Dragonblade Trilogy - 02 - Island of Glass (37 page)

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

October,
1334 A.D.

On the outskirts of Preesegweene,
several miles south of Kirk Castle, a large man in ratted, heavy clothing had
been sitting at the same table in the same inn for two days.  He paid his bill
for food and drink, and had slept intermittently with his shaggy head lying on
the table, and the innkeeper had left him alone.

His armor and clothing had once
been fine. Now it was soiled with wear. His dark hair was dirty and unkempt,
and he wore a beard that had not seen a razor in months. Even if the man had
been recognizable, it was doubtful even his wife would have known him. Filth
and desolation followed him like a cloud.

Outside the walls of the tavern,
the air was mild with fall. The summer had been unnaturally warm and the early
fall was still warm. These days were lazy and mellow, followed by easy
evenings. The peasants were in the fields from dawn to dusk harvesting their
crops, mostly rye that grew in this rocky soil.  Peace was upon the land. But
for the dirty man sprawled across the table, one would have thought all in this
land were enjoying the benefits of a prosperous spell.

The sun set gently this eve. The
innkeeper stoked the fire in the hearth, bringing light and warmth to the
night. The traveler sleeping on the tabletop awoke long enough to demand more
ale and bread.  The innkeeper, a large man who had no difficulty sending
undesirables upon their way, asked to see his money first. Angered, the man
threw two gold crowns across the table and onto the floor. It was an enormous
amount of money. With no more questions, the innkeeper delivered the fare.

“Tell me,” the man said as he
took a drink from his full tankard. “Kirk Castle. What has happened to her as
of late?”

The innkeeper shook his head.
“Nothing has happened to her.”

“I mean news, man. What news of
her?”

The innkeeper scratched his beard
in thought. “They had a marriage in the late summer this past year. The heiress
married.”

A ripple of emotion crossed the
traveler’s face. “The heiress?”

“Lady Aubrielle.”

The man didn’t say anything for a
moment. He was having difficulty concealing his astonishment. “And who is the
new earl?”

The innkeeper warmed to the
conversation, propping a leg up on the bench beside the traveler. “He is a fair
and decent man. He used to be a knight for the good earl Mortimer. And he and
his wife had a son this past spring.”

“Wait,” the man waved a hand at
him. “Tell me about the marriage. A former knight married the lady?”

“Aye.”

The traveler’s dark eyes flashed,
an ambiance of dread settling upon him. “What is his name?”

“Kenneth St. Héver.”

The man’s eyes closed for a brief
moment. It appeared as if he was struggling with something deep inside of him, grappling
with it. “And they had a son, you said?”

“A fat, healthy baby. I saw him,
once, when the earl and his wife were traveling south. The whole town turned
out to see the little poppet. He rode with his father and I heard that the
countess had fits over it. Seems she wanted him safe in the carriage with her.
But I say the lad’s got to grow up some time, eh?”

The traveler grunted in response,
shoving bread in his mouth. Then he took a long drag of ale, his movements
sharp as if he was angry. He demanded more ale and spoke again whilst the
innkeeper was filling his tankard.

 “Has the castle seen any
action?”

“No, no action. The Welsh have
been quiet.”

“So the castle is open?”

“As far as I know.”

The man finished his ale and
thanked the innkeeper for his time. He left the dark, smoky hovel and plunged
out into the darkness of the fall evening. Roughly, he mounted his unkempt
black destrier and galloped off into the night.

***

“Kenneth, he cannot chew. Have
you gone mad?”

Kenneth grinned as he held a very
small piece of beef up to his son’s mouth. The baby sucked on the salty morsel.
“He has eight teeth,” he said patiently. “And, according to you, they are razor
sharp. Better have him gnaw on a piece of beef that your tender breasts.”

Aubrielle sat back in her chair,
her cheeks red.  Everyone at the table had heard her husband’s remark and she
was mortified by the snickers of Max, now a full-fledged knight. It was mid-evening,
the remnants of a good supper and bottles of local wine scattered on the table.
The hall was moderately full of senior soldiers, knights, and a band of
traveling minstrels in the corner.

“You do not feed a baby beef,” Aubrielle
reached out and scooped her son out of his father’s grasp. “I will feed him now
with better things than that.”

Kenneth let her take the boy,
smiling at the both of them. At six months of age, Brennan was a round, healthy
child with his mother’s sea colored eyes and his father’s blond hair. He sat
up, rolled around, and was learning to crawl as fast as lightning. Kenneth and Aubrielle
had to be well alert when Bren was on the prowl. Though it was common practice
to bind children at this age to a bed or a chair, neither Aubrielle nor Kenneth
could bring themselves to do it. Brennan was, frankly, never out of his
mother’s sight and very rarely out of his father’s. It was clear to all at Kirk
that the sun rose and set on the smiles and exploits of little Brennan St.
Héver.

Kenneth stood up and followed his
wife and son from the room.  Whenever possible, he liked to be with Aubrielle
when she fed their son.  Since the day the child was born, Aubrielle would not entertain
the concept of a wet nurse, and Kenneth found something innately serene about
watching his son suckle. He had developed into such an attentive father that Aubrielle
swore Kenneth would have fed Brennan himself were he physically able to do so.
It was exceptionally uncommon for men to take any interest in child rearing,
but Kenneth was proving to be an exception. He adored the boy.

Their large chamber was more a
nursery than a master’s suite.  Brennan had his own bed, but half the time he
ended up on his parent’s.  Kenneth closed the door to allow for some privacy as
Aubrielle settled herself on a chair by the hearth and began unlacing her
bodice.  It was difficult one-handed and Kenneth took the boy while she exposed
a luscious white breast. Brennan fussed until Aubrielle settled him against her
nipple, and then he quieted and began to suck furiously.

She winced as the baby suckled
hard. Kenneth knelt beside the chair, one arm around his wife’s shoulders and a
hand on the baby’s head. 

“Is he still biting?” he asked.

Aubrielle’s contorted expression
told him the tale. “He made me bleed yesterday. The sooner we wean him, the
better. I fear I cannot take much more of this.”

“Argus made him a special cup to
learn to drink from. Perhaps we should try to use that more regularly.”

Brennan bit down at that moment
and Aubrielle yelped. The baby laughed and continued sucking. “There, you see?”
Aubrielle said miserably. “He likes to punish me.”

Kenneth couldn’t help but smile
at his son; it was really quite dastardly and amusing at the same time. “If you
did not cry out, perhaps he would stop. He thinks it is a game to make you
scream.”

She shot him a withering look.
“Let him bite you and see if you do not scream.”

He nuzzled her neck, her
shoulder, inhaling the sweet smell of her. “I cannot blame him. I like to bite
you, too.”

Chills raced up her spine as
Kenneth’s lips moved against her flesh.  “Not now, Ken,” she murmured. “You
drive me mad with your attention.”

He dutifully stopped and
refocused on the baby. His face was positioned as such that Brennan could look
up and see his father. A fat baby hand reached up, grasping Kenneth’s nose and
mouth.  Kenneth pretended to bite the little fingers, much to his son’s
delight.

“He gets it from you,” Aubrielle
scolded gently. “You show him that biting is an acceptable behavior.”

Kenneth smiled as the baby
touched his teeth.  He finally kissed the boy’s head, kissed his wife’s cheek,
and stood up. Stretching his powerful body, he moved towards the lancet window,
gazing out over his empire.  The land was at peace for the moment, and Kenneth
knew that he had never been happier. He’d never know there was such tranquility
in the world. Yet there was much on his mind in spite of the serenity, items
that he had not yet discussed with Aubrielle for fear of shattering the calm. 
He was so content with the moment that he did not want to alter it, for any
reason. But it seemed as if it always came to moments like this, heavy things
on his mind when times were still.

“What are you thinking?” Aubrielle’s
soft voice floated upon the air.

She had become quite adept at
reading his mind. There wasn’t much he could hide from her. He looked at her,
his heart softening anew at the sight of her feeding Brennan. With a sigh, he
leaned against the wall, collecting his thoughts.

“A few things,” he shrugged
casually.

“I can always tell. What is it?”

“Have you heard of Dolforwyn
Castle?” he asked.

She nodded. “I saw the charter to
Uncle Garson. It is one of our holdings.”

He should have known she would
have read all of the papers her uncle had left behind. They’d not talked much
about their holdings or lands or wealth at all. Their conversations during the
course of their marriage had, not strangely, focused more on each other,
Brennan, and other items unrelated to the earldom. Kenneth knew what his
holdings and responsibilities were and though Aubrielle wasn’t particularly
concerned either way, still, she was naturally curious and had educated herself
on her inheritance. It simply wasn’t something they discussed.

“Correct, as usual,” his ice-blue
eyes had long since lost their icy glare when it came to her; now, they
twinkled. “’Tis a smaller castle about 40 miles to the south. We have always
staffed it as an outpost, with about 50 men and a commander. But it is a
strategic location, very important to England.”

She shifted the baby to the other
breast. When he settled down, she gazed up at Kenneth with a serious
expression.

“Come out with it. What about
Dolforwyn?”

He moved away from the window. “Do
you recall the messenger that arrived a couple of days ago?”

She nodded. “From Powys. News of
Lord Chereleton’s death. “

“That, and of other things.
‘Twould seem that the Welsh have decided to take Dolforwyn for themselves and
kill my garrison commander.”

“Oh,” Aubrielle’s brow furrowed
with sorrow over the news. But the more she looked at Kenneth, the more she knew
what he was thinking. “You are going to retake the castle.”

“I must.”

She opened her mouth to say
something, but a glance at Brennan showed that the baby almost asleep against
her breast. She did not want to disturb him with the loud voices that were sure
to come. Carefully, she lifted him into his small bed and tucked a warm blanket
around him. Cinching up her bodice, she indicated for Kenneth to quietly follow
her from the room.

They moved into the smaller
chamber that Aubrielle had originally occupied when she had first arrived at
Kirk. Kenneth could sense what was to come. They hadn’t taken two steps into
the room when she turned on her heel and faced him.

“You are the earl, for Heaven’s
sake,” she snapped softly. “You have men to go into battle for you. You needn’t
risk your own life.”

“It is my holding, Aubrielle.”

“And you have people sworn to you
to protect your holdings. Your responsibility is to the entire earldom, and
part of that responsibility is to keep yourself safe from harm.”

“It is my responsibility to take
action against any and all who have threatened my earldom, including the Welsh.
If I do not act, then they will think the new earl soft and weak. This is my
first test as earl and I cannot fail.”

She stood there, looking at him
as if he were daft. “And what of Bren and I? What happens to us if you perish?
You would leave us alone in this world, your wife and son whom you profess to
adore? All because you must prove yourself to the damnable Welsh?”

He sighed heavily. “It is not
about proving myself to anyone. It is about fulfilling my duties as the Earl of
Wrexham.”

“You did not answer my question.
What about your responsibility to Bren and me?”

He met her gaze, his ice blue
eyes undulating with thoughts and feelings. He reached out to take her hand,
putting it against his lips as he so often did.  There was no manipulation in
the gesture, only emotion.

“No man could ask for a greater
privilege,” he said quietly. “You and Bren have given me more joy and
contentment than I could have ever imagined to exist. There is nothing I would
not do for you, or for him. However, before I met you, and before I was the
earl, I was a warrior. I am still a warrior. What you ask of me now, Aubrielle…
you ask me to be less than what I am.”