Timothy shook his head. “I am afraid you might do me serious bodily damage if I did,” he said, taking her elbow as they passed through the open door. “But I will sit and talk to you.”
She let him escort her into the room, which was warm with a blazing fire. Thick furs covered the floor and her bed was piled with lush and warm materials. Mortimer had been, if nothing else, lavish with his attention on her. There was absolutely nothing she could want for. Toby went to the fire, carefully removing the cloak that had mud on it. Timothy took it from her and cast it into the corner for the servants to clean. She stood for a moment, dragging her hand across her softly rounded belly.
“Timothy,” she said after a moment. “There is something we can talk about.”
He was at the elaborate sideboard against the wall, pouring them both a measure of wine from a lovely glass decanter. “What is that?”
“You have been a physic a long time, have you not?”
“I have, my lady.”
Toby’s gaze lingered on the flames before turning to him, her cheeks rosy from the warmth of the fire. “You must know a great deal about babies.”
He nodded. “I believe so. What do you wish to know?”
Her hazel eyes twinkled as she told him.
*
For the durationof the trip to the Marches, Edward had kept a distance from his mother. Strange, considering he had very much wanted to see her. For two years, he had begged Tate to take him home to see his mother. But Tate had refused and had given clear explanations as to why he had refused. Edward was therefore well aware why Tate kept him from his mother. For two years, he had understood that the woman who gave birth to him would not protect him from her lover. Isabella and Mortimer had ruled during that time as Regents to Edward since he was so young. But the queen was clearly more loyal to her lover than her son. It was a devastating understanding.
Isabella had wept at the first sight of her son in two years and had tried to embrace him. But Edward had run from her and even now, five days later, would not warm to her. He rode with Stephen as company, astride the big blond charger that Tate had given him for his fourteenth birthday and morose in his thoughts. He was not much company. Stephen and Tatesimply left him alone, knowing he would come to terms with his mother’s presence soon enough.
The snows had fallen heavy along the Marches this year. As the army plowed their way northwest through Gloucestershire, the snow became heavier and Edward felt his determination to stay away from his mother wavering. He missed her, in spite of everything that had happened. He just wished she loved him more than Mortimer. As he struggled to get up the nerve to speak with her, a messenger was sighted to the north. Distracted, he followed Stephen as the man spurred his charger out of formation to intercept the rider.
The man was a spy that had been sent out on many missions for de Lara. He was older, wily, and knew well his craft. He was also freezing, his horse thrashed, and he came to an unsteady halt as Stephen and Edward raced upon him. Stephen threw up the visor on his helm to gain a better look at the man. Snow flew off the visor when it snapped open.
“Well?” he demanded. “What do you have to report?”
The man wiped at his running nose, red with the cold. “Liam de Lara’s men are just south of Croft Castle, m’lord,” he said. “He has them hiding out in the woods, but it is difficult to hide so many. He awaits orders from his brother.”
“How many would you estimate he has with him?”
“Several thousand.”
Stephen’s eyebrows lifted in response. “What about Lancaster?”
“He is encamped to the north by several miles. He has two thousand men with him.”
Stephen absorbed the information. “How many men would you estimate are prepared to march on Wigmore?”
The spy’s gaze moved out over the distant de Lara army before coming to rest on Stephen again. “With what you arebringing, there should be at least ten thousand. It is a mighty army, m’lord. You could raze Wigmore in a night.”
Stephen nodded slowly, digesting everything he had been told. “Get some food,” he finally told the man. “I will inform Lord Tate of the situation. Be prepared to answer more questions if he has any.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Stephen and Edward raced off in Tate’s direction, skirting the massive army and coming upon Tate about a half mile down the road. He was at the front of the column, riding alone as he so often did these days. Stephen and Edward charged upon him, flanking him on either side as he rode.
“My lord,” Stephen reported smartly. “Our spies have returned from the vicinity of Wigmore. The aid you requested is already positioned and awaiting your command. Including the army we bring with us, it is estimated that ten thousand men await your orders.”
Tate nodded faintly, not at all impressed with the numbers. He could have more if needed. But he was nonetheless pleased with the show of support.
“Send missives to the commanders of my allies,” he instructed. “I will camp tonight to the east of Leominster. I will meet with my allies there.”
Stephen nodded sharply, racing off to fulfill the command. But Edward remained, riding silently beside Tate as they moved through the snowy, slushy ground. After several minutes of silence, Tate finally turned to Edward.
“Did you have something more to say about all of this?” he asked quietly.
