Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (22 page)

Picking up the
lavender-lemon soap, she went to work.

CHAPTER TEN

The following day,
they buried Ailsa.

Stephen made the
recommendation to Tate at dawn; having just come from the coffin of the young
girl, her body was rapidly deteriorating and it was important they get her it
in the ground before she putrefy further. Stephen made the suggestion purely
based on how Toby would react to her sister’s decaying corpse and Tate was
forced to agree.

The air between the
two knights was strained but professional. Tate hadn’t told Stephen that he and
Toby were betrothed, mostly because it wasn’t any of the man’s business. 
Although he was certain of Stephen’s interest in Toby, the man had yet to make
any inappropriate moves. When, and if, it came to that, Tate was prepared to
act.  It was a bizarre situation that Tate could never have imagined they would
face. Kenneth just tried to stay out of it.

Tate extricated a
couple of men from the army of soldiers digging a mass grave for the victims of
yesterday’s battle and put them to digging a grave in the floor of Harbottle’s
small chapel. As the sun began to rise, he was reluctant to wake Toby with news
that they had to bury her sister right away but he knew that he had little
choice.  Stephen and a few men were bringing the coffin up from the store room
and the day was already busy. Shortly after sunrise, Tate went up to her
chamber.

Knocking on the door
softly, he was surprised when she immediately responded.  The door was
unlocked, too. Opening the door, he should not have been surprised to already
find her awake and dressed. Clad in a muted red surcoat and off-white linen
shift, she was clean and washed and looked positively radiant. She also had the
room in complete disarray. She smiled at Tate as he entered the room.

“Good morn to you,”
she said. “I hope you slept well last night.”

He couldn’t help but
smile in return; every time he saw the woman, he felt his heart soften just a
little more.

“I was going to ask
you the same question,” he made his way towards her. “But my next question
would be why you seem to be tearing the room apart.”

Her smile broadened as
she looked about. “Well,” she began, “it seems to me that I will be spending
some time in this chamber. It needs to be cleaned and I need to see what,
exactly, you brought from Forestburn so I can begin to calculate what was saved
against what was lost. There seems to be a good deal to do and I am at a loss
as to where to start, so I thought I would begin here.”

He was standing next
to her, watching the way her mouth curved when she spoke. “This can wait,
sweetheart. You do not have to do everything in one day.”

“But I must see what I
have lost so I will know what I must purchase to replace it.”

He put his hands on
her upper arms and pulled her head to his lips for a sweet kiss. “I will buy
you whatever you need to replace what has been lost,” he said. “You need not
worry about money.”

She closed her eyes as
he kissed her temple again, relishing the feel of him and thrilled that
everything that had transpired between them yesterday had not been a dream.
When she had awoken this morning, she almost wasn’t sure what was real.

“I am not worried
about money,” she said with a furrowed brow. “But I will be honest when I say
that I am worried over many things.”

“Like what?”

“The people of
Cartingdon, for example. I really must return to Forestburn as soon as possible
to ease their minds.” She fidgeted with the edge of the bed. “And then there
are my parents… and Ailsa….”

She hung her head,
biting her lip to keep from bursting into tears. Tate could see the mood
darkening and he collected her in his arms, taking her over to the bed and
pulling her onto his enormous thighs as he sat. It was a tender moment, full of
the warmth of discovery. She was soft and sweet upon him. He held her tightly,
his face against the side of her head.

“We must speak of your
sister,” he murmured. “I realize how difficult this is for you, but we must
bury Ailsa this morning. Stephen has already moved her coffin to the chapel in
preparation for doing so.”

The tears came then
and she wiped at them, missing a few that fell silently to her lap. Tate gave
her a squeeze, kissing her on the side of the head and wishing he could give
her more comfort.

“I know she must be
buried,” she whispered. “But it is difficult to think of putting my little
sister in the ground when she was alive and well only two days ago. I simply
cannot believe that she has passed.”

He kissed her cheek.
“I know,” he muttered, “for I have been in your shoes. I understand
completely.”

She looked up at him,
the hazel eyes swimming with tears. “I heard whispers once that you lost your
wife years ago,” she said. “Cartingdon Parrish, if nothing else, is a fertile
ground for gossip. If it is untrue, I apologize for repeating it.”

He gazed into her
eyes, remembering the pain he had suffered through four years ago. Strange how
he didn’t feel it as horrifically as he used to; true, it was still there, like
a faded ache from long ago. Oddly enough, Toby seemed to do a great deal
towards pushing it into the deep recesses of his memory where it was a moment
of sadness and nothing more. It had been a time when he thought he had died inside. 
But Toby made him feel very much alive and he was willing to speak on the
subject.

“It is true,” he said.
“She perished in childbirth. I lost my daughter as well.”

Toby’s grief shifted
focus. “I am so terribly sorry for you,” she said sincerely. “Losing a sister
is bad enough, but to lose your wife and child… I surely cannot imagine the
pain you experienced.”

“I hope you never
will. I will do my best to ensure that you do not.”

Toby stared into his
storm colored eyes, realizing she felt comforted by the fact that he had indeed
experienced grief on her level. He understood. It gave her strength, somehow
drawing them closer, and she wiped at her face in an effort to compose herself.

“Then we should not
keep Ailsa waiting,” she rose from his lap but continued to hold his hand.  “I
am ready.”

He stood next to her,
towering over her with his size and strength. Gently, he tucked her hand into
the crook of his elbow as they moved towards the door.

“Your bravery, as
always, is astonishing,” he said softly, allowing her to pass first through the
door.

She smiled weakly.
“’Tis not bravery.  ‘Tis simply the way of things; it must be done and
hysterics on my part will not change it.”

“That is much more
like the Elizabetha I first met at Forestburn.”

“How do you mean?”

“Strong and decisive.”

“And appalling?”

He grinned, hearing
his words echoed. “You are never going to forgive me for that, are you?”

“Perhaps. But not
today.”

He kissed her hand as
she descended the stairs, his gaze lingering on her golden brown head. As much
as he had loved his wife, he couldn’t ever remember feeling such strong emotion
for her as he felt for Toby. There was something about the woman that already
had her embedded deep into his heart and soul as if nothing else had existed
before.  

Together, they made
their way to the tiny chapel of Harbottle. Toby felt moderately strong until
she entered the chapel and saw her sister’s coffin near the altar.  Then, she
faltered, her eyes brimming and her heart pounding. It was a struggle to remain
strong. As Tate escorted her into the small chamber, Kenneth, Stephen and
Edward were there to greet her.  One of the most tender acts of compassion that
Tate had ever seen was when the young king, unable to voice his sympathies,
took Toby’s hand and held it tightly. As she struggled not to cry, he struggled
not to cry also. He just stood there and held her hand. The little girl that
had so terrified him with her attention had nonetheless left her mark.

Wallace gave the
liturgy that sent Ailsa’s young soul to a better place. Instead of a hymn, Tate
stood over the grave and sang the song that Ailsa had loved so well.

To the sky, my sweet
babe,

          The night is
alive, my sweet babe.

Your dreams are filled
with raindrops from heaven;

                          Sleep,
my sweet babe, and cry no more.

The tenderness of it
broke Toby’s heart.

***

January was a bitterly
cold month and it was rare that the sun was able to break through the heavy
covering of clouds at any given time. On the afternoon following Ailsa’s
burial, the sun, remarkably, was able to burst through the mist. In the
master’s chamber, organizing all of her worldly possessions, Toby took it as a
sign from God.  She thought perhaps he was happier now that he had Ailsa to
keep him company and that thought, however foolish it seemed, kept her from the
depths of grief. It was a comfort.

She stood for a moment
in the lancet window, eyes closed, feeling the weak warmth on her face. Her
emerald-colored surcoat was in her hands, as she had been fussing with a spot
on the fabric. She knew it must have occurred the night Tate and his knights
had come to sup at Forestburn. She remembered that day with some fondness,
though it seemed like a terribly long time ago. In fact, everything at
Forestburn seemed like it belonged to another time and another world. Now her
world was Harbottle Castle and a future she could never have imagined.

A future that revolved
around a man she was becoming increasingly attached to.  As Toby kept busy in
her chamber, Tate and his men were down in the bailey effecting repairs on the
walls and front gates. The siege had left them burned and a small army of men
were going into the forest that lay to the south of the castle and harvesting
trees to rebuild the gates. Toby could see the men in the distance filtering in
and out of the tree line. She didn’t see Tate but she imagined he was among
them. 

Thoughts of the man
brought a smile to her lips. For twenty-one years of her life, she had been
relatively alone. She had never imagined she would ever wed, as she had firmly
told Tate when they first met. Now she was betrothed to the man who had called
her appalling. She giggled softly as she thought of his initial impression of
her; not that he hadn’t been correct, but at least now he saw her strong
personality as a positive trait and not a negative one. She hoped, with time,
he would see her as much more. She couldn’t even hope that the man would love
her; that was a fool’s dream. A strong like was good enough for her.

A knock on the door
roused her from her thoughts and she turned in the direction of the panel.

“Come,” she called.

The door creaked open
softly and Stephen stood there, his cornflower blue eyes intense. “Good
afternoon, mistress,” he said in his deep, gentle voice. “I have brought you
something.”

Curious, Toby stepped
away from the window and the glare of the weak January sun. Immediately, she
spied something small and furry in the crook of Stephen’s left arm. Two big
cat-eyes looked back at her.

“My goodness,” she
said with a grin. “What in the world do you have, Sir Stephen?”

Stephen took a timid
step into the room. “I seem to remember you boring one of my patients with
tales of your cats,” he indicated the little orange kitten in his grasp. “I
brought you one.”

Toby’s smiled
broadened with delight as she set the emerald garment aside. She held her hands
out and Stephen deposited the warm, purring bundle into them. She hugged it
tightly.

“He is so sweet,” she
crooned, laying her cheek against the furry head. “Wherever did you find him?”

“The stable is full of
them,” he told her. “They multiply like mad in there. This one, however, is
small and seems to be left out of the food chain. I thought you could help him
since you seem to like cats so much.”

She cuddled her new
pet, her hazel eyes full of gratitude. “Thank you,” she stroked the little head
and was rewarded with a healthy meow. “I love him already.”

Stephen smiled,
watching her embrace the kitten. It had worked the magic he hoped it would. In
truth, while Tate was off repairing the castle, Stephen had finished with his
rounds in the great hall and had set off to the stables in search of a cat.
He’d seen them there before and as luck would have it, there were several for
his choosing. He’d stood by and watched her say a very difficult farewell to
her sister that morning and was hoping the cat would cheer her up.

“Well,” he said,
realizing his business was concluded and that he should probably leave. “I can
see that the cat is in good hands.”

Petting the kitten,
Toby began looking around the room. “I fear that I have nothing to feed him. I
should go down to the kitchen and find him something.”