CHAPTER SEVEN
He’d left her sleeping.
Bric had awoken before dawn with Eiselle wrapped up in his arms, sleeping the sleep of the dead. She was pressed up against him and their legs were entangled as he held her snuggly in his enormous arms. He’d simply lain there, hearing her soft, steady breathing, feeling her warmth against him, and thankful that the day before hadn’t been a dream. He knew he could wake up like this every morning for the rest of his life and be quite pleased about it.
In fact, he couldn’t ever remember being quite so happy.
From where he lay, he could see the window in the room, and he saw clearly when the sun began to rise as the sky began to turn shades of pink and gold. He had duties awaiting him, but he was loathed to move. He just wanted to soak up the last few minutes with his new wife in his arms. But, eventually, he knew he had to go, so he very carefully disengaged himself from her, tucked her in, and silently proceeded to dress.
The breeches went on and when he went to pull on the tunic, he noticed the sleeve he’d torn in the heat of passion the night before and it made him smile. The tunic went over his head and as he gathered his boots and prepared to leave, he saw the belt Eiselle had made him on the table and he collected it. He was so very touched by her gift and he planned to wear it every day to remind him of her.
With a lingering glance at her dark, sleeping head, he quit the chamber in utter silence.
The keep was beginning to wake as Bric made his way down to his chamber on the near side of the entry. The great hall was strewn with soldiers just beginning to rise, men with aching heads from too much celebration. He even saw the priest sleeping over near the hearth again, thinking that the man had stayed clear of him after performing the marriage ceremony. He suspected that the priest had made a fine display of gluttony throughout the night. That was of no consequence. The man had performed the duty he had come to perform, and Bric intended to pay the man well for his services before he was escorted back to King’s Lynn. Given that Bric was so happy about the marriage, he might even thank the man, too.
Heading into his chamber, Bric stripped off his clothing with the intention of washing, but he quickly realized that Eiselle’s rose scent was still on his flesh. He found himself smelling his arms, his hands, and he realized that didn’t want to wash that scent off. He wanted to bask in it, a scent so subtle yet so powerful that it made him feel lightheaded. Without washing, he simply put on new clothing, including his mail coat and broadsword, and headed out into the dawn of a bright, new day.
As Bric headed into the outer bailey, men were pointing to him and laughing, waving at the new husband. Bric usually ignored that kind of attention but, this morning, he couldn’t help but respond with a wave. It was very unlike him to show camaraderie with his men like that, but it was indicative of his mood. He was happy and it was apparent. Making his way to the gatehouse where his knights and senior soldiers were already starting to gather, he ran into a sea of smiling faces.
He knew exactly why they were smiling and he couldn’t keep the grin off his face, but he was also quite embarrassed by it. Those bastards were smiling at him because they knew what he’d been up to all night and they further knew he’d gone quietly to his lifelong sentence of marriage in sharp contrast to the man who had tried to fight his way out of it. His grin turned to irritated snorts.
“Stop looking at me as if you are expecting me to say something to ease your curiosity,” he snapped, but it was without force. “Give me a report from the night watch.”
Pearce, who was nursing a substantially aching head from all of the drink the night before, spoke.
“The night watch reports that all was quiet,” he said, putting a hand to his head as if to hold his brains in. “Are you telling me I earned this aching head and you are not going to tell me that it was worth it?”
Bric’s eyes narrowed at him. “Nay.”
“Not one word?”
Bric turned his attention to the group at large. “Have patrols been sent out for the morning?”
As Bric ignored Pearce, Mylo answered. “They’re all away, my lord,” he said. “And in case you were wondering, my son survived being pinched by your lady wife, but he now calls her the basty lady.”
“What’s that?”
“I believe he is trying to say nasty lady.”
Bric cocked an eyebrow. “If he tries to pinch her again, he’ll find out just how nasty I can be,” he said. “Next? Any further reports for this morning?”
His question was presented to the group at large, and men shook their heads. Seeing that no one had any comments, he continued.
“I want patrols out for the rest of the day,” he told Pearce and Mylo. “I am not convinced the raiders two days ago were an isolated incident, so we must remain vigilant.”
“My lord,” one of the gatehouse sentries spoke. “We had an old man here yesterday, a farmer delivering grain, who said he might have seen Savernake men in Peterborough. He thought he recognized their orange and yellow standard, but he could not be sure.”
That was a curious bit of information. “I wonder what Dash would be doing this far north,” Bric muttered. “I suppose we shall soon find out if he is really here. If there is nothing else from any of you, assume your posts.”
The group splintered, with men going about their day. Bric turned for the stables because his horse was due to be tended by the farrier this day, and then he intended to walk the inner wall to check posts. He had his day planned out, which also included making a point to see Eiselle, but Pearce and Mylo stopped him before he could get away.
“Well?” Pearce said. “Did your lady wife survive the night?”
Bric knew the question would come. He paused, looking at his two knights with veiled impatience.
“If you think I am going to speak of something indisputably private, think again,” he said. “I do not ask you what your experience is when bedding your wife, so why should you ask me?”
Pearce snorted, rather lasciviously. “You do not have to give us the details,” he said. “And, if you recall, I did tell you about my wedding night.”
Bric threw up his hands. “You told me of your own free will, Pearce,” he said. “I did not even ask you.”
Pearce looked at Mylo. “It must have been good,” he said. “If he was not, he would tell us.”
Bric scowled at the pair. “If you two idiots do not leave my presence, you will sorely regret it.”
Snickering, Pearce and Mylo wisely headed off to their duties, leaving Bric frowning after them. But even as he turned for the stables again, Bric couldn’t help the fact that his frown turned into a silly grin.
Thoughts of Eiselle brought on the gesture, as if he were incapable of doing anything else.
“He’s grinning!”
It was Keeva’s hissed comment to her husband that had Daveigh rushing to the keep entry to see what she was pointing at.
“Look!” Keeva said excitedly. “He’s grinning! God’s Teeth, do you think he is actually happy this morning?”
Daveigh could see what had his wife so delighted – Bric was on the battlements of the inner wall, which was perched atop a massive earth berm, and he was speaking to one of the men, an older man who had also come with Keeva as part of her dowry. It was a man they all knew well and, in particular, a man that Bric had served with in Ireland as a young knight. Bric stood on the battlements, his big arms crossed, smiling as he spoke to the old man.
Daveigh watched him with some astonishment. “My God,” Daveigh breathed. “He is grinning. That is not an expression I thought to see on his face this morning.”
“Nor I,” Keeva said. She was watching Bric closely. “Look at him; he seems relaxed and… happy. I do not think I have ever seen him so happy.”
Daveigh sighed heavily. “Thank God,” he muttered. “Now the man will not kill us in our sleep for forcing a marriage upon him. Do you suppose he even likes it?”
Keeva was genuinely shocked at what she was seeing. She tore her eyes away from Bric long enough to look at her husband.
“I do not know,” she said. “But you saw him last night, Daveigh. He never left Eiselle’s side, not once, and he seemed quite kind to her. And when they retired for the evening, do you remember how he fended of an entire room of men so she could flee up the stairs? It was very gallant of him, almost as if he were protecting her.”
Daveigh was just as surprised as his wife was, over everything. “I saw,” he said. “Bric is a chivalrous man, but what I witnessed last night… that was not mere chivalry. That was a man being protective and attentive to his wife.”
“Will you ask him if he is happy?”
Daveigh shook his head firmly. “Not me,” he said. “I do not want to risk having my eyes gouged out. You ask him. He wouldn’t dare strike a woman.”
As they stood there bickering about who would ask Bric if he was pleased with his marriage, they failed to see Eiselle emerge from the stairwell and approach them from behind.
Clad in a simple, pale-blue shift with a darker blue surcoat over it, which laced up the sides, her braided hair draped gracefully over one shoulder. Having awoken not long before, she looked fresh and radiant nonetheless, and there was a joy in her heart that had never been there before. It made her step light. The same giddy feelings that had swept her the day before now seemed permanently ingrained, and as she came up behind Keeva and Daveigh, she heard their bickering – something about asking someone a question – and peered over their shoulders to see whom they were speaking of. When she didn’t immediately see anyone, she spoke gaily.
“Good morning to you,” she said.
Startled by her surprising appearance, Keeva and Daveigh turned to see Eiselle standing behind them, noticing immediately that she had the same silly grin on her face that Bric did. Daveigh cleared his throat nervously.
“Lady MacRohan,” he said. “You are looking fine this morning. Did you sleep well?”
Eiselle beamed. “I did, my lord, thank you,” she said. Then, her focus turned to Keeva. “My lady, I was wondering if you had any chores for me this morning. I feel quite useless with nothing to do, and now that I am a member of this house and hold, I am more than happy to accomplish any task you feel I am capable of. I can sew, or tend the kitchens, or anything else you would have me do.”
The woman was asking for work. Keeva could see how giddy the woman was and once the surprise wore off, she realized she was quite thrilled to see it. She was also humored by it.
“I am sure there is much you can help accomplish,” she said. “Do you feel… up to it?”
Eiselle nodded firmly. “Anything you wish me to do, my lady, I can do it.”
Keeva looked at Daveigh, who had to wipe the smirk off his face. He turned around, heading out of the keep, leaving his wife with the ecstatic new bride.
“I have duties to attend to,” he said as he walked away. “Good day to you, Lady MacRohan.”
Eiselle watched him go before returning her attention to Keeva. “He is such a nice man,” she sighed. “You are a fortunate woman, my lady.”
Keeva was having a difficult time to keep from laughing at Eiselle. The woman’s joyful mood was too sappy to believe but, in the same breath, it was rather sweet. At least Keeva knew that Eiselle was happy; there was no need to ask her. But she wondered if Daveigh was going to press Bric. She had to admit, she was wildly curious about all of this. It would seem that the morning after the wedding that Bric MacRohan had railed against, all was apparently right in the world with both Bric and his wife.
Truly, it was a miracle.
“Well,” Keeva finally said. “I have some fabric I have been saving to have made into a new surcoat. Do you feel up to the challenge, my lady?”
Eiselle nodded eagerly. “Aye, I do,” she said. “But… I would like to bid my husband a good morn, if you don’t mind. He left before I had awoken, and I have not seen him.”
Keeva pointed out into the inner ward. “I saw him on the battlements just a few moments ago,” she said. “Go and wave to him, but do not distract him. If there is something you should learn about being the wife of a fighting man, it is to never distract him from his duty. When you have finished, come into my chamber and we shall pull forth the fabric.”
Eiselle nodded quickly and raced to the open entry, shielding her eyes from the early morning sun, which was very bright. Pale yellow splashed all along the walls and surfaces of the castle that faced east, and she lifted her eyes to the battlements for a glimpse of her husband. He was right where Keeva had said, standing near the small tower that protected the entry into the inner ward.
But he wasn’t looking at her. Bric was in conversation with a soldier and as Eiselle watched, Daveigh joined them on the wall. In truth, Eiselle didn’t want to demand Bric’s attention – simply seeing the man was enough for her. She could feel her heart race at the mere sight of him, wondering if he felt the same way about their wedding night as she did.
It had truly been a night to remember.
Even thinking about it brought a flush to her cheeks. Eiselle didn’t remember any pain at all, only the pleasure and warmth and comfort that his touch brought. She remembered everything about it with great fondness and great excitement, and she realized that she was very much anticipating tonight. She would be alone with him again, exploring this marriage that, so far, had started off so agreeably for both of them. Her gaze lingered on Bric’s proud, muscular form before turning away and heading back in to the keep.
It was her first full day as Lady MacRohan and she intended to live it to the fullest.
Already, it was the best day of her life.
Bric didn’t see his wife standing at the entry of the keep, looking at him adoringly. He had been speaking to a senior soldier, an old Irishman named Kelly, about the feast the night before. Old Kelly was wise enough not to question Bric on his wedding night as the other nosy men had, but merely spoke of the honor of attending his marriage. The old soldier had fought with Bric’s father, Rohan mac Briain, and told Bric that his father would have been proud to see him wed.
Bric lost himself in some revelry with the old man, speaking on their homeland, on Bric’s unruly younger brothers, and on things they both remembered. Normally, Bric wouldn’t entertain such a frivolous conversation but, this morning, he didn’t much feel like focusing on anything serious. He was more than happy to talk about things that had no bearing in his immediate world, simply because his mind really wasn’t where it was supposed to be, no matter how much he’d pretended it was. When it should have been focused on his patrols, and the raid from two nights ago, it was on a certain young woman sleeping in the keep. Every so often, he’d lift his hand up, casually, and sniff the inner part of his wrist.
He could still smell roses.
When Daveigh joined him on the wall, he had to stop smelling his wrist because he didn’t want Daveigh to notice the odd behavior. As if he was going around sniffing himself in some bizarre fashion. But it was a struggle as he listened to Daveigh talk about the weather, the patrols that were out, and the possibility that Savernake troops were in the area. He finally ended up folding his arms across his chest, tightly, so he wouldn’t be tempted to lift one to his nose and sniff it, reminding him of the unforgettable night of passion. He needed to focus on his task at hand and not his bride’s delicious body. But his preoccupation of smelling her scent on his arms was cut short when the sentries at the gatehouse began to call out.
Men were approaching.
That was all Daveigh and Bric heard as they quickly descended the narrow steps from the inner wall, heading into the outer bailey just as the sentries at the gatehouse took up the cry to open the portcullis. With the old iron chains groaning, the portcullis was slowly lifted, and Bric could see mounted men on the other side.
All he could see were horses’ legs and the distant sight of armed men. Still, he knew the sentries were sharp and wouldn’t open the gatehouse to just anyone. Therefore, he knew it was an ally. It took him a few seconds longer to realize exactly which ally.
Savernake had arrived.
Quickly, Bric began yelling to the men in the bailey to send for the stable servants to tend the horses of the incoming men. Mylo had come down from the second level of the gatehouse, heading over to meet up with Bric and Daveigh as they watched the influx of soldiers and animals. Bric noticed right away that there weren’t very many men, perhaps a dozen or so, and certainly not the big patrol he might have expected from a war machine the size of Savernake.
As Mylo approached, he called out to him.
“Is this all?” he asked. “Or do you see the rest of the army in the distance?”
Mylo shook his head. “This is all,” he said. “And they were riding very fast, which is why we opened the portcullis so quickly. Something must be amiss.”
Bric opened his mouth to ask him another question when he saw a big knight astride a massive gray war horse approach. Bric recognized the horse; he knew exactly who the knight was. In fact, it was a struggle for him to keep a straight face as the knight dismounted his horse, removed his broadsword from the sheath on his saddle, and wielded the weapon in a defensive stance as he faced Bric.
Dashiell du Reims had arrived.
“If you are going to fight me, then let us get on with it,” Dashiell said in a menacing tone. “I’ve got no time for foolery, so if you are mad enough to kill me, then you may try. I am ready.”
Bric just stood there and shook his head, wagging it back and forth. “These are your first words to me? Those of anger and threat?”
“I said I have no time for foolery. If you are going to strike, then do it.”
Bric had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at Dashiell’s all-out aggressive stance, as if he were prepared to fight for his life. But he understood why.
“God knows, I should be mad enough to kill you,” he finally muttered. “I have lived this moment over and over in my mind ever since you went behind my back and proposed a marriage between your cousin and me, wondering what I would say to you when I saw you next. I have planned this out many times.”
Dashiell held steady. “I am sure you have,” he said. “But before you tell me how much you hate me and how badly you want to kill me, know this: I proposed the marriage to honor you, not to punish you. I know you do not believe it, but my reasoning is thusly – you literally saved my life, Bric. In the battle of Newark Castle last September, you prevented my death and I vowed that I would repay you with the greatest honor I was capable of. This was that repayment. Now, you are forever my cousin, my kin, and when I am the Earl of East Anglia, I will greatly elevate you. You shall have lands and wealth. But it starts with the marriage to my cousin, so if you cannot understand that I did this to honor you, then I suppose there is nothing more to say. Attack me if you must; I am ready.”
Bric listened to the rather impassioned speech before slowly lifting his eyebrows. With a heavy sigh, he began to make his way towards Dashiell, but he didn’t make a move to unsheathe his weapon. In fact, his pace was rather slow and thoughtful, as if he were pondering his response.
But as he came closer to Dashiell, the man backed up, unwilling to let Bric, a notoriously fast knight, get any closer and then unleash his fearsome fists. Dashiell knew full well what Bric was capable of, so he wasn’t taking any chances. When Bric saw this, he came to a halt.
“Do you really think that I would hurt you, Dash?” he asked.
“I know what you can do when you are angry enough.”
“This is not one of those times.”
Dashiell wasn’t expecting that answer. In fact, it stumped him, and his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”
Bric looked at him, a smile playing on his lips. “Your cousin arrived here two days ago.”
That brought a measure of surprise from Dashiell. “She did? I was unaware.”
“We were married yesterday.”
Dashiell’s eyes widened. “You were?” He was shocked. “And… and you are not intending to gut me?”
Bric couldn’t hold back the smile now. “Nay,” he said quietly. “Not to worry, Dash. I am not angry with you.”
Dashiell still wasn’t convinced. He looked to Daveigh, over Bric’s shoulder. “My lord, help me,” he said. “Bric is trying to lull me into a false sense of security by telling me he is not angry with me. I have come prepared to fight him, but now he taunts me.”
Daveigh started laughing. “He is not taunting you, Dash,” he said. “He is serious. The marriage agrees with him.”
Dashiell stared at him. Then, he lowered his sword and put his hand over his heart as if it were failing him. “God,” he muttered. “I must be already dead. In what world would Bric MacRohan not seek revenge against me for forcing him to wed my cousin?”
Daveigh continued to laugh as he walked past Bric and to Dashiell, planting a hand on Dashiell’s shoulder. “Believe me,” he said. “No one is more shocked that I am. When I told Bric of your marriage proposal, he literally tried to fight his way out of Narborough and flee. Only my wife’s threats against him forced him to remain. The wedding was yesterday and, if I am reading Bric’s expressions correctly this morning, he is pleased with it. He seems quite pleased with your cousin.”
Dashiell was genuinely astonished. He looked at Bric. “Is this true?”
It was the question everyone had been asking him all morning, trying to force him to confess that he was agreeable to the marriage and to his new wife. He was starting to feel like a fool again, but he fought it, realizing it was his pride that kept him from conceding the point. Only a liar would deny that he was satisfied, and he wasn’t a liar. After a moment, he nodded.
“I am.”
“Then… then you do not want to kill me?”
“Nay.”
“This is not a trick?”
“It is not a trick.”
“Swear this to me.”
“I swear it upon my oath.”
Dashiell stared at him a moment longer before sheathing his sword. “I cannot believe it,” he said. “Truly, I am thrilled, but I cannot believe it. Are you truly happy about this?”
Bric was growing embarrassed. “What would you have me say?” he said. “I told you I was. Would you feel better if I tried to kill you?”
“Mayhap.”
Bric fought off a grin. “Then it will have to be later,” he said. “At the moment, I want to know why you are here. We heard rumor that Savernake was in the area.”
Dashiell didn’t press him any further than he already had about the marriage. He could see that Bric was uncomfortable talking about it and he knew the man well enough to sense that. But he was so stunned about the man’s reaction to the forced marriage that it was difficult to focus on anything else. But, he had to – it was necessary because he had come to Narborough for a reason.
Business was at hand.
“We’ve been with the de Lohr army near Lincoln,” he said. “There is a concentration of the remnants from John’s French army in the midsection of England, and Lincoln has been hard-hit. That is why I have come; Holdingham Castle is being held by Lord Evedon, who is loyal to Henry. You know the place, Bric – it guards the road that connects Lincoln to Nottingham and also to Newark. It is strategic. Even though John is dead, the French still will not leave England and now there is a buildup near Holdingham. De Lohr believes they will try to cut off the road, essentially separating Lincoln from its allies to the south. I’ve been sent to summon your army to hold the line at Holdingham.”
Daveigh was listening closely. “Holdingham is two days away,” he said. “How urgent is the situation?”
Dashiell looked at him. “Dire, my lord,” he said. “De Lohr begs you to come immediately to reinforce his ranks.”
Daveigh looked at Bric, who was already in motion. If Dashiell said the situation was dire, then Bric wasn’t going to ask a lot of questions. He was simply going to do what was necessary to support an ally. Already, he was barking orders to Mylo.
“Bring Pearce off the wall and tell him we are mobilizing the army immediately,” he said. “You and Pearce will start with the preparations. I will join you shortly.”
The de Winter army didn’t mobilize without Bric at the helm, so Mylo rushed off to begin the process while Bric turned to Dashiell.
“We can be ready by sunset,” he said, glancing up at the sky as the morning deepened. “We will have a full moon tonight so, barring any cloud cover, we can travel at night. If we only stop once, to rest the horses and the men, we should be at Holdingham by tomorrow at sunset, I should think.”
Daveigh agreed with the plan, for the most part. “We must leave at least three hundred men here,” he said. “If there are still raiders about, I do not want Narborough unprotected.”
Bric nodded. “I will send to Roxham Castle and Wissington Castle for reinforcements for Narborough,” he said. Then, he looked at Dashiell. “You shall have around eighteen hundred men by nightfall.”
Dashiell was relieved. “Thank you,” he said. “I realize you have duties to attend to, but might I trouble you for some food and drink? And may I offer a word of greeting to your wife?”
Bric was back to fighting off a smile at the mere mention of Eiselle. “I think that can be arranged.”
Dashiell, finally understanding that Bric truly wasn’t going to run him through for the marriage situation, put a big hand on Bric’s shoulder.
“Thank you, Cousin,” he said.
Bric merely chuckled at the mention of their new familial relationship, which set off Dashiell. The two of them snorted and giggled like a pair of fools the entire walk back to the keep.
All was well between them once again.