Archangel (52 page)

He couldn’t finish, sobbing, and Gart picked him up and stepped in to the room to view the carnage. He held the weeping boy tightly against him, trembling with horror as his gaze moved over the chamber. There were bodies everywhere.

“Oh, my dear God,” Gart breathed.

Father Jonas lay on the ground with a bloodied head wound, his brains spilling out onto the wooden floor.  Gart’s gaze searched frantically for Emberley, spying her over in the corner with Julian lying across her legs.  There was blood all over the two of them.

With a strangled cry, Gart set Romney down and raced to Emberley. She was sitting up, holding her head, weeping uncontrollably. Gart didn’t even bother to look at Julian – he shoved he man off her legs and swooped in to pick her up.

“Kitten,” he breathed. “Where are you injured?”

Emberley was weeping heavily. She threw her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. She was hysterical and battered, but she was alive. Gart’s warmth in her arms confirmed that. Nothing in her life had ever felt so wonderful as holding Gart at that very moment. It was relief beyond description.

“I am not injured,” she gasped, her face pressed into the crook of his neck. “He tried but he did not hurt me. But Romney… Romney killed him!”

A look of shock, then disbelief, washed over Gart’s face as he pulled back to look her in the face as if attempting to determine the validity of her statement. He simply couldn’t believe it.  Still holding Emberley, his gaze sought out Romney. The boy was standing a few feet away, still rubbing his eyes and weeping. Gart held out a hand to the boy.

“Rom,” he said softly. “Come here, lad. Come here and tell me what happened.”

Romney went to Gart, falling against the man as he wept. Gart sat on his knees, Emberley in one arm and Romney in the other.  Knowing they were both relatively unharmed, he was able to push aside his own terror to comfort them both.

“Calm down, lad,” he rubbed Romney’s back gently. “Tell me what happened.”

Romney sniffled, wiping his face with his bloodied hands. “He… he tried to kill my mother,” he said. “I could not let him do it. He was going to hit her with the poker and I could not let him.  So… so I stabbed him. I had to stop him.”

Gart listened to the halting explanation, his heart aching for what the young man had to do but also feeling a great deal of pride and gratitude. He shifted, managing to get a look at Julian lying crumpled on his side. He could see the hilt of a dirk sticking out from his back and peering closer, he realized that he recognized the blade.

“Where did you get that dirk, Rom?” he asked, astonished.

Romney, his tears easing, pulled his face from Gart’s shoulder and looked at him. “It was upstairs. It was the one you were going to let me sharpen.  I stole it. I am sorry.”

Gart shook his head, kissing the boy’s temple. He sighed heavily in understanding, in relief. Even if Gart had not been able to save Emberley, still, he had been there in spirit in the palm of Romney’s hand. It was all so incredibly ironic and incredible appropriate. He still couldn’t believe it.

 “No need, lad,” he finally murmured. “You did me proud. It seems that you finally stole something worth stealing. You saved your mother when I could not.”

Romney didn’t seem so upset with Gart’s reassuring words. He looked at the knight, the man who had come to mean the world to him, and wiped the last of his tears from his face.

“I did not want to kill my father,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“I had to.”

“I understand.”

“You are not angry with me?”

Gart smiled at the boy, shaking his head. “You did what you had to do,” he said quietly. “I do not know many young lads who would have had the presence of mind to do what you did. I am very proud that you saved your mother’s life.”

Romney smiled timidly and Gart ruffled his blond head affectionately. Gart then turned to Emberley, who had her head against his shoulder, watching the interaction between Gart and Romney. Gart kissed her forehead.

“Are you sure you are well?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “I am,” she murmured. “My angel saved me.”

Gart turned his affectionate eye back to Romney. “He certainly did.”

Emberley put her hand on Gart’s chin, forcing him to look at her.  Her gaze was filled with adoration, with respect. She ran a gentle finger over his lips. Gart forgot about his terror as he met her gaze, feeling only the great love he felt for her.

“Nay,” she whispered. “I did not mean him. I meant Gabriel.”

Epilogue

Dunster Castle

June, 1210 A.D.

“Lady Forbes?” Kevin de Lara called down from the battlements. “I finally see them. They are approaching.”

Emberley gazed up at the knight, high on the walls of Dunster, shielding her eyes from the nooning sun.  It was a cool but bright day, a snappy breeze blowing in from the sea. She couldn’t help the smile from her face.

“Are you sure?” she called back.

Kevin nodded. “I can see the banners,” he told her. “Baron Buckland returns.”

Her grin broadened and she turned to the children around her.

“Lacy,” she called to her daughter. “Bring the children. Your brothers are home.”

Lacy de Moyon, now eight years of age and an exquisite blond beauty like her mother, squealed with delight. “Is Dada with them?”

Emberley nodded. “Of course, sweetheart,” she replied. “Did you think he would not return with them? He went to collect them from Lioncross Abbey, after all.”

Lacy shrugged. “Sometimes the earl makes him stay because he needs his war counsel.”

Emberley stroked her daughter’s soft hair. “Not this time,” she said softly. “He has returned to you, I promise. Now, please help me round up the children so we may greet the returning heroes properly.”

Lacy promptly hustled to capture her younger siblings.  Five year old Brydon was fairly easy to capture because he was more obedient than the rest, a calm and intelligent boy who resembled his father a great deal in both appearance and demeanor. He was a proud Forbes son.

The bigger problem were the twins, Elizabeth and Emmaline – at nearly three years of age, they were blond, bright, beautiful and extremely aggressive. They were very vocal about their wants and dislikes, and they greatly disliked being corralled by their older sister. Lacy held her baby sisters’ hands, attempting to pacify them as they cried.

Emberley watched the scene, bending over to soothe her unhappy daughters but stopping short of picking them up to comfort them. At nine months pregnant with a very large child, the physic had forbidden her from lifting anything, including her children, for fear that she would harm herself and the babe she carried.

So she bent over to whisper sweetly to her children, even as the great gates of Dunster began to open and emit the first members of the Buckland party.  As more riders entered and the bailey became loud and busy, she stood straight, rubbing furiously at her back to ease the strained muscles as she spied two of her three returning sons.

She waved happily at Brendt and Orin, now ten and twelve years respectively, who were heading straight for their mother astride the new warmblood geldings that their father had given them. 

Romney, now thirteen and six feet tall, came roaring in behind them aboard the new charger he had received for his last birthday.  It was a big animal the color of chalk and rumor had it that Romney loved the beast so much that he slept with it in its stall at Lioncross Abbey Castle. At least, that was the story that Gart had told her between giggles.

Emberley’s heart swelled with happiness as her three oldest children approached. Brendt jumped off his horse and ran to his mother, hugging her tightly. Orin was directly behind him, both boys hugging their mother and overwhelming her. Even though they were growing up now, older boys who were learning to be knights, they still were not beyond showing their mother affection. Emberley hugged them gleefully until a loud, deep voice interrupted their reunion.

“Gently, young men, gently,” Gart was pointing at them as rode up on his dancing charger. In full armor, he looked terrifying and imposing. “If you squash the woman, you will have me to deal with.”

The boys grinned while the younger children began to squeal and jump with excitement. Gart flipped up the visor on his helm, a smile on his face as he viewed his entire family, together for the first time in months. With the older boys off to foster with the Earl of Hereford, times like this were few and far between.  He relished the moment with great joy.

He dismounted his black and white destrier and handed him over to a groom. He hadn’t taken two steps when the little ones rushed at him, screaming his name.  He grunted as they ran into him, pretending to teeter off balance.

“Good Christ,” he grunted again as Brydon jumped up and latched on to him.  He picked the boy up, his first born son, and hugged the lad tightly. “Brydon, you have grown by a head since last I saw you. Are you ready to go and foster with your brothers?”

Brydon had his little arms wrapped around his father’s neck, grinning.

“I am ready, Dada,” he said confidently.

As Gart kissed the boy’s cheek again and set him to the ground, the twins were howling at his feet and he scooped them up, one little girl in each arm. Kissing rosy cheeks, he approached his wife and bent down, kissing her sweetly on the lips.

“Greetings, kitten,” he murmured, kissing her again. “How are you feeling?”

Emberley smiled at him, cupping his face between her two hands. “Very well,” she said, kissing him yet again because she was so glad to see him. “But I will admit that I am ready for this child to be born.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine. I am simply ready to be done with it.”

He nodded in sympathy, watching as Romney approached his mother. Emberley embraced young Baron Buckland, having inherited his title from his father and Dunster Castle along with it.  Romney had grown up tall and handsome, favoring his mother’s blond attractiveness tremendously.

At thirteen years of age, he was wise beyond his years and although he remembered his real father, he considered Gart the only father he had ever had. He and Gart were inordinately close and Gart could not have been prouder of the boy.  With Gart’s guidance and calm, fair manner, all three of Julian’s boys were growing into fine, strong young men.  To them, Julian was just a bad memory.

“Greetings, Mother,” Romney kissed his mother on the cheek. “It is good to be home.”

Emberley smiled. He was growing up, sounding so formal in greeting. “It is good to have you home again,” she said. “Lacy and the children have missed you.”

As if on queue, Brydon jumped on his older brother and Romney grunted as the child hit him in the gut. He picked the little boy up and swung him around in circles, listening to him giggle.  Then Brendt and Orin jumped in, tickling the little boy, and Brydon squealed with delight as his three older brothers gently teased him.