Jeniver was trying not to break down into gut-busting sobs. She was truly trying to listen to him, perhaps even carry on a conversation with him, but when she realized it would be the last conversation they ever shared together, she lost the struggle against grief and lay her head down against her father’s shoulder as the puppy, still in her arms, licked at his face. As she placed her head against him and wept pitifully, weeping for the father she would soon lose, Gaerwen turned his attention to Gallus.
“I am afraid I have no time for pleasantries, my lord,” he said weakly. “You know me to be Gaerwen but I do not know you at all.”
Gallus, still pressing bloodied linen against the man’s chest, met his gaze steadily. “I am Gallus de Shera, my lord,” he replied. “I am the Earl of Coventry. I apologize that I came to your aid too late.”
Gaerwen let go of Jeniver’s hand and held it up to Gallus, who took it. From one warrior to another, one man to another, Gaerwen was establishing a bond of gratitude.
“You came exactly when God had intended,” he mumbled. “You saved my daughter and that is the most important thing of all. I am afraid I am about to be terribly forward with you, my lord, but I must have your word.”
Gallus’ expression remained steady. “All you need do is ask, my lord,” he replied. “How may I be of assistance?”
Gaerwen winced when something caused him great pain and more bright red blood began to trickle out of his mouth.
“My child,” he said, his eyes closing briefly. “Jeniver. I have not yet made provisions for her although I should have long ago. I… I simply could not bear to turn her over to another man and now I find myself regretting that decision.”
Gallus nodded in understanding. “I have two daughters of my own,” he said. “I understand how attached you must be to Lady Jeniver.”
Gaerwen’s eyes opened, fixing on Gallus. “Then you are married?”
Gallus shook his head. “Nay,” he muttered, hating to speak on a sensitive subject. “My wife died last year.”
Gaerwen was seized with a fit of strength, suddenly and strongly gripping Gallus’ fingers with both of his clammy hands.
“Then you are a widower,” he grunted, showing more resolve than he had since he had been brought into the keep. “My lord, I give my daughter to you. You saved her from certain death and certainly you should be rewarded with her. She belongs to you now. Marry her and she will provide you with strong sons, I swear it. Please… please do this for me. Let me die knowing my only child will be well taken care of.”
Shocked, Gallus looked at his mother, who gazed back at him with equal surprise. But quickly, Honey recovered much faster than her gobsmacked son. She knew how sad and lonely he had been since Catheryn’s death and, in her opinion, a new wife was the perfect solution. She also knew that Hugh Bigod had wanted Gallus for his daughter, but Honey didn’t want that warring, political family for her son. Still, Honey had been gently suggesting he remarry for a few months now but he had quickly shut her down. Now, he could not shut her down. He could not refuse a dying man’s request and she hastened to take advantage of the request, for Gallus’ sake.
“He will do it,” Honey told Gaerwen, speaking for her son. “We will welcome her into our family, I assure you. Be at peace, my lord. We will make sure your daughter is taken care of.”
Gallus looked at his mother as if she had lost her mind but Gaerwen squeezed his hand tightly, distracting him from his building outrage and resistance.
“Thank you,” he breathed, visibly relieved. “Diolch i chi. Thank you and God bless you.”
Gallus was still shocked and bewildered. “But… my lord,” he struggled to resist in spite of what his mother had said. “Surely there are more important and more qualified men for your daughter. She is Welsh royalty and should marry within her station.”
Gaerwen was growing listless as his life drained away. “Mayhap that is true,” he mumbled thickly. “But they are not here. I cannot ask it of them. But I can ask it of you.”
By this time, Jeniver had lifted her head from her father’s shoulder and she was looking at the man with a good deal of shock.
“Tada,” she scolded, struggling not to be harsh with a dying man. “You… you cannot ask such a thing of the lord. I am not his burden to bear.”
“Hush,” Honey hissed gently, cutting off any attempt at a reply from either Gallus or Gaerwen. She looked pointedly at Jeniver. “You will not be a burden. You are a princess of Wales, soon to be the wife of the Earl of Coventry. It is an excellent match, my lady, and one that will ease your father’s mind.”
Both Jeniver and Gallus were looking at Honey in varied degrees of horror. Then, their eyes fell upon each other. It was a moment filled with astonishment, resistance, even anger, but surprisingly, also a spark of interest. Gallus’ expression seemed to display it before Jeniver’s did. She was still wrestling with her grief over her father. This pledge, this impending marriage, was a concept that was overwhelming her brittle mind no matter how handsome she thought the earl.
“Tada,” she tore her attention away from Gallus and leaned over her father, looking him in the eye. “Please… you must not ask this of them. They are strangers. They are not Cymraeg. Your request is not fair to any of us.”
Gaerwen was fading quickly. He tried to look at his daughter but his eyes kept rolling back in his head. The hands that had been gripping Gallus moved back to Jeniver, grasping at her. His hands, his dirty fingers, dug into her tender flesh, indicative of the level of emotion he was feeling. He struggled to focus on the lovely face that had been his entire world for many years. Even as his sight began to dim, all he could feel was love and adoration, from father to daughter. She was his angel, his annwyl. Knowing that she would be taken care of upon his death made it easier in his passing. His body began to relax as his life drained away.
“Let me look at you,” he whispered haltingly. “Let your beautiful face be the last thing I see in this world. What would you have me tell your mother? I will be seeing her very soon. How proud she would have been of you. You are a worthy daughter of Tacey ferch Bhrodi.”
His comments brought Jeniver’s tears back with a vengeance. “Tada,” she whispered as her eyes overflowed. “Please… please do not leave me.”
Gaerwen tried to speak but he was too weak. Everything was gone and his vision dimmed, permanently. As he had hoped, however, Jeniver’s face was the last one he saw. Then the veil of blackness came over him and his body went limp.
Jeniver saw her father’s eyes close and she called to him once, twice, before shaking him, hoping to bring him back. The dog in her arms slithered to the floor and wandered away as Jeniver cried out her father’s name and erupted in loud sobs. Collapsing onto the man’s chest, she wept painfully as Gallus felt for a pulse. After a moment, he turned to his mother.
“His pulse is weak but he is not gone,” he hissed. “Remove him to a chamber and have the surgeon tend him. Do it now while there is still time.”
Honey already had the servants in motion, moving in for Gaerwen, tearing him away from his hysterical daughter. She clung to him as they tried to take him away and Honey spoke swiftly to her son.
“Do not let her go with him, Gallus,” she said. “In her state, she will be more of a hindrance than help.”
As Jeniver tried to hold on to her father, being taken away by strangers, Gallus reluctantly intervened.
“Let him go, my lady,” he said, trying to be gentle. “He will be in good hands. Let the surgeon do what he must.”
Jeniver didn’t like that suggestion at all. The entire journey had come to a sorrowful and unexpected end. Heaven and hell had reigned in the early morning hours of this day and now horror and evil had tried to take her father away. For all she knew, he was dead already. Now, she was all alone.
Gallus watched the woman as she collapsed in grief. After a moment or two of observation, of remembering well the sorrow he had felt when Catheryn had passed away, he turned to
his mother.
“I will disband what is left of her father’s traveling party and stable the animals,” he said, rising to his feet. His manner was business-like. “Let her grieve and then take care of her. Ply her with wine and put her to bed. I will return when I have finished with her father’s party.”
Honey grabbed hold of her son before he could get away. “Someone else can disband the party,” she told him, her voice low. “Have Max or Ty do it. Your place is here, with your betrothed. If her father passes, then you must be here to comfort her.”
Gallus looked at her, his nostrils flaring with displeasure. “I did not agree to that,” he hissed. “You did it. You stay with her.”
Honey would not engage her angry son in any manner of confrontation, but her disapproval was evident in her expression. “You are correct,” she said quietly. “I did agree to the betrothal and there are many witnesses here who heard me do it. Will you shame me by refuting the bargain I made on your behalf?”
She was backing him into a corner. Honey knew that Gallus would not show her disrespect by breaking a bargain she had brokered. She had accepted Gaerwen’s offer even if Gallus had not. Honey watched her son’s angry face, the veins throbbing in his temples. He had no choice in the matter and they both knew it. He had a wife whether or not he wanted one. When Gallus refused to respond to her question, mostly because there was nothing he could say, Honey patted him on the hand.
“Send Max or Ty to settle the traveling party,” she said again, steadily. “You will stay here and comfort your betrothed, as it is your duty. You will not run off, Gal. You cannot always run from things you do not wish to face.”
He frowned at his mother but he could not hold his anger for long. Where Honey was concerned, he never could. He ended up averting his eyes, looking away as the sounds of Jeniver’s weeping filled the entry. They were sounds he did not wish to hear.
“Let me go,” he finally whispered, referring to her hold on his arm. “I do not want to listen to this. I cannot.”
Honey knew why but she didn’t let go. Gallus couldn’t deal with his own grief for a wife dead this past year much less someone else’s. She sighed knowingly, easing her hold on his arm.
“You cannot run from your sorrow forever,” she whispered. “Lady Jeniver has no one in the world to comfort her at this terrible time. At least you had your brothers and your daughters to give you a measure of solace. Lady Jeniver does not even have that. Mayhap you can help her.”
His head snapped to her, almost challenging. “Help her?” he repeated, incredulous. “How?”
“Because you understand what she is going through,” Honey reminded him. She knew her eldest son and knew he had great compassion, something he didn’t like other people to see. But she knew the depths of the man’s feeling. She knew he might very well be the only one to help Lady Jeniver, essentially a complete stranger, because he could sympathize with her grief. She squeezed his arm. “Please, Gal, help the woman. She is in agony.”
Gallus rolled his eyes miserably. “Mother….”
Honey squeezed his arm again, harder. “Take her away and allow her to rest,” she whispered. “Max and Ty will tend to the man’s traveling party and I will go upstairs and see if I can help the surgeon. You must tend your betrothed.”
Gallus couldn’t even respond. He was angry, distressed, and overwhelmed. He could have simply pulled away from his mother and marched away, but that wasn’t his nature. He was obedient to her and always had been, at least in most cases. He respected her greatly and he would not dream of showing the woman any measure of insolence. With a heavy sigh, he looked over his shoulder to see Maximus standing a few feet away.
“Max,” he grumbled. “Where are my knights?”
Maximus was watching several of Isenhall’s servants tend three badly injured men but he turned to his brother when he heard the man speak. He wasn’t oblivious to Lady Jeniver’s sorrow. In fact, the entire entry hall was filled with the injured and dying, the bloody aftermath of a nasty ambush. Distress hung in the air like a fog. It was everywhere, touching everyone. He responded to his brother’s question.
“They are trying to track down the perpetrators of this ambush,” he said. “I told them to follow the group and single out the leaders, if they are still alive. I would assume you would want someone to punish for this because if we do not, the Welsh might have something to say about it.”
That was the truth. Gallus nodded slowly. “The entire island of Anglesey will have something to say about it, for certain,” he said after a moment. “While the knights are seeking justice, see to disbanding and housing what is left of ap Gaerwen’s party.”
“Aye,” he replied quietly. “Do you want me to make arrangements to send them back where they came from?”
The question filled the air between them as Gallus reluctantly looked to Jeniver, weeping over her father. He thought a moment on his answer.
“For now, we will house them,” he replied. “When the lady is coherent, I will discover her wishes on the matter. For now, make sure everyone is tended and fed. That is the best we can do this day.”
Maximus nodded and turned back to the wounded, issuing quiet orders to the servants and soldiers who were tending the injured. As the middle brother moved to carry out his orders, Tiberius came towards his brother from his position near the entry door. He, too, had been helping with the wounded. When he saw that his eldest brother was issuing orders to Maximus, he came forward.
“What would you have of me, Gal?” he asked quietly.
Gallus’ gaze was on the grieving daughter. “When ap Gaerwen dies, we must take his body to be prepared for burial,” he said. “Will you assume this task? The man is a king and should be given all due respect.”
Tiberius lifted his eyebrows. “When?” he repeated. “The man is still alive, Gal.”
Gallus gave him a knowing look. “You have seen wounds such as his before,” he said. “I have never seen a man survive them. Have you?”
Tiberius shook his head in resignation. “Nay,” he replied. “When the man’s time comes, I will make sure all propriety is given.”
“My thanks.”
Tiberius simply nodded. With his younger brothers moving to carry out their tasks, Gallus turned back to the lady, still on the floor, only to note that his mother was still standing there. She was looking at him with an expression he’d seen before. Honey had a way of making her sons feel important and intelligent, as she was doing now. He could never make a bad decision in the eyes of his mother or in the eyes of his now-dead wife. Both women had a way of giving him strength. He’d lost part of that strength with Catheryn’s passing so he found that Honey’s respect was very important to him. He was a rare man who had learned to value a woman.
“I thought you were going up to help the surgeon?” he asked softly.
Honey nodded faintly. “I was,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you were in control before I left.”
He knew what she meant. She knew how badly the grief of losing a loved one was affecting him. Honey always knew his mind even when he wouldn’t admit it. Avoiding her statement, he gestured at Jeniver.
“What do you suggest I do now?” he asked. “Should I give the daughter time to grieve before taking her away?”
Honey’s gaze moved to Jeniver, collapsed near her father’s blood on the floor. “Do it now,” she said quietly. “But do it gently, Gal. She is in a fragile state right now.”
Gallus took a deep breath for strength before turning to view the sorrowful woman at his feet. God, he was already hating this, staving off memories of his own that were still too fresh and painful. Her father wasn’t dead but Gallus was positive the man would soon be and the daughter was grieving already. He couldn’t stand there and watch her cry because it was reminding him too much of his own loss, so he took a step or two, crouching down beside her.
The situation was much more intimate at this level. It was Gaerwen’s blood, Jeniver, and Gal
lus, three people thrown together because of a terrible circumstance. This morning, Gallus’ biggest worries had been his trip to London and his dealing with Hugh Bigod. Now, his biggest concerns were the coming burial for the hereditary King of Anglesey and in taking care of the man’s distraught daughter. As he crouched beside her, he found himself watching Jeniver’s pale face. He grasped for the correct words, hoping he could find them in the midst of his tumultuous thoughts.
“I am sorry that your journey home came to such an end, my lady,” he said quietly but with his customary professionalism. He refused to become emotional about the situation. “Sometimes we cannot predict nor prepare for the things that are dealt to us. There is nothing I can say that will ease your pain but I swear to you that we will tend to your father and treat him as a Welsh prince should be treated. We will honor him. I also swear to you that I will do my best to find whoever committed this terrible crime and bring him to justice. I hope these few actions will ease you in your time of sorrow.”
By this time, Jeniver had stopped openly sobbing and she was looking at Gallus as the man squatted across from her. With a pool of her father’s blood between them, she could see the very big earl as he attempted to console her. In fact, his words had been kind and unexpected.
“Why would you do this?” she asked, her voice hoarse from weeping. “We are strangers to you, my lord. More than that, we are Welsh. We do not belong in your world. Why would you find the Saesneg who did this to us when they are, in fact, your fellow countrymen?”
Gallus could see that she was embittered. She had every right to be. “Because whoever did this is no comrade of mine,” he said. “I will find him and I will punish him personally.”
Jeniver wiped at her eyes. She was disoriented and distraught, that was true, but there was something innate within her that made her want to believe him. Perhaps it was pure vulnerability on her part, lost and alone as she was, and it was comforting to think that the Earl of Coventry would perhaps leap to her aid. But there was also a part of her that blamed him for what had happened and all the Englishmen like him. It was difficult to know how to react at all.