“Will you do me a small honor, please?” she asked.
“Anything, m’lady. Ye only need ask.”
“Will you please call me by my name? It seems strange to be so formal under these serious circumstances.”
He grinned, those big white teeth glistening in the firelight. “And if ye call me by mine, I would consider it the greatest honor. Besides… ye’d better become used tae it.”
The moment turned from sorrowful to warm with the shift of the conversation. It was something Havilland needed desperately, for the news of Madeline’s true colors had made everything in her world seem uncertain at the moment. Jamison, with his wisdom, seemed to be someone that could right it. Perhaps she was looking for light that only he could provide.
“Why must I become used to it?” she asked.
He lifted a red eyebrow. “Because ye canna call yer husband ‘my lord’. People would laugh.”
She burst out into giggles, her heart feeling giddy and light. “Are we back on that subject again?”
“We never left it.”
Her laughter continued, softly. “I told you that you should not jest on such a subject,” she said. “What if I take you seriously? I would hold you to it.”
“I wish ye would.”
Her smile faded, her eyes locking with his. There was something liquid and warm flowing between them now, the same thing that made her knees weak and her heart flutter. It was something intangible yet something immensely powerful and her breath caught in her throat as she gazed into his dark blue depths. Thoughts of Madeline’s treachery faded for the moment.
“Are you telling me that you are serious about this?” she breathed.
He nodded, the hand on her arm squeezing again. “Aye,” he replied. “I have traveled far and wide, Havilland, but I’ve never found a woman like ye in all my days. I would be a poorer man the rest of me life if I left this place without ye. Would ye at least consider it?”
Havilland stared at him. It took her several long moments to realize that he was completely serious and when it finally hit her, her eyes widened.
“You are not jesting?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I told ye I wouldna jest on so serious a subject.”
She was at a loss, then; giddy, thrilled, but at a total loss. “But… but I am not a fine lady.”
“Ye’re the finest lady I have yet tae see.”
She shook her head. “I did not mean that,” she said. “I mean… I meant that I am what you see. I am all you see. I do not know how to sew or manage a household. I cannot do anything fine ladies are expected to do.”
His other hand came up, gripping her by both arms now as he gazed into her eyes. “And I wouldna have ye any other way,” he insisted softly. “Ye’re brave and intelligent and sweet. Ye make my heart joyful, Havilland. Tell me that ye’ll at least consider me offer.”
Havilland didn’t know what to say other than the obvious. “I… I will,” she said, feeling so excited that she was lightheaded with it. “If you truly want to marry me, then… then I will think on it.”
He flashed a grin that nearly made her swoon. “Then ye’ve made me a very happy man,” he said. “I will speak tae yer father right away. Do ye think he’ll give his permission? He dinna have someone else in mind for ye, did he?”
Her smile quickly faded. Oh, God, what to say? “I….”
“Jamie!”
A hiss came from the solar door and they both turned to see Tobias standing there. His gaze was on Jamison as he motioned to the man. “Come,” he said. “I have need of you.”
Jamison stood up, taking his hands from Havilland. “What is it?”
Tobias eyed Havilland before returning his gaze to Jamison, obviously trying to wordlessly tell the man that he didn’t want to speak freely in front of Havilland. Jamison took the hint. Quickly, he looked at Havilland.
“Go back tae bed,” he told her quietly. “I will see ye on the morrow. But if ye see yer sisters, either one of them, tell them nothing about this conversation. All of our lives may depend on it.”
Havilland’s brow furrowed in concern. “But Amaline knows nothing, I am sure.”
Jamison shook his head. “Until we are certain of that, say nothing, please.” When she nodded, he winked at her. “I will see ye on the morrow.”
With that, he was gone, slipping from the solar after Tobias and leaving Havilland sitting alone, still in a great deal of shock from their conversation. Madeline was a traitor. And now, Havilland had agreed to think about becoming betrothed to Jamison. Was it all really possible? Surely this was a dream. The last she remembered, she had gone to her bedchamber. She had laid upon her bed and fallen asleep. Aye, that must be it – this is all a dream. In the real world, Madeline wouldn’t be a spy and Jamison wouldn’t want to marry her.
… right?
Unable to decide if this was truly a dream, Havilland sat by the fire deep into the night, pondering the turn of events, pondering a life that was about to change forever. Pondering a sister lost and a betrothal gained.
There was someone she needed to talk it over with.
CHAPTER NINE
*
“They almost did, lass.
Did ye not hear what I said?”
*
“Papa? Papa, can you hear me?”
The room at the top of the keep was tiny, filled with a bed and little else. It smelled like rotted food and urine, a smell that permeated the stone and everything around it. A man lay on the bed, wrapped in heavy blankets, while his servant, a man who was mute and blind in one eye, slept in a corner, cramped up against the cold wall with his feet against the hearth.
It was Havilland who had spoken the softly-uttered words to the man on the bed, calling for her father in the darkness. She tiptoed around the sleeping servant’s feet and moved closer to the figure moving about in the blankets. She reached out timidly, touching the shoulder.
“Papa?” she whispered again. “’Tis me; ’tis Havi. Are you awake?”
Roald de Llion rolled around on his straw-stuffed bed, finally lifting his head when Havilland spoke his name once more. He looked at her, illuminated by the firelight, and sat up, running his hands nervously through his long, gray hair. It was hair he used to keep neatly trimmed along with a mustache he had been quite proud of. Now, the mustache was overgrown into a long, dirty beard and the hair hadn’t seen a cut in over a year. He reached out to Havilland, pulling her into an embrace.
“Precious,” he muttered. “My precious.”
Havilland let her father squeeze her. He was still quite affectionate in spite of his illness but sometimes his affections became rather inappropriate. Havilland would let him hug her but she would pull away quickly, avoiding the lecherous behavior to follow. “Nay, Papa,” she said firmly. “It is Havilland. I am not my mother. Can you see my face? Look at me. I am not your wife.”
Roald looked at her but her words didn’t really register with him. When he looked at Havilland, he saw his wife, Lady Precious, and in his muddled mind that was all he saw. He couldn’t see his eldest daughter, a young woman who had been forced to assume an enormous burden because of his illness. He only saw the past and his long-dead wife.
“Precious,” he murmured again.
Havilland tried not to be disheartened but it was inevitable. Every time she came to see her father, she prayed that this would be the time that he emerged from whatever sickness polluted his mind and recognize her. She still prayed that whatever affected him wasn’t permanent but every time she saw him, she was disappointed anew to realize that he was just the same. Prayers hadn’t healed him and his mind was still as muddled as it had been, growing worse as the weeks and months went on. Every visit with him depressed her more and more. It was difficult to hold out any hope that he would heal at all.
“I do not even know why I come here,” Havilland finally murmured, still looking at her father, who was smiling at her. She knew it was because he thought she was her mot
her. “I come here every day to see you and every day, you think I am my mother. Or you think Madeline is our mother. Papa, Mother is gone. She had been gone for eleven years. Papa, I need you now. Can you understand me? Can you at least try?”
Roald reached out to touch her cheek, muttering his wife’s name again. It was nearly all he could say these days. Havilland sighed sharply and took his hand, her expression beseeching.
“Papa, please,” she said, her throat tight with emotion. “I need you. The Welsh have been on the attack and now… now I have been told that Madeline is giving information to Evon Preece. You remember him, Papa – he is Lord Preece’s son. Madeline is telling him everything about what is happening at Four Crosses and I am afraid he is telling those who are attacking us. I do not know what to do, Papa. If Lord de Lohr is told about Madeline’s treachery, he will kill her, but if I let her continue to do as she is, then she will kill us. I do not know what to do!”
Roald continued to stare at her, uncomprehending. He touched her cheek again, affectionately, and Havilland pulled away from him, despondent. He didn’t understand her. Leaning against the wall, she gazed at him with great sadness, cutting her to the very bone.
“I do not know why I came here,” she said again, hoarsely. “There is so much happening and I am afraid, Papa. I do not want to make the wrong decision but my instincts tell me that Madeline must be stopped. She is trying to kill us all and I cannot let her. And de Lohr’s commander… Papa, he is a Scotsman. He is strong and intelligent and… and I like him a great deal. If my saying that distresses you, I wish you would say so. I would give anything to hear you berate me for thinking well of another man.”
Roald, disinterested in Havilland now that she had pulled away from him, lay back down on the bed and turned his back to her. He was going back to sleep. Havilland watched her father wriggle around on the mattress, getting comfortable, before pulling the coverlet back over him. She snorted ironically.
“Then I am sorry to have disturbed you,” she said, going over to the bed and pulling the coverlet up over his shoulder, guarding against the chill of the room. “But I had to come. I had to tell you what is happening. I… I suppose I shall make the decision I feel best, Papa. I have no choice. I will try to do what you would do in this circumstance. I only wish you could tell me so.”
Roald let out a snort that sounded more like a snore. Havilland simply patted his shoulder, leaving the dark room and silently closing the door behind her. She threw the bolt on the outside, the one that kept her father from wandering. He had been known to do that. If they wanted to keep his illness a secret, then a wandering fool would surely announce to the world what had become of the once-great knight.
With a few hours left until dawn, Havilland retreated to her bed and in thinking of her father and how very alone she felt in the wake of such a crisis, cried herself to sleep.
*
Jamison felt as if he hadn’t slept in days. Truth was, he’d slept very little in days, little enough so that he was starting to get dark circles beneath his eyes, but it couldn’t be helped. The lack of sleep during battle wasn’t unusual and the fact that he’d been training men since the battles with the Welsh ended several days ago was enough to keep him active and awake. As morning dawned over a misty landscape, he was already up and moving.
His thoughts were on Havilland. He simply couldn’t help it. For the past few days, she had been his first thought in the morning and his last thought at night. Even as he rolled off his pallet and sent a servant for hot water, he was thinking of her. He washed with his precious bit of soap, using a rag, trying to get the compost smell off of his body from the night before. Around him, Brend and Thad were awakening, preparing for the coming day.
Tobias was on watch until dawn. He and Jamison had stayed up most of the night, discussing Madeline de Llion and the situation they found themselves in. When Tobias had plucked Jamison out of the solar the evening before and away from Havilland, it was to tell him that Madeline had returned to the castle and was mingling among the men on the wall, her usual post. She was back as if nothing had happened.
For most of the night, Jamison and Tobias had kept an eye on her until she finally retired a few hours before dawn. That was when Jamison went to bed, also, leaving Tobias to wait out the night.
But the discussion between Jamison and Tobias had been productive. They had decided to send Brend to summon Chris de Lohr to Four Crosses with his army because they were both afraid of what would happen if they left the fortress for the seven-day trip to Lioncross Abbey. Without the senior knights there, they could very well return and find the castle flying ap Llywelyn colors, so they made the decision that it would be unwise to leave.
Frankly, that suited Jamison just fine.
He didn’t want to leave, anyway. He didn’t want to be away from Havilland and he certainly didn’t want to leave Tobias behind with her. That wouldn’t do at all. So as the sun rose, turning the mist shades of pale gray, Jamison dressed in two tunics that didn’t smell of moldering leaves and his brecan, which did smell, unfortunately. He hated smelling like rotten compost with a woman about.
There wasn’t much he could do about it because it was so cold outside that he didn’t want to be without it, so he had little choice. Jamison and Brend and Thad would have the day watch while Tobias slept. Jamison would inform Brend of his mission back to Lioncross Abbey. It was imperative that the earl come to Four Crosses and bring as many men as he could. When a plan was formulated to trap the Welsh rebels, they wanted to be ready.
Dawn turned into mid-morning and the mist began to burn away, revealing glimpses of bright blue sky above. It was still cold as Four Crosses settled down to a busy day. Brend, having been informed of his mission as he broke his fast, had already departed for Lioncross Abbey, taking the message of what was transpiring at Four Crosses straight to the earl. The damaged wall was almost halfway repaired and sections of the wall walk that had been damaged during the bombardment were also being repaired. Men were fixing the roof of the troop house with more sod they had dug up from the hillside and in the kitchen yard, the cook was boiling a pig. The smell of pork was filling the air and causing men to lick their lips in anticipation.
It was a relatively normal day in a series of days and weeks that had seen few days like this. Jamison was standing at the open gatehouse, deep in discussion with a few Four Crosses men as well as Thad. Four Crosses had no moat, with only the tall outer wall for protection, and Jamison was of the opinion that a moat and earthworks on the exterior of the castle would be excellent for its defenses.
Of course, no alterations of that magnitude could take place without de Lohr’s approval but Jamison thought that it was something to discuss with the earl when he arrived. He rather liked planning castle defenses and had an excellent eye for design. Once, he had expressed interested in wanting to be a builder but his father had killed those dreams quickly. No son of George Munro was going to be anything other than a warrior.
Therefore, planning out castle defenses was great fun to him. As Jamison watched some of the men pace off what would have been a decent-sized moat, he caught movement at the gatehouse, turning to see all three de Llion sisters emerging through the gatehouse tunnel.
Jamison’s attention was immediately drawn to Havilland. Her long hair was in two braids and she wore a dark green tunic that hung to her knees, baggy leather breeches, and boots that went as high as her ankle. Madeline was beside her, with her hair twisted up in that severe top-knot she always wore, while Amaline brought up the rear with her wildly curly red hair.
Jamison didn’t move to greet the women. He thought it best to maintain a civil but polite manner with them, especially with the situation with Madeline now. Truthfully, he couldn’t even look at her, knowing what her lover had done to her the night before. That skinny, arrogant girl had been used in ways that prostitutes were often not. Big arms folded across his chest, his gaze lingered on the approaching women before casually re
turning his attention to the project at hand.
“Measure out two feet from the wall and then begin yer measurement o’ the moat,” he said to the men who were using a length of hemp twine to mark out distances. “It ’twill have tae be at least twelve feet across so men canna easily breach it.”
“But why not put it all the way against the wall?” Thad wanted to know. “Why are you leaving ground between the wall and the moat?”
Jamison glanced at him. “Because if we dig too close tae the wall, we could undermine it by weakening the foundation.”
“What are you doing?”
Havilland asked the question and Jamison turned to see that she was standing fairly close to him. Madeline stood next to her, arms folded and back straight, while Amaline still stood behind the pair, seemingly uncertain. More than likely, it was because she was still terrified of Jamison from the brutality of their first meeting. But Jamison didn’t give any regard to Amaline or Madeline; he smiled politely at Havilland.
“I am thinking on reinforcing the fortress wit’ a moat,” he said. “It would make her much stronger in the face of the Welsh attacks but the problem is that it would take a long time tae build. Digging all of that dirt doesna come quickly or easily.”
Madeline snorted. “A moat,” she said, inferring that he was an idiot. “We do not need a moat.”
Jamison’s gaze lingered on the girl a moment before flicking his hand at the damaged wall under repair. “Ye need something,” he said, “because yer walls are not as strong as ye think they are. ’Twas only by God’s good graces that the Welsh werena able tae mount the walls. The next time, we mayna be so fortunate.”
Madeline wasn’t convinced, shrugging her shoulders haughtily. “It seems like a waste of time to me.”
“Why?”
She looked at him, rather nastily. She didn’t like to be questioned. “Because Four Crosses has stood for many years without a moat and it has survived many attacks,” she pointed out. “Do you think we know nothing, Gael?”