The Thunder Lord: The de Shera Brotherhood Book One (Lords of Thunder: The de Shera Brotherhood 1) (22 page)

“I really wish you had not insisted on traveling back to Isenhall before you were completely well,” Jeniver said. “We could have stayed at Rhydilian for a while longer.”

Riding on his big, hairy, half-breed stud, Gallus looked down at his wife astride her sturdy gray palfrey. “You say this every day.”

“I mean it every day.”

He laughed softly, looking around the landscape, which was no longer blanketed in snow. He wouldn’t have brought Jeniver out in it had the weather remained as terrible as it had been, but over the past couple of weeks, the clouds had moved away and the temperatures had risen enough so that there was a great snow-melt all across Wales. Rivers were bursting and the frozen ground was showing signs of life. Then, and only then, did Gallus consider returning to Isenhall. And he was bringing his wife with him.

“You worry overly,” he told her. “I am almost well again.”

Jeniver, heavily wrapped in cloaks and a fur stole against the cold temperatures, shook her head reproachfully. “Almost,” she sniffed. “You are still coughing, Gal. You try to hide it from me but I can see your shoulders heaving when you look away and think I will not see.”

Gallus continued to grin, giving her a careless shrug. “This too shall pass,” he told her. Then, he shifted the subject, gazing at the sunny, bright day and the landscape that was struggling to green. “Besides, I do not think your father could have taken one more loss to me at his board game. He is quite convinced he was the master of the game until I came along.”

Jeniver grinned. “He was happy to have you beat him, even if it was daily,” she said. “He was happy to have a son in the house.”

Gallus looked at her. For the first time in weeks, her expression was not filled with sorrow when discussing her father. “I am sorry we had to leave him behind,” he said, gently. “But you know was as well as I do that the man could not travel.”

Jeniver was resigned. “I know,” she said, as if there was nothing to be sad about. “He will be there when we return.”

Gallus smiled at her, knowing that she was nonetheless sad to leave her father, even for a short time. He sought to lighten the mood. “My mother will be thrilled to see you,” he said. “We will be at Isenhall by tonight.”

Jeniver eyed him, knowing what he was thinking. They had discussed his mother a few times during the course of his recovery. As much as she missed her father and worried over his health, Gallus did the same with his mother. He was very concerned for the woman and she knew he was anxious to see her again.

“That is kind of you to say so,” she said, “but she will be more thrilled to see
you
. I admire that you are so close to your mother. I wish I had known my mother longer than I did.”

He turned to look at her. “How old were you when your mother passed?”

Jeniver cocked her head thoughtfully. “Around three years of age,” she said, thinking back to those misty memories. “I remember very little about her. I remember that she was very kind and that we would take walks around the bailey of Rhydilian. I remember that she would hold my hand tightly.”

“How did she perish?”

“In childbirth. My baby brother died with her.”

Gallus tried not to linger on that rather grim reality as it pertained to Jeniver and the child she carried before reflecting on memories of his own mother.

“My first memories are of my mother beating me squarely across the buttocks,” he said, laughing when Jeniver did. “I am absolutely sincere. My first memory of my mother is of her punishing me.”

Jeniver continued to giggle. “Surely you did not deserve it.”

“Of course I did not.”

Jeniver sobered, shaking her head reproachfully. “I seem to remember someone telling me about lighting his uncle’s farts on fire,” she said. “I do not suppose that mischievous streak suddenly appeared one day when you were older, quite by chance.”

Gallus scratched his head beneath his helm. The rising temperature was making him sweat a little. “Maximus was more mischievous than I was.”

“Do not blame your brother when he is not here to defend himself.”

Gallus grinned, looking away from her because she was peering at him so knowingly. “I would say the same thing to his face,” he insisted. “It is true that Max is much more devious than I am.”

“Somehow, I do not think that is true.”

He looked at her. “Are you calling me a liar?”

Jeniver shook her head. “I am simply saying that I do not believe Max is more devious than you are,” she said. “There is no slander in that. You seem fairly crafty and that is a fact.”

Gallus chuckled, watching Jeniver as she directed her palfrey around a big mud puddle on the edge of the road. He’d done little else but watch the woman, stare at her, or otherwise pay attention to her for almost a month. They’d spent the days talking, and napping, and in the evenings he would play board games with her father as she would watch. The one time Jeniver did play the game, she beat Gallus easily and never played again after that. He was coming to think she abstained simply to preserve his pride.

It had been time spent coming to know the woman he had married. He quickly discovered that she was a wise, unassuming woman with a rather vicious sense of humor, the same sense of humor her father seemed to share. She was also quite intelligent and ran the house and hold of Rhydilian quite ably as Gaerwen recovered. Gallus came to discover that Gaerwen hadn’t really been in command of his castle – his daughter had been. Gaerwen let the woman have control from young age. Consequently, his business-minded daughter had amassed a significant amount of wealth with herds of wooly sheep and Welsh white cattle that was quite prized by the nobility. Gallus had been quite shocked to discover just how wealthy Rhydilian was.

But along with that wealth came threat. Gaerwen, in charge of the security of his empire, had hired bands of men to protect his cattle and sheep, men he rewarded with coin as well as with animals so they were disinclined to steal from him. This gave him gangs of men who were quite loyal to him and, consequently, to Jeniver. It was a surprisingly peaceful realm, just as Gaerwen wanted it, living in their own quiet corner of Wales as they did.

In all, it was a vast domain Gallus was to eventually inherit, one that interested him greatly. He wanted to return to Wales when the weather was better and he could more ably inspect the property, but he wanted his son born in England which meant that the soonest he would be able to return was the following summer when the child was old enough to travel. He would not be on the road with a new infant.

Therefore, leaving Gaerwen to his castle, the inhabitants of which included a strange old man who liked to sleep in a wardrobe on the first floor of the keep, as well as legends of nearby serpents, Gallus and Jeniver had departed Rhydilian to return to Isenhall. Gallus was looking forward to telling his mother that an heir was on the way. He knew she would be greatly pleased, but he was also eager to know of her current health. That, perhaps, made him push the horses just a bit faster as they continued along their way.

Jeniver didn’t seem to mind the pace. It was true that she wasn’t eating much and at night, she slept heavily and exhaustedly, but she never complained once about the journey or the pace. She knew Gallus was eager to return to his sickly mother and her own discomfort or pains didn’t much matter. She never uttered a word otherwise, no matter how she felt, and there were times when she had felt truly terrible.

But today was fortunately one of the better days. The landscape, with its melting snow and overflowing streams, had her attention as they plodded down the road.

“Gal?” Jeniver spoke. “When do you think we shall return to Rhydilian? I asked you once before but you did not answer me.”

Distracted from thoughts of his mother, his wife, and their coming child, Gallus turned to look at her. “I know,” he said. “Mostly because I did not have an answer for you. After our son is born, at least.”

Jeniver was quiet a moment. “I thought so,” she said softly. “I was hoping he could be born in Wales but I suppose that I knew better. His father is English and he shall be born in England.”

She seemed rather saddened by the thought. “And this displeases you?” Gallus asked.

Jeniver shook her head. “Nay,” she said truthfully. “But along with the de Shera bloodlines, he will carry the bloodlines of the last of the kings of Anglesey. It will be his hereditary title, inherited from my father. I want him to know his Welsh heritage.”

“He will,” Gallus assured her. “But he will also be the Earl of Coventry at some point. Our son will be a mixture of two great noble lines.”

She peered up at him. “I…I have not mentioned this before but I suppose I should,” she said. “I do not wish for you to become angry about it.”

He frowned gently. “I could never be angry at you,” he said, as if she should already know such a thing. “What did you wish to say?”

Jeniver thought on the best way to express her thoughts, finally deciding to simply come out with it. “Our son,” she said. “I do not want him to have a Roman name. I know it is tradition for the de Sheras, but he will already carry the name de Shera, a proud and noble name. All men will know him by it. It is important to me that his Welsh heritage is also part of his name, so I would like for his given Christian name to be Welsh.”

He smiled at her. “I think that is a very good idea.”

She appeared vastly relieved. “You do?” she asked, surprised. “I am very thankful. I did not wish to offend a de Shera tradition.”

Gallus shrugged. “Mayhap we will have more sons and one of them can have a Roman name to carry on the tradition,” he said. “What did you wish to name him?”

Jeniver smiled faintly as she thought on the question. “My mother’s father’s name was Bhrodi,” she said. “I have always liked the name. Bhrodi ap Gaerwen de Shera is what I should like to call our son. After my grandfather, my father, and you.”

Gallus was thoughtful. “Bhrodi?” he repeated. “I like it.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

Jeniver was both pleased and relieved. Instinctively, she touched her belly as they continued down the road, thinking of the child within.

“I have been thinking something else, too,” she ventured. “Someday he will want to know how we met. I think every child wants to know how their parents came together. I do not want to tell him the truth. I would rather tell him that you and my father were friends and that is how our betrothal came about. That seems so much more pleasant than my father being attacked by outlaws and begging you to marry me because he thought he was dying.”

Gallus didn’t quite see her point. “I am not entirely sure why we would need to shelter him from such a tale,” he said. “It is the way of things.”

Jeniver shrugged. “But it sounds as if I were forced upon you,” she said before realizing it sounded as if she were indulging in some self-pity. “What I mean to say is that it simply doesn’t sound very pleasant.”

Gallus’ gaze was moving out over the Warwickshire countryside now. The town of Coventry was in the distance and he could see the top of the cathedral. He knew they were quite close to Isenhall now.

“You were not forced upon me,” he said, distracted. “If I truly had not wanted to marry you, I would not have. I thought we were clear on this.”

Jeniver felt ashamed. “We are,” she said. “I would just like our son to believe that our meeting was divine providence.”

“It was.”

She looked at him, seeing he was grinning at her, flashing that big dimple in his right cheek. She smiled in return as he turned around and pointed at the cathedral in the distance.

“That is Coventry,” he pointed out. “Isenhall is about an hour beyond that.”

Jeniver shielded her eyes from the sun as she peered into the distance. She could see the town on the horizon, somewhat misty in the weather that was struggling to clear. Moisture was rising off the fields in the sunlight, filling the air with a soft mist.

“The weather was poor when we left Isenhall for Wales those weeks ago and I did not see Coventry,” she said. “It was snowing then. It is a very big city?”

Gallus nodded. “Big enough.”

“But it is not as big as London or Paris?”

He shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “Someday, I will take you to London with me and we shall visit the Street of the Merchants. I will buy you all manner of jewelry and finery that you do not need. We will be very frivolous.”

Jeniver laughed. “Then everyone will think I made you waste money on me,” she said. “I do not know how I shall show my face in public after that.”

He very much liked her sense of humor. “You will show your face easily and frequently,” he said. “All will know I have married the most beautiful maid in all the land.”

“You flatter me, sir.”

“I speak the truth.”

Grinning, Jeniver looked at her hands, a gesture of modesty and also of delight. No one had ever showered her with compliments as Gallus did. In fact, he was quite liberal with his praise and it made her feel very warm and appreciated. It was also endearing him to her quite a bit. The more the days passed and the more conversations they had such as this, the more and deeper she fell in love with him. Aye, she loved the man. She couldn’t remember when she hadn’t. But she hadn’t told him yet because it had never been the right time. She didn’t want to seem trivial with her emotions, declaring her love for her husband too soon. But, God help her, it was the truth.