Archangel (9 page)

“Nay.”

Romney was baffled but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. In fact, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything about it. For lack of a better response he lifted the bag in his right hand.

“Gerta sent us with this for Mother,” he said.

Gart looked at the sack. “What is it? And who is Gerta?”

“Gerta is our nurse,” Romney said, looking back to his mother as he lowered the sack in his hand. “She told us to bring this to mother. It will help her.”

Gart stepped forward and took the sack, a rough thing sewed from crude plant fibers.  Peering inside, he could see tied off bunches of herbs and weeds.  Making his way over to the oak table near the bed that Emberley was lying upon, he began to pull the ingredients out and lay them on the table.  He sniffed them one by one.

“Mint,” he set down a green bunch and pulled out a few more, sniffing them in succession. “Lemongrass, and I’m not sure what this is. This looks like white willow.”

The children were clustered around him, watching him remove the ingredients. “Gerta says we need to mash them up and put them on her hurts.”

Gart asked the question even though he was fairly sure he knew the answer. “Why is Gerta not here to help?”

Romney looked sad. “Father told her she could not come.”

“But he said you could come?”

“He did not tell us anything. We just came.” He looked up at Gart, his expression somewhat fearful. “Does he know you are here?”

Gart shook his head. “Nay,” he said seriously. “He does not know I am here. He must not ever know or else he might hurt your mother again. You must never tell him.  Do you understand?”

He looked to all of the boys as he spoke and received two serious nods from Romney and Orin.  Brendt had no idea what he was saying until Orin snapped at the little boy and he finally nodded his head.  Little Lacy, a gorgeous child who looked just like her mother, stared up at Gart with a thumb in her mouth.  She was too young to understand in any case, but after several moments of staring at Gart, she wandered over to her mother and climbed onto the bed next to her.

Gart watched the little girl snuggled down next to Emberley, who was in such a deep sleep that she didn’t even stir.  His gaze lingered on the pair a moment before he turned back to the herbs and began to pull them apart.

“Gerta said we must mash them up?” he asked Romney.

Romney helped him pull apart the mint. “She said to mash them and put them on Mother’s hurts,” he repeated. “It will make her feel better.”

Gart looked around for a vessel to put the herbs in but could only come up with the bowl he had used to pour water in.  Collecting it off the floor, he poured the water out and placed the herbs in the bottom of the bowl, mashing them all together with a little rosewater and the bottom of an earthenware cup he had found.   Being that this was the children’s chamber, it was full of clutter both useful and garbage.  It looked like a pack of wild animals lived there and not three little boys.

When the weeds were mush, he turned to Emberley.  The three boys followed him and began jumping on the bed when they drew near their mother.  Gart softly admonished them to stop jostling her around, so Brendt and Orin contritely climbed off.  Lacy was lying next to her mother, sucking her thumb and looking up at Gart with big blue eyes.   Gart took the paste of herbs and began to smear it on Emberley’s swollen ear.

“Can I help?” Romney wanted to know.

Gart held up the bowl and the boy put his fingers in it, very carefully putting it on the exterior of his mother’s ear as Gart talked him through it.  Orin and Brendt saw what they were doing and wanted to help, too, so Gart had them smear the stuff on her bruised hands.  As the four of them carefully rubbed on the goo, Emberley began to stir.

Her dark blue eyes fluttered open and she quickly realized that there were more people in the room.  Dazed, she began to move around but Gart put a big hand on her shoulder to steady her.

“Be still,” he murmured. “You are being well tended.”

Emberley blinked, catching sight of Lacy lying next to her and Orin’s big grin, missing two front teeth.  She couldn’t help but smile weakly, reaching out a battered hand to touch Orin’s cheek and realizing there was something smeared all over it.  She blinked to clear her vision, looking at the green mess on her hands.

“What is this?” she asked weakly.

Gart stood over her, big hands on his hips as he gazed down at her. “Medicine,” he said. “Your sons were eager to help.”

Her dark blue eyes twinkled faintly at him. “They are not such bad boys after all.”

Gart smiled. “Nay, they are not,” he agreed. “In fact, they are very helpful.”

She returned his smile, prevented by speaking when Lacy suddenly sat up and put her arms around her mother’s bruised neck.  Emberley groaned as the little girl hugged her and kissed her cheek with sloppy baby kisses.  Gart instinctively moved to lift the little girl up so she wouldn’t hurt her mother, but just as quickly he stopped himself, unsure what to do.  Emberley looked up and saw his indecision, and her smile broadened.

“You have not yet met the Lady de Lacy Isadora de Moyon,” she said. “My husband named her for his good friend, Walter de Lacy. She is not yet two years of age and you must be careful that you do not let her too close to you; she will hug you and kiss you until you pull her away.”

Gart watched the little girl smother her mother in kisses, feeling those odd warm feelings swamping him again.  In pain and injured, Emberley hugged her baby and let the girl deliver slobbery kisses. It was sweet and touching. Then he looked at Romney, the oldest, stoically putting green slime on his mother’s injured ear while Orin and Brendt put it on the knuckles of her left hand. It tugged at his heart to watch these children, trying so hard to be brave and help their injured mother, strong and intelligent sons of a bastard who did not deserve them.  It both deeply touched him and deeply angered him.  Something inside him, deep down, was starting to transform.

He couldn’t put his finger on what kind of transformation, but it was something he’d never felt before.  He began to suspect it was jealousy but he largely ignored it, unsure how to handle it and not wanting to devote time and energy to it. He was jealous of what Buckland had. As he watched Emberley and the children, he realized it was more than simply taking Erik’s place as an uncle and protector. He wanted this family for himself.

Someone pounded sharply on the chamber door, jolting him from his muddy thoughts.  The children froze, terrified, and Emberley looked fearfully to the bolted panel.  They could hear Julian yelling on the other side.

“Open this door!” he shouted. “Open it, I say!”

The children looked to Gart, terrified, as he put a calm finger to his lips to indicate silence.  He was controlled, which helped the children in their reactions. His influence was calming. Motioning to Romney, he pulled the boy off the bed and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“You will open the door,” he murmured. “I will hide. Do not tell your father I am here; is that clear?”

Romney nodded solemnly. “I will not,” he whispered, turning sternly to the family on the bed. “No one tell Father that Sir Gart is here!”

As Orin and Brendt nodded fearfully, Gart patted Romney’s head. “Good lad,” he hissed. “Go and open the door.”

Romney’s big and anxious eyes were on Gart as he moved for the door. Gart, however, remained composed as he moved to stand next to the door as he had done earlier when the children had entered the room. He was such a big man that there was no other place for him to hide. He had to put himself behind the door when it opened and pray that was enough.  As long as the door remained open, he had a chance.

He flattened himself against the wall as Romney put his hand on the latch. Gart nodded confidently to Romney and the boy unbolted the door and opened it. Julian was in the process of pounding again when the panel jerked open and Romney stood in the doorway.

He scowled at his son. “Why did you lock the door, boy?”

He didn’t give Romney a chance to answer before he pushed into the cluttered chamber, his gaze falling on the mussed bed where Emberley and his other three children were. He didn’t seem to notice their fearful expressions but if he did, he didn’t care. His countenance was unrepentant as he stood over the bed, inspecting Emberley as she lay wounded.  He looked her over and finally shook his head.

“I hope you have learned your lesson this time,” he told her. “Were you not disobedient, I would not have to punish you.”

Emberley would not look at him; she clutched Lacy up against her, knowing Julian wouldn’t try to hurt her with the baby in her arms. Julian could beat her from morning to night but, strangely, he wouldn’t touch the children.  Still, the tension in the room was palpable and the small family tensed, waiting for Julian to take notice of the enormous knight hiding behind the door panel and terrified of the consequences. 

“Aye, Julian,” she replied softly. “I understand.”

Julian just stood there, eyeing her; he was finely dressed for his trip, wearing his standard colors of dark green, white and gray.  When he seemed satisfied that his wife was adequately wounded from his thrashing, he began to pull on his fine leather gloves.

“I am leaving for London this morning,” he told her. “The Queen’s requirements may keep me in London for quite some time, so I do not know when I will return. It could be months.”

“
Bon voyage
, Julian,” Emberley murmured.

He paused, irritated, still clutching one of his gloves in his hand. “Is that all you will say?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, feeling the familiar fear at his tone. “We will look forward to your return, my lord.”

That seemed to satisfy him. The man had no use for her but he wanted to feel appreciated and wanted, as if she was completely dependent upon him and longed for his return.  The wrong words would result in another thrashing and Emberley was in no condition to receive another beating. She had to make him feel as if they loved him if there was any hope of her survival.

Julian lingered, eyeing her and the children, before turning on his heel and marching towards the door.  Romney was standing there, holding it open for his father, and Julian paused in front of the boy, gazing down into his sweet little face.

“Perhaps I shall take you to London with me someday,” he put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “It is time you are introduced to Court.  While I am there, I shall also make arrangements for you to foster.  The time has come.”

Romney looked up at him innocently, leaning back against the door and sandwiching Gart between the heavy oak panel and the wall.

“Aye, Papa,” he said.

That was as far as Julian could go in showing his son attention. He went to put on his second glove but it fell from his hands, slipping on the floor and falling partially behind the panel.  Emberley, watching the exchange between Julian and Romney, was seized with terror as Julian bent over to pick it up. It was very close to Gart’s boot, the toe of which she could see a couple of inches from the glove in the shadow of the open door. But Romney was fast and he picked up the glove and handed it to his father before the man could make a reasonable effort.

“Here, Papa,” he pushed the glove at the man. “Will it take you a long time to get to London?”

Sharp even at his young age, Romney was trying to divert his father’s attention and get him out the door. The situation was becoming too uncomfortable for the young man and he knew what his father was capable of. He wasn’t fearful for Gart as much as he was fearful for his mother.  But Julian didn’t know his son very well. He’d spent the majority of the boy’s life ignoring him or in London or France, so he had no idea what was deep in the lad’s heart and the fear he had for what his father was capable of.