She smiled. “You mean it does not feel like a prickly patch? I must have cleaned it incorrectly.”
He grinned at her and carefully pulled the tunic out from underneath the pile. As he inspected the seams and wear of the tunic, Brendt and Orin rushed into the room and dove onto the bed. The neat pile of clean tunics scattered as the boys jumped about and Emberley screeched.
“Orin!” she grabbed the boy by the arm and pulled him off the bed. “Brendt, get down. Go play in your chamber.”
Brendt was gleefully bouncing on the scattered tunics until Gart grasped him around the waist and put him on the floor. Then he was unhappy and started swatting Romney with his wooden sword. Romney, upset because Gart would not take him along on his impending trip to London, grabbed his youngest brother by the collar.
“Stop hitting me,” he told him. “Come on– let us go somewhere else.”
“Where?” Orin wanted to know.
Romney was leading his brothers from the room, whispering to them as he went. Gart’s ears were peaked to their clandestine hisses even as he and Emberley straightened out the pile of mussed tunics. He turned to the boys as they neared the chamber door.
“I told you what would happen should you engage in robbery again,” he said pointedly, cocking an eyebrow at the three brothers when they paused in the doorway to look at him. “You have already tried to rob Lord Stephan, twice, in his own keep. One more infraction and I will blister your backsides. Is this in any way unclear?”
Romney sighed, extremely unhappy with the way the day was panning out. “We did not rob him.”
“Rom, I have warned you about lying.”
“I am not lying,” Romney insisted. “We were playing and accidentally poked him with our swords. We did not rob him.”
Gart wasn’t falling for it. “I suppose the fact that you tried to cut his purse from his belt was an accident, too,” he shook his head. “If you ever want to be a knight, you will cease this behavior. Knights are not thieves and they are not liars.”
Unhappy, confused and defiant, the three of them quit the chamber and crossed the hall to the chamber on the opposite side of the landing. It was their bedchamber and their playroom combined. Stephan de Lara, Viscount Trelystan and Lord de Lara, had gladly given the chamber to the four de Moyon children. It was the same chamber his two boys, Sean and Kevin, had occupied in their youth. The old man was thrilled to hear the laughter and clamor within the old walls of Trelystan Castle again, even when three of his young guests had tried to rob him.
Emberley and Gart could hear the boys playing in the other room, listening to battle cries and mysterious items crashing to the floor. Twice, they heard something fall as the boys wrestled and twice, Gart looked to Emberley to see if they should go check on them, but she merely shook her head and continued rolling tunics. He assumed that if she wasn’t worried, he shouldn’t be either. Besides, there was no screaming so all must be well. He was still getting used to having three lively boys around. He admired her calm and acquired patience.
They had arrived at the enormous border castle of Trelystan Castle four days prior after the harrowing five day flight from Dunster. They had arrived exhausted and hungry, and after Kevin explained the situation to his father, the old man was more than happy to provide Gart and Emberley safe haven. He hated the king, his queen, and everything about the throne so as Kevin predicted, he was quite happy to have the refugees. Their reasons for their arrival didn’t matter to him in the least. He seemed more than eager to have guests.
Gart began to see at the onset that Stephan was an old and lonely man, which partially accounted for the fact that the man was so happy to have visitors. He lived rather sparingly, with only a few servants in the keep, but a mountain of soldiers at the castle. Gart guessed around eight hundred and he was told there were just a little over nine hundred men. The other two castles, Caradoc and Hyssington, carried slightly more. In all, Viscount Trelystan had nearly three thousand men at his disposal, all along the Welsh border where things could be moody and volatile. It was an impressive show of power and Gart began to feel some safety at the sheer numbers. Not even Buckland carried that many men.
With their arrival at Trelystan, he now had time to breathe and think. Before he could get involved in too much reflection, however, Kevin reminded him that he was expected in London in about two weeks to lead de Lohr’s men into France. Gart found it fairly ironic that he was expected to support a man whose wife he had essentially stolen, but he didn’t linger on life’s little ironies. Buckland deserved worse.
Gart hadn’t said much to Emberley about the duties expected of him as one of de Lohr’s commanders, mostly because he didn’t want to upset her after such a strenuous trip from Dunster. He had spoken of his orders once before so he knew that she was aware of them, but she’d never said a word aboutit. Even so, he knew he could not delay too much longer before heading to London. He also knew he had to make things clear with her about what was to happen and the future of their life together.
When the subject eventually came up, he again mentioned his need to leave for London, casually, specifically designed so Emberley would not be overly worried about it. He only mentioned his need to speak with de Lohr face to face and naught much else. His plan to keep her calm had so far worked and Emberley had even offered to help him pack for his trip. They found themselves in the big chamber that they shared, packing up his clothing and other items to take with him on his trip. As the boys banged about in the other chamber, he tucked his padded tunic into his saddlebag and sat on the bed.
He watched Emberley as she carefully rolled his clean tunics, packing them into his saddlebags. She was so graceful and fluid in her movements that he simply liked to watch her. She was enchanting.
“I should take the remaining tunics,” he said softly. “I tend to change frequently.”
She didn’t look at him as she neatly packed in the garments. “I know,” she said. “I have never seen a man change his clothing so much.”
“I do not like to wear clothes that are too soiled.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Yet your padded tunic, the one you wear beneath your armor, has not been washed in ages until today. Why is that?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“I do.”
“I do not think you will like the answer.”
“Tell me.”
He sighed faintly, reaching out to take her hand. “Because…,” he paused, playing with her fingers. “Because it was the tunic I was wearing when Eric perished. It still had his blood on it.”
Emberley’s expression turned to one of horror. Her hands flew to her mouth and tears immediately began to pop out of her eyes. “And you let me wash it?” she was deeply upset. “Why did you not tell me? I would not have touched it.”
