De Wolfe Pack 05 - Walls of Babylon (14 page)

All told, Nicola had purchased twenty sacks of oats, eighteen sacks of barley, eleven sacks of rye, and twenty-three sacks of wheat. She explained to Kenton as the wagon was loaded that mixing the wheat with the rye or oats would stretch out the supply. She estimated that they could feed twelve hundred people for a couple of months on what they had, providing they were careful with rations. That would take them into late spring with good planning.

Kenton listened to her speak of measurements and stores with a great deal of interest. She was very knowledgeable on such things, which impressed him. She had been well-schooled in the duties of a chatelaine and he quickly learned to defer to her in all things. As the day began to dawn brighter and the market was in full swing, Kenton sent Wellesbourne and four additional soldiers back to guard the provisions wagon with all of that grain stored in it while he moved with Nicola and Tab through the market stalls.

Four men-at–arms trailed them, keeping an eye out for anything threatening, which was a good thing because Nicola seemed to have all of Kenton’s focus. There could have been an entire army of Edward’s men behind him and he wouldn’t have noticed. Having spent the majority of his time with Nicola fighting with her or being in some kind of argument with her one way or another, to find themselves in a peaceful and pleasant situation was rather disorienting but wholly wonderful.

Nicola had an adorable little habit of wrinkling her nose when speaking of something serious or distasteful, and she had just the slightest bit of a lisp that Teague had inherited, although his was much more pronounced. Kenton found her lisp utterly charming.
She
was charming. That belligerent, aggressive woman he had first come to know had a sweet side to her that was quite overwhelming.

But along with his admiration and his increasing interest, he couldn’t help the thoughts of Gaylord Thorne that filled his mind. He recalled the first time he’d met Nicola, how she’d spoken of Gaylord taking his fists to her. Then he looked at Tab, holding his mother’s hand, and thought of the young boy who had stolen a sword in order to protect his mother from his father; on any normal day with any normal people, such thoughts would not have distressed him. Fathers being stabbed by their children weren’t particularly strange things in his world, a world of warfare and death. But given that it had happened to Nicola, and to Tab, he felt some pity for them.

Odd, he wasn’t one given to pity, but he did know one thing – if Gaylord Thorne wasn’t dead by now, then knowing how the man treated his wife and sons, Kenton realized that he surely would have killed the man himself and would have felt absolutely no guilt about it. Nicola and Tab and those two silly twins deserved all of the protection he could provide and all of the protection he wanted to give.

He wanted very much to give it.

A cold breeze was picking up as they made their way to a man who was selling dried peas and beans, great bushels of them, but they were detoured when Tab caught a whiff of something wonderful. The lad let go of his mother’s hand and fled in the direction of the smell, which ended up being a baker who was baking tarts with eggs and cheese and herbs in them.

The tart crusts were made from rye because of the expensive nature of wheat during the winter months, but it created a wonderful savory dish that Tab begged for. Kenton, the Keeper of the Purse, relented and bought two for the boy, who happily wolfed them down. Then Kenton looked to the men behind him, his men-at-arms, and he could see that they were hungry, too. Pursing his lips irritably, he ended up purchasing all of the tarts and the seven of them, including Nicola, stuffed themselves on the delicious pies.

Bellies full for the first time in days, they returned to the farmer with the bushels of dried peas and beans but they had to pass a smithy in order to get there. Nicola, Kenton, and the men-at-arms saw nothing unusual or spectacular with the smithy but Tab did. He saw small swords that the man had made, suspended from the roof of his stall. He stopped to admire the swords as the others continued on but it didn’t take Nicola long to notice she was missing her child. Quickly, she dashed back to take him by the hand and pull him along, but he dug his heels in.

“Mam!” he cried, pointing to the smaller blades hanging from the ceiling. “Look at the swords!”

Nicola didn’t even look. She was tugging at her son. “Come along, Tab,” she said firmly. “You must not delay our business. Sir Kenton will not be pleased.”

“Pleased about what?” Kenton asked, coming up behind them. “What is so interesting here?”

Tab didn’t hesitate; he pointed to the swords. “Those,” he said. “They… they are small for boys. Like me.”

Kenton’s lips twitched with a smile. He knew what the lad meant. He wanted a sword. Kenton pointed to the blades. “Those are called batons,” he told him. “They are not real swords. They are meant for training.”

Tab’s face fell. “Oh,” he said, dejected, his longing gaze still lingering on the swords. “Am… am I old enough to train?”

Nicola scowled. “You are
not
old….”

Kenton cut her off, gently done, but putting a hand out to stop her from finishing her sentence. “How old are you, young Tab?”

Tab didn’t hesitate. “I have seen five summers,” he said. “I will see six summers soon!”

Kenton’s eyebrows lifted as if impressed. “Then you are old enough to train,” he said firmly. “You should go into training immediately.”

Nicola’s mouth popped open in concern and outrage. “But… but….!”

Kenton wasn’t looking at her at all. He put his hand on Tab’s shoulder and turned the boy around so he was looking into the smithy shack. Kenton caught the attention of the fat, red-faced smithy as the man worked over the hot coals.

“You, there,” he said to the smithy. “My young friend wishes to see some of those batons you have hanging from the ceiling. Bring them over here so we might inspect them.”

As Kenton and Tab hovered over the small swords that the smithy put before them, Nicola went to stand on the other side of her son, frowning greatly at what was going on. “Sir Kenton,” she said, struggling not to become irate at the fact that she was being ignored. “My son is much too young to learn how to use a sword.”

Kenton was still focused on the four or five smaller swords that the smithy was laying in front of him. “He is the perfect age to be well-taught,” he said evenly. “I am surprised your husband did not already start his education.”

Nicola was growing increasingly angry. “The boys are
too
young,” she said again. “Moreover, Gaylord was busy with Edward. He did not have time to train his sons.”

Kenton lifted his head to look at her. “I have time for them,” he said. “I will make sure they are properly instructed on the use of weapons.”

Nicola’s jaw ticked. “I forbid it.”

Those were the Magic Mother Words as far as Kenton was concerned. He was willing to push the woman, even ignore her in his quest to have his wishes known, but when she started throwing around words like “forbid”, it was time for him to reason with her. He didn’t know why; she was his captive and a captor didn’t usually have to reason with a prisoner, but if he was honest with himself that captor/prisoner relationship had dissolved days ago. Now, they simply coexisted side by side and he liked it that way. He didn’t want to upset or anger her. Leaving Tab all but drooling over the small swords, he reached around the back of the boy, took Nicola by the elbow, and pulled her away from her son. They came to a halt a few feet away and Kenton faced her.

“What did I tell you earlier?” he said quietly. “Your son must be allowed to become a man. Learning how to fight with weapons is part of that growth.”

Nicola’s brow furrowed. “But why now?” she asked. “He is still a little boy. And why should you take such an interest in him and his education? He is not your son.”

It was like throwing cold water on a fire. Kenton’s warm expression faded and, as Nicola watched, his eyes, so recently glimmering with kindness, suddenly went cold. He let go of her elbow.

“You are correct, of course,” he said, his voice without the gentleness it had held only moments earlier. “I apologize if I have overstepped my bounds. If you want your son to remain uneducated and useless for the rest of his life and fall prey to men who were properly trained as children, then that is your affair. I will not interfere in the manner in which you wish to raise your sons.”

With that, he turned away from her and went to the men-at-arms, who were also looking at the small swords over Tab’s shoulder. He snapped orders to the men and they began to follow him to the stall where the farmer had bushels of dried vegetables. His manner was businesslike and professional, and not once did he look at Tab as he took his men away. He simply moved on, leaving Tab and Nicola behind.

Nicola watched him go, thinking that perhaps she had been too harsh with him. She
had
been rather brusque, but in her opinion, he had forced her hand. He was not listening to her when it came to Tab and that had infuriated her. Perhaps the man was trying to do something kind for her son, but in any case, he should not have ignored her.

Fighting off an increasing sense of guilt, she went to take Tab by the hand and dragged the unhappy child away from the batons and on towards the vegetable farmer where Kenton and his men were gathering.

Kenton remained standoffish while Nicola went about the task of purchasing dried beans and peas and other items from the farmer. Tab went to stand next to the knight, his young face looking up at the man with great longing for the swords they had left behind, but Kenton wouldn’t acknowledge him. Tab did all he could to get Kenton to look at him as Nicola bartered with the farmer but, in the end, Kenton wouldn’t look at him at all. His expressionless face was like stone.

Frustrated, Tab finally slipped his hand into Kenton’s big, gloved fingers and held on to the knight tightly even though Kenton wouldn’t respond. Tab squeezed the man’s hand but Kenton wouldn’t squeeze back. Finally, Tab dropped his hand, and his head, and went off to stand by himself in dejected silence as Nicola negotiated with the farmer. It was a sad moment for the young boy because, for once in his life, he had a male figure who was interested in him, a man who had been kind to him. That had never really happened in his life. All he knew of men, and in particular his father, was cold ruthlessness. But Kenton was different. He thought that perhaps Kenton might even like him. But that was evidently not the case.

In truth, Kenton liked him a great deal and that was where the problem lay. Nicola’s words had wounded him. Aye, she had. He could admit it.
He is not your son.
Up until that moment, Kenton hadn’t really thought about Tab’s relationship to him one way or another. He simply saw a young boy who desperately needed a man’s guidance. In fact, Tab was the same age Kenton’s son would have been had he lived.

The gloom of remembrance settled. God, he hadn’t thought of his son in ages; he tried
not
to think about it. He tried not to think of the child who had been born to the young wife he’d taken those six years ago, a frail but pretty girl who wasn’t able to tolerate the strain of childbirth. Delivering Kenton’s enormous son had killed her and ultimately the child hadn’t survived, either.

Nay, he didn’t like to think on that event or on the guilt that had followed him since. He silently scolded himself for allowing his feelings to get the better of him and attach themselves to young Tab Thorne. He shouldn’t have opened himself up to feel something for the boy. Even so, the fatherless boy and the boyless father were establishing a connection, both of them seeking something they lost or had possibly never had – affection. Kenton knew it wasn’t healthy for him. With that thought, he tried to be thankful for Nicola’s sharp and hurtful words bringing him to his senses.

“There,” Nicola said, approaching him. “I believe we settled on a fair price. If you can have your men carry the sacks to the wagon, we can be on our way.”

Kenton whistled between his teeth and motioned to his men, who began picking up the bushels of dried vegetables and shuttling them in the direction of the wagon. Nicola pretended to watch what they were doing, making sure they took everything she had agreed to pay for, but the truth was that she was distracted by Kenton and his brooding presence behind her. The man hadn’t moved from his spot since they’d left the smithy and she couldn’t help but notice Tab, standing off by himself in sad silence.

Both men wounded by her words, now separated, whereas before they had been very happy and companionable. Nicola sighed heavily, thinking that perhaps she had been too harsh with them both. She had always raised her children alone, with no help from Gaylord, who saw children as an inconvenience more than anything. It was difficult to accept advice on raising her boys, but from a man’s perspective, perhaps Kenton only meant well. He had no hidden agenda or ulterior motive with Tab. At least, she didn’t think so. He seemed to be truly interested in her son’s welfare and she was starting to overcome her fear of Kenton using Tab as a hostage. She supposed only time would truly tell on that account, but she didn’t sense any ill-will from Kenton. In fact, she only sensed kindness.

Nicola cast a sidelong glance at Kenton, who was standing with his enormous arms folded across his chest as he watched his men load up the wagon. Then, she looked at Tab, who was kicking at the ground dejectedly several feet away. Swallowing her pride, and her fear, she went over to her son and took his hand.