Tate mounted the steep stairs to the battlements of the gatehouse, his trained gaze moving over the cold and dark landscape, searching for anything out of the ordinary. With a gaping hole where the main gates used to be, he was particularly on edge even though there were thirty soldiers patrolling the gap. A loop half-way around the wall walk brought him right to Stephen.
The big knight was on the west wall, in quiet conversation with one of the knight’s from Warkworth. The bulk of their army had remained, at least until the gates were repaired, so several hundred soldiers and a few knights lingered. When Stephen sawTate, he excused himself from the conversation and went to his liege.
“Nothing to report, my lord,” he said. “All remains quiet.”
Tate nodded, his dark gaze moving over the pre-dawn landscape once more. “Very well,” he replied. Then he continued to stand there, gazing over the view but not really seeing it. Stephen stood beside him silently, vigilantly, as he always had. Tate finally crossed his arms and emitted a heavy sigh.
“Stephen, I must ask you something,” he said.
“Of course, my lord.”
“You and I have long been friends, have we not?”
Stephen nodded slowly. “It has been my honor.”
“We have seen much of life and death together.”
“Indeed we have.”
“I consider you one of the finest men I have ever served with.”
“A true privilege, my lord.”
Tate turned to look at him. “I would not want anything to ruin that.”
Stephen returned his gaze. “Nor would I.”
Tate cleared his throat, a waver in his confidence. “I find that I must be honest with you, Stephen. I suppose I should have been from the onset but I was unsure how to go about it.”
“Speak your mind, my lord.”
Tate lifted his eyebrows with some hesitation. “I am attempting to,” he cleared his throat again. “You were with me when Catherine died.”
Stephen’s expression visibly eased. “Aye, my lord. I was there.”
Tate was having difficulty looking at him. “I was positive that I would never recover from it. But it seems that I was wrong.”
Stephen could see where this was leading; he’d known it from the start. It was only a matter of time before Tate confrontedhim about the situation with Toby. After the gift of the kitten earlier, it was expected. There was no point in dancing around the subject as Tate was doing so he cleared his throat, averting his gaze.
“In truth, my lord, I never had a chance,” he said quietly. “She has eyes only for you.”
Tate stopped fidgeting and looked at him. “What?”
Stephen’s gaze moved to the landscape beyond the walls. “Mistress Toby,” he clarified. “She has eyes only for you. I suppose it was my pride that caused me to see only what I wanted to see. I knew you were growing fond of her as I was. I thought I could win her over but I was wrong.”
Tate stared at him. “I remember back in Cartingdon when Kenneth jested with you about marrying her and ruling the town. Do you recall?”
Stephen nodded “I do.”
“You clearly showed no interest.”
“I had none at the time.”
“What changed your mind?”
“What changed yours?”
They gazed at each other for a moment before breaking into soft laughter. It was a welcome moment in a situation that could have quite easily gone the other way. As small as the gesture was, it was a relief, a moment between friends that signaled things were righting themselves. Tate finally shook his head.
