Honor in the Dust (2 page)

“Nothing special, but likely better than some of the meals you've had.”

“You're right about that. Soldier's fare is pretty rough stuff.”

Passing on, Claiborn felt a lightness in his spirit. There was something about coming home that did something inside a man. He thought of the many campfires he had huddled next to in the fields, sometimes in drizzling rain and sometimes bitter-cold weather, dreaming of the smells and the sounds of Stoney-brook, wishing he were back. And now, at last, he was.

He turned to see his brother, emerging from the central door. “Edmund!”

He hurried forward to meet Edmund and said, “It's good to see you, Brother.”

“And you,” Edmund said, holding him at arm's length to get a good look. “No wounds this round?”

“Nothing that hasn't healed,” Claiborn returned.

“Good, good. Mother will be so relieved.”

The two turned to walk together down a passageway that
would lead to their mother's apartments. Claiborn restrained his pace, accommodating his smaller, older brother's shorter stride. “All is well here, Brother? You are well?”

“Never better. There is much to tell you. But it can wait until we sup.”

A servant had just departed, after breathlessly telling Leah that her son had returned. Lady Winslow wished she had a moment to run a brush through her gray hair, but she could already hear her sons making their way down the corridor. She rose, straightening her skirts. How many nights had she prayed for Claiborn's return, feared for his very life! And here he was at last.

The two paused at her door. Leah's hand went to her breast as she surveyed her sons. Claiborn's rich auburn hair with just a trace of gold; Edmund's dull brown. Claiborn's broad forehead, sparkling blue eyes, high cheekbones, determined chin, generous lips that so easily curved into a smile. Here, here was the true Lord Winslow, a far more striking figure than his sallow, flabby brother. Her eyes flitted guiltily toward her eldest, wondering if he read her traitorous thoughts.

But Claiborn was already moving forward, arms out, and she rushed to him. He lifted her and twirled around, making her giggle and then flush with embarrassment. “Claiborn, Claiborn!”

He laughed, the sound warm and affectionate, and then gently set her on her feet. “You are still lovely, Mother.”

“You are kind to an old woman,” she said. She reached up and cradled his cheek. “The wars … You return to us unhurt?”

“Only aching for home,” he returned.

He took the horsehide-covered seat she offered and Edmund took another. A servant arrived with refreshments and quickly poured.

“Are you hungry, Son?”

“Starved, but this will tide me over until we sup.”

“Well, tell us about the wars,” Edmund said.

“Like all wars—bloody and uncomfortable. I lost some good friends. God be praised, I came through all right.”

Edmund let out a scoffing sound. “Don't tell me you've turned religious!”

“Religious enough to seek my Maker when facing death.”

Edmund laughed. Leah frowned. He had a high-pitched laugh that sounded like the whinnying of a horse.

“Not very religious when you were growing up. I had to thrash you for chasing the maids.”

Claiborn reddened and guiltily glanced at Leah. “I suppose I troubled you greatly.”

“You were young,” Leah put in. “Now you are a man.”

“She forgets just how troublesome you were,” Edmund said.

“You might have been the same had you faced manhood and the loss of your father in the same year. You were fortunate, Edmund, to be a man full grown before you became Lord Winslow.”

Edmund pursed his narrow lips and considered her words. “Yes. I suppose there is a certain wisdom in that, Mother. A thousand apologies, Claiborn,” he said, with no true apology in his tone.

“None offense taken. So tell me, what's the feeling here about the king?”

“Most are for Henry. He's a strong man—but it troubles all that he seems to have a ghost haunting him.”

“A real ghost?”

“No, but it might be better if it were,” Edmund said with a grin. “Henry Tudor defeated Richard III at Bosworth, and he claimed the crown. But he's always thinking that someone with a better claim to the crown will lead a rebellion and cut his head off.”

“Do you think that could happen?”

“No. Henry's too clever to let that happen.”

Leah fidgeted in her seat, wondering when Edmund would
tell his brother what he must be told. Would it be up to her? She kept silent for ten long minutes as the men continued to speak of Henry VII and his various campaigns. When they were silent, she blurted, “Has Edmund told you of his plans?”

Edmund shot her a quick, narrowed glance but then turned to engage his brother again.

“Plans?” Claiborn's bright blue eyes lit up. “What is it?”

“I'm to be married,” he said, uncrossing his legs and crossing them again, studiedly casual.

“Well, I assumed you were already long married. Alice Williams is your intended bride, I suppose.”

Edmund's face darkened. He took two quick swallows from his cup and then shook his head. “No,” he said in a thin tone. “That didn't come to fruition. She married Sir Giles Mackson.”

“Why, he's an old man!”

“I expect that's why Alice married him. She expects to wear him out, then she'll be in control of everything.”

“I didn't think Alice was that kind of woman.”

“Come, now, most women are that kind of woman. Apart from our dear mother, of course.” He reached out a hand to Leah and she took it. He held it too tightly, as if warning her. “You truly haven't learned more of women as you've traveled?”

“Not of what you speak.” His eyes moved to his brother's hand, still holding their mother's. “Well, who is it, then? Who is the future Lady Winslow?”

Leah couldn't bear to watch her handsome son's face. She stared studiously at her lap, waiting for the words to come.

“Obviously, I've considered it for some time,” Edmund said, releasing their mother's hand, setting down his cup, and rising to stand behind her chair.

Claiborn frowned but forced a curious smile. Why was he hesitating? “Cease toying with me, Edmund. Who is she?”

“I have selected Grace Barclay.”

Claiborn's fingers grew white as he gripped his cup. With a
shaking hand he set it down before he crushed it. “Grace Barclay,” he whispered.

“Yes. She's comely enough, and I've come to a fine arrangement with her father. We shall obtain all the land that borders our own to the east. That'll be her dowry. We'll be able to put in new rye fields and carry more cattle. It'll add a quarter to the size of Stoneybrook. You know how hard I tried to buy that land from her father years ago. Well, he wouldn't sell—never would, I thought, but when he mentioned the match, I thought, well, why not? It's time I married and produced an heir for all of this. I'll show you around the property tomorrow.”

Claiborn said nothing further. He felt frozen in place. Edmund prattled on about the new land that would soon be added, how it would benefit them all, and finally turned to the door and said, “Come along, you two. They ought to have something to eat on the table by now. You can tell us about the wars in more detail, Claiborn, now that you know all that's new here.”

“Edmund, may I have a word with your brother?” Leah said quietly.

Edmund stared, as if he had forgotten she was there. After a moment's hesitation, he said, “Certainly, Mother. I shall see you both in the dining hall.” Then, straightening his doublet, he exited the room.

Claiborn struggled to speak. At last he asked, “When will the marriage take place?”

“The date has not been set, but it will be soon.” Leah turned warm eyes on her son. She reached out to touch his arm, but he flinched. She had stood idly by! Watched this transgression unfold! “Claiborn, it is a business arrangement. Nothing more.”

“But she was mine. He knew I courted her.”

“And then you left her. She has been of marriageable age for some time now. For all we knew, you could have already died on
foreign soil. Like it or not, life continues for those of us left behind. Grace needed a husband; Edmund needed a wife. It was a natural choice.”

Claiborn rose. “What of love? What of passion? Grace and I shared those things.”

“Years ago, you shared those things. Now you must forget them. Your brother, Lord Winslow, has chosen.”

“Chosen
my
intended!” Claiborn thundered, rising.

“You did not make your intentions clear,” Leah said quietly, pain in every word.

“I could not leave Grace with a promise to marry. It was a promise I could not be sure I could keep. Too many die on the battlefield …” He turned away to the window, running a hand through his hair, anguished at the thought of never holding Grace in his arms, never declaring his love, enduring the sight of
her
, with
him
. His brother. His betrayer.

His mother came up behind him, and this time he allowed her touch on his arm. Slowly, quietly, she leaned her temple against his shoulder, simply standing beside him for a time in solidarity. “I'm sorry, Son. But you are too late. You cannot stop what is to come, only make your peace with it. It will be well in time. But you must stand aside.”

Claiborn went through the motions of the returned soldier through the rest of the evening. He was not a particularly good actor, and many of the servants noticed how quiet he was. Edmund did not, however, continuing to fill the silence with endless chatter.

After the meal was over, Claiborn said, “I think I'll go to bed. My journey was long today.”

“Yes, you'd better,” Edmund said, mopping the gravy from a trencher with a chunk of bread. “Tomorrow we'll look things over, find something for you to do while you are home. Will you return to the army?”

“I'm not quite sure, Edmund.”

“Bad business being a soldier! Out in the weather, always the danger of some Spaniard or Frenchman taking your head off. We'll find something for you around here. Time you got a profession. Maybe you'd make a lawyer or even go into the church.” He laughed then and said, “No, not the church. Too much mischief in you for that! Go along, then. Sleep well, and we'll discuss it further on the morrow.”

As Claiborn rode up to the property owned by John Barclay, he felt as if he were coming down with an illness. He had slept not at all but had paced the floor until his mother had sent a servant with a vessel of wine, which he downed quickly and soon afterward fell into a dream-laden sleep. As soon as the sun had come up, he had departed, only leaving word for Edmund that he had an errand to run.

Now, as he dismounted in front of the large house where Barclay lived with his family, a smiling servant came out.

“Greetings, sir. Shall I grain your horse?”

“No, just walk him until he cools.”

He walked up to the door, his eyes troubled and his lips in a tight line. He was shown in by a house servant, and five minutes later John Barclay, Grace's father, came in.

“Well, Claiborn, you're back. All safe and sound, I trust?”

“Yes, sir. Safe and sound.”

“How did the wars go? Here, let's have a little wine.”

Claiborn's head was splitting already from the hangover, but he took the mulled wine so that he might have something to do with his hands.

John Barclay was a small man, handsome in his youth, but now at the age of forty beginning to show his age poorly. He pumped Claiborn for news of the wars, passed along the gossips
of the court and of the neighborhood. Finally he got to what Claiborn had come to address.

“I assume your brother has told you that he and my girl Grace are to be married?”

“Yes, sir, he did.”

“Well, it's a good match,” he rushed on. “She's a good girl and your brother is a good man. Good blood on both sides! They'll be providing me with some fine grandchildren. A future.”

Claiborn did not know exactly how to proceed. He had hoped to find Grace alone, but Barclay did not mention her, so finally he said, “I wonder if I might see Miss Grace? Offer my future sister-in-law my thoughts on her impending nuptials?”

“Certainly! She's out in the garden. Let her welcome you home. She'll tell you all about the wedding plans, I'm sure.”

“Thank you, sir.” Claiborn knew where the garden was, for he had visited Grace more than once in this place. He turned the corner, and his first sight of her stopped him in his tracks. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. A tall woman with blond hair and well-shaped green eyes and a beautiful smile. He stood there looking at her, and finally she turned and saw him. She was holding a pair of shears in her hands. She dropped them and cried out, “Claiborn!”

Moving forward, Claiborn felt as if he were in a dream world. He came to stand in front of her and could not think of what to say. It was so different from how he had imagined seeing her for the first time after his long absence. How many times had he imagined taking her into his arms, turning her face up, kissing her and whispering his love, and her own whispered declarations …