War nodded wearily, removing his helm because of the low ceiling and wiping a hand over his brow. “Aye, I’ve returned safe,” he said. “How is my father?”
The physic’s pale gaze was intense. “I have spent the past month convincing him that you would return,” he said. “He feared another circumstance like the one at Etal. He was afraid you were laying in a field again, dying.”
War shook his head. “I do not have a scratch upon me,” he said. “And my father worries too much. What happened at Etal was unusual. It shall not happen again.”
“But you have suffered no ill effects?”
War frowned. “I am completely healed,” he said. “You told me that yourself. I feel fine.”
The physic nodded quickly, not wanting to upset the massive knight. “’Tis only that you lost a good deal of blood those months ago,” he said. “Sometimes it takes months or even years to recover from something like that. I have asked you the same question after every battle since.”
War scratched his neck irritably. “And I have told you every time that I feel quite well,” he said again. “But you’ve not told me how my father is, Fulke. How is he?”
The physic sighed faintly. “Not well, I am afraid.”
War stopped scratching. “Why do you say that?” he said, concerned. “What is wrong?”
Fulke wasn’t keen to deliver the news but he had little choice. “His condition has worsened, my lord,” he said quietly. “In fact, had you not returned home today, I was going to send you word that you must hurry home. I fear your father is not long for this world. I am very sorry.”
War stared at him a moment as if he didn’t understand his words. “What do you mean?” he said. “What has changed since I have been away?”
Fulke shrugged. “His breathing is more labored,” he said. “His heart struggles for every beat. He is weakening greatly. All I can tell you is that the signs are there that he will not survive much longer. We knew this day would come and, now, it is here.”
War gazed at him a moment longer before bolting past him, up the narrow stairs and to the master’s chamber on the top floor. He’d given his father the best chamber the day they’d settled in Bamburgh, a chamber with views on all sides.
He’d wanted his father to have the very best.
Bursting through the chamber door, he startled his father, who was semi-propped up with pillows. When War crashed through the door, the old man’s arms flailed in surprise.
“Christ, War,” he muttered. “If ever a father had a raging bull for a son, it is me.”
War glanced at the door; he’d nearly ripped it off the hinges. “Sorry, Papa,” he said. “I only just returned and Fulke said… how are you feeling?”
“I have a better question. Are you uninjured?”
War went to his father’s bedside, feeling anxious as he looked at the man. “I am,” he said. “But you… the physic says you are feeling worse.”
Edmund Herringthorpe, pale and tall and rail-thin, gazed at his eldest child. He had two other sons, both younger, both of them still in London and serving the king. Sterling and Callum Herringthorpe were excellent knights and he was very proud of them, but War… War was his pride and his joy.
He’d always had a soft spot for his gloriously talented heir.
“Sit,” Edmund said softly. “I want to look at you.”
He was patting the bed beside him and War grunted in frustration. He didn’t like that his father wasn’t elaborating on what Fulke had already said, but he dutifully dropped the saddlebags.
“If I sit, I will collapse the bed,” he muttered. “I weigh too much for that bed. Papa, tell me the truth. Are you feeling worse?”
Edmund took a deep breath, one of many he took every hour because his heart and lungs were not working properly these days. “Mayhap I am,” he said after a moment. “This is not an easy thing for me to admit.”
War studied him a moment, dreading his next question. “How bad?”
“Bad enough, lad.”
“The physic said that you were not long for this world.”
A glimmer came to Edmund’s eyes. “If that is true, then it is a blessing,” he said. “Your dear mother has been waiting for me all these years. I have missed her, War.”
“I know.”
