For King and Country (Battle Scars Book 2) Read online

“Thank you.” He bit into the warm loaf, acknowledging Marian who came in from the hall. She hesitated at the door. Henry wanted to put in a good word about Robin, but eyed the bundle of dirty braies in her hand. “Young Master David must be awake. It is all right, Marian,” he added when she tried to keep the braies out of sight. “I will not tell you what I have seen after a battle. I’ve had whiffs of much worse.”

  “But not in my kitchen.” Mary winked.

  Henry laughed. Marian whisked past him and out into the yard where the babe’s clothes could be scrubbed clean in the laundry tubs. Henry chewed on another chunk of bread and grinned broadly at Mary. Mouth half full, he asked, “Did you pack honey in the bags?”

  “Would I forget such a thing?” she asked with a toothy smile. She was fully aware of his incorrigible taste for sweets. “I put in extra.”

  “Then we shall be set.”

  Henry stepped outside. Mist on the pasture was lifting, but the trees at the river’s edge in the distance remained enshrouded in a ghostly pallor. Near the wagons, his father reviewed the manifest with the captain of the guard. Villagers pitched in to take down the campsite. Robin and Stephan were by the stables, deep in conversation.

  Marian pretended to be busy inspecting clothes hung up to dry, but she watched Robin closely, her expression skeptical, yet admiring. Her cheeks colored. She must have felt Henry’s eyes on her as he approached. She had the look of someone who had no desire to discuss Robin Carpenter, but Henry did not let that stop him. “Marian, about Robin. He’d not have left you to raise Robert alone if he had known.”

  Marian kept her voice low. “He spoke those words, but why should I believe him? He had twelve years to return,” she said, unbending.

  “When I met Robin he said you were the only reason he would come back to Greyton. He always spoke of you with great affection. He is a caring and giving man.”

  Marian retrieved a damp tunic from the laundry, snapped it in the air and hung it on the line. She looked close to tears. “That is how I remember him.”

  “Give him a chance to show you again.” Henry took her hand. “If you still love him, do not let pride stand in the way of your heart.” His thoughts turned to the second chance Stephan had given him. Stephan had waited, mayhap never expecting Henry could love him.

  Edward’s voice boomed, deep and clear, as he strode towards Henry. “There he is!”

  Marian tugged her hand from Henry’s, took one last look at Robin, and then hurried into the house.

  “I say again, it is good to have you home. The villeins can now think of your face when the reeve collects their rents. Mayhap mine will fade in their memories.” Edward chuckled, looking pleased with himself. He tipped his head to the pond where the mill wheel creaked. “Tell the miller we shall need additional flour and oats to feed our guests.”

  Surely Mary would have made arrangements with the miller, but studying his father, Henry agreed with a nod. The strength of Edward’s voice surprised him. Sleep had done him good.

  “Your entourage.” Edward pointed toward the stables. “Who is the man with Stephan?”

  “Sir Robin du Louviers. He arrived late last evening.” Henry wondered if his father would recognize the carpenter’s son.

  “One of the king’s men.” Concern tempered the contempt in Edward’s voice as his eyes drifted to Burford and the wagons.

  Remembering their argument last night, a bitter taste crept up Henry’s throat. “A king’s man, like me.” Fighting Edward’s scorn with pride, his hand found the hilt of his sword. “Stephan and I served with Robin in Outremer. You might remember him. Robin bested dozens of men in an archery contest in Grantham. You handed him a silver coin for his win.”

  Edward’s gray-streaked brows furrowed, and then his eyes widened. “The carpenter’s son?” He scratched his beard. “Robin Carpenter, troublemaker.”

  Henry laughed. “Robin admits that himself. But he is a great knight and a close friend of King Richard. I will tell you of his brave deeds when we sup tonight.”

  Edward scowled. “I have known many a man with courage. I have seen war. I’ve no need to hear of Robin or Richard’s actions. Outremer is the past.”

  “It will never be past! You have been in battles, Father. Did you forget them so easily?”

  “Your concern must be here.” Edward looked at smoke curling from the chimney on the bakehouse, at the mill wheel sending ripples across the pond. “Home and family. Keeping them secure.” He stared past the wagons and blew out a long slow breath. “Your marriage to Alys Weston, rest her soul, would have brought us good fortune.”

  Business. Henry nodded absently. The man could think of little else but business.

  “You must visit her family at Westorby. Express your condolences,” Edward added. “And soon.”

  “Alys’ parents must be greatly aggrieved. I am sorry for their loss.” His eyes strayed to Stephan. Forgive me, Alys, that I never loved you the way I love Stephan.

  “Lord Weston and his wife are dead,” Edward said flatly. “Young Edric, Alys’ brother, has the honor of Westorby now.”

  “Dear God.” Henry crossed himself. Alys and her parents dead. He felt a flush of remorse. Had she lived, what then? How could he have endured an arranged marriage when his heart belonged to Stephan?

  Edward mistook Henry’s stricken expression. “I forgot you’d not know this.” Edward clasped his arm to offer comfort and thankfully said nothing more.

  “And what of your loss, Father?” Henry asked, gripping Edward’s shoulder.

  Edward dismissed him with a curt wave, avoiding any mention of Margery de Grey’s death. “Do not worry for me.” His voice cracked. “I am fine. Our concern must be for the living, the ones who depend on us.”

  Edward wouldn’t meet his gaze, but Henry knew he was hurting. Couldn’t he see Henry’s pain was no less than his own? Henry wanted to know his mother’s last days. Had she suffered or passed quietly in the night?

  “I shall send word to Lord Weston.” Edward interrupted his thoughts. “He would be more than glad to have you stay at Westorby on the way to Boston.”

  “Might I rest a few days first, enjoy your company and Bea’s?”

  “There will be plenty of time for that later, but you have responsibilities in Boston as well as here.” Edward’s voice took on a deep lordly tone. “You must meet with Odo and tend to business. He knows our trade better than I do myself. He can teach you, from the production of fine wool cloth to the shipping. You must show everyone from the shepherds to the captain who steers your cargo across the sea that you know their work. Those men will take pride in the lowest of tasks because you do.”

  Like the soldiers rallying when King Richard charged a Saracen line, Henry thought. The king inspired many a man to raise his weapon when he thought he’d no strength left to lift a feather.

  “Rest a day or two,” Edward said. “You will take Bea with you and escort her to Cartholme when your business is done.”

  It wasn’t the direct route to Bea’s home, but the longer journey would give him more time with her. And with Stephan. “I will settle her there, and then ride to York. I promised Stephan I’d accompany him. I am anxious to see if his brother is half the arse Stephan claims.”

  Edward ignored him. “Lord Weston has another sister if you recall. I do not believe she’s spoken for.”

  “Father, please.” Henry groaned. “I want no part of marriage now. I wrote that in my letter.”

  “That was more than a year ago. Put Alys’ death behind you and get on with your life. Meet the younger Weston girl. I hear she is a beauty.”

  Henry saw Stephan’s blazing smile across the yard. “There needs be more than beauty to turn my eye.”

  “You are so like your mother. She was always pleased to see you with Alys, to see that friendship came before the marriage bed. But Alys’ sister Elle—Bea finds her quite charming and intelligent.”

  “Then let Bea marry her!”

  “Henr
y!” Edward shouted.

  One of the horses bucked as if stung. The outburst turned heads, but anyone who heard quickly resumed their work.

  Edward jabbed a forefinger at Henry’s chest. “We will talk of your future. Your heir.”

  Henry’s jaw stiffened. There’d be no end to this matchmaking. “I am but three and twenty. King Richard is many years older and he has no heir.”

  “He is married,” Edward said. “And he has a younger brother who will be king.”

  “Not while the king lives,” Henry said defiantly.

  “The great Lionheart.” Edward harrumphed. “Your eyes have been colored by the warrior king. Does the man care more than a twig for England?”

  Henry’s mouth fell open. He stepped back as if struck. “Do not be so quick to judge him. You do not know King Richard’s mind.”

  Edward’s hand sliced the air with a curt dismissal. “Let’s not argue over the king.” He rubbed his temples. “You have a duty to your family and your people. Stability depends on the de Grey succession.”

  “Bea’s son might inherit—”

  Edward scoffed. “The child shall have more than enough from his own father if the king’s taxmen do not bleed us all dry. The war is over yet we still pay the Saladin tithe. And now there is talk of the king’s ransom. Will the queen’s justiciars choke another tenth of our income for that?”

  Henry couldn’t even imagine what sum the Holy Roman Emperor’s ransom demand would drain from the realm’s coffers. England had suffered these last few years with the taxes imposed by King Henry to pay for the crusade. Noblemen, the Church, peasants—their burden would only deepen. And how much of that silver would fall into Count John’s hands? Fortifying his castles, hiring mercenaries. Leading the country into civil war.

  Henry said none of this to his father, though, and returned the subject to Bea. “Marian did not think much of the Baron of Cartholme.”

  “She is right. Bea would speak of him with you.” Edward sighed. “I will only say that I am not sorry that God took the man. May the Devil have him and be glad.” He looked towards the men at the stable. “Your friend Stephan is unmarried.”

  “He has nothing to bring to a marriage,” Henry said a bit too quickly.

  Edward did not seem to notice. “Your sister is too young to be widowed. Tell me more about Stephan. He saved your life. I like him.”

  Covering his mouth, Henry shook his head. The courtly games last night had been one thing, but this? “He serves in the king’s household. He does not intend to marry.”

  “He has not met the right woman. Encourage him to know your sister. They shall have time to talk on the road to Boston and Cartholme. He will be impressed with Bea’s lands. He could have all of it, be ward to my grandson. Have your beautiful sister. She may speak her mind more than a woman should, but a warrior like Stephan would be good for her.”

  Henry reflected how little his father understood Stephan. Or Bea, for that matter. And he seemed to forget Stephan was a king’s man.

  By the stables, Stephan turned, giving a sense he had heard his name. His smile lit a path between them and everyone else disappeared into the mist. “Stephan is not awed by land, power, or a woman’s beauty.”

  “Good then. Bea shall like him all the more for that.” Edward’s eyes gleamed.

  He is right, and yet so wrong. The irony of it all. Henry rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t fear his lover could be swayed. His worry was that by midsummer’s day, they must say good-bye. He dreaded the thought, but sooner might be better given his father’s matchmaking.

  *

  Stephan gritted his teeth watching Captain Burford pace along the line of wagons like he owned each one.

  “Hurry it up, you curs,” Burford shouted as villeins packed the guards’ tents. “Sun’ll be high overhead at the rate you slugs move.”

  The house servant Sarah approached the captain. Smiling coyly, she handed him a small packet. He spoke in a voice too low for Stephan to hear, but the way he brushed his hand along her cheek made Stephan cringe. Sarah dimpled and laughed, smoothed her kirtle, and flitted away. Stephan would have to have a word with Henry about how the girl spent her time.

  Burford completed a final inspection to ensure the tarps were tied down securely and ordered his men to mount. “Where’s my horse?” He could plainly see Robert checking the black’s hoofs.

  Overbearing arse, Stephan thought, his dislike for the man growing.

  Firmly gripping the bridle, Robert walked the horse up to the captain. “He’s a fine animal, sir.”

  “Did you check every horse, boy?”

  “Yes, captain. All are in good stead.”

  Satisfied, Burford mounted and gave a curt nod, but not to Robert or his guards. Peeking round the corner of the house Sarah smiled with a woman’s infatuation. Stephan would have missed it had he not been watching the man.

  Mary came outside, her expression fierce. She planted her hands on her hips and tsked. “Where is that girl?” She glared at the guards and scanned the village from mill to the far pastures. “Sarah!” she called as Burford pulled his mail hood over his dark hair and signaled his men to move out. “If that child…” She turned back into the house, still muttering beneath her breath.

  Astride his horse, Robin’s gaze flicked from Mary to Henry striding across the yard. “He looks none too happy,” Robin said.

  Stephan agreed. “Henry and his father argued about the king and his brother.” He wondered how the reunion with his own brother might go. He’d been thinking of Gil’s antagonism and petty jealousies. Surely those feelings would be tempered after more than three years. But what of his loyalties? Like Henry, he’d not even considered the thought and suddenly felt a chill crawl up his spine. Despite their estrangement he must call upon his brother, and pray it would be for nothing more than to get the tenor of Count John’s influence in York.

  “Let us hope the disagreements come to nothing more than words.” Robin frowned. “Speaking of fathers, word of my return may be racing up the road as we speak.”

  Henry heard the end of their conversation. “I would go with you to Ringsthorpe, but my work keeps me here today,” he said, untethering his horse from the post where Robert had tied him. “If you could wait until the morrow…”

  “I’d best not delay, though my father would likely make you more welcome than me.”

  “You think he shall toss you out the door?” Henry asked.

  “The great Robin du Louviers,” Stephan teased when Robin nodded. “Mayhap Allan will protect you.”

  The knights laughed. Robert stood at the stable door, curiosity in his blue eyes. Yearning, too, to join in the knights’ camaraderie. The boy was observant, Stephan thought, but not too bold. He had many of Robin’s good traits, which surely made the knight proud. But poor Robin. Stephan didn’t envy the secret he kept.

  “Bring your father my greetings,” Henry said, “and good luck.”

  “Your fathers, my brother.” Stephan chuckled. “Shields raised.”

  Henry swung astride Soleil. “I imagine Marian has raised her shield, too,” he said quietly.

  Grimacing, Robin nodded. “She has every right and I cannot blame her. I hurt her.”

  “Coming back was the right thing,” Henry said.

  Stephan agreed. “She knows this whether she admits it or not. Give it time.”

  “That is one thing I do not have.” Releasing a deep breath, Robin cocked his head to the north. “Allan and Little John will be halfway to Ringsthorpe by now.” His gaze drifted to the manor where Marian peered from the window and he waved farewell, but she turned away without acknowledging him. Robert saw the exchange and met his eyes, puzzled. Robin pretended not to notice, waved goodbye to the boy, and cantered down the road.

  Stephan ached for Robin and Marian. Watching Robin leave, he longed to drag Henry into his arms. He knew the anguish of having love ripped away, remembered when he doubted Henry would come to love him again. But s
urely Marian might still have a place for Robin in her heart. Could she take him back knowing he must leave again?

  Robin watched his father work from the open door of the shop. Sunlight bled in through the windows. A cross-draft rustled William Carpenter’s hair, revealing streaks of gray where it had once been brown and gold, like Robin’s. Their mouths had the same rosebud curl. Bruises purpled his huge hands, hands that reminded Robin of the intricate designs his father carved, like the wooden horse he had treasured as a child. William’s muscles twitched as he planed a wooden chest and then brushed wood dust to the floor.

  Robin cleared his throat. “Sir?”

  William’s head shot up. He eyeballed his son and hastily returned to his handiwork. “I heard you were alive.”

  “Word travels fast.” Robin knew better than to smile. His father might have his eyes on the chest, but he would sense Robin’s attitude.

  “Apparently not from wherever you have been these last twelve years.” William fumbled with the tools on the workbench behind him. “Where is that bloody—”

  A chisel with a well-worn handle lay to one side of the chest. Robin picked it up. “Is this what you need?”

  William grunted and took the tool. He tapped the chisel with an equally old-looking mallet, chipping into the lid, retrieved and set his gouge to the stag head design he was creating.

  “I was knighted by King Richard.”

  “Been to the Holy Land?” William asked without looking up.

  Robin nodded. “We returned to England in January.”

  “Without your king.” William lifted his head and studied the fine tunic, the surcoat bearing the king’s colors, and the chausses on Robin’s muscular body. He turned back to his work. “A letter would have been nice. Surely someone could have written it for you. A priest or a scribe.”

  Robin had learned both reading and writing while serving Richard, but his father would not know that. But writing home? There was no home without Marian. His father had stolen that from him by trying to force him to marry Linota. The old anger returned. “Would you have read it?”

  William did not answer.