Kenneth shook his head. “He is too emotionally involved in his personal life right now,” he replied. “He is not thinking clearly.”
Tate grunted in disagreement. “His decisions have been flawless since assuming this post, Ken.”
Kenneth came to a halt, crossing his massive arms and casting a distracted eye out over the bailey. It was clear that he was somewhat edgy, with much on his mind. “I am suggesting we release MacKenzie so the man can lead us back to the rebels,” he said in a low voice. “The man is useless in the vault. Something has to be done because as it is, Berwick is a target waiting for an attack. It is my sense that the rebels are building but Stephen does not seem to think this is so.”
Tate watched Kenneth’s body language. He was tense, highly unusual for the man who was consummately cool even in the heat of battle.
“He trusts you,” Tate replied evenly. “He has already told me that he is sending Joselyn back to Forestburn with me come the morrow. I would say that is a strong indication that he is listening to you. So why not tell him what you wish to do with his prisoner?”
Kenneth looked at him, then. He fell silent a moment as he contemplated his answer, a cautious answer that could be construed as disloyal. He wanted to be very careful in his words.
“Stephen’s wife is Scots,” he said carefully. “Until two weeks ago, she was the daughter of the enemy. Then she became Stephen’s forced bride.”
Tate’s brow furrowed. “True,” he replied. “But they are deeply in love with each other, Ken. What are you driving at?”
Kenneth lifted his big shoulders. “I am saying that one does not change lifelong loyalties in a matter of days,” he replied quietly. “But I cannot tell Stephen that. He loves and undoubtedly trusts the woman. But I do not know her and what’s more, I do not by nature trust her. She is Scots. It is an unfortunate fact that what Stephen knows, his wife probably knows. If Stephen knows that we are releasing Kynan, then his wife will know it.”
Tate could understand his concern but he did not agree. “Are you saying that she is somehow feeding information to the rebels?”
“It is a distinct possibility.”
Tate shook his head. “I have come to know the woman as well, Ken. She is not a traitor. When she married Stephen, she became loyal to her husband.”
Kenneth’s ice-blue eyes glimmered weakly in the moonlight as he regarded his liege and friend. “I understand she attempted to escape more than a week ago.”
Tate saw where he was leading and he sighed faintly, conceding the point. “She did make an attempt.”
“What did she tell Stephen of her reasons for attempting to escape?”
Tate licked his lips as he turned away, unable to look Kenneth in the eye. “She told him that she was seeking the rebels so that she could discover their plan and tell Stephen.”
Kenneth lifted an eyebrow. “And he believed her?”
Tate nodded slowly, looking at his boots. “He did.”
“Do you know her well enough to know that she was telling the truth?”
Tate just looked at him. After a moment, he simply shook his head and looked back at his feet. He couldn’t answer. Kenneth sighed heavily.
“You know that Stephen is closer than a brother to me,” he lowered his voice. “I would lay down my life for the man. But as he is deeply in love with his new wife who happens to be the daughter of the man who led Berwick’s defenses against Edward, I fear that he is not thinking clearly. As strong as Stephen is, as powerful a warrior, it appears that there is one weak link in the defense of Berwick and it happens to be Stephen of Pembury.”
“Because of his unabashed love for his wife.”
“It blinds him to the fact that she is the enemy. She could be closer to the rebels than Kynan is for all we know. The night she escaped Berwick, who is to say that she was not going to tell the Scots all she knew from the mouth of Pembury himself?”
Tate knew he made complete, utter sense but it was difficult for him to fully agree with him. Joselyn Seton did not seem the treacherous type. But, then again, sometimes devils were disguised as angels. He didn’t know what to think.
“You told Stephen that he must remove his wife because you believed there was an imminent attack,” he finally said. “Is this true? Or are you simply trying to remove Joselyn out of Berwick to separate her from the rebellion?”
“Both,” Kenneth said honestly. “And I am also hoping that if she is removed, Stephen will stop seeing the situation through the eyes of a besotted lover.”
They didn’t say anything to each other for quite some time, each man lost to his thoughts. The night above was still and dark as night birds sang in the distance and sentries went about their rounds on the parapets above. Finally, Tate spoke.
“You will tell Stephen of your reasons for wanting to release MacKenzie but make no mention of your suspicions of Joselyn,” he said in a tone that suggested it was a command. “I suspect if you do, it will ruin your friendship with the man.”
Kenneth nodded, understanding the delicate nature of the situation. “I would never tell him my suspicions. What I have said is between you and me alone. Moreover, I would not hurt Stephen in such a manner. I would as soon cut out my tongue. But I have the advantage of seeing the situation without emotional bias.”
Tate knew that. They were all treading on thin ice. “I will take Joselyn with me to Forestburn on the morrow and we shall see if the situation at Berwick takes a turn for the worse.”
“I sincerely hope not. I hope I am wrong, on all accounts, but I cannot help my natural suspicion.”
“I know.” Tate glanced up, seeing Stephen above. The man spotted them both and was heading in their direction. “Stephen is coming. Prepare carefully what you will tell him.”
Kenneth nodded, watching Tate turn on his heel and head off into the darkness. With a deep breath, he turned to face Stephen as the man emerged from the gatehouse stairwell. Gazing into the familiar face of the man he loved like a brother, he prayed he was wrong.
About everything.
*
Joselyn had been weeping most of the night and when she was not weeping, she was sleeping fitfully. She didn’t want to leave Berwick, or Stephen, and was very vocal about it. When dawn began to approach and the eastern sky took on purple hues, Stephen had her up and into a bath while Tilda and Mereld packed three large trunks with her new garments and possessions.
But the bath was not soothing her in the least. Joselyn had worked herself up into such a state that she felt faint and dizzy, and ended up back in bed wrapped in a soft linen shift with long belled sleeves and a hemline that dragged the floor when she walked. Stephen tried to coax some food into her but she couldn’t eat. She would not even drink. She simply lay there with her arm over her eyes as Stephen sat on the bed next to her and held her hand.
Down in the bailey, sounds of de Lara’s party as they prepared for the return to Forestburn echoed against the stone. Stephen could hear them. As the day began to deepen, he finally sent for soldiers to take Joselyn’s trunks down to the bailey and sent the two old maids to pack their own possessions. He would send them with his wife so she had people of comfort around her. But Joselyn was still feeling horrible, eventually curled up on her side and dozing heavily. Stephen was torn about sending her on to Forestburn in this condition but he suspected most of it was in her mind. She had worked herself up a great deal.
“Jo-Jo,” he stroked her dark hair. “Sweetheart, you must finish dressing. You have a long journey before you and you cannot hold up de Lara’s return more than you are doing.”
Joselyn’s eyes rolled open, the pale blue orbs fixing on her husband. “Must I go?” she whispered.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Aye, you must,” he told her, trying to sound firm. “I gave you my reasons last night. It will only be for a short time and then I will come for you. But you will be safe at Forestburn, away from the war that surrounds this place.”
She began to tear u
p again. “But I want to stay,” she whispered tightly. “If I go and the Scots attack, what will happen? What if… what if you are injured?”
He scooped her up into his arms. “That will not happen,” he told her, trying to force her to sit up so he could help her with her surcoat. “But I do not want the added worry of having you here in a fortress under attack. I want you safe.”
Tears popped from her eyes and streamed down her face but Stephen tried to ignore them as he picked up the surcoat that Mereld and Tilda had left out. It was a dark blue Perse fabric, very fine and soft, and light for the more mild temperatures of summer. Stephen stood Joselyn on her feet and forced her to put her arms up, pulling the thing over her head and then fastening the ties. There were two at her waist and one big one that laced up the front of the bodice from her naval to her sternum. He grumbled the entire time about playing serving maid, but the truth was that he was enjoying it. The garment accentuated her glorious figure to a fault and Stephen was aroused as he tightened the ties. He kept running his hands over her torso, smoothing the dress, feeling her warm body beneath his palms.
Joselyn had wept silently through most of it, finally quieting enough to put her hose on herself. She tied them off with dark blue ribbons, so focused on her task that she didn’t see the lust in her husband’s eyes until it was too late. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees and threw up her skirts, his mouth on her legs as he shoved her back onto the bed. Joselyn gasped with surprise as he began to gently kiss her pelvic region, the insides of her thighs. All she could see was the skirt of her surcoat over his head as he went to work.
“Stephen,” she gasped. “Please… not now….”
His head popped up and he pulled the skirts off his head, mussing his dark hair. He could see her pale face gazing back at him breathlessly and he pulled her skirts down contritely.
“Sorry,” he reached out and pulled her up to sit. “The thought of not seeing you for some time… well, it eats at me as it eats as you. If I were any weaker, I would be joining you in your tears. But I know that our separation is only temporary and I comfort myself with that thought. You should as well. You should also comfort yourself with the idea that this will give you and Cade a chance to spend time together and to get to know one another. Forestburn is a lovely place and you will enjoy the hospitality of Tate and his wife a great deal. They are like family to me.”
She gazed at him, her expression so sad that he could feel his composure waver. “But when will you come for me?”
He touched her chin affectionately and stood up. “As soon as I can, I swear it. When the threat passes, I will come.”
“But that could take years.”
He shook his head. “It will not be years, Jo-Jo, more like a few weeks at the very most. Be a good girl and no more complaining, please? It will not change the way of things.”
She lowered her gaze and silently went to fetch her shoes. She sat back down on the bed and pulled her slippers on, all the while remaining silent and submissive. Stephen opened the door and bellowed for a soldier, who came on the run. He shoved the last trunk at the man, who took it downstairs. Finally, he turned to Joselyn as she ran the horsehair brush through her hair, watching her as she braided it into a thick braid that hung over one shoulder. The more he watched her, the more his heart began to long for her. He had grown so attached to her that it was difficult for him to think of Berwick, and him, without her. But he had to stay strong, for her sake.
As Joselyn finished with her hair, she turned and looked at him. Their eyes met and he smiled sweetly at her. Joselyn returned his smile, but in her case, it was weak and resigned. More than that, she suddenly had an odd gleam to her eye that peaked Stephen’s curiosity.
“If I tell you a secret, will you promise that I can stay here with you?” she propositioned him.
Stephen shook his head. “I will make no such promise but you may tell me your secret.”
She shook her head and turned her nose up at him. “I will not tell you a thing. You will simply have to wait to find out.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Find out what?”
“I am not going to tell you.”
He suddenly swooped on her, wrapping her up in a big bear hug and growling as he nibbled her tender earlobe. Joselyn squealed.
“Stop it!” she commanded, although there was little force behind it. “I am not going to tell you unless you promise that I can stay here with you.”
“I am not going to promise.”
She made a face as he kissed her loudly on the side of the head and released her, going to retrieve the lightweight cloak that was hanging by the door. It was a dark color so as not to show dirt, which made it excellent for travel. He swung it around her shoulders, adjusting it in a fatherly gesture. When their eyes met as he was fastening the ties, she stuck her tongue out at him.
He laughed heartily as he led her from the chamber and down the stairs. He held her hand tightly, memorizing the feel of her flesh against his. When they reached the bailey, de Lara’s contingent was ready to leave. It was clear that they were waiting for her. Stephen led her towards the first provision wagon that held all of her possessions. Mereld and Cade were in the back of the wagon, but Tilda was missing. Joselyn’s perusal around the bailey showed the plump woman hustling towards them from the direction of the kitchens with the fawn wrapped in her arms. She reached the wagon, out of breath.
“I did not think you would want to leave the fawn, my lady,” she said, gasping for air.
Joselyn smiled as she petted the animal, practically the only smile she had shown all morning. “Of course not,” she took the little beast, hugged it, and then extended it to Cade. “Would you like to tend him for me?”
Cade nodded eagerly and took the fawn from her, very pleased to take charge of the pet. As Stephen and Joselyn smiled at the lad, Tate walked up.
He was clad in full battle armor, well used and expensive stuff. His dark eyes moved between Stephen and Joselyn, and Stephen could see the veiled impatience in the depths.
“If there are no more delays, I should like to depart,” he told Stephen pointedly.
Stephen nodded, sweeping his wife into his big arms and planting her on the wagon bench next to the driver. He helped her smooth her cloak and placed the oil cloth over her lap that the driver handed him, a cover designed to keep the dust and elements off her. As Tate made his way back to the head of the column and the men began to move out, Stephen held Joselyn’s hand and gazed deeply into her pale blue eyes.
“Take care of yourself and enjoy your trip,” he said softly. “I will send word to Forestburn to let you know how the situation at Berwick fares.”
Joselyn nodded, struggling not to burst into tears again. She didn’t want to go but knew that begging would only leave a bitter taste in both their mouths when he refused. She didn’t want that lingering between them at her departure. So she kept silent on the matter.
“Please take great care, Stephen,” she murmured. “I will miss you with every breath I take.”
“And I, you.”
“I love you very much.”
He kissed her hand sweetly. “I love you, too, sweetheart,” he replied. “I will come for you as soon as I can.”
The wagon began to move and he was forced to drop her hand. Her pale blue eyes were riveted to him as the wagon pulled away. “You had better make it sooner rather than later,” she told him.
He was halfway following the wagon as it lurched forward. “Why is that?”
“Because I do not think you want your son to be born at Forestburn.”
After that, de Lara’s trip back to Forestburn was delayed another four hours while Stephen, Tate and Kenneth celebrated. Stephen was bloody drunk by noon.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Lady Elizabetha de Tobins Cartingdon de Lara was a beautiful woman with golden brown hair and almond-shaped hazel eyes. She was truly stunning to behold. As her husband’s army passed through the massive gate of Forestburn
Castle, she was waiting.
Tate was the first one through the gate, spying his wife and their six children as they clustered near the entry. He was off his charger before the animal came to halt, running at the brood and nearly being attacked by three young boys. He tried to hug them all but he didn’t have enough arms, so he knelt on the dirt while five of his children clustered around him. When all of the little faces were properly kissed, he stood up and pulled his wife into his arms. He gazed at her a long moment, reacquainting himself with her beautiful face, before kissing her sweetly.
Joselyn watched the touching reunion from her perch on the wagon, smiling when two of Tate’s young sons suddenly started fighting. Tate released his wife, pulled the boys apart, and then tried to focus on the infant in his wife’s arms. It was apparent he wanted to be everywhere at once, to kiss everyone all at the same time. He did his best, obviously in love with his family as a father should be.
Joselyn sat patiently as Tate got reacquainted with his wife and children. She was enamored with the way Tate responded to his offspring. The eldest was a boy around seven or eight, a very handsome and stoic lad, while his two blond-haired brothers, about five years of age, slugged it out like men. Then there were two girls, one about six and one about three or so, with long, curly dark hair and doll-like features. They clamored around their father and he took the time to give each child his undivided attention, even the twin combatants. And when he was done with the children, he hugged and nuzzled his wife the way Stephen hugged and nuzzled her. It made her heart ache for Stephen as she watched the exchange.
But her sorrow was set aside as Tate grasped his wife and began to walk towards the wagon. Joselyn sat straight as they approached.
“Sweetheart, I would like to introduce you to someone,” he was speaking to his wife as he gestured to Joselyn. “You will be thrilled to meet Stephen’s wife, the Lady Joselyn. Lady Pembury, this is my wife, Elizabetha. She answers to Toby.”
Toby’s eyes widened briefly at the introduction before a huge smile spread over her face. She handed Tate the infant in her arms and approached the wagon, gazing up at Joselyn with her beautiful almond-shaped eyes. The first thing she did was grasp Joselyn’s hand.