Lord de Lara eyed the woman, studying her exquisite profile. She was an exceptionally beautiful woman with a kind manner and warm sense of humor. They had spent some time together intermittently over the past two weeks, and more time together since the departure of Gart Forbes. Lord de Lara knew the story– that the lady was fleeing from her brutal husband who was, in fact, having an affair with Queen Isabella. He felt deeply sorry for the woman, more now that he was coming to know her and her spirited children. Even though he had a long-standing hatred of the king, he still felt strongly compelled to protect them all.
“Your gratitude is sufficient, my lady,” he assured her. “I do not consider that you owe me a debt. Your company, and the company of your children, is payment enough. I live a lonely life so the advent of guests is welcome. I will miss all of you when you leave.”
She turned to look at him, smiling. “We may be here for quite some time,” she teased gently. “You may be quite eager to be rid of us by the time Gart returns.”
Lord de Lara snorted softly, shaking his head. “I may beg him to let you stay.”
Emberley maintained her smile at the old man, her gaze moving to her children once again when Brendt slipped in the mud and let out a yell. She sighed as she watched the boy try to pick himself up from the slime.
“Gart has been gone for quite some time,” she said pensively. “I hope he has not run into trouble.”
Even as she said it, she thought on the irony of that statement and felt foolish for voicing her thoughts. The trouble that Gart was facing was monumental and she hung her head a moment, fighting off the depression and loneliness that she felt. Every day since he had been gone had been a struggle for her. She woke in an empty bed, thinking of Gart’s warm and powerful body next to hers, missing him more than she could express. She’d never experienced such a thing in her life and was unsure how to gracefully deal with it. Every day without him was like torture.
Emberley forced herself to face the days without him, focused on her children, focused on Gart’s return. He had only been gone four days when she began looking for his return, perched in her bower with a view of the southern road that he had taken to London and watching the dusty path day after long day. Sometimes people were traveling upon it and she would wait with bated breath, watching the ant-like figures in the distance as they passed by Trelystan. Always, they passed the castle by, and her depression deepened when she realized another day would pass without him.
As her mind was swamped with thoughts of Gart, Lord de Lara watched her rippling expressions. He was a man unused to womenfolk, as his own wife had died when his sons had beenvery small, so it was difficult for him to know how to comfort Lady de Moyon during this difficult time. Still, he tried.
“Have faith, my lady,” he told her. “I am sure Forbes will return soon.”
Emberley glanced at him, a small but grateful smile on her face. Over to their right, the boys were hacking away at each other and all of them had managed to slip down into the mud. Emberley looked at her children, knowing she was going to have a messy group of children to clean up. Even the baby was muddy as she played with Brendt’s little, wooden shield, stolen from her brother as he had wallowed on the ground.
Puffing out her cheeks with a heavy sigh, she headed off towards her children with the intention of pulling them out of the mud and back into the keep where she could clean the muck off of them. Although dust, dirt and all things slovenly were a natural part of life and most people didn’t worry about the degree of their cleanliness, Emberley didn’t like for her children to be dirty. She didn’t think it was particularly healthy for them to wallow in dirt like the animals and she had an odd preoccupation with keeping them clean. Like Gart, she wasn’t fond of dirty clothing. So she hauled Brendt out of the mud by an arm, listening to him whine when he realized his mother was about to scald him with another bath.
She captured Lacy as well, lifting the little girl onto her hip as she called to Romney and Orin, telling them to follow her into the keep. The older boys complied somewhat but Lord de Lara was still standing there, still a target, and they raced at them with their swords to smack him. De Lara accused them of being vicious and powerful men and begged for mercy, which puffed the boys up with arrogance. Emberley, fighting off a grin, simply shook her head. In her opinion, which she would never voice, Lord de Lara was begging for trouble. Like Gart, he loved it.
As she corralled her errant children, both Emberley and Lord de Lara were oblivious to the group of riders approaching Trelystan’s massive gatehouse. They were too busy trying to capture Romney and Orin as the boys ran about like wild animals. Neither boy wanted to go inside the keep and would have kept running had their mother not brought Gart’s name into the mix. That seemed to get their attention. As Emberley finally collared the boys with the all-powerful Gart threat, the riders heading in from the southern road reached Trelystan’s gatehouse and were admitted.
Emberley had Brendt and Lacy while Romney and Orin followed begrudgingly, crossing the muddy bailey as they headed to the keep. The party of riders that had just entered from the southern road, now a cluster of men and horses in the gatehouse, were required to leave their weapons with the guards and the two groups passed within several feet of each other. Emberley wasn’t paying attention to the gatehouse and the men removing their weapons weren’t paying particular attention to the activity in the bailey. All was normal and relatively peaceful. That is, until one of the riders in the gatehouse looked up and shouted.
“Lady de Moyon!”
Emberley froze at the base of the stairs that led into the keep, turning to see who had called her name. There was a cluster of men in the dark-stoned gatehouse, men bearing tunics and weapons. Her gaze fell upon a man who served her husband, a sergeant named Donnell, and she felt a jolt of shock when their eyes met. Terror welled in her throat and she could only think of one thing at that moment, an instinctive reaction that fed her sense of horror.
“Run,” she told the boys. “Run to your chamber. Hurry! Run!”
Thankfully, Romney and Orin didn’t ask questions. They had no idea what had their mother so spooked and were afraid by the tone of her voice. Emberley began to run up the stairs, urging them along with her, and the five of them raced up the slippery stone steps as fast as they could go. Into the dark keep they ran, Emberley’s pleading whispers urging them up the stairs.
Bootfalls were suddenly behind them and Emberley shrieked when a big leather glove grabbed her. At a disadvantage with Lacy in her arms, she tried to pull away but she slipped on the steps, dumping the baby onto a stair.
Lacy fell harmlessly on her bum, screaming, as Orin reached down and grabbed his sister to keep her from falling further. Romney rushed to the aid of his mother, whacking the man who had her with his wooden sword. It was chaotic, with men shouting and children screaming. In the midst of the madness, Emberley’s beseeching gaze sought out Orin and Brendt.
“Take your sister,” she cried as she struggled against Donnell pulling her down the stairs. “Take her to your chamber and bolt the door. Go!”
Orin wanted to help his brother fight off the soldiers but Brendt couldn’t manage their baby sister on his own, so he helped Brendt lug Lacy up the stairs, pulling her away from their mother and Romney as their mother urged them to move faster. Brendt was crying but did as he was told, trying not to fall down the stairs as he pulled Lacy to the upper floors.
It was a painful and frightening scene, made even more painful and frightening when Lord de Lara and several of his soldiers rushed into the keep, armed to the teeth, and began fighting off the men who had captured Lady de Moyon.
Romney was fighting furiously with his wooden sword, banging the man who held his mother. He recognized the man as a soldier who worked for his father, which terrified him. Hethought his father was here since his men were and he was angry as well as frightened.
Donnell eventually grew weary of having a wooden sword smacking him around, infuriated when it poked him in the cheek and drew blood. Sweeping his free arm, he caught Romney on the side of the head and knocked the child down six steps. Romney ended up in a heap at the bottom of the staircase.
The skirmish for the lady was quickly turning deadly as the battle intensified. One of de Lara’s men was gored in the gut and the man fell to the stone, bleeding heavily. Eager to put an end to the skirmish, Donnell unsheathed a dagger he had hidden in his gauntlet, yanked hard on Lady de Moyon, and ended up with the lady trapped against his chest. The dirk went up against her neck.
“Cease!” he roared. “Cease resistance or she dies!”
Lord de Lara and his men came to a halt, their eyes falling on the soldier who had Lady de Moyon in a very precarious position. Furious at his keep having been breached and his hospitality violated, Lord de Lara dropped his broadsword and approached the soldier.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “How dare you despoil the welcome of Trelystan. You will release the lady immediately.”
