The Thunder Lord: The de Shera Brotherhood Book One (Lords of Thunder: The de Shera Brotherhood 1) (20 page)

“As I am anxious to come to know him.”

She chuckled softly. “With you ill in one bed and him ill in another, I am not sure how that will happen.”

He grinned, looking up at the ceiling. “Mayhap if I shout loud enough, we can have very loud conversations through the floor.”

Jeniver shook her head, a smile on her lips. “And disrupt the entire keep?” she scolded, but it was without force. “I forbid it. Now, you will go to sleep or I will leave this room.”

Obediently, Gallus shut his eyes. Jeniver sat there, watching him twitch and grunt, trying to get comfortable, before eventually settling down and drifting off into a heavy sleep. Unable to breathe adequately through his nose, he snored loudly enough to lift the roof. Jeniver found the noise comforting.

All was well in the world again.

Gallus knew he shouldn’t be out of bed.

One week after his collapse at the gate of Rhydilian, Gallus felt better than he had in weeks. His fever was gone but he was still coughing, enough that it kept him up at night, but it didn’t matter. He was feeling better by the day and would soon be returning to England with his wife.

But he had a mission to accomplish before departing Rhydilian, something that Jeniver had deliberately kept him from completing. She was worried for his health and did not want him to exert himself, so much so that she had taken to spending nearly all of her time with him to keep him in bed. But her pregnancy was exhausting her and now, unable to remain awake and keep vigil with her husband, she was sleeping quite soundly, soundly enough that Gallus was able to rise from bed without disturbing her. Pulling on his breeches and the tunic is wife had cleaned for him, he felt quite devious as he silently left his wife sleeping. Once out in the darkened corridor, he made his way to the upper floor of Rhydilian’s keep.

The stairwells were narrow and spiral, built with dark, grayish-blue Welsh stone that was so common to the area. The entire keep was built out of the sturdy stone and as he made his way to the top of the keep, he noted that there were very small windows on this level, hardly enough to let in light or air. He didn’t like this level much. Looking around, he noted two chambers, both of them with closed doors. Logically deducing the room that was directly over his chamber, the one that Jeniver had told him her father was in, he went to that door.

It was a heavy, squat, oak door and he quietly opened it. The doorway itself wasn’t tall enough for him to move through without ducking his head, so he leaned over and peered into the chamber cautiously. The chamber was actually quite warm as a fire snapped in the hearth, large for the size of the room. It was a small chamber, with a bed and a table and chair taking up most of it, and smelled of smoke and unwashed bodies. Clothing was piled in a cabinet against the wall and even more clothing was hanging on pegs near the door. As Gallus’ eyes adjusted to the dim light, he caught movement near the bed.

The old surgeon, Dwyn, was feeding Gaerwen as the man sat up in bed, leaning heavily against the wall behind him for support. Gallus took a good look at Gaerwen. He seemed quite pale and his hair was entirely gray. Only weeks before, when Gallus had first seen the man, he was sporting a hair of dark curls. Now, the curls were gone, replaced by gray tendrils all around his head. He didn’t look at all like the man Gallus had seen those weeks ago. He looked like a shell of his former self. When Gaerwen happened to look over at the door after slurping up whatever Dwyn was feeding him, a light of recognition ignited in the weary eyes as his gaze beheld Gallus.

“I know you,” Gaerwen said after a moment. He sounded weak and puny. “I saw you once, in a nightmare.”

Gallus smiled faintly as he opened the door wider and emerged into the room. “It was indeed a nightmare, my lord,” he said. “But that nightmare has fortunately ended. I have come to see how you are faring.”

Gaerwen’s smile grew. “I am alive thanks to you,” he said. “Forgive me for not rising from bed to greet you. I do not walk these days.”

Gallus waved him off as he came to the edge of the bed. “It is I who must ask forgiveness for coming uninvited into your chamber,” he said. “But I had to come. My last memory of you is of you bleeding all over my floor. I had to see for myself that you did indeed survive.”

Gaerwen studied Gallus, acquainting himself with a man he only had fleeting memories of. His daughter’s husband was bigger, and more imposing, than he had remembered. But one thing he remembered quite clearly was how the man swung a sword on that day when the outlaws had attacked. There was none finer that Gaerwen had ever seen, Welsh or English.

“I am glad you came,” Gaerwen said. “But I understand you have been very ill. Are you feeling better?”

Gallus nodded. “Much better,” he said. Then, he rubbed at his neck, turning to glance warily at the open chamber door. “However, if your daughter finds me here, that may not last too long. She will be quite unhappy with me.”

Gaerwen laughed softly. “Then hurry and sit,” he said. “Let us become acquainted before the harpy comes and takes you away.”

Gallus chuckled and took the seat that the surgeon vacated. He watched the old man collect his bowls and utensils and quietly leave the room. Gallus threw a thumb in the old surgeon’s direction.

“He will not run downstairs and tell my wife that I have escaped, will he?” he asked.

Gaerwen shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “He is loyal, at least until my daughter grows angry with him. As I said, our time may be short, so let us speak on important things quickly. I would like to thank you for marrying my daughter. You realize that when I made that request of you, I was quite sure that I was dying. I wanted her to be taken care of. You not only kept your word but you have made her happy for the most part. I can never express my gratitude adequately enough.”

Gallus’ smile faded somewhat. “Surely she told you that I left for London without bidding her farewell,” he said. “It was wrong of me. I had business to attend there and used it as an excuse to… well, I suppose that does not mean anything to you. Suffice it to say that I shall never behave so poorly again. I came to Rhydilian to seek her forgiveness and she has given it. I hope that you will forgive me, too.”

Gaerwen listened intently. “In truth, she only told me the entire story a day or two ago,” he said. “Before that time, she never said a word about it, not once. For all I knew, she had brought me back to Wales with your permission and all was well in the world.”

Gallus nodded sadly, understanding and respecting the fact that Jeniver hadn’t cried her sorrows out over her father. Either she hadn’t wanted to burden her father or she simply wanted to deal with her trouble in her own way. In either case, it made him feel all the more guilty for what he’d done, knowing she’s suffered in silence. But he saw no need to linger on it. Things were well between them now and that was all he cared about.

“All is well now,” he said, shifting the subject somewhat. “I must say that I was quite surprised to hear that you had survived your wounds. I was so positive you were going to die that I had a coffin built for you and even made space for your burial at Isenhall’s chapel. I am pleased we did not have to use the coffin or the crypt.”

Gaerwen smiled weakly. “As am I,” he said. “I am not entirely sure what the future holds for me, but I feel stronger. I hope to return to administering my castle again someday, with my daughter’s help. Right now, she is doing everything and that is a great responsibility.”

Gallus agreed, thinking on his raven-haired wife burdened by an ailing father, a sick husband, and a pregnancy. She was a strong woman, indeed.

“I understand about burdens,” he finally said. “I cannot remember when I have not had burdens of my own. If I can help Jeniver, I will. If she will allow me.”

Gaerwen shifted in his bed, his expression growing serious. “You would think of helping her even though you have your own duties?” he asked, as if impressed by Gallus’ statement. “You are the Earl of Coventry and, from what I have heard, the right hand of Simon de Montfort in his opposition to the English king. Aye, even in Wales we have heard of such things. Is that why you went to London? To deal with the king?”

Gallus scratched his head casually. “Among other things,” he said vaguely. “There is much turmoil and strife these days with the king’s Savoyard relatives invading England like a plague of locusts. That is common knowledge.”

Gaerwen nodded grimly. “There is much turmoil everywhere.”

“Indeed.”

They fell silent a moment, each man contemplating his particular turmoil. After a moment, Gaerwen spoke again.

“Wales is in need of independence from Henry,” he said. “My cousin has declared himself the Prince of Wales. Surely you know this.”

Gallus lifted his eyebrows. “Llywelyn?” he said. “I know.”

“Do you think we will be on opposite sides of a battle, you and me?”

Gallus shook his head. “I hope not,” he said. “In fact, I’d hoped to come to Rhydilian to see if I could entice my new Welsh relatives to side with me and with de Montfort against Henry. It would seem that we both have a grievance against the king. Mayhap it is something we should discuss.”

Gaerwen didn’t reply for a moment. In fact, he averted his gaze, lost in thought. It was clear that he was contemplating the situation and, as Gallus watched, the man seemed to grow older right before his eyes. There were unknown burdens to bear in Gaerwen’s eyes as he pondered his relationships, both past and future.

“There was a time when I would have taken up a sword with you,” he murmured. “There was a time when I would ride the countryside, rallying my vassals to war. But those days have been gone for some time. I have not taken up a sword in years. I do not want to fight other men’s wars, de Shera. I want to live in peace in my own corner of the world. What happens in England does not affect me. What Llywelyn does will not affect me. Men cannot live their lives to the fullest if they are constantly taking up arms against each other.”

Gallus remembered what Jeniver had said once, about her father and how he had become a peaceful man in his later years. It was a difficult concept for him to digest considering he had been at war most of his life.

“You will most certainly not live in peace if Henry and his son Edward conquer Wales,” he said. “You will be subjugated and your lands taken from you. Isn’t that worth fighting for?”

Gaerwen looked at him. “My lands will belong to you through your marriage to my daughter,” he said softly. “If Henry and Edward want Rhydilian, then they will have to go through you to get it. Already, you protect my lands and you do not even know it. Even though I will not take up arms with you, nor will I ask my vassals to take up arms with you, I will provide you with money and materials for your wars. I will support you the only way I can.”

Gallus wouldn’t argue with the man. He had his point of view and had made his choice. Still, he was offering to support a war he didn’t believe in or want to participate in. Gallus would have to accept that.

“Then I will thank you for whatever support you can provide,” he said. “You can be assured that I will do what is needed to protect Rhydilian, and you, if and when the time comes.”

Gaerwen nodded, sensing that he and his son-in-law had come to an understanding even if they weren’t in complete agreement. He could tell that Gallus was disappointed with the lack of military support but the man had enough respect not to argue about it. Gaerwen, with what little he knew about the man who had married his daughter, was already coming to like him. Mutual respect was established.

“And I am grateful,” he said. He realized he was anxious to move to another topic, one that didn’t involve the politics he so hated. “Now, tell me, are you any good at playing backgammon?”

Gallus wriggled his eyebrows at the change of subject. “I can beat my brothers.”

“But can you beat me?”

Gallus grinned. “Tell me where your board is and we shall find out.”

“It is over in the wardrobe. We shall have to hurry before the harpy comes!”

Gallus chuckled as he went to the indicated cabinet and hunted down the board. After that, the hereditary king of Anglesey and the Earl of Coventry settled down to a nice, friendly game of competition until Gaerwen realized that Gallus was beating him quite badly and tried to distract the man with talk of a serpent who lived in a marsh upon his lands.

Since it was winter, Gaerwen said, the serpent slept, but come summer, he would look to feed. Gallus didn’t believe the man for one minute, even when Gaerwen threatened to throw him to the serpent if he didn’t stop winning. Serpents, and other mythical creatures, did not exist, Gallus countered. It was foolish to believe in such things.

Of that, Gaerwen would only grin. Someday, he planned to make a believer out of his smug
Saesneg
son-in-law.

Isenhall Castle

“The last message we had from him was that he was entering Anglesey,” Maximus said. “That was almost three weeks ago. I can only assume he found his wife, and Rhydilian, and is on his way home.”