“Dylan,” she snapped. “Alex, get out of the dirt this instant. Go on; get up.”
The boys began wailing because one of them had jabbed the other one in the eye with a dirty finger. The one who did the jabbing knew he was in trouble, hence the dual wailing. Toby sighed again and made her way down the steps, carefully; at seven months pregnant, she wasn’t moving very swiftly these days.
“Dylan,” she held out her hand to the whining child. “You are alright, sweetheart. Get up now.”
With a pouting face, much like his mother displayed when she was upset, Dylan took his mother’s hand. Alexander rose shortly thereafter and took his mother’s other hand. Toby walked the boys over to where Roman was jabbing at his hay dummy with Wallace and Catherine looking on.
Wallace was calling encouragement to Roman when Toby walked up with the twins. He eyed the youngest de Lara children sternly, but in truth, he loved them to death. They were incorrigible little hooligans already and he was taking great delight in their antics.
“Soon I will make them their own swords,” he told Toby. “I can already tell they will be excellent knights. Dragonblade will have many fine progeny.”
“Not too soon,” Toby let go of Dylan’s hand as he rushed to his eldest brother, clamoring to play with the toy sword. “They are already difficult to handle. I fear they will have us completely overwhelmed by the time they are five years old.”
“Then you will send them away to foster,” Wallace told her firmly. “Better the knights of Kenilworth or Alnwick to temper their wild streak than you.”
Toby frowned at him, rubbing at her aching back. “Why not me? I have done well enough with Roman.”
Wallace looked at the eldest de Lara child, now bombarded by both younger brothers as each wanted to play with the sword. “Ah, Roman,” he said in a satisfied tone. “He will be the greatest knight of all. He is already showing his father’s skill and intelligence.”
Raised voices caught Toby’s attention and she turned in time to see the twins attempting to tackle Roman and steal his sword. But Roman was cunning like his father and took off running. She watched as the boys ran a circle around Forestburn’s newbailey; Tate had kept good on his promise and set to rebuilding Forestburn from a fortified manor into a castle. The burned-out shell of the manor was now the great hall and a new stone keep had been built to the east of it. Thegarçonnaireand outbuildings were now incorporated into the massive structure, including a newly built chapel that, as of six months ago, contained the crypts of Balin, Judith and Ailsa. And with that, Toby was finally at peace. Forestburn was once again a prosperous place and she had her entire family with her.
Except for the fact that Tate had been gone these long four months. She thought of him for the hundredth time that day as she watched her sons wrestle for the toy sword. She missed her husband so much that her heart hurt and she waited with every sunrise and sunset for news of his return. She knew that he had survived Mortimer’s capture but she had not heard anything from him in three weeks. It was three weeks of torture, waiting and wondering. Every night she slept with one of his tunics, unwashed, smelling of his scent. She would lay there and breathe its strength, praying that he would return to her whole.
Catherine eventually grew tired of sitting with Wallace and went to her mother, who picked her up and kissed her. Toby brushed the stray hair from her daughter’s eyes, remembering the little sister she raised so long ago and wishing Ailsa was here to see the children. Dylan and Alexander reminded Toby a good deal of her baby sister; aggressive and bright and inquisitive. She had to grin when she thought of her sister arguing with her young nephews. She had a feeling it was one argument Ailsa would not win.
Lost in thought, she did not hear the guards lift the creaking portcullis, nor did she hear the horses crossing the new drawbridge over the newly-dug moat. Her back was to the gatehouse. Only when her sons began shouting and Roman tookoff running did she turn around to see what had them all so excited.
Knights bearing the blue and silver dragon pennant of the Earl of Carlisle were beginning to fill the bailey. Men on foot were spilling in, congregating near the entry. Wallace was already on his feet, calling for the boys who were now in danger of getting trampled by the war horses. But he was not fast enough; three of the knights that were intermingled in the crowd suddenly dismounted, each going for an errant boy.
The Earl of Carlisle was the first one off his horse. The last time Tate had been home, the twins had not been walking. Now they were running. He tossed off his helm with a laugh of delight as Alexander ran within arm’s length. He grabbed the boy, swinging him up in the air and kissing his little face furiously. Alexander screamed as if he were being stabbed.
It made Tate laugh all the more. He was thrilled to hear his children yell. Stephen, by this time, had Dylan and was holding the boy upside-down. Dylan was screaming, but mostly in delight. Kenneth was fortunate and had the calm child; his big hand was on Roman’s head as he and the boy made their way over to Tate.
“My God,” Tate gasped as he set Alexander to his feet. “I cannot believe the babies are walking. I feel as if I have been gone one hundred years.”
“As do I.” Toby was smiling broadly as she came upon her husband and children, her face rosy with joy as she drank in his handsome face. She looked to the faithful men at her husband’s side; she was glad to see that they were alive and well, too. She embraced Kenneth, the closest one to her. “Kenneth, welcome home. You also, Stephen.”
Kenneth nodded his thanks as Stephen smiled his. Tate’s gaze softened as it fell upon his wife; everything around him ceased to exist for a moment as he beheld the woman that heloved. Although he had at least three more children clamoring for his attention, he gently pushed through them and went straight for Toby. Taking her in his arms, he hugged her, and Catherine, tightly.
Toby held on to him fiercely, struggling not to cry in front of her children. But her joy was on the surface. It was difficult to hold back. Tate kissed her cheeks, her lips, before pulling back to look at her.
“You are more beautiful than I remembered,” he murmured, kissing her again. Then he turned to his daughter and kissed her sweetly on the cheek. “My God, you are a lovely creature, Cate. Look how beautiful you have grown.”
Catherine grinned and chewed her fingers. With a hand still on his wife, Tate finally turned to Roman, who was standing patiently beside his father.
“Roman, you have been growing behind my back,” he said seriously. “If your mother does not stop feeding you, you will be taller than me by next week.”
Roman grinned and fell into his father’s embrace; Tate picked him up, cherishing the feel of his first born in his arms. He could not have been happier. But next to him, Dylan was still screaming in Stephen’s arms and Tate looked at the red, upside-down face.
“Greetings, Dylan,” he said.
Stephen grinned and then set the boy to his feet, at which time Dylan punched Stephen in the armored shin and ended up smacking his hand. He began to wail as the knights laughed. Tate put Roman down and picked up his injured son, rubbing his little hand.
“Well,” he said casually, “I will commend him for his bravery. It is not every child who would take on a man four times his height.”
“He will be a fearsome warrior,” Wallace announced.
“He will be just like his mother,” Kenneth put in drolly.
