Page 2 of While Angels Slept
And the barons were caught in the maelstrom, Brac along with them. It was his duty as heir to Stewardship of Rochester.But no, he shook himself inwardly. His duty was to Cantia and their son, Hunt. His duty was to provide a safe country in which to raise his family.
He gazed down into that sweet face he knew so well. She was slender and strong, of average height that appeared short against his tall stature. To be with her, to touch her, balanced his entire world. He had known her since she had been a small child, when he knew that he would marry her someday. He’d never been without her.
“What is the matter with you?” he murmured. “You are usually far better company than this.”
She gazed up at him, unsure how to answer. His normal manner was to jest until she was nearly crazy with it. Today she had no patience for his levity.
“I cannot say,” she said. “All I know is that the sky is filled with blood. It gives me a feeling of doom.”
“Are you a prophet, then?” he lifted his eyebrows.
“Of course not.”
He grinned and kissed her forehead. “Nay, you are not. And I will hear no more of this foolishness. My men are waiting for me in the courtyard, growing fat and lazy as we speak.”
She reached out to grasp his hand even as he moved for the door. She could not explain why she did not want to let him go, only that she did not. As Brac lifted the latch, a small boy suddenly came rushing in.Robust and tow-headed, he held a small wooden sword in his hand and thrust it at his father.
“Die, fool!” the child cried. When the man didn’t react fast enough, he threw up his arms. “Fall down already. I’ve kilt you!”
Brac grabbed his gut as if mortally wounded and fell to one knee. “Mighty Sir Hunt,” he grunted. “Could you not have spared my life, O Great One? Must you kill me in front of my wife?”
The little boy pointed at him with his imperious sword. “Die and be done with it. I would bury you now with a grand funeral.”
“How grand?”
“The grandesth!”
Brac sprawled out on the floor, but not without a tremendously painful and overly-dramatic scene of death. Even his death throes had death throes. His son grinned triumphantly then pounced on his father’s stomach. Brac grunted loudly and put his arms around the leaping child. His booming laughter filled the room.
“You should not encourage his unhealthy preoccupation with funerals,” Cantia scolded softly. “He buries everything he comes across: mice, bugs, animals….”
Father and son continued to tussle. “I see nothing unhealthy with a grand funeral other than the fact that someone has to die in order to have one,” Brac said.
“That is not the least bit humorous.”
“Aye, it is.”
“Can I go into battle with you, Father?” Hunt ignored his mother completely. “I can fight. I have weaponths!”
Brac sat up. “Soon, little man,” he rose to his feet, gingerly rubbing his stomach where the boy had leapt on him. “When you are old enough, I should be proud to ride into battle with you.”
Huntington Penden had turned five years old last week and, with his latest birthday, was convinced he was man enough to do just about anything his father did. Brac’s answer did not please him, but he did his best not to argue. Knights did not argue. They simply followed orders.
“Nexth time?” he asked.
Brac’s blue eyes twinkled at the boy. “I shall consider it. But until then, I will leave you here to take care of your mother. That is the most important task of all.”
Hunt nodded seriously. “Aye.”
“Do not let her come to harm. I am depending on you.”
“I won’t.”
Hunt had a thick tongue and a bit of a lisp. But it was part of his charm. Brac ruffled the child’s downy head. “Good lad.” Glancing at the boy’s mother once again, he could see right through her thin smile. She was still worried. He put his arm around her as he led her out the door. “I would have beef tonight for sup. And none of those turnips you and the cook harvested last week, they’re bitter and foul. But I will have some of those honey cakes with the nuts on them.”
Cantia nodded, memorizing his wishes. “It shall be done, my lord.”
They descended the narrow steps to the great central room below. It was bitterly cold outside and Brac did not want her out in the midst of it. So he faced her at the bottom of the steps while Hunt stood beside them, more interested in his sword than his parents’ farewell.
