Dear God, he had.
Now, they were nearing Llanllyr and the mist around him was as cold and genuine as the fear that clutched his heart. The three knights shadowing him were of the highest order, elite knights that had evolved from his father’s personal guard, known as the Guard of Six. Edward also had his own personal guard, including the man at his side. He was a very big man, grandson of a knight who had served Edward’s grandfather. He was a warrior from a long line of warriors and Edward relied onboth the service and the advice of Rory de Lara who, even now, had his big arm in front of Edward, preventing him from moving forward, as another man in their group suddenly ran ahead to Llanllyr now that it had come into view.
“Nay, Sire,” Rory said quietly. “Wait. Let Henry ensure your way inside is secure.”
Now that he was in sight of the nunnery, Edward was having a difficult time controlling his urge to run to the door. He knew that de Lara was only doing his duty, to keep the king safe, but there was a woman in that nunnery that Edward desperately wanted to see. And hold.
Impatiently, he waited.
It seemed like hours. Dawn was approaching and the moisture in the air was heavy. His clothing, his shoes, were wet from it and his breath hung in misty clouds every time he exhaled. De Lara had long since dropped his arm, confident the monarch wouldn’t go charging across the road and straight into the nunnery before the path was officially cleared by Henry de Nerra, another legacy knight whose family had served the crown for centuries. Edward leaned against a tree, watching the nunnery door, waiting for some movement. Anything that would indicate Dera would be the next thing he saw.
Finally, there was a sign.
De Nerra emerged from the side of the nunnery, but not the entrance he went into. He came around the side of the building, through the graveyard, and he was bearing a torch against the darkness as he headed in their direction. De Lara, and the forth member of their party, a knight by the name of Ansel de Titouan, began to move towards him. Edward naturally followed and, in fact, ended up leading the pack as they met de Nerra on the road that was between them and the nunnery.
“Well?” Edward demanded, his words forming as fog in the icy air. “Will you take me to her?”
De Nerra was a big man with a handsome face and dark blond hair. But that face seemed tense and de Lara immediately sensed that something was off.
“What is it, Ansel?” he asked quietly. “You know something.”
De Nerra nodded, glancing at Rory, but his focus quickly returned to Edward. “Sire, there is no gentle way to tell you, so I will be quick about it,” he said. “The lady you seek—Lady Dera—perished in childbirth after the missive you received was sent.”
De Lara and de Titouan immediately looked at Edward for the man’s reaction, but all they could see was an older man who had become accustomed to grief in his life. Too much grief. He accepted the news with composure, but still, he seemed to slump a little. The light went out of his eyes as he accepted the will of God.
“God help me,” he muttered. “And the child?”
“Alive, Sire,” he said. “A fine son.”
That somehow seemed to upset Edward further. He visibly flinched as if struck by an unseen hand. “I see,” he finally said. “A lad. A lad from my beautiful lady. Did she see him?”
“I do not know, Sire.”
“Will you take me to the child, then?”
De Nerra nodded, motioning for them to follow. They went around the side of the nunnery, through the wet graveyard, through the trees, and finally in through a side entrance. Once they arrived, there were several nuns waiting for them, hovering by the door as if preparing to defend it with their lives. There was uncertainty in the air as four tall men closed in on them.
De Nerra indicated Edward.
“Your king,” he told the women in a quiet voice. “He wishes to see the child.”
The women hissed at one another, shaking their heads, pointing, pushing, until one nun stepped forward. She fixed onEdward, who was dressed in a heavy cloak with a hood covering his head, and scrutinized him.
“Show thyself, Edward,” she finally said, her voice low and raspy, like pebbles wrapped in silk. “Let me see that it is thou, for certain.”
Edward didn’t hesitate. He removed his hood, his faded blond hair revealed in the torchlight. His dark eyes glittered at the old woman.
“Mother Therese,” he greeted. “Only you can give me such a command.”
The old nun eyed him a moment before snorting softly. “Thou are in need of much discipline and commands from those who know better than thee,” she said. “For truth, we should not be having this conversation.”
The warmth in Edward’s eyes faded. “I know,” he said, sounding sad and defeated. “But you know I loved her. I do not regret that.”
“I did not think so.”
It was a rebuke, but it was also a statement of fact. Edward took no offense to either, but he did want to know one thing.
“What happened to her?” he asked.
