Medieval Ever After (32 page)

“Dear God,” Kenneth popped another in his mouth. “These are the most amazing cakes I have ever had. What is this sweet salt you speak of?”

Stephen had another whole one in his mouth. “I first had it in the Levant,” he told him. “It looks like salt but is extremely sweet, hence the name sweet salt. There is a supplier in London that I get it from and he ships his supplies from the Far East. It is not cheap nor is it plentiful, but I have been spoiled by it, more so now with my wife’s skillful cooking.”

Kenneth grabbed two before Stephen could get to them, shoving them both into his mouth. “I believe I have had it before,” he said, mouth full. “It is sweeter than honey.”

Stephen nodded, taking the last cake before Kenneth could snatch it. “It is an utter indulgence,” he sucked the custard off his fingers, pulling his wife against him with his left arm. He kissed her on the cheek. “Remarkable as always, Lady Pembury. Kenneth will now return to the Marches with tales of your legendary culinary skills and make me the envy of every man on the border.”

Joselyn grinned shyly, accepting a hug from her husband and a wink from Kenneth. Stephen then burped loudly as Kenneth fought down the urge to vomit, both of them so full they could barely move. As Joselyn grinned and wiped the sweat from her brow, Stephen suddenly noticed how rosy her cheeks were and put a hand to her forehead.

“Christ,” he hissed, immediately standing. “Your fever is flaring.”

Joselyn’s smile vanished as she put her hand to her forehead as if to reaffirm his diagnosis. “I do not believe so,” she insisted, fearful that he was going to take her to bed and tie her down. “I just came from the kitchens and they were quite warm. I feel fine, truly.”

He would not even respond. He put his arm around her shoulders and turned her for the door. But they hadn’t taken three steps when the entry door suddenly squeaked back on its hinges. Into the warm and fragrant hall emerged the battle hardened figure of Tate de Lara.

In full armor minus his helm, the man looked weary and stubbled as he pulled off his massive leather gloves. His gaze fixed on Stephen and Joselyn.

“Lady Pembury, you are looking well,” he greeted Joselyn before looking to Stephen. “Can I safely assume that the only reason you are leaving the great hall is because there is nothing more to eat? I have ridden twenty miles since early this morning and was hoping to make sup before you inhaled everything not nailed to the table.”

Stephen grinned. “There is still plenty of food left, although Kenneth and I have managed to eat all of the sweets. You should have arrived earlier.”

Tate heard Kenneth’s name, suddenly noticing the man as he rose from the table several feet away. A weary grin creased Tate’s mouth as he and Kenneth came together in a powerful handshake, reaffirming bonds that had been present since they were youths. Although Tate had a brother, Kenneth was like one and it was a satisfying moment as he gazed into the familiar features. Even perpetually stone-faced Kenneth’s expression warmed at the sight of his friend and liege.

“Ken,” Tate greeted. “Good to see you, man. You are looking fat and old.

Kenneth lifted a blond eyebrow as Stephen piped in. “That is exactly what he said to me,” he said. “We must find better insults, or at least more original ones. We are getting too predictable in our old age.”

Tate laughed softly, letting go of Kenneth’s hand as he studied his friend. He was very glad to see him. “Are the Marches treating you well?”

Kenneth nodded. “Well but boring,” he replied. “I was infinitely thankful for your summons to join Stephen. It feels strange not to see both of you every day, fighting side by side as we did for all of those years.”

Tate slapped the man on the shoulder. “It goes against the natural order of things for the three of us to not serve together,” he said, eyeing Stephen as he did so. “And speaking of serving, may I have a word with you, Stephen?”

“Of course,” Stephen took Joselyn’s hand and passed her off to Kenneth. “Can you please see Lady Pembury back to our chamber?”

Kenneth took her hand in his big warm palm. “It will be my pleasure.”

“Take her directly to the chamber, Ken. No walking around and absolutely no returning to the kitchens no matter how much she begs.”

Kenneth lifted an eyebrow at Stephen as he tucked Joselyn’s hand into the crook of his elbow. He began to lead her away. “Is he always so overbearing?” he asked her.

Stephen pursed his lips at the question as Joselyn cast him an impish glance over her shoulder. “Most always,” she turned back to Kenneth. “But he means well.”

“Do not be so tolerant, Lady Pembury. You do not really want to return to bed, do you?”

Joselyn fought off a grin, speaking loudly enough so that Stephen could hear her. “Perhaps there is something extremely devilish and strenuous that I should be doing instead.”

Kenneth nodded as if he knew exactly what she meant. “We’ll find something.”

Stephen grunted to catch their attention, reminding them that he was indeed hearing every word as they meant he should. “If she is not in the bed when I return to our chamber in five minutes, I will hold you personally responsible, St. Héver. And I promise you will not like my reaction.”

Kenneth cast him a disinterested glance before looking back to Joselyn. “What shall we do?”

Joselyn lifted her shoulders. “He is rather big. Perhaps we should listen to him.”

“I am not afraid of him. Well, not much.”

“Should we do as he says?”

They were at the door by that point. As they passed through the threshold and out into the mild night air, Kenneth cast a pointed look at Stephen.

“Let him wonder if we have.”

They were gone through the door. Stephen’s expression was still molded into a disapproving frown as he returned his attention to Tate, who was grinning quite openly at him. He shook his head at the sight of Stephen’s face.

“Since when are you without humor?” he wanted to know. “Kenneth is usually the serious one and you are usually the one I cannot keep straight. What has happened to you?”

Stephen grinned reluctantly. “My humor is intact but not when it comes to my wife’s health.”

“Health?” he repeated. “What is wrong with her? She looks well enough.”

Stephen shook his head. “She has been running a slight fever since she was wounded. I cannot seem to rid her of it.”

Tate nodded in understanding. “Whatever is causing it, I am sure you will cure her,” he said, eyeing him as he moved on to a more important subject. “Perhaps seeing her son might improve her health.”

Stephen’s dark eyebrows rose with realization, surprise. “So you have the boy?”

Tate nodded. “Cade Alexander is in the gatehouse warming himself by the fire,” he said. “He is a well behaved, thoughtful boy and Buccleuch was reluctant to let him go. But after I explained the circumstances, of which he was unaware, he released him.”

“Have you spoken to the lad at all?”

“A little. Enough to know that he likes dogs, enjoys war playing, and has your wife’s blue eyes. He is a handsome boy.”

“Did you tell him why he is coming to Berwick?”

Tate shook his head. “I am going to leave that up to you.”

Stephen nodded, digesting the information. In truth, now that the boy had arrived, he was not quite sure how he was going to feel towards the child given the fact that he was a product of an extremely harrowing act against the woman he loved. On the other hand, the boy was a part of Joselyn. For that fact alone, he would treat him as a son. But there were a few things unsaid between him and de Lara. He cleared his throat softly, crossing his enormous arms and looking rather uncomfortable.

“Just so you are aware,” he said quietly, “because of Jo-Jo’s injury and subsequent illness, I never told her that you went to retrieve the boy.”

It was Tate’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “She does not
know
?”

“Nay.”

“And you let me leave to retrieve the child without telling me?” There was disapproval in Tate’s voice. “I told you that she should be the one to make the final decision. Perhaps she does not want the boy here, reminding her of a most heinous and violent crime against her.”

Stephen put up his hands in supplication. “I told you that she has been too ill to discuss it. I will tell her tonight, this moment, in fact. But I told you before, I strongly believe that her maternal instincts will erase any fear or horror she might feel. He is her son, Tate. She will want him with her.”

Tate just growled and shook his head. He made a move towards the food-laden table, but not before he jabbed a finger at Stephen. “Tell her now,” he rumbled. “And when I am finished eating, I am returning to Forestburn and my own wife who, by the way, is probably already on her way here to drag me home by the ear. And if she is, I will expect you to defend me since the only reason I am still here is because you sent me on a fool’s errand.”

He was speaking angrily, although it was without force. He was exhausted more than anything else and Stephen knew it. But he had a point. He followed Tate to the table, watching the man grab a massive hunk of herbed bread and tear into it.

“I need to speak to you about your return to Forestburn, in fact,” he said quietly.

Tate just rolled his eyes. “Leave me in peace, Pembury. For a few bloody minutes, just leave me in peace and let me eat.”

Stephen fought off a grin, watching Tate try to ignore him. “I have another favor to ask of you.”

“I am going to take my sword and drive it into your gut if you do not leave me alone.”

“Wait until you hear me out before drawing your sword, please.”

“Good God,” Tate snarled. “What is it, then, and be quick about it.”

Stephen didn’t say anything for a moment. He stood there, trying to force the words out, but it was an extremely difficult struggle. He didn’t want to say them. But he knew he had to.

“I want you to take Joselyn with you when you leave,” he said quietly. “I want her out of Berwick.”

Tate stopped chewing and looked at him. “Why?”

Stephen inhaled slowly, wearily. “Because Ken seems to think that the Scots are building up to a major attack. He interrogated Joselyn’s cousin earlier today and based on the man’s information, Ken feels that the lack of recent activity means the Scots are preparing for something big. If that is true, then I do not want Joselyn within these walls. I want her safe.”

Tate swallowed the bite in his mouth. “And what do you feel, as the Guardian Protector?”

Stephen lifted an eyebrow, slowly. “I cannot say that I am in complete agreement, but the lack of activity, any at all, is troubling.”

“Ken has never been an alarmist.”

“I know. That is why I am taking his advice regardless of how I feel. Perhaps he is sensing something I am not.”

Tate took another bite of bread. “If that is true, then I should not leave. I should remain here with you.”

Stephen shook his head. “We are expecting reinforcements from Henry of Lancaster any day now,” he countered. “It is not necessary for you to stay.”

Tate fell silent as he swallowed his bread and delved into a big beef knuckle. “You know,” he said casually, “it has been a long time since you and Ken and I have fought side by side. I am not sure I want to miss that.”

“If you do not take Joselyn to Forestburn, then Ken has already said that he will. I have a feeling Toby would rather see you than Ken.”

“Toby will eat Ken alive if he shows his face instead of me.”

“So you will take her when you go?”

Tate sighed faintly, some of the fight gone out of him. He resumed chewing, more slowly. “What will you do about the boy?”

“Send him with her. They can take the time to get acquainted.”

De Lara scratched his head with exhaustion, digesting both his meal and the information the night had brought. “Will you tell him of his parentage before I leave?”

“When will you leave?”

He shrugged and wiped at his mouth. “More than likely on the morrow. If you are comfortable with what troops you have here, there is no reason for me to stay any longer.”

“Good,” Stephen agreed. “The sooner you remove Joselyn from this place, the better I will feel.”

With nothing more to say, Stephen left Tate devouring half a cow while he left the warm, stale great hall for the cool evening outside. Dogs barked in the distance and sentries with torches lit up the battlements. Stephen surveyed the bailey as he passed through en route to the keep, half-expecting to see his wife somewhere in the confines. He would not have been surprised to see that she had convinced St. Héver to disobey a command. But there was no wife lurking in the shadows of the bailey so he entered the keep, mounting the stairs just as Kenneth was descending. They nearly crashed into each other and Stephen had to back down to the bottom to allow Kenneth to descend. The big blond knight was moving faster than usual.

“What is wrong with you?” Stephen demanded. “You move as if the Devil is on your heels.”

“The devil is,” he lifted a white eyebrow, moving for the entry. “Your wife was attempting to coerce me into taking her fawn out for a night stroll. She said if I did not do it, she would be forced to take it. I had to run away lest she snare me for the task.”