Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (30 page)

Even though Beeston housed its
own significant force, Keir was able to house the incoming armies efficiently. 
Beeston had one giant bailey that sloped severely in places due to the fact
that the castle was built on the top of a hill, so some men ended up being
housed on the slopes.  As the days passed and men filtered in, the bailey began
to fill up significantly to the point  where two larger armies from the north
had to set up camp outside of the walls.

After four days of organizing
troops and men, Keir finally had a moment to himself away from weary soldiers
and brusque garrison commanders.  Housed in Beeston’s mighty keep in a small
and cramped chamber he shared with de Velt, he summoned a young page as he
retired to his room.

The little boy that answered the
call was a ward of the de Laras, no more than four or five years of age, and he
firmly told Keir that his name was Tate. Keir smiled faintly at the serious,
dark-eyed lad with the handsome features as he sent him for vellum and ink.   

When de Velt entered some time
before sun set to prepare for sup, he found Keir hunched over a small table carefully
writing out his own missive.  Lucan didn’t even have to ask what the missive
was about or who it was to; he already knew.  Keir would not have left
something as important or personal as this to an ordinary scribe.

“Be sure to tell her than you cannot
sleep at night and are keeping me awake,” he pointed out as he casually tossed
his helm on his bed. “Tell her I have had to fight you off when you grow lonely
for her in your dreams and reach for me.”

Keir cast him an intolerant
glare.  “If you ever love a woman, you will understand.”

“I loved my mother.”

“It is not the same thing, you
idiot.”

Lucan smirked as he began
removing his heavy mail gloves. “You only saw her a few days ago,” he said.
“What can you possibly write about?”

Keir just shook his head. “I am
going to ask her to come to Beeston.”

Lucan froze mid-way from removing
his remaining glove. “Are you serious?”

“I am. I cannot stand being
without her.”

Lucan resumed removing his glove,
tossing it thoughtfully on to the bed. “I thought you told her that it would
not be safe for her here,” he reminded him. “You told me that you told her that
when she asked to come to Chester.”

“I did.”

“It was the wise response, Keir.
It would not be safe for her here. Too many men and too few women make for a disastrous
recipe.”

“She will be with me, always. She
will be safe.”

“And when you leave for Wales?
What then? Does she come on a battle march with you?”

Keir didn’t say anything but his
quill slowed.  With a heavy sigh, he set it to the table and sat there, staring
at the missive.  Lucan continued undressing, watching Keir as the man stared at
the words he had written.  He began to feel some remorse for being blunt, even
if it was the truth.

“You go through what every man
goes through when separated from the woman he loves,” Lucan said quietly. “But
the answer is not to bring her to Beeston. That would be a mistake. You cannot
take her into Wales and once again, you would be separated from the woman and
going through the same anguish you are going through now. Send her a missive
and tell her that you love her and long for her, but do not bring her to
Beeston. Leave her where she is safe.”

Keir scratched his scalp and sat
back in the chair, wrought with sorrow and overwhelming love.  He was a man
torn. He laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back.

“I miss her so much I can taste
it,” he muttered. “I never imagined I could hurt so badly for anyone.”

Lucan pulled off his mail hood.
“Do you remember many years ago when we were forced to leave Pendragon because
Coverdale had promised support to Mt. Holyoak in Yorkshire?” he looked over at
Keir. “We were gone for a little more than a week and I had to listen to you
whine daily on how you missed Madeleine and Frances. It got so bad that I
wanted to take a dagger to my eardrums just so I would not have to listen to
you any longer. Am I going to face that same dilemma again? Must I take a
dagger to my own ears or risk going mad?”

Keir gave him a reluctant grin.
“If you recall, Madeleine had just given birth to Frances and I was eager to be
with my family,” he reminded him. “I do not think that is too much to ask from
a new father. But with Chloë… it goes beyond that. There is such longing in my
heart that it threatens to consume me. I have never known anything like it.”

Lucan shook his head and began to
peel off his damp under-tunic. “Leave her at Pendragon,” he reiterated.
“Besides, she will be in good hands with Pembury.  That is, if he does not make
attempts to woo her from you.”

Keir’s smile vanished and his relaxed
demeanor stiffened. “Why do you say that?” he demanded. “Did he say anything to
you?”

Lucan put up his hands. “It was a
jest, Keir, I swear it,” he assured him, seeing that his attempt at a joke had
failed. “Good Christ, man, do you really think he would do anything so
outrageous? He respects you too much. And, he fears you even more.”

Keir’s jaw was ticking as he
forced himself to ease, his mind turning to newly horrific thoughts of Michael
showing interest in Chloë when he was not around to prevent it.  He trusted
Chloë implicitly, but Michael was a bit of a wolf. That much was well
established. Although he sincerely could not believe Michael would ever do such
a thing, still, the unsettling idea gave him one more thing to anguish over. 
Visions off Michael with Chloë in his arms now haunted him. He glared at Lucan.

“I ought to punch you in the
mouth for that suggestion,” he growled. “Jest or not, do you think it helps my
state of mind?”

Lucan was coming to think his
jest was ill-timed and was properly contrite. “Nay.”

Keir shook his head with disgust
at the man and picked his quill up again. “You have moments of brilliance,
Lucan, peppered with moments of complete stupidity,” he dipped his quill in the
ink. “I am going to write a missive to Chloë and I want for you to arrange for
the swiftest messenger at Beeston to deliver it.”

Lucan nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

“Now, leave me alone,” he began
to write. “I must concentrate on what I am going to say.”

Lucan didn’t know when to shut
his mouth; he could not resist taunting him. “’Oh, my darling, my sweetest
little tasty chick, I cannot breathe for want of you….’”

Keir threw the nearest thing he
could find at him, which happened to be the small bag of sand that would be
spread upon the vellum after he finished writing to blot up the ink. It was
heavy, hitting Lucan in the thigh as the man moved to dodge it.  Sand scattered
everywhere.

“Shut your mouth,” Keir barked.
“Another word and I will throw you from the window.”

“I will not fit.”

“I will make you fit!”

Lucan shut his mouth but he
couldn’t help the smirk on his lips as he turned away and continued
undressing.  Keir St. Hèver was not a man to hold back his feeling and he
suspected the letter to Chloë would be something sickeningly sweet that she
would probably sleep with next to her heart. But then he, too, began to think
about Pembury and the man’s reputation as a rake.  He hoped the man wasn’t
stupid enough to set his sights on Chloë now that Keir was away. 

He stretched out on his bed as
Keir scratched a missive against the rough vellum, eventually dozing until a
sharp rap at the door awoke him.  As he bolted up from the bed, Keir was
already up and answering the door.  Two soldiers stood in the doorway,
announcing to Keir words he did not want to hear.  A message had arrived from
Harlech Castle describing a swift and terrible siege by Welsh rebels.  The king
was already on his way into Wales and ordered Keir to march to Harlech, whether
or not all of the armies they had been expecting from the north of England had
joined them.  There was no time to waste if Harlech was going to survive.

A dawn the next day, Keir and his
army of three thousand, four hundred and thirty two men marched off into the
wilds of Wales en route to the siege of Harlech Castle.  The missive he had
written Chloë went north via messenger.

As Keir rode at the head of his
army, loaded down in full armor and an array of weaponry, he prayed it would
not be the last message he ever sent her.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Chloë and Cassandra had been packing
for most of the afternoon, carefully rolling garments and securing them snuggly
into the trunks they had at their disposal.  Since all of their possession from
Pendragon had been stored in one big trunk, Cassandra took a big trunk from her
mother to take with her to Alnwick. 

The afternoon was filled with
conversation and packing, and at mid-afternoon, Blanche joined her daughters in
Chloë’s chamber.  Blanche had never packed anything in her life, always having
servants to do such mundane things, so she was not of much help with her
daughter’s preparations.  She took her needlework near the window, sat down,
and worked steadily while her daughters filled up their trunks.

Cassandra was disappointed that
Chloë would not be accompanying her to Alnwick but she understood the woman’s
reasons.  She kept up a steady stream of chatter as they piled things away. 
Kurtis joined them eventually and she made her husband shove the lid of the
trunk closed while she tied it off.  It was stuffed to the rim and only his
strength saved the day. Then she informed him that she wanted to do some
shopping before they reached Alnwick, a suggestion to which Kurtis was rather
resistant.  The dark clouds began to gather over the happy newlyweds.

“You have enough clothes,” he told
her. “You are stylish and lovely, and I am very proud of you. You do not need
anything more.”

Cassandra frowned while over her
shoulder, Chloë fought off a grin.  She packed a satchel, watching her sister
face off against her husband.  Truth be told, they had only known each other a
couple of weeks and now would come the time for them to truly come to know one
another, both the good and the bad. Although Chloë loved her sister very much,
the woman liked to spend money.  Kurtis was in for a battle.

“Chloë and I must divide the
soaps and oils we purchased last week,” Cassandra pointed out. “I must have my
own things to take with me.”

“Like what?”

Cassandra threw up her hands
irritably. “I told you,” she said. “Soaps and Oils.  Since Chloë is going to be
in a more remote area, I am insisting she take the majority of the goods
because there will be less opportunity to readily purchase such things. That
means that I will be left with very little.”

Kurtis sighed, scratching his
head. “How much will this cost?”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “The
cost will depend upon what I need,” she told him. “And you will not bicker with
me over this.  You want me to be happy, do you not?”

He wasn’t going to fall for her
attempt to guilt him. “Of course I do,” he said. “But your happiness is not
dependent upon the goods you purchase. I will give you an allowance that you
may use, but once that is spent, your shopping is finished.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows flew up in
outrage. “I have never heard of anything so stingy!”

“Take it or leave it. It is your
choice.”

Chloë couldn’t help it; she burst
into snickers as she closed up her last satchel. “Cassie, for Heaven’s Sake,
the man is giving you money to spend. Must you have his entire treasury at your
disposal?”

Cassandra wasn’t happy in the
least.  Scowling at her husband, she went over to her mother and knelt at the
woman’s feet.

“Mama?” her tone was considerably
sweeter than it had been just moments earlier. “I must have some items and
Kurtis does not feel they are at all necessary. Will you please provide me with
coinage to ensure I have all I need?”

Blanche didn’t look at her eldest
and she didn’t miss a stitch as she answered. “I am sure whatever he provides
you with will be most generous,” she replied steadily. “Your father has already
provided him with your dowry. He is your husband now and if you want money, you
will have to get it from him.”

Grossly unhappy, Cassandra
returned to packing with a pouty face.  Kurtis watched his wife, showing some
uncertainty for the first time as he looked to Chloë for reassurance that he
wasn’t being an ogre. Chloë simply grinned and shook her head.

“Not to worry, Kurtis,” she told
him. “She will survive.”

That didn’t help Kurtis’
indecision at all. He went to Cassandra as she finished securing a small
satchel. “Alnwick has a very large merchant street,” he told her. “I know many
of the vendors there. Perhaps I can convince them to give us very good prices
on the items you need.”

Cassandra largely ignored him,
sitting down on the bed and struggling not to burst into tears. “All I want to
do is purchase some items for my skin and hair,” she sniffed. “And perhaps some
fabric for a new surcoat. Is that too much to ask?”