To the Lady Born (24 page)

“Continue, please,” he asked quietly.

Elizabeth took herself back to those days of anguish, sorrow and hope. “After that night, it was apparent that Marston wanted nothing to do with me,” she said softly. “I was a wife in name only. He made no attempt to carry out his husbandly duties.  He returned to London immediately after the wedding where he continued his tasks as a knight to the king and where he also kept many mistresses.  Being married was not going to stop him from continuing his rutting ways.  I began to hear rumors, of course, but there was nothing I could do about them.  I was told that your father has at least three bastards, although I never saw the children personally. Heston did, however; he paid sums of money to support the children on Marston’s behalf.”

Weston’s gaze was guarded, laced with sorrow as he looked at her again.  He was coming to see that, from her perspective, Marston de Royans wasn’t perhaps such a great and noble man after all.  It was a sickening realization.

“What happened between you and my grandfather during this time?” he asked quietly.

Elizabeth shrugged faintly, looking to her hands. “Heston and I were deeply in love so I did not particularly care about Marston’s behavior,” she said honestly. “Marston was not an evil man, Weston; he simply did not want a wife. But Heston did. So Heston and I continued on at Netherghyll, loving each other deeply and being very happy together.  A year and a half after Marston and I were married, you were born.”

Weston’s guarded gaze washed with shock.  He stared at his mother, wide-eyed, rising from the chair with his jaw hanging slack.  The realization of her words slammed into him until he could hardly keep his balance.

“But you said…,” he regrouped and started again. “You said that my father left for London after you were married. How can he be…?”

“Because Heston is your father, Weston,” she said softly, watching the anguish roil through his enormous body. “Marston is not.”

Weston was so shocked he could hardly speak. He stared at the woman, his dark blue eyes wide with astonishment.

“My… my grandfather is in reality my father?” he repeated, his tone a hoarse whisper.

Elizabeth nodded. “He is Sutton’s father as well,” she said quietly. “No matter what you think of me or Heston, please know that you were conceived in love.  Heston and I loved each other very much and we loved you as well.  That is more than can be said for any child Marston fathered, or any child that he and I might have had together. If you love your wife as you say you do, then surely you can understand that love is greater than contracts or perception or shame.  Love is the strongest thing of all.”

Weston stared at her. He struggled to accept the truth but in the same breath, he understood what she meant completely.  He had loved Amalie so much that he had married her even though she had been pregnant with another man’s child.  He could see his mother and grandfather, or more correctly, his father loving each other in spite of the complicated situation. 

He couldn’t even imagine the strength Heston had that allowed him to remain composed when the woman he loved married another man.  It was a terrible story yet one that was oddly inspirational.  He began to feel weak and ill as the sorrow pent up from all those years of hatred began to drain out of him. He began to feel so incredibly sorry for his mother and what she had been through.  If even half of what she told him was true, it was a sorrowful tale indeed.

Weston turned and walked away; he could no longer look at Elizabeth’s pale and lovely features.  He put his hands on his face, wiping the sweat off his upper lip as if to wipe away the turmoil he was feeling. But there was still one thing he had to know.

“Marston knew that Sutton and I were not his sons,” he finally said, his voice weak and deep. “How did he react?”

Elizabeth sighed faintly. “Strangely enough, it seemed to settle him down a great deal,” she said honestly. “He returned from London and remained, barricading himself in his chamber and drinking his days away.  It was as if he wasn’t sure what to do or how to react. He could see how much Heston and I loved one another and he told Heston once that he wished he had been a better man.  When you and Sutton grew older, Marston would emerge from his chamber and play with you. Do you remember? That little sword I gave Colton?”

Weston nodded, turning to look at his mother with tears in his eyes.  The memories were too much for him to take.

“I remember,” he whispered. “He used to let me win. He would fall on the ground and writhe around dramatically.”

Elizabeth saw the tears in his eyes and she stood up, making her way towards him.

“He loved you, Weston,” she whispered. “He loved Sutton, too.  I think… I think looking at you two made him think of the life he had lived and the things he had done wrong. I think he was trying to make up for the evils he had committed against me, against our marriage, by being a friend to you and your brother.  But Marston was a man in great turmoil and the drink only made it worse.  He was a man in utter pain, always, of a life gone wrong by his wrong choices.”

Weston blinked and tears streamed down his face. “Why did you not help him?”

She put a small hand on his enormous arm, feeling the bulk and power of her son within her grip.

“How?” she asked softly. “By assuming my role as his wife? Heston was my husband in spite of the fact that we were not legally married. We were as much married in our hearts as any legally married couple; more perhaps. I would not leave Heston, the only man I had ever loved, not even for the man legally my husband.  Perhaps it is selfish, but I would not do it. And Marston never asked. I think he knew as well as I did that he was incapable of being a good husband.  He had far too many demons working against him to accomplish this.”

Weston looked at his mother, tears dripping off his chin. “You will tell me honestly,” he whispered, “what drove the man to kill himself.”

Elizabeth shrugged faintly, her hand gently caressing his big arm.

“I do not know,” she replied. “But I do know that he was very drunk when he threw himself upon his sword.  Drink always turned him into something terrible and unrecognizable.  Perhaps all of his demons finally caught up with him and he could find no other way to end his anguish. I remember when you told me what he had done; I remember thinking that Marston was finally free.  Finally without pain or anguish.  For Marston, the pain was over and he was finally free from whatever horrors plagued him during his time on earth. In that respect, I was happy for him.”

Weston’s dark blue gaze grew intense. “Perhaps you do not remember smiling when I told you of his death, but I will swear to the day I die that you did.”

She averted her gaze as she remembered that particularly dark day. “If I did, it was only because I was happy that he was finally free.  It certainly was not because I was glad for his death.”

Weston didn’t say anymore. The entire conversation had been more than he could absorb and as much as he wanted to linger on it, digest it, his family was waiting for him in the bailey and he had a tournament to attend.  Muddled, he moved away from his mother and picked up his helm, plopping it on his head.  

Then he turned to her, observing the very small woman he resembled a great deal. He just stared at her a moment, unable to voice what he was thinking. In truth, he didn’t know what he was thinking. But he did know one thing; Amalie had been right.  Perhaps he had been wrong all along.

Silently, he held his elbow out to his mother. Elizabeth stared at the armored appendage for a moment before carefully, and very gratefully, slipping her hand into the crook. Without another word between them, Weston led his mother down to the bailey.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The weather was mild this late in October, the air cool but not too cold, and the sky was cluttered with puffy white clouds. 

Weston and Sutton rode at the head of the column from Netherghyll along with thirty men at arms spread out from the front to the rear.  The carriage, driven by Owyn and containing Amalie, Elizabeth, Esma and the children, was well-protected tucked in the middle of the group while Heath and John, bellowing for the men to keep pace, rode to the rear.

Horses snorted, men coughed, and mud lined the sides of the road from the unseasonably heavy rains that had plagued the region.

The standards of Baron Cononley snapped in the light breeze as the column of men and horses advanced towards the town of Keighley. It was the first time Weston had ridden under his hereditary banners and it was a fulfilling experience. He kept glancing up at the bright blue, silver and white banners with the silhouette of a great fanged beast on them.  The men at arms wore the Cononley tunics of blue and white, announcing to the world of Baron Cononley’s presence. The knights, however, did not wear their colors yet; that would come on the tournament field.

The seven mile trip from Netherghyll had been an easy and pleasant ride so far.  Sutton made small talk as they crossed the miles, a cover for the curiosity that was consuming him. 

When he had seen Weston arrive in the bailey with their mother on his arm, he had been seized with the urge to know why his brother was suddenly so polite towards Elizabeth. He’d spent the past five miles chatting about anything that came to mind when what he really wanted to do was ask a thousand questions that might garner him a punch in the face. So he bided his time, thinking he was very clever when he slipped in a well-timed comment.

“I noticed that you and mother seem more companionable,” he said, glancing over at his brother. “That pleases me a great deal, West.”

Weston wouldn’t look at him; he’d spent the past five miles knowing this subject would come up and trying to think of a way to avoid it. But he knew he couldn’t.  He’d also spent the past five miles embroiled in more inner turmoil than he had ever known, dwelling on the revelations his mother unloaded on him and trying to figure out how, exactly, he felt about all of it.  He still didn’t know.

“You and my wife, I am sure,” he grunted.

Sutton lifted an eyebrow. “Why? Has she forced you into making peace with Mother?”

Weston gave him an intolerant look. “There is no one on this earth strong enough to convince me to do something that I do not want to do, not even my wife.”

Sutton snorted. “You are a fool, West.”

Weston’s eyebrows flew up in outrage. “A fool?”

Sutton didn’t back down. “Aye,” he insisted as if daring his brother to throw a punch at him. “You are a fool if you believe any part of that statement. You forget, brother, that I have spent the past several weeks with you and your wife. I have seen how much control she has over you.  If she wanted the moon, you would figure out a way to give it to her.”

Weston growled and made faces at his brother, finally lifting his big shoulders and looking away. “There is no crime in wanting to make her happy.”

Sutton was back to grinning. “Nay, there is not,” he agreed. “Truth be told, if she was my wife, I would behave in the exact same fashion.  I envy you, brother; you are one of the most fortunate men I have ever known. You have a beautiful wife, a strong family, a son to carry on your name. I want what you have.”

Weston turned to look at him, the angry posturing gone from his features. “You will,” he assured him quietly. “That is why we are traveling to Keighley, is it not? We must ensnare your lovely Lady Paget.”

Sutton laughed softly, looking rather hopeful. “That is my intent.”

Weston wriggled his eyebrows. “Have no fear,” he assured him.  “I will turn Amalie loose on the woman and she will belong to you by sundown.  My wife is very persuasive.”

“I am coming to see that,” Sutton agreed. “The woman must work magic if she has you in her spell.”

Weston just grinned, his gaze moving over the green landscape as they moved south through the gently rolling hills.  Thoughts of his wife began to turn into thoughts of his mother and their conversation.  The smile faded from his lips.

“You spent more time with grandfather than I ever did,” he said in a complete change of subject. “What is your opinion of the man?”

Sutton looked at him, wondering at the sharp shift in focus and the motivation behind the question.  But he answered.

“He was wise and generous,” he said, reflecting back on the broad, blond man who had raised him. “He was easy to laugh and liked to play jokes on me. But he was also a fierce fighter; I remember several years ago when I was newly returned from fostering at Pembroke, there were rumors of a marauding band of Scots plaguing the area.  They struck at a few of grandfather’s holdings and I rode out with him to fight the Scots.  The man was absolutely fearsome in battle, West, much like you are. In fact, you and grandfather are so similar in so many ways that it is uncanny. I loved and admired him a great deal.”

Weston listened to his brother, feeling strained and remorseful all of a sudden by the fact that the man he had always known to be his grandfather was, in fact, his father. He intended to tell Sutton when the time was right but he wasn’t quite sure how. To Sutton, he was sure, it would be far less of a shock.  Sutton adored the man.

“Other than very early childhood, I never knew him well,” Weston muttered. “I really only saw him three times in my adult life; once at my knighting ceremony, once when you were gravely injured, and then that time when you….”

Sutton cut him off. “We do not speak of that incident,” he said flatly. “It would be better if you blocked that out of your mind.”

Weston fought off a grin. “She
was
rather…”

“Enough or I will run you through.”

Weston broke down in soft laughter.  “It would make a good story to tell Lady Paget.”

Sutton rolled his eyes as he unsheathed his broadsword. He raised it threateningly at his brother. “I swear by all that is holy, if you mention one word of that to her, I shall shove this sword so far down your gullet that….”

By this time, Weston was roaring with laughter, reining his charger out of his brother’s furious path.  “I will not tell her,” Weston assured his brother as he dodged the man. “My lips are sealed.”

Sutton still had the broadsword leveled at him. “Have you told anyone else?”

“Nay.”

“Not even your wife?”

“Nay. I swear it.”

With a final glare, Sutton sheathed the sword. “Well and good for you,” he said, glancing up at the angle of the sun. “We should be seeing Keighley shortly. Do you want me to announce our arrival to the marshals or do you want to do it personally?”

“You do it,” Weston said, still snickering about his brother and the incident that he was not permitted to speak of. “I need to settle my wife and children first.  Amalie is not feeling well.”

“The pregnancy?”

Weston nodded his head with regret. “Poor woman. She is miserable.”

Sutton fell silent, his thoughts moving from his brother’s wife to the tournament ahead and the lovely Lady Paget.  But thinking on a woman he very much wanted to know had him thinking of falling in love again, which brought him back to his brother’s question about their grandfather. It started him pondering the path of that subject again.

“Why did you ask me about Grandfather?” he asked.

Weston glanced at his brother. “Curiosity, I suppose,” he said, though that wasn’t entirely true. “Mother and I had a conversation earlier today.”

Sutton looked at him, surprised. “Truly? What about?”

Weston sighed and averted his gaze, studying the surrounding lush and green landscape as he spoke. “Many things,” he said. “Mostly, we discussed our father.”

Sutton was truly stunned; he hardly dared to hope. “And?”

Weston shrugged. “And there is a good deal more we must discuss at a later time,” he told him. “But I wanted you to know that I am… trying. I am trying to overcome everything I ever believed about her.”

Sutton’s handsome face lit with a smile. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear that, West,” he said sincerely. “Truly, I am thrilled and grateful.”

Weston merely grunted and Sutton didn’t push.  It was a huge step in the right direction as far as Sutton was concerned. As they crested the hill, the berg of Keighley suddenly spread out below them, dotting across the green fields with businesses and homes.

Smoke trailed into the sky from dozens of chimneys as people when about their business on the roads and in the fields.  People were everywhere, especially with the tournament circuit in town. As Weston and Sutton paused, inspecting the sight before them and determining the best path to the tournament field on the opposite side of town, they could suddenly hear screaming back in the carriage.

It caught both their attention, but it wasn’t so much screaming as it was Colton yelling at the top of his lungs.  Spurring the chargers back along the column, they came upon the cab to find Colton struggling to climb out of the window.  The boy was howling as Amalie tried to pull him back inside without bumping his head on the rim of the window.

“Colton,” Weston leaned over and addressed his son. “What are you doing, lad?”

“He wants to ride with Sutton,” Amalie replied from inside the carriage, sounding impatient and weary.  “West, can you please pull him out? He is kicking me in the face.”

Weston leaned over and pulled his son from the window.  But Colton wasn’t satisfied.  He held his arms out to his mother and chanted frantically.

“Surd!” he demanded. “Surd, Mama!”

Amalie extended the small toy sword to the boy, who took it happily.  But he continued to whine until he was handed over to Sutton, who gleefully took his nephew and cantered off with him.  Weston watched his brother a moment before returning his attention to Amalie.

She looked pale and exhausted from having just done battle with a two year old, and he was immediately sympathetic.

“Are you not feeling well again, my angel?” he asked.

She shook her head wearily. “Nay,” she sighed. “Your mother suggests that licorice root will help. Do you suppose we can find some in town?”

He nodded firmly. “I will send Heath at this very moment to procure some.” He sought out Heath with a piercing whistle, waving the man forward before returning his attention to his wife. “We have arrived at the town so it should be another half hour before we reach the tournament field. Can you last that long?”

She nodded. “I shall have to.”

He gave her a wink and headed back to the front of the column, commanding the men to move forward at a quickened pace.  Heath joined him at the head of the group and he sent the man along his way with orders to procure licorice root.

The party of Baron Cononley made its way down the hill and into the outskirts of the busy, bustling town.  Weston thought he might skirt the edge of the berg, the path of least resistance, on his way to the tournament field but as he entered the very busy village, he decided to make his presence known and parade down the main avenue.  It was his first show as Constable of North Yorkshire and the Northern Dales and he realized that he wanted to announce himself. 

Already, people were staring and pointing at him and he felt extremely proud to be at the head of his own delegation. His standards waved in the stiff breeze and four powerful knights on big, hairy chargers supported his ranks.  There was much to be proud over. As he entered the main hub of the town, however, he realized that he wasn’t the only one announcing himself.

His puffed-up pride took a dousing when he realized that there were at least three parties ahead of him as they made their way towards the enormous tournament field. They were well dressed and well supported, just as he was. He and Sutton spied the crimson and gold of the Earl of Billingham far on ahead, followed by the green and white of Baron Bradford, and finally the yellow and red of the baronetcy of Rochdale.  Big houses had come to compete this day and Weston knew they were in good company.

As they entered the main bulk of the city, Sutton tried to turn Colton back over to his mother but the boy screamed as if he was being murdered. Reluctantly, Amalie allowed her son to continue riding with his uncle, something that made the lad extremely happy and kept the peace.  The child thought he was a real knight, swinging his toy sword around and smacking his uncle with it a couple of times. Sutton had to stay sharp to avoid losing an eye.

People were turning out in clusters to see the fine carriage and knights move through the dusty main avenue; children lined the streets, eager to see the knights, while whores crawled out of their hovels to catch the eye of the men to ensure they had business for the duration of the tournament.  

Weston and Sutton rode through the streets on their big chargers, eyeing the children, the great parties in front of them, and the situation in general.  Weston kept an eye out for Heath returning with the much-needed licorice root while Sutton pointed and explained the sights to Colton.