Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (33 page)

Kurtis sighed faintly. “It is a
well enough plan,” he agreed quietly. “But you have neglected to take in to
consideration that Keir is in Wales. We have no way of knowing how long he will
be in Wales. He could return next week or in three years.  You may be in for a
long wait at St. Wilfrid and Ingilby will not give up in his attempts to
acquire you.  You may live your days in fear and terror of him.”

Chloë seemed to subdue somewhat
but her resolution did not fade. “As long as Keir has Merritt returned to him,
I can endure anything.  He must have his son back, Kurtis. I can only think of
him in this matter and not myself.”

“Chloë,” Anton spoke from his
position near Coverdale’s table. “Kurtis is correct; Ingilby will stop at
nothing to regain you, especially if he feels you have gone back on your
promise.   I cannot in good conscience allow you to do this.”

Chloë whirled on him, her calm
demeanor suddenly stiff with anger. “You would not allow me to marry Keir and I
was forced to listen to you. But you will not make this decision for me,
Father, not now. I will make this decision for myself and you will not stop
me.”

Anton tensed. “I most certainly
can. I can throw you into the vault and lock you away until you come to your
senses.”

Chloë would not be bullied. “I
wonder what Mother would say to that?” she ventured, watching her father’s
demeanor change. “I would wager to say that she would agree with me after your
disgraceful treatment of Keir. Shall we find out?”

Anton scowled and turned away,
waving his hands at his daughter as if to wipe her out of his mind. 
Frustrated, he wandered over to Coverdale’s collection of fine wines and
started the process of drowning himself in liquor.

With two daughters and a strong
willed wife, he knew his was a losing battle. He’d managed to hold off the
marriage of Chloë and Keir, which was surprising in itself considering how his
wife felt about it, but in this circumstance, Anton knew he would lose.   It
was too emotional a subject and for all of Blanche’s austere appearance, he
knew she would agree with Chloë. Women were too foolish, always thinking with
their emotions.  He took a long drink of wine, wondering what was to become of
his beauteous daughter.  It seemed now as if it was out of his hands.

Kurtis watched the interaction
between Chloë and her father, keeping his mouth shut. He was afraid to add to
the conversation, unsure of what he was thinking. He hated to think that he
agreed with Anton, but he did. Chloë seemed so determined but he knew, as he
lived and breathed, that Keir had to know of this. He could not keep this from
his brother.  No matter what Chloë wishes, Keir would know.

Eventually, Cassandra and Chloë
left the solar, quiet conversation between them as they whispered out into the
hall and faded away.  Coverdale still sat at his table with the missive in
front of him while Anton stood near the wine, well into his third chalice. 
Michael and Kurtis were left staring at each other, former love rivals now
united in this new threat.  Kurtis discreetly motioned Michael with him as the
two of them quit the solar.

Kurtis didn’t say a word until
they were well clear of the solar.  Additionally, he wanted to make sure Chloë
and Cassandra were out of earshot before speaking.  As they quit the great keep
of Aysgarth, Kurtis turned to Michael.

“I am riding for Keir
immediately,” he told him. “My brother has to know what is transpiring.”

Michael nodded. “Agreed, but you
should not ride for him. It should be me. You must stay here with your wife.
Moreover, someone has to stay here with Chloë and prevent her from doing
anything foolish until Keir can be reached. I fear she will not listen to me,
but as Keir’s brother, she is bound to listen to you.”

Kurtis wriggled his eyebrows,
emitting a pent-up sigh. “You are more than likely right,” he admitted.  “Then
you should leave right away. There is no time to waste if Keir is only given a
fortnight to make his decision.”

“He is at Beeston Castle?”

“That is the rally point. I would
assume he should be there.”

Michael didn’t hesitate.  As he
turned in the direction of the stables, Kurtis reached out and grabbed him. 
Their eyes met, cornflower blue to pale, icy blue. They had known each other a
long time and had faced death together, and they both knew that the hard
feelings regarding Cassandra were only temporary.  They were still united and
still friends.

“You were there when Keir endured
Madeleine and Frances’ deaths,” he said quietly. “We cannot allow him to go
through that again, Michael. You, of all people, know what losing Chloë would
do to him.”

Michael nodded with some sadness.
“I know,” he muttered. “But honestly, Kurtis, given the choice, will the man
want his son back? Will he sacrifice the woman he loves? Keir will make the
decision but it will kill him to do it.”

“What decision is that?”

“He will want the boy.”

“And I say he will want Chloë.”

“There is only one way to know
for certain.”

Kurtis nodded, letting go of
Michael’s arm and watching the man head off into the bailey, heading for the
knight’s quarters and his possessions.  He remained on the steps leading in to
the keep until Michael, on a fully armored charger, rode from the gates and off
into the night. 

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Wales is a wild place
.

As Keir rode at the head of his
army, it was his one predominant thought. He hadn’t been here in years, not
since the Battle of Irfon Bridge and Llewelyn ap Gruffudd’s death.  He hadn’t
truly thought on that event in years but now that he was back in Wales, he
found himself reflecting on the battle, the people who had aided in the
victory, and the friends he had lost during that campaign.  It had been a very
long time ago but he still remembered young knights he had served with, men
with a passion for king and country, and he miss those who had not survived. 
It seemed like another lifetime ago.

Glancing over his shoulder, he
could see Lucan riding to his right, slightly behind him, his eyes trained on
the dramatic green wilds of Wales for any sign of trouble.   There were, in
fact, about two dozen knights riding directly behind him, all from various
northern houses, men he was acquainted with to varying degrees and all very
fine warriors.  The Earl of Lincoln, Henry de Lacy, had arrived just as Keir
was mobilizing the army to leave Beeston and the man rode towards the middle of
the army upon one of his wagons because he was completely exhausted from having
traveled non-stop all the way from Lincolnshire. Battle marches were difficult
for both the young and the old.

Before they had left Beeston,
Keir and de Lacy had met privately to discuss the upcoming quest and to render
a plan.  Keir was to field command the army but the Earl had final say in all
commands and control.  That didn’t particularly bother Keir, but rather took
some of the responsibility off of him, which brought some relief.  He had
enough on his mind and the earl’s shared responsibility was welcome.

The army had been moving for
three days. They would stop when it became too dark to travel, eat and take
what sleep they could, before moving off at the first sign of light again. It
had made for grueling days because Keir pushed a swift pace.  Harlech was about
eighty miles from Chester and Keir tried to push the army at least twenty miles
a day, which they had fallen short of twice. The third day, however, they
exceeded the goal.  By Keir’s estimation, they would see Harlech sometime late
on the morrow. 

He had already sent out scouts,
men who would observe the conditions of Harlech Castle and report back to
Keir.  These men were young, light of weight, and rode swift horses.   By night
of the third day, they had returned with the news that Harlech was fully under
siege by thousands of Welsh and Edward’s army was nowhere to be seen.  Keir and
de Lacy could only surmise that the king was on his way but too far away to
converge on Harlech simultaneously with the army from the north.  After brief
deliberation, de Lacy made the decision to move on Harlech without waiting for
the king.  Keir didn’t particularly agree but he had no choice.  They would see
battle upon the morrow.

That night, when everyone had
retired for, more than likely, their last solid sleep for quite some time, Keir
sat down to scribe a missive to Chloë.  His tent was dark but for a small taper
on his travel table, a dented iron vizier burning peat to stave off some of the
Welsh chill, as he carefully scratched out the words that were in his heart. 
He was increasingly apprehensive for Chloë’s fate should he perish in battle
and he wanted to send her words of comfort and joy, something she could cling
to should he not return.  He had already said everything he could say to her
but somehow, in writing his feelings, it was different.  The words were his,
written by his own hand, and she would forever have something that was a
physical piece of him.

As he sat and wrote, the torn
shift that belonged to Chloë lay bunched up in his lap.  Every so often, he
would hold it up to his nose, smelling her faint, gentle scent, closing his
eyes at the feelings it provoked.  He could not begin to describe the
loneliness he felt, the longing to feel her in his arms again. It was a
physical pain that radiated through his entire body. He clutched the shift in
his right hand as he carefully penned the missive with his left.

It was very late when he finally
finished, sanding the ink and carefully rolling the vellum to close it with wax
and his seal.   When he finally slept, it was with Chloë’s shift clutched to
his face, inhaling her scent as he slept deep and dreamless.  But it was only
for a few blissful hours and he was up again well before dawn, summoning a
messenger to return his missive to Aysgarth and the delicious redheaded woman
he had left behind there. 

As the messenger fled and he
began to dress for what would inarguably be a long and brutal day, Keir
couldn’t help his thoughts from lingering on Chloë. 

He said a small prayer to her,
hoping she could hear him, hoping he understood just how much he loved her.  He
wasn’t sure he would get another chance to tell her from this day forward and
hoped that God, in his infinite mercy, would give him the opportunity. The
smell of battle was already in the air.

Unfortunately, the second missive
never made it out of his hands.  The army was attacked by Welsh rebels before
dawn the next day and the entire battalion went into battle mode.  The rebels
did what damage they could before breaking for Harlech to warn the besiegers of
the incoming English army. 

Keir had to split his column up
to send some men after the rebels while the remaining force swung in to high
gear and marched at swift speed towards Harlech, preparing to engage the Welsh
the moment they arrived. Undoubtedly the rebels attacking the castle would be
alerted and ready for them, no matter how hard they tried to prevent it.

The War in Wales was in full
swing.

***

Michael had been riding hard from
Aysgarth to Beeston, stopping only to rest and water his charger.  The animal
was a sweating, foaming mess, but that was usual with him.  Michael would stop,
allow the horse to drink, splash water on the sweaty neck, and then continue on
until after nightfall when he would stop for a few hours to allow the horse to
rest.  

Around noon on the second day, he
met up with a rider traveling very fast northward. The man was obviously a
messenger because he traveled light and swift, with no armor to speak of, and
Michael wouldn’t have paid much attention to him except for the pouch the man
carried on the haunches of his horse.  It was a faded leather pouch but he could
see the colors of Edward on it and he raised his hand, stopping the man by
blocking his path with his fat black charger.  The messenger pulled his excited
Spanish Jennet to a halt.

“You, there,” Michael boomed.
“Where are you coming from?”

“Beeston Castle, my lord,” the
man replied.

Michael lifted an eyebrow. “Do
you know of Keir St. Hèver?”

“I bear a missive from him, my
lord.”

“To whom?”

“The Lady Chloë de Geld, my lord.
I am bound for Aysgarth Castle. Please allow me to pass.”

Michael waved him off. “Keir is
my liege,” he told the man. “I mean you no harm.  Have the armies from the
north gathered yet?”

The messenger nodded. “Mostly,”
he replied. “They have received orders to move for Harlech Castle immediately.”

Michael couldn’t help the
surprise on his face. “They were not due to leave for Harlech for another three
weeks.”

“Those plans have changed, my
lord,” the messenger replied. “When I left, they were already mobilizing.”

“How long ago was that?”

“They moved out at dawn
yesterday, my lord.”

Michael sighed heavily, pondering
the information. It was not good news. “Very well,” he said. Then he pointed a
gloved finger at the man. “Under no circumstances are you to tell the Lady
Chloë that Keir has already gone on into Wales. Is that clear?”