Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (27 page)

The third floor landing was dark
and cold.  As he reached out for the door latch, the panel suddenly opened and
Cassandra appeared. She nearly ran in to Keir, gasping with fright when he
narrowly avoided smashing her.

“Good heavens,” she gasped.
“Forgive me, Keir, I did not see you until it was nearly too late.”

He smiled at his new sister. “No
harm done,” he looked into the dark room beyond. “What are you doing here?”

Cassandra glanced into the dark
room also. “A servant fetched me about an hour ago,” she said. “Chloë has been
ill.”

Keir was suddenly very concerned.
“Ill?” he repeated, pushing in to the room. “What is wrong?”

Cassandra grabbed him by the arm
as he moved past her. “Wait,” she murmured. “Do not go in yet. She has been
weeping uncontrollably and vomiting for the past hour. The closer your
departure looms, the more ill she becomes. It is nerves, I am sure, and she is
distraught to the point where she is making herself ill.”

Keir stared at her a moment
before sighing heavily, a look of pain rippling across his face.  He patted the
hand on her forearm gently.

“Let me speak with her,” he
murmured. “Let me see what comfort I can give her.”

Cassandra nodded, gripping his
arm one last time. There was genuine concern and sadness in her features.

 “Keir,” she whispered. “I want
to say… I want to say that I am sorry for how my father has treated you. You
are a good man and you have made my sister very happy. I shall pray for your safe
return.”

He smiled faintly and patted her
cheek before moving into the room and quietly closing the door.  He could hear
faint sobs from where he stood and he moved towards the bed, the curtains
partially pulled back.  Coming upon the mattress, he could see Chloë in the dim
light, wrapped up in the bed linens, her face turned away from him and her arm
over her forehead.  She was sobbing intermittently and he stood there a moment,
his heart breaking to see her so upset.

Carefully, he bent over the bed
and kissed her softly on the cheek. “Greetings, love,” he whispered, kissing
her again.  “It is time to rise and shine.”

Startled, Chloë turned to him
with big eyes.  “I… I thought you were down in the bailey. I could hear you
shouting.”

He grinned. “That is Kurtis,” he
told her, sitting on the edge of the bed. “He sounds just like me.”

She forced a smile because he
was.  But then she sat up and threw her arms around his neck, breaking down
into tears.

“Please,” she begged. “Please do
not go to Wales.  Let us run far, far away where the king can never catch you
or punish you. Let us run far away from these wars.”

He hugged her tightly.
“Sweetheart, as much as I am tempted to do exactly that, I cannot,” he told
her. “My honor is at stake and so is the honor of our children. I cannot burden
them with the terrible legacy of a cowardice father. It would do them, and you,
a great injustice.”

She wasn’t in the mood to agree
with him. “At least you would be alive,” she wept. “I would rather have you
alive and dishonored than honorably dead.”

He sat back and held her face in
between his big hands. His ice blue eyes glimmered warmly at her, his
expression gentle and sweet.

 “I will be riding from this
bailey in one hour,” he told her calmly. “It is my wish that you compose
yourself, get dressed, and see me off. You are a strong and remarkable woman,
Chloë, and I realize that you are pushed beyond your endurance right now.  I am
deeply sorry for that. But I want my last glimpse of you to be as I know you to
be, a strong and beautiful woman, not a quivering wreck.  That is not the woman
I know and love.”

She gazed into his eyes, fighting
the tears, the nausea, coming to understand that it would comfort him to know
she wasn’t a hysterical mess as he went about his duty.  She knew that he was
having as difficult a time as she was, only he was too strong to show it.

Crying and begging would not
change things. It would not stop the man from doing his sworn duty for king and
country. She’d known that all along but she still had to make a stab at it.
Realizing nothing could change his mind, she nodded unsteadily.

“You are correct,” she wiped at
her eyes. “I am sorry to show such weakness.   I am sorry if I brought you
shame.”

He frowned at her. “You did
nothing of the sort,” he scolded gently. “I would be joining you in your tears
except that it is unseemly for a man of my station to weep like a woman. But I
assure you it is only by the grace of God that I am able to remain strong. I
need you to be strong for me, sweetheart. I am depending on it.”

Chloë struggled to get a grip on
composure, forcing herself to focus.  He needed her strength and she would give
it to him.  She had cried enough; now was the time to show Keir what she was
truly made of.

“I will not disappoint you,” she
said, wiping at her eyes one last time and squaring her shoulders. “Can you
tell me when you estimate you will reach Chester? It will bring me comfort
knowing where you are, and when.”

He nodded, rising from the bed
and reaching out his hands to her.  She placed her small, warm hands in his big
palms and he carefully pulled her out of bed.

“We should reach Chester in three
days if the weather remains good,” he told her as she went to the wardrobe to
search for a clean shift. “Once we arrive, I have three weeks before I must
leave for Wales.”

She turned to him, her face alive
with hope. “Three weeks?” she repeated. “Could… could I come with you to
Chester? I promise I will not be any trouble.”

He smiled at her. “I wish you could,
truly. But I will be in a war encampment surrounded by thousands of men. It
would not be safe or comfortable for you. I hope you understand my reasons when
I tell you that you cannot come.”

Disappointed, Chloë let the
subject drop and turned back for the wardrobe. “The missive from the king said
something about Harlech,” she said as she pulled out a soft yellow shift. “Is
that where you are going?”

He nodded. “My orders are to ride
for Harlech Castle by the first of October,” he watched her pull out her shoes.
“Moving a few thousand men and dozens of wagons, that should take about a week.
We will be traveling through the heart of Wales, which will make the trip
itself dangerous.  I do not know how big the rebellion is but if they have
already taken five castles, then it must be enormous.”

Surprisingly, she wasn’t harried
by his chatter of big rebellions and dangerous travel. She listened carefully,
absorbing the information.

“Who is this Welsh prince
wreaking such havoc?” she asked. “Do you know of him?”

He shook his head. “Nay. There
are dozens of Welshmen that proclaim to be the next Prince of Wales, but this
man seems to have rallied a good many Welsh to his cause. I am curious to know
more about him.”

She was thoughtful as she pulled
out a lovely golden surcoat. “How long were you fighting in Wales the first
time you went?”

He didn’t want to tell her the
truth but he knew he could not lie to the woman. “Nearly two years,” he replied
honestly. “But take heart that I survived all that time against Welsh archers
and rebels who were lurking at every turn.  It is my intention to survive this
time also.”

She turned to look at him, her
pale face regaining some color. “I know,” she smiled weakly. “I will be
watching the road every day for your return.  Will you write to me?”

He nodded. “Of course I will, as
often as I can,” he went to her, standing before the woman and inspecting her
ethereal beauty in the weak light of the room. “I do not want you to become
distressed if I do not send missives regularly or if there are large gaps of
time in between communications.  Such is the nature of war.  You will have to
have faith at all times that I am alive and well, and yearning every day to
return to you. Understood?”

“Understood.”

He reached out, cupping her face
in his big hands and staring hard into her big brown eyes.  He could have
stared at her forever. 

“There is such longing already in
my heart for you that I cannot begin to describe it,” he murmured. “I will miss
you with every breath I take. But I swear to you, with God as my witness, that
I will do everything in my power to return to you, Chloë. You must have faith
in that. You must have faith in
us.
”

Chloë struggled not to tear up as
she gazed up at him. “I do,” she whispered. “I love you, Keir.”

He smiled tenderly. “And I love
you,” he murmured. “It is that love that keeps me strong.”

He touched his forehead to hers,
closing his eyes at the feel and warmth of the woman. He loved her so much that
he could hardly express it.  With a lingering kiss to her soft mouth, he let
her go.

“Get dressed and come down to the
bailey to see me off,” he told her softly. 

Chloë nodded, the lump in her
throat preventing her from speaking.  Keir winked at her as he quit the room
and she hurried to dress as he had asked. All the while, she kept her focus on
their conversation, on his promise to return to her.  She had to focus on it,
to live on it, otherwise she would surely crumble. 

Keir had told her to get dressed
and to meet him in the bailey, and that was exactly what she would do.   Then
she would bid farewell to the only man she had ever loved.

She wondered if it was possible
to die from a broken heart.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ingilby read the missive with
increasing agitation.  In the great hall of Ripon Castle, those around him
watched and waiting, seeing his reaction and expecting the explosion to follow.
The soldier who had delivered the missive went so far as to take a few steps
back and away from the man. He didn’t like the color of his face.

But Ingilby didn’t explode.  His
cheeks turned red and he actually might have frothed at the mouth, but he
didn’t explode.  He read the missive in his hand, twice, before setting it
deliberately to the feasting table and rising to his feet.  He sighed heavily
as he moved away from the table, pacing, his mind whirling with thought and
prospect.  Dogs scattered out of his way as he moved around the room, kicking
aside a dog that didn’t move fast enough.

“So he has pledged her,” he
muttered, wringing at his hands. “Anton de Geld has pledged my goddess to St.
Hèver, in fact. No wonder the man threatened me. Now it all makes sense.”

There wasn’t anyone to answer him
other than the soldier who had delivered the missive.  He had taken the vellum
from a rider bearing Coverdale’s colors and watched with curiosity as the man
handed over the stamped and rolled missive, and then tore off in the direction
he had come from as fast as he could. The Ingilby soldier promptly delivered
the missive to his liege.

“The messenger from Coverdale did
not say anything, m’lord, other than the missive was meant for you,” the
soldier replied. “He rode off before I could question him.”

Ingilby cocked an eyebrow at the
man. “Of course he did,” he spat. “He is a coward. Coverdale is a coward. They
are all cowards!”

He was roaring by the time he
finished and everyone in the hall tensed.  As Ingilby postured angrily,
Alphonse entered the hall, moving quickly towards Ingilby.  His mail made a
loud jingling noise as he moved, his fine Valencia leather boots thumping across
the floor. By the time he came to a halt, he was breathing heavily.

“My lord,” he said in his heavy
Spanish accent. “Forgive me for being late. I was….”

Ingilby waved him off irritably,
pointing with great accusation to the missive lying on the table.

“We have our answer, Alphonse,”
he said angrily. “Do you know why St. Hèver threatened me? Well, do you?”

Alphonse shook his head,
wondering if he should know the answer and rather concerned that he did not.
“Nay, my lord.”

“Because he is to marry Lady Chloë!”
Ingilby roared at him. “He is her betrothed. No wonder the man has threatened
me!”

Alphonse wasn’t sure what he was
talking about so he went to the table and collected the vellum that Ingilby was
indicating.  The man was jabbing both hands at it.  Alphonse looked the
carefully scribed missive over but had to have Ingilby’s majordomo read it to
him.  He could only read Spanish.  When he heard the contents, spilled by the
old majordomo in a shaking voice, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“My lord,” he turned to Ingilby
with an elated expression. “This is a perfect happenstance, do you not see?”

Ingilby snarled at him. “What are
you talking about?” he demanded. “This is not perfect. This is terrible!”

Alphonse was seeing a glimmer of
hope in the situation where Ingilby was not.  He shook his head emphatically.

“Nay, my lord,” he said
insistently. “Do you remember why you sent me to Hellbeck to secure St. Hèver’s
son in the first place? Do you remember what you told me?”