when Bric was suffering with his loss of confidence, you were always there to speak to him if he needed help. You are annoying, and quite disgusting at times, but you have also meant a good deal to Bric and me. It is for that reason that I should like this child to bear your name as one of his own, but I refuse to name my child Manducor. Won’t you tell me your real name so that I may honor you?”
Manducor stared at her, startled by her request. He wasn’t quite sure how to react, or what to say, and he’d spent so many years denying anyone who wanted to know his identity that to think of revealing it left a bad taste upon his tongue.
“I do not need to be honored,” he said after a moment. “You provide me with food and drink and, on occasion, pleasant companionship. You do not need to add my name to the long list of names you intend to saddle your son with. I do not belong with the others.”
That wasn’t the answer Eiselle wanted but it was the one she had expected. “Then you offend me,” she said. “You offend Bric by not allowing us to show you what you have meant to us. I have spent the past four months coming to know you and while I have seen a man of uncanny wisdom, I have also seen a man who is selfish and careless. And now you offend me by denying my wish to give my son your name.”
She was building up a righteous rage and Manducor stood up, moving away from the table because he didn’t want to get into a verbal confrontation with her. The woman was pregnant, and her moods had been volatile, so it was best to simply leave her and let her stew.
But even as Manducor moved away from the table, he was hesitant to leave completely. He had grown fond of Eiselle, and of Bric, and in truth, they were the only real family he had, even if he had practically forced himself upon them. The knight who tried to drown him when they first met, and the lady who had been so very timid at the beginning of her marriage to the big Irish knight had grown into people who were everything Manducor had ever wanted to be.
In fact, he saw much of his own wife in Eiselle and perhaps that was why he’d grown fond of the woman. His wife had been sweet, and soft, and he’d adored her deeply. Losing her and their children had left him empty inside, and he’d been empty all of these years until meeting Bric and Eiselle.
Now, they had a child on the way, a child Eiselle wanted to bear his name. She had been wrong; Manducor wasn’t honoring her by allowing her to use his name. She had honored him simply by asking.
Perhaps it was time for him to open himself up to people he genuinely cared about. It wasn’t as if he’d ever given them any choice; he’d latched on to them the moment he’d come to Narborough and even though they could have chased him away, they hadn’t. They’d permitted him to stay, and his life was the better for it. He’d taken about ten steps away from the table before coming to a halt, turning slowly, and retracing his steps all the way back.
Eiselle was sitting there, looking at him with a displeased expression. He sat back down again, facing her.
“You must understand that I ceased to become the man I had been born as the moment I joined the priesthood,” he said quietly. “You ask for my name… I do not even know who that man is any longer.”
Eiselle knew this was a difficult discussion for him. “If I can piece together what you have told me about your past, you were a man who loved his wife and children,” she said. “You are a very wise man, Manducor. You have been a comforting presence for both Bric and me. Please let me honor you by giving my child your name.”
He could see that she was sincere and, in truth, he was very humbled by her request. After a moment, he sighed faintly. “I told you that you would not believe what my real name was.”
“What is it?”
“Robert.”
Eiselle smiled. “Why would I not believe that?” she said. “It is a lovely name and will go well with the multitude of other names we have already selected for our son.”
Manducor was surprised that she hadn’t pushed him for his full name, including his surname. Because she hadn’t pushed, he would show her the respect of telling her. Somehow, there was a sense of relief in that confessional.
“I am the bastard son of the Earl of Norfolk,” he said quietly. “I was christened Robert Bigod and I fostered in the best homes my father could arrange. My wife was a member of the de Vere family. We had everything – wealth, some prestige – everything. And I lost it all in two days when my wife and two children died of a fever. I have said that the priests of St. Margaret’s found me in the gutter and gave me a life in the priesthood, but that’s not quite true. My father sent them for me because he could no longer be troubled by a son who had allowed himself to become so crippled with grief. That was many years ago and I have not spoken of it since. But… may I ask a favor?”
Eiselle was quite astonished by his confession, but she nodded. “Of course.”
Manducor took a deep breath. “Instead of naming your child for me, would you name him for the son I lost? His name was Rhys. It would give me much comfort to know that my son’s memory will live through your child.”
Eiselle blinked away the tears now. “That is a beautiful sentiment,” she said. “I am sure Bric will agree with me. I would be honored to name my son after yours.”
Manducor simply nodded, the moment perhaps a little too emotional for his taste. Forcing a smile at Eiselle, he stood up from the table again and headed off somewhere, perhaps to reconcile himself to the fact that he’d just confessed information he’d kept long buried. Speaking it made it real again, and there were bittersweet memories in that.
Eiselle remained at the table, thinking of Manducor, from a fine Norfolk family, but so destroyed by the death of his family that to this day he wasn’t quite able to speak of it. As she sat there, pondering the lovely name of Rhys Bigod, Zara came rushing into the hall.
“Eiselle!” she gasped. “The army is returning! You must come quickly!”
Startled by the cry, Eiselle stood up from the table and scurried in Zara’s direction. “Now?” she asked excitedly. “Did you see them?”
Zara shook her head. “Nay,” she said, grabbing Eiselle’s hand. “But the sentries are announcing their approach. You must come!”
Eiselle took a deep breath and allowed Zara to drag her along. She didn’t move too quickly, knowing she wasn’t allowed into the outer bailey with the army arriving. But it was more than that – the last time the army returned, Bric had arrived holding a dead knight. Before that, he’d returned to her wounded. She’d never known her husband to return from a battle intact and that realization had her walking slower and slower.
Zara was trying to pull her along, but Eiselle simply didn’t want to move very fast, her anxiety growing by leaps and bounds. She knew this moment would come; she’d prayed for it. But now, she found herself wholly unprepared. As was usual, her nervous stomach started to lurch, creating a miserable symphony in her gut. Zara finally gave up dragging her along and let her go, running out into the outer bailey just as the gates were beginning to crank open.
But Eiselle didn’t follow her. Now, she could hardly breathe.
Standing in the small gatehouse that bridged the gap between the inner and outer bailey, she watched the sentries on the wall call out to each other, shouts that indicated what they were seeing in the distance. Someone was holding up fingers to indicate the number of knights that could be seen and Eiselle couldn’t quite see just how many fingers were being held up, so she began to pray.
Furiously and passionately, she began to pray that Bric would return to her this time, unharmed in any fashion. It was a prayer she’d muttered many times over the past few months, but never more fervently than she did now.
Please, God… let Bric return to me whole!
Near the big gatehouse, she could see Manducor milling about, talking to the guards. Zara was trying to run out to greet Pearce on the road beyond, but the gatehouse sergeant wouldn’t let her go. Eiselle ended up leaning against the inner wall because her knees were shaking so that she couldn’t seem to stand still. As she continued to watch and wait, Keeva came up beside her.
“They did not send word ahead as they usually do,” she said quietly.
Eiselle turned to look at her. “Does that mean something terrible?”
“Nay, lass. It doesn’t mean anything at all.”
Eiselle couldn’t decide if she felt better or worse about that. “The last time Bric returned…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. Taking a deep breath, she tried to distract herself. “Where is Royce? I thought for certain he would want to watch the army return.”
Keeva shook her head. “The lad was exhausted,” she said. “I put him to bed and he was asleep before I even left the room. There will be more armies for him to watch in the future.”
Eiselle reached out and took her by the hand, giving it a squeeze. “He is very fortunate to have you. You were very kind to take responsibility of him.”
Keeva wasn’t going to admit that, already, she felt rather maternal towards the child, so she simply smiled, perhaps an embarrassed little gesture, and returned her gaze to the distant gatehouse.
“I cannot tell you how many times I have watched the de Winter army return,” she said. “It seems like thousands of times, but I know it is not so. And every time, I feel like it is the first time. I am anxious to see my husband. That is all that matters to me.”
Eiselle’s smile faded as she, too, returned her focus to the gatehouse. “Bric was strong when he left,” she said. “He seemed at peace with returning to battle, but I have worried every day that in spite of his assurances, he was not ready.”
“I know,” Keeva said softly. “But you must trust that everything is well, Eiselle. You cannot have any doubt. When Bric returns, no matter what you feel… you must be strong for him, in any case.”
Eiselle was struggling not to let her imagination run wild. “I will be whatever he needs me to be,” she whispered. “But I pray that he returns to me as well and whole as when he left.”
It was a prayer spoken by every wife, of every fighting man, throughout time. Keeva understood the prayer well, for it was the very same prayer she uttered.
Time passed as the two women stood together, listening to the sentries shout at each other. Men gathered in the gatehouse, watching the road beyond and, soon enough, they began to disband as the first of the de Winter army began to pass beneath the gatehouse.
Two knights were leading a group of hundreds of infantry and when Keeva recognized Daveigh, she let out a little cry. Suddenly, she was rushing past Eiselle and into the bailey, running to her husband, who brought his weary steed to a halt. He dismounted just as Keeva rushed up to him, and she fell into his arms.
It was a beautiful reunion, one that had Eiselle smiling. Daveigh was home safe and she was glad. Over towards the stables, the second knight came to a halt and Zara was standing beside her husband’s horse when he dismounted. Pearce handed his horse off to a stable servant before kissing Zara chastely on the head. Leaving his wife standing there, he headed in Eiselle’s direction.
But Eiselle didn’t notice. She was watching the bulk of the army as it poured in through the gate, now with wagon after wagon of supplies and weapons. She was watching for Bric and fighting off the panic that threatened because he hadn’t appeared yet. She was so wrapped up in the watching for signs of her husband that when Pearce approached her and removed his helm, she still didn’t notice him. She only noticed when he started speaking.
“Lady MacRohan,” he said. “I am sure you will hear this from other men, but I wanted you to hear it from me first.”
Eiselle looked at him; she didn’t like his words. They sent fear into her veins, and the panic she’d been fighting off was threatening to explode.
“Where is my husband?” she asked tremulously.
Pearce turned to glance at the army as it continued to enter through the gates. “He is back with the wounded.” When he saw the color drain from her face, he shook his head quickly. “Nay, my lady – he is not wounded himself. He is traveling with them to bring them comfort. He has been telling them stories of Irish glory nearly the entire trip home, trying to distract them from their pain and suffering.”
Eiselle felt such relief that she was weak with it. Leaning against the gatehouse wall for support, she labored to reclaim her composure. “Thank God,” she breathed. “Thank God he is safe.”
“He is, indeed.”
He started to turn away, but she stopped him. “Pearce, how was he?” she asked. “What I mean is… did the Bric of old return? Was he the man you have always known? Or was he… was he…?”
She couldn’t finish, but Pearce knew what she meant. He smiled faintly at her as he recalled the campaign they’d endured the past several weeks.
“You needn’t worry,” he told her quietly. “Lady MacRohan, your husband is a hero. Not only did he lead the army against the French prince who had arrived to intercept his fleet, but he saved Daveigh’s life as well. Somehow, Daveigh got separated from his infantry and the French targeted him with their knights. Had Bric and Dashiell not risked themselves to save him, Daveigh would not be here. I have fought with Bric for many years, Eiselle, and I can honestly say that I have never seen him greater than he was on that day. It was nothing short of legendary.”
Eiselle looked at him in awe. “Then… then he was well? He did not falter?”
Pearce shook his head firmly. “He fought as strongly as I have ever seen him.”
With that, he turned away and headed back to the incoming army, with Zara trailing after him. As he walked off, Daveigh and Keeva approached. Daveigh has a big gash on his face, and looked exhausted, but he was alive. As he came near, Eiselle called out to him.
“Welcome home, my lord,” she said. “Were the armies victorious, then?”
Daveigh had his arm around Keeva’s shoulder as his wife held on to him, tears on her cheeks. “Aye,” he said. “We were victorious. There were two battles, in truth, one at sea with the French fleet, and one on the land with Prince Louis’ army. We triumphed in both battles, thank God. But I would not be standing here were it not for Bric.”
The anxiety and panic that had filled Eiselle not moments before had been replaced by pride and joy so strong that she felt as if her heart were about to burst from her chest.
“Pearce told me,” she said. “I am glad he was there for you when you needed him.”
Daveigh nodded wearily. “As am I,” he said. Then, he sighed heavily, looking at his wife who was shaken up by the story of his near death. “I cannot describe how Bric fought. I can only tell you that I have never seen anything like it. Some of the greatest armies were present – de Burgh, Marshal, de Braose, de Lohr, Lincoln, de Lara, de Wolfe, Savernake… so many great armies. But no one stood out more than Bric. The battle he fought is one for the ages. I heard someone describe him as heroic, and he truly was. In fact, his actions reminded us of that talisman he used to wear, the one he gave to Mylo.”
Eiselle cocked her head curiously. “Why?”
Daveigh’s eyes grew moist. “Because of what was etched on it,” he said. “Greater love hath no man than he lay down his life for his friends. Bric was willing to do that, without thought but, in the end, he did not have to. He saved me as well as himself. But that kind of selflessness… that is worthy of only men of legend, of which Bric is one.”
Eiselle simply smiled at him, watching as Keeva urged her husband towards the keep. She watched them go, returning her attention to the outer bailey only to see that Bric had arrived.
He was astride his fat dappled war horse, Liath, surrounded by wagons that were bringing the wounded in. Even though Eiselle knew she should remain out of the way of the men and animals, once her eyes beheld her husband, there was no holding her back. She began to walk towards him, her gaze fixed on him as if they were the only two people in the bailey.
Around her, dust kicked up, men shouted, and animals rumbled, but Eiselle’s focus never moved from the man astride the gray steed. When Bric caught sight of her, he leapt from his horse as if there were nothing else in the world more important than greeting his wife.
Nothing more important than her in the whole world.
They came together in a clash of linen and armor, and Eiselle threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly even though she was encumbered by mail and metal between them.
“Bric,” she breathed. “You have returned to me. Thank God you have returned!”
Bric couldn’t speak because of the lump in his throat. He had imagined this moment for the past sixty-nine days. It had been that long since he’d seen his wife and as he held her, it was all he could do not to break down.
“Aye,” he said hoarsely. “I have returned to you. Did you truly have any doubt?”
Carefully, he set her to her feet, but Eiselle wouldn’t let go of him, nor would he let go of her. The moment was too joyful for them to release one another.
“Nay,” Eiselle said, looking into his tired, stubbled face. “I did not have any doubts at all. How do you feel?”
“Better than I ever have.”
“Swear it?”
“I swear.”
She looked him over. “This is the first time you have ever returned to me the same way you left me – whole and healthy.”
Bric smiled. “And it will not be the last time for this happy circumstance, I promise.”
“I will hold you to it,” she said, touching his bristly face. “I have heard rumors that the High Warrior was in top form on this campaign.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Have you been speaking to my most ardent admirers already?”
Eiselle giggled. “Pearce and Daveigh told me what you did,” she said. “They said you saved Daveigh from French knights and to say that I am proud of you is putting it mildly.”
Bric was surprisingly modest. “I did what I had to do.”
“Of course you did, but it sounds like it was a very great feat.”
His eyes glittered at her, perhaps remembering that moment in time when he thought he might not make it back to her. The odds had been against him as he and Dashiell had pulled Daveigh from the fire.
But it hadn’t damaged him. It had only made him stronger.
“It was simply part of a larger battle,” he said. “But Daveigh is alive and that is all that matters. It could have very easily gone differently.”
“But because of you, it did not,” Eiselle insisted gently. “You are a hero, Bric. You are my hero.”
Bric’s response was to kiss her, deeply, right in the middle of the bailey and with the entire de Winter army as a witness. He had been so careful with his public displays of affection for Eiselle but, at this moment, he would demonstrate his love for his wife and he didn’t care who saw it. If the whole of Narborough Castle didn’t already know he was madly in love with the woman, then they were all deaf and blind.
He finally released her from his kiss, but not from his embrace. As Eiselle watched, he pulled out the talisman that she had made for him and held it up between them.
“This is what did it,” he said, kissing the talisman before kissing her again. “I had this next to my heart the entire time, reminding me of the true power of a knight. I cannot explain it except to say that I have spent my life on the field of battle, and what drove me was my own ambition and sense of honor. It was what carried me to victory so many times. But in those victories, I always felt I was missing something. I never knew what that was until I fell in love with you.”
She stroked his face sweetly. “What did you discover?”
He sighed, trying to find the right words. “With the battle at Holdingham, I knew I felt something for you, but I wasn’t sure what. When I realized what it was, I felt crippled by it. Frightened, because I did not want to die. I did not want to leave you. When Mylo fell at Castle Acre, I was confused and broken. You know this. And I leaned on my love for you, like a crutch. It held me up. But in fighting at Sandwich and at Dover, I came to realize that the power of love is stronger than anything I’ve ever known. Whatever I was missing before in my hollow victories of the past has been filled by you. Here I am, holding you, telling you of my victory, and the only thing that matters is that you are proud of me. That is the greatest glory I could ever receive.”
His words touched Eiselle more than she could have ever imagined. He was home, he was safe, and he was a better man than he had ever been. It was all she could ask for.
“And that glory is yours, forever,” she whispered. “You will always have my love, and my pride in you is without measure. Even at your lowest point, I told you that you were the strongest, most wonderful man I know, and now as you taste victory again, you are still the strongest and most wonderful man I know. Nothing you can do will every change that.”
Bric looked at her, feeling the love pour forth, and he basked in it. The accolades from his men, from his liege, meant little compared to the accolades from his wife.
The one he never wanted.
Thank God he’d been wrong.
“I love you, Lady MacRohan,” he murmured. “Now and forever, I love and worship you.”
Eiselle wrapped her arms around his neck again, never to let him go.
“And I love you,” she whispered. “You are more than my heart could have ever hoped for.”
Bric heard his words, repeated in her sweet voice. There was so much meaning in those words, to the both of them. He kissed her again, smack in the middle of the bailey with everyone watching.
And he didn’t care a lick.
The High Warrior had finally come home.