The Thunder Lord: The de Shera Brotherhood Book One (Lords of Thunder: The de Shera Brotherhood 1) (4 page)

Jeniver was eager to return to the keep entry, as if somehow returning there would bring her closer to discovering her father’s fate. The earl had promised to return him and she would hold the man to his word. She had to, she couldn’t stomach the alternative. Edgy, she dropped to her knees beside the big bed and pulled the puppy out from underneath. Like a moth to flame, the little girls followed her, with the puppy in her arms, as she trailed after Honey back down the big staircase to the first floor.

The small dining hall where the girls and Honey had been sitting to enjoy their morning meal was still just as they had left it. Bowls of porridge were on the table, cooling, as Honey encouraged the children to sit and finish their meal, but the little girls were still very much distracted by the puppy. When Jeniver sat, uneasily, the children were nearly on top of her, trying to pet the puppy. Seeing that their guest wasn’t quite comfortable enough to be sociable, Honey clapped her hands sharply.

“Violet,” she said, softly but sternly, “sit down. Lily, you will sit, too. Finish your meal, ladies. Your father will return shortly and we must be prepared to greet the day.”

Unhappily, the little girls moved away from the puppy and reclaimed their seats, spooning cooled porridge into their mouths as they gazed longingly at the puppy. Jeniver was relieved that Lady Honey had called the girls off but when she caught a glimpsed of their sad expressions, she tried not to feel guilty about it.

So she sat in silence, waiting with increasing apprehension for her father to be returned to her. Lady Honey and the girls resumed their meal silently with Lady Honey only speaking to ask Jeniver if she was hungry. Knowing she should accept something, as not to hurt the woman’s feelings, Jeniver agreed and Lady Honey immediately had servants in motion, bringing forth bowls of porridge with honey, fresh bread and butter, watered wine, bread soaked in sweet wine, and stewed apples with honey and cinnamon.

It was quite a spread and one that made Jeniver rather nauseous as she looked at it. So much food and her stomach was in knots. But she accepted some watered wine, hot and spicy, and a slab of bread with butter. The puppy was hungry, however, licking at the butter on the bread, so she gave the dog the crust, which he happily chewed.

Honey, seeing that the dog was eating most of Jeniver’s bread, had a servant bring forth some cold beef for the dog. As the puppy happily devoured the meat, Honey thought to engage her uncomfortable guest in conversation, if only to take her mind off the situation. She could read the woman’s angst in her features, her movements. Everything hinged on the safe return of her father.

“What a wonderful time you must have had on your journey, my lady,” Honey said, simply to establish a dialogue. “What did you like best about it?”

Jeniver appeared rather startled by the question, distracted as she was. But she forced herself to focus on a polite reply.

“Paris was quite entertaining,” she replied, somewhat hesitantly. “We visited a hall that provided entertainment by acting out different events throughout the course of history. We saw the entertainment three nights in a row. The first night, it was the resurrection of Christ. The second night, it was St. Columba, the Apostle of the Picts, and how he conquered the Irish. The third night, we saw the glorious battle at Hastings.”

Honey could see that the young woman was struggling to carry on a conversation and not appear too preoccupied.

“How delightful that must have been for you,” she said. “My father took me to Paris once, also. It was just the two of us at first, as my mother encouraged him to make it a special trip between us, but my Uncle David joined us once we arrived in Paris and brought his daughter and my cousin, Michaela, with him. We had a glorious time, especially when my Uncle David became drunk one night in a tavern near the Seine and then he was determined to fight every Frenchman in the inn. When my father tried to stop him, my uncle punched him right in the nose. It was a terrible sight until my angry father wrapped Uncle David up in a coverlet he confiscated from one of the sleeping rooms, tied the man up in it, and left him lying on the floor of the tavern to sleep it off. I have never seen my uncle so angry as he tried to free himself from the trussed-up coverlet.”

Honey was giggling, which made Jeniver break into a smile. “Did he manage to free himself?”

Honey shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “He eventually exhausted himself and passed out on the floor. We found him there the next morning, still tied up, sleeping peacefully.”

She snorted at the humorous memory and she had also succeeded in distracting Jeniver from her anxiety somewhat. It was a very funny story the way Honey told it.

“Did you come from a large family, my lady?” Jeniver asked.

Honey nodded. “Very large,” she replied. “My father was Christopher de Lohr, Earl of Hereford and Worcester. There are quite a few de Lohrs in England.”

Jeniver cocked her head thoughtfully. “De Lohr,” she repeated. “I have heard that name.”

Honey nodded. “You should have,” she said. “My father was a well-known man in Wales as well as in England.”

“And he has passed away?”

Again, Honey nodded. “He did, about eleven years ago,” she replied. “My mother is still alive, however. She lives at Lioncross Abbey, which is on the Marches. That is where I was born.”

Jeniver thought on the castle, and the family, that she had heard tale of. The House of de Lohr was a well-known one in England and she was rather impressed by the woman’s lineage.

“But now you are here, in England,” she said. “Have you been here a long time?”

Honey nodded. “Since I married my husband,” she replied. “Antoninus de Shera hailed from Cheshire, son of a very ancient family rumored to have descended from a lost Roman legion. The entire male line of the family had Roman names, as do my own sons. Fascinating, is not?”

By now, Jeniver was interested in their conversation and the fear she was feeling for her father had been somewhat eased. “Your husband was the Earl of Coventry?” she asked.

Honey shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “The Earl of Coventry was a title held by my older brother, Henry, a titled granted to him when he married a woman of royal blood. Henry was a very good knight, you see, and served King Henry well on several occasions. But Henry died unexpectedly, with no heirs, so instead of the title reverting to the crown, it was passed to me and, through me, to my eldest son, Gallus.”

Jeniver was growing increasingly interested in the history of the House of de Shera. “I understand the little girls belong to the earl,” she said, “but does he have sons?”

Honey shook her head. “Sadly, he does not,” she replied. “Unfortunately, his wife died last year from a fall from her horse. They only had the two daughters.”

Now, Jeniver was starting to understand something about the great Earl of Coventry. Where she had once been unsure of the man and his motives, now she was starting to understand a bit of the man’s history. Honey seemed quite pleasant and coming to understand that the earl was a widower, she was starting to feel some pity for the man. He was human, after all. What a difficult thing it must have been to be a man raising two small girls without the benefit of their mother. However, given her own circumstances, Jeniver understood the situation well.

“I am sorry for him, then,” she said quietly. “I lost my mother at a very young age as well. I am an only child so I understand what it is like for a father to raise a girl-child alone.”

Honey smiled sadly. “Your father seems to have done a remarkable job,” she said. “You are an articulate and polite young woman.”

That brought a smile to Jeniver’s lips. “You are kind to say so, my lady,” she replied. “And I thank you and your son very much for your hospitality and graciousness. I am sorry not to have said so before now.”

Honey waved her off. “You have shown me your gratitude since the moment you entered Isenhall,” she said. “You did not need to say so as well.”

Jeniver bobbed her head cordially, feeling comfortable enough with Lady Honey that she actually began to eat some of the food that had been brought to her. The puppy, having eaten all of his cold beef, was sleeping in her arms and becoming heavy. Jeniver shifted the dog so he wasn’t so much dead weight in her arms as she spooned some of the stewed apples into her mouth.

As she was sipping her warmed wine, the earl’s daughters slithered off their chairs and came to her, petting the sleeping dog. Jeniver smiled at the girls, who were really being quite gentle now that the puppy was sleeping, but as a calming air settled about them, the door to the keep suddenly flew open and chaos was introduced into their midst.

Terror had arrived.

“Honey!” Gallus roared. “I need you!”

Startled, both Honey and Jeniver shot to their feet and ran for the entry. As they emerged into the open entry foyer, they could immediately see bloodied men being carried by Gallus and his men, being laid upon the cold, stone floor of the entryway. In fact, Gallus and Maximus had a man between them, battered and bloodied, that Jeniver immediately recognized.

It was Gaerwen.

Jeniver shrieked at the sight of her father covered in blood and dirt. Still clutching the dog, she ran to her father, tears already spilling from her eyes as she reached out the arm that wasn’t holding the dog and grasped at her father’s barely-conscious face.

“Tada,” she wept. “Beth ddigwyddodd?”
Father, what happened?

Gallus was in the process of lowering the injured man to the floor as Jeniver and Honey hovered over them.

“As far as I can tell, he has taken two sword thrusts to the belly,” he said grimly. “I found him half-buried in mud on the road. It looks as if the wagon ran over him as well.”

Jeniver was beside herself. With the dog clutched in one arm, she grasped her father’s hand, covered in mud and debris, and held it to her breast.

“Tada,” she sobbed quietly, squeezing his hand. “Please, open your eyes and look at me. Tada? Can you hear me?”

Honey slipped in on the other side of the supine man, looking at his injuries as Gallus pulled back the man’s soiled and wet clothing. When his torso was finally revealed, Jeniver struggled not to vomit. The sword wounds were not clean, making the entire area look like raw meat, and it was clear that he had several broken ribs. As Honey and Gallus struggled to assess the damage, all Jeniver could feel was grief. Her father’s wounds were great and she knew he was dead already. Somehow, she just knew. She lifted his limp hand to her cheek, kissing it, getting dirt on both her cheek and her lips.

“Tada,” she whispered, tears dripping off her chin. “I am so sorry this happened. But the earl’s mother will heal you. She comes from a great and powerful family and I am sure she learned her healing skills from finished physics. Tada? Can you hear me?”

Gaerwen remained silent, his eyes half-open, but he suddenly coughed and bright red blood spewed out and onto Gallus’ left arm. The man was struggling to breathe and he became more lucid, gripping his daughter’s hand when he looked up and realized she was next to him. His brown eyes appeared strangely intense upon his pale and bloodied face.

“Jeni,” he murmured thickly. “I will not make it home,
annwyl
.”

Beloved
. He had always called her that. Jeniver’s face crumpled. “Do not say such things, Tada,” she whispered tightly. “Lady Honey will heal your wounds.”

Gaerwen tried to shake his head, squeezing his daughter’s hand with an urgent edge. “Nay,” he said, coughing again and sputtering blood. “I will not long survive and there are things I must say to you.”

Jeniver didn’t want to listen. God help her, she didn’t want to listen, but she was compelled to. The pain in her heart was already tearing her apart.

“Please, Tada,
nay
,” she wept softly. “Do not say this is the end. It is
not
the end. If you leave me I will have no one left.”

Gaerwen, weakened with blood loss, pulled her hand to his face, rubbing it clumsily against his stubbled cheek. It was a tender gesture, a sorrowful one, the significance of which was not lost on those observing the scene. Honey suspected the man was beyond help but she was trying anyway, sending the servants running for medicaments and bandages as Gallus held linen rags over the gaping wounds, trying to staunch the blood flow.

Gallus was focused on his task, on making sure the other wounded ap Gaerwen men were tended, and he was trying not to look at his mother. They both knew that the man before them, the hereditary King of Anglesey, was a dead man no matter what they did to help him. But for his daughter’s sake, they could not, and would not, stop.

“I will not leave you, not ever,” Gaerwen confided, a faint smile on his bloodied lips as he gazed up at his only child. “I will be the sunbeam upon your face or the kiss of the morning dew. How can I ever leave you, Jeni? It has only been you and me, all of these years.”

Jeniver was trying not to break down into gut-busting sobs. She was truly trying to listen to him, perhaps even carry on a conversation with him, but when she realized it would be the last conversation they ever shared together, she lost the struggle against grief and lay her head down against her father’s shoulder as the puppy, still in her arms, licked at his face. As she placed her head against him and wept pitifully, weeping for the father she would soon lose, Gaerwen turned his attention to Gallus.

“I am afraid I have no time for pleasantries, my lord,” he said weakly. “You know me to be Gaerwen but I do not know you at all.”

Gallus, still pressing bloodied linen against the man’s chest, met his gaze steadily. “I am Gallus de Shera, my lord,” he replied. “I am the Earl of Coventry. I apologize that I came to your aid too late.”

Gaerwen let go of Jeniver’s hand and held it up to Gallus, who took it. From one warrior to another, one man to another, Gaerwen was establishing a bond of gratitude.

“You came exactly when God had intended,” he mumbled. “You saved my daughter and that is the most important thing of all. I am afraid I am about to be terribly forward with you, my lord, but I must have your word.”

Gallus’ expression remained steady. “All you need do is ask, my lord,” he replied. “How may I be of assistance?”

Gaerwen winced when something caused him great pain and more bright red blood began to trickle out of his mouth.

“My child,” he said, his eyes closing briefly. “Jeniver. I have not yet made provisions for her although I should have long ago. I... I simply could not bear to turn her over to another man and now I find myself regretting that decision.”

Gallus nodded in understanding. “I have two daughters of my own,” he said. “I understand how attached you must be to Lady Jeniver.”

Gaerwen’s eyes opened, fixing on Gallus. “Then you are married?”

Gallus shook his head. “Nay,” he muttered, hating to speak on a sensitive subject. “My wife died last year.”

Gaerwen was seized with a fit of strength, suddenly and strongly gripping Gallus’ fingers with both of his clammy hands.

“Then you are a widower,” he grunted, showing more resolve than he had since he had been brought into the keep. “My lord, I give my daughter to you. You saved her from certain death and certainly you should be rewarded with her. She belongs to you now. Marry her and she will provide you with strong sons, I swear it. Please... please do this for me. Let me die knowing my only child will be well taken care of.”

Shocked, Gallus looked at his mother, who gazed back at him with equal surprise. But quickly, Honey recovered much faster than her gobsmacked son. She knew how sad and lonely he had been since Catheryn’s death and, in her opinion, a new wife was the perfect solution. She also knew that Hugh Bigod had wanted Gallus for his daughter, but Honey didn’t want that warring, political family for her son. Still, Honey had been gently suggesting he remarry for a few months now but he had quickly shut her down. Now, he could not shut her down. He could not refuse a dying man’s request and she hastened to take advantage of the request, for Gallus’ sake.

“He will do it,” Honey told Gaerwen, speaking for her son. “We will welcome her into our family, I assure you. Be at peace, my lord. We will make sure your daughter is taken care of.”

Gallus looked at his mother as if she had lost her mind but Gaerwen squeezed his hand tightly, distracting him from his building outrage and resistance.

“Thank you,” he breathed, visibly relieved. “
Diolch i chi
. Thank you and God bless you.”

Gallus was still shocked and bewildered. “But... my lord,” he struggled to resist in spite of what his mother had said. “Surely there are more important and more qualified men for your daughter. She is Welsh royalty and should marry within her station.”

Gaerwen was growing listless as his life drained away. “Mayhap that is true,” he mumbled thickly. “But they are not here. I cannot ask it of them. But I can ask it of you.”

By this time, Jeniver had lifted her head from her father’s shoulder and she was looking at the man with a good deal of shock.

“Tada,” she scolded, struggling not to be harsh with a dying man. “You... you cannot ask such a thing of the lord. I am not his burden to bear.”

“Hush,” Honey hissed gently, cutting off any attempt at a reply from either Gallus or Gaerwen. She looked pointedly at Jeniver. “You will not be a burden. You are a princess of Wales, soon to be the wife of the Earl of Coventry. It is an excellent match, my lady, and one that will ease your father’s mind.”

Both Jeniver and Gallus were looking at Honey in varied degrees of horror. Then, their eyes fell upon each other. It was a moment filled with astonishment, resistance, even anger, but surprisingly, also a spark of interest. Gallus’ expression seemed to display it before Jeniver’s did. She was still wrestling with her grief over her father. This pledge, this impending marriage, was a concept that was overwhelming her brittle mind no matter how handsome she thought the earl.

“Tada,” she tore her attention away from Gallus and leaned over her father, looking him in the eye. “Please... you must not ask this of them. They are strangers. They are not
Cymraeg
. Your request is not fair to any of us.”

Gaerwen was fading quickly. He tried to look at his daughter but his eyes kept rolling back in his head. The hands that had been gripping Gallus moved back to Jeniver, grasping at her. His hands, his dirty fingers, dug into her tender flesh, indicative of the level of emotion he was feeling. He struggled to focus on the lovely face that had been his entire world for many years. Even as his sight began to dim, all he could feel was love and adoration, from father to daughter. She was his angel, his
annwyl
. Knowing that she would be taken care of upon his death made it easier in his passing. His body began to relax as his life drained away.

“Let me look at you,” he whispered haltingly. “Let your beautiful face be the last thing I see in this world. What would you have me tell your mother? I will be seeing her very soon. How proud she would have been of you. You are a worthy daughter of Tacey ferch Bhrodi.”

His comments brought Jeniver’s tears back with a vengeance. “Tada,” she whispered as her eyes overflowed. “Please... please do not leave me.”

Gaerwen tried to speak but he was too weak. Everything was gone and his vision dimmed, permanently. As he had hoped, however, Jeniver’s face was the last one he saw. Then the veil of blackness came over him and his body went limp.

Jeniver saw her father’s eyes close and she called to him once, twice, before shaking him, hoping to bring him back. The dog in her arms slithered to the floor and wandered away as Jeniver cried out her father’s name and erupted in loud sobs. Collapsing onto the man’s chest, she wept painfully as Gallus felt for a pulse. After a moment, he turned to his mother.

“His pulse is weak but he is not gone,” he hissed. “Remove him to a chamber and have the surgeon tend him. Do it now while there is still time.”

Honey already had the servants in motion, moving in for Gaerwen, tearing him away from his hysterical daughter. She clung to him as they tried to take him away and Honey spoke swiftly to her son.

“Do not let her go with him, Gallus,” she said. “In her state, she will be more of a hindrance than help.”

As Jeniver tried to hold on to her father, being taken away by strangers, Gallus reluctantly intervened.

“Let him go, my lady,” he said, trying to be gentle. “He will be in good hands. Let the surgeon do what he must.”

Jeniver didn’t like that suggestion at all. The entire journey had come to a sorrowful and unexpected end. Heaven and hell had reigned in the early morning hours of this day and now horror and evil had tried to take her father away. For all she knew, he was dead already. Now, she was all alone.

Gallus watched the woman as she collapsed in grief. After a moment or two of observation, of remembering well the sorrow he had felt when Catheryn had passed away, he turned to his mother.

“I will disband what is left of her father’s traveling party and stable the animals,” he said, rising to his feet. His manner was business-like. “Let her grieve and then take care of her. Ply her with wine and put her to bed. I will return when I have finished with her father’s party.”

Honey grabbed hold of her son before he could get away. “Someone else can disband the party,” she told him, her voice low. “Have Max or Ty do it. Your place is here, with your betrothed. If her father passes, then you must be here to comfort her.”

Gallus looked at her, his nostrils flaring with displeasure. “I did not agree to that,” he hissed. “
You
did it. You stay with her.”

Honey would not engage her angry son in any manner of confrontation, but her disapproval was evident in her expression. “You are correct,” she said quietly. “I did agree to the betrothal and there are many witnesses here who heard me do it. Will you shame me by refuting the bargain I made on your behalf?”