The Thunder Lord: The de Shera Brotherhood Book One (Lords of Thunder: The de Shera Brotherhood 1) (7 page)

“He has a big tongue,” she said.

Jeniver smiled gently. “He does, indeed,” she said, her gaze moving between the two children. “I do not know your names, you know. Won’t you tell me?”

The older child nodded but she was looking at the puppy as it licked her on the arm. “My name is Violet,” she said. “This is my sister, Leelee.”

She pronounced her own name as “Biolet”, which was rather adorable. More than that, she has a fairly obvious lisp, which was very charming.

“How old are you, Lady Violet?” Jeniver asked.

Violet was having her fingers nibbled on but she managed to hold up the other hand, displaying four or five fingers, possibly. “Leelee is a baby,” she said, indicating her sister.

Lily wasn’t quite a baby but she couldn’t have been more than three years of age. As Jeniver gazed at the little faces, she remembered what Lady Honey had told her about the earl having lost his wife. That meant these little girls were motherless, just as she herself was fatherless. Jeniver bit back the tears as she thought on their terrible connection, all of them having lost a parent.

“My puppy does not have a name,” she said, fighting off the sorrow by focusing on something more pleasant. “Will you help me name him?”

The girls nodded eagerly. “I want to name him after the sun!” Violet announced.

Lily, who wasn’t quite as verbal as her sister, tried to interject her opinion. “Dog!”

Jeniver grinned. “Shall we call the puppy ‘dog’?”

Lily nodded while Violet shook her head vigorously. “Nay,” she said flatly. “I want to name him Brightly.”

Jenifer’s eyebrows lifted. “Brightly?”

Violet was determined. “After the sun,” she said, pulling her nibbled fingers out of the dog’s mouth. “Isn’t that a nice name?”

Jeniver didn’t want to hurt the child’s feelings but it wasn’t something she was apt to name her dog. “But he is black,” she said. “He does not look much like the sun to me. He is a very black dog.”

Violet was back to petting the dog but she was also eyeing Jeniver somewhat. “You speak strangely,” she said. “Why do you speak like that?”

Jeniver knew the child meant her Welsh accent and was not offended. “That is because I was taught the Welsh language before I was taught your language,” she said. “Our words are different from yours. Sometimes that makes the words in your language sound odd when I speak them.”

Violet absorbed that explanation. “Where do you come from?” she asked.

Jeniver’s smile faded as she thought of a home she might never see again. So much about her life was uncertain at the moment. “Wales,” she said softly. “I live in Wales in a place called Rhydilian Castle.”

Violet was somewhat interested. “Do you have sisters like me?”

Jeniver shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “It is only me and my father. Much as it is only you and your father. My mother died when I was young, too.”

Violet tore her gaze away from the all-precious puppy to look at her. “My mother died a while ago,” she said. “She fell off her horse. Papa does not let us ride horses anymore because Mama fell. I had a pony but he gave it away.”

Jeniver read bigger implications into that statement. The earl, obviously terrified for his children after the death of their mother, took away the very activity that had claimed her. A reaction like that told her that the man was very protective over his children, with deeper feelings involved, much as her father had been. Men of this day and age didn’t usually become so attached to their children, much less girl children. Most fathers she had known or seen had been rather callous towards their young offspring, but the earl evidently wasn’t one of those. The earl apparently cared for his children a great deal.

“Does that make you sad?” she asked Violet.

Violet nodded. “I loved my pony,” she said, somewhat dejected. “I… I love your puppy, too.”

So they were back to the puppy and Jeniver thought she detected a hint of suggestion in that comment. She knew the girls loved her puppy but she wasn’t going to give it to them. She loved it, too.

“I know you do,” she said, realizing it wasn’t what Violet wanted to hear. “You promised to help me name him. Well? What will we decide?”

Violet was bordering on a pout because she hadn’t been given the puppy. Frustrated, and unable to hide it, she shrugged.

“He’s just a black dog,” she said, unhappy.

Jeniver fought off a grin. “But he is a strong and mighty dog,” she said. “We must give him a strong and mighty name.”

Violet gazed at the puppy she could not have. “He’s dark like… like the storm clouds,” she said. “He is the color of angry rain clouds.”

Jeniver looked at the puppy. “A storm cloud,” she muttered, more to herself. “Mayhap we should name him after the storm gods. They are strong and mighty. What do you think of the name Taranis? That is the ancient Welsh god of thunder.”

Violet looked at her, the unhappiness leaving her face. “Taranis?” she repeated. Then, she looked back at the dog. “Taranis!”

“’Ranis!” Lily took up the cry, somewhat butchering the name at her young age. “’Ranis is the dog!”

Violet scowled at her sister. “Ta-ranis,” she said clearly. “Say Ta-ranis!”

Lily looked confused. “Ta-ris?”

Violet shook her head, scowling, but Jeniver smiled at the younger child, fair-haired, with the same green eyes her sister had. In fact, Jeniver realized that both girls had their father’s eyes, eyes that she had found quite mysterious and oddly alluring.
It is simply the confusion of the day that makes you think that,
she scolded herself. She struggled not to think such thoughts about the man’s eye color.

“We will call him Taranis,” she agreed softly, pushing away thoughts of alluring green eyes. “I like the name. It suits him.”

As the little girls petted furiously and called the puppy by his new name, the chamber door opened again and they heard a gasp.

“Lily! Violet!” Honey hissed as she came into the room. “What are you doing here? You were told to leave Lady Jeniver to rest!”

Jeniver sat up as Honey rushed in and grasped her granddaughters by the hands. “No harm done, Lady Honey,” she assured the woman. “They have come to help me name my dog.”

Honey paused because the girls were resisting her, trying to pull free and return to the puppy.

“I am sorry they disturbed your rest, my lady,” she said. “I put them down to nap and when I went to check on them, they were missing.”

Jeniver put the puppy down onto the floor and the children squealed with delight, pulling free of Honey’s grip and running about the room with the barking puppy.

“It is of no matter, truly,” she said. “I was not sleeping, anyway.”

Honey was sympathetic. “May I bring you something, then?” she asked. “Wine? Mayhap some food?”

Jeniver shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “Thank you for your kindness, but I am not hungry. Do you know how my father is?”

Honey nodded. “I have just inquired,” she said. “The surgeon says he is stable. He has not yet passed. Mayhap you will be able to see him soon.”

While Jeniver was relieved that her father was still alive, she was disappointed that she was not allowed to see him. With a silent nod, she hung her head, unable to think of anything but her sorrow. Strangers were keeping her from her father and she didn’t like it one bit but, in a small way, she understood. They were trying to help him, afraid she might interfere or get in the way. Perhaps she should have demanded to be taken to him but the truth was that she would be of no help. She didn’t know much of healing. That being the case, she was willing to let those who knew more about medicine than she did help her father.

Honey watched Lady Jeniver’s lowered head, unsure what more to say to her. The girls and the puppy were back under the bed, having a wonderful time. She thought perhaps that all of the activity was too much for the lady and she hastened to remove the girls from underneath the bed when she abruptly faltered. With a soft grunt, she sagged against the side of the bed, struggling to support herself.

Jeniver saw the woman stumble. She might have thought it was nothing more than a pulled muscle or something minor but Honey grasped the side of the bed for support and actually seemed to be holding herself up with it. Whatever was happening to the woman didn’t seem to be a passing thing. Alarmed, Jeniver leapt off the bed and rushed to the woman’s side, grasping her so she would not slither to the floor.

“My lady,” Jeniver asked with concern. “What is the matter? Are you ill?”

Embarrassed, Honey tried to brush it off but she couldn’t quite manage to do it. Her legs were as weak as a newborn colt’s and there was a great pain in her spine and down her legs.

“I… I shall recover,” she assured Jeniver. “It will pass.”

Jeniver didn’t let go of the woman because she was sure she was going to fall to the floor. She held tight to Honey for fear the woman would collapse.

“You should sit down,” she told her, trying to move her towards one of the chairs in the chamber. “Please sit. I will fetch someone to help.”

Honey resisted. “Nay,” she said quickly, making a strong attempt at standing straight. “Please do not summon anyone. It will pass.”

Jeniver was increasingly concerned but she didn’t argue with the woman. She simply held on to her until the spell passed, which was a few minutes at the very least. While the children screamed and played, and the puppy barked, Jeniver held tight to Honey until the woman was strong enough to stand on her own. Even then, she haltingly made her way over to a chair and sat heavily. It was clear that her strength was fragile. Jeniver followed, arms extended, waiting to catch the woman in case she faltered again. When Honey glanced up and saw Jeniver’s worried expression, she smiled weakly.

“It happens sometimes,” she said quietly, eyeing the children playing around the bed. “I feel much better now.”

Jeniver was standing over her, perplexed. “Are you ill, my lady?” she asked. “Is it a sickness of some kind?”

Honey didn’t say anything for a moment. She continued watching her grandchildren play beneath the bed. She could see Lily’s legs sticking out.

“I only had three sons, you know,” she confessed. “I always wanted a girl but it was not meant to be. When Gallus had Violet and Lily, I was thrilled. I… I would like to be around them a bit longer and watch them grow, at least until they are old enough to foster. Especially after losing their mother last year, I feel as if I am needed. I cannot leave them just yet.”

There was something in the way she said it that caused Jeniver to think that perhaps there was more to her weak spell than met the eye. Honey seemed to be alluding to something greater than a grandmother’s desire to spend as much time with her grandchildren as she could. There was sorrow in her eyes, almost desperation. Quietly, Jeniver knelt down beside the chair, gazing up at the woman with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

“Why do you believe you will leave them sooner?” she asked. “Is something wrong, Lady Honey? Are you indeed ill?”

Honey could see genuine concern in Jeniver’s face and, oddly enough, she didn’t see a stranger any longer. Even though they had only met that morning, they had already been through quite an ordeal together. Honey rather liked the woman, as she seemed to be wise and rather mature for her young age. Besides, there was a lack of adult female companionship for her at Isenhall. She missed Catheryn, too, but in different ways than her son did.

“Not to worry,” Honey said, putting a soft hand on Jeniver’s cheek. “We all must die sometime, mustn’t we? And please forgive me for not having expressed my sorrow for your father’s injury. I am deeply sorry for what he has had to endure at the hands of outlaws. From what little I saw of him, it seems to me that he is a good and caring man.”

Honey was brilliant in turning the focus of the conversation around, now turning it away from her and onto Jeniver and her sorrow. Jeniver, in fact, was swamped by feelings she had only recently pushed aside and her concerns over Honey’s health were forgotten. With a faint sigh, she nodded her head and stood up with some lethargy.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “He is indeed a good and caring man. I… I am deeply grieved over what has happened, more than you can know.”

Honey reached out and grasped the young woman’s hand, squeezing gently. “Although I wish you had not met with such tragedy, it is fortuitous that we were able to assist you,” she said. “I consider it an honor to be able to tend to your father and to have you as our guest.”

Jeniver was verging on tears again with thoughts of her father and struggling not to show it. “You have been most kind,” she said, her throat tight. “I am very thankful for your help and hospitality.”

Honey watched the young woman struggle with her emotions. She wondered if she should bring up the fact that the young lady and Gallus were now betrothed, pushing her agenda that her son should marry again. But she held her tongue, at least for the moment. She would not mention the fact that she had sent a messenger to Coventry Cathedral earlier than day when everyone else was tending either Gaerwen or Lady Jeniver. With everyone occupied, it was the perfect time for Honey to move forward with the marriage plans.

Honey had sent one of her husband’s trusted servants with a missive for the cardinal, a man she had known for many years. He had presided over Antoninus’ funeral, in fact. She had asked the cardinal to send a priest so that her son may be married and, given the fact that Coventry was only a few hours ride on a swift horse, she fully expected to see a priest by the evening’s meal. Nay, she wouldn’t mention any of that at the moment. It would be much better to present the priest and not give either Gallus or the lady time to back out of the betrothal. Aye, she would surprise them with it and she wasn’t the least bit remorseful.