Page 5 of While Angels Slept
“Did he speak of Hunt?” she asked him.
The man patted her hand as she clutched him. “He spoke of his family, my lady, of a little boy who would one day bear his father’s weapon.”
Tears anew sprang to her eyes as she was reminded of a son who was now fatherless. “I do not know you.”
“Tevin du Reims, my lady.”
Her eyes widened slightly, the tears momentarily halted. “You…,” she breathed. “You are Viscount Winterton.”
“I am.”
“You issued the call to take the bridge.”
His piercing dark eyes gazed steadily at her. “I did, my lady.”
Her first reaction was to become irate and curse him, but she could not muster the strength. Somewhere in the logical part of her mind that still remained, she knew he was not at fault.
Her gaze turned back to Brac, lying white and bloody on the ground. She tried to pull away from Myles to return to her husband, but the knight held her fast. He would not let her return to death. They tried to help her walk back to the donjon, but her legs would not function. Myles lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the massive four-story keep that dominated Rochester Castle.
It was very late, well after midnight as the knights supporting the return of Empress Matilda watched de Lohr return the lady to the keep. They were saddened by the waste of Brac Penden, an unnecessary death in this dark and evil time. They were equally saddened for the anguish brought upon Lady Penden.
Some of Penden’s men led Charles away. The Steward of Rochester was still muttering to himself madly, refusing to leave his son until his men forcibly removed him. Those still crowded around Brac’s body gradually left, filtering away into the night to take care of their horses or console each other with drink. Aye, they had retaken the bridge on this day, but the cost had been too high.
Viscount Winterton and his knights were the only men remaining with Brac’s corpse when the others had faded into oblivion. They knew that Myles would be back once he settled Lady Penden and did not want to leave Brac’s body unattended. Du Reims and his men stood around, quiet moments of conversation between them, waiting for this hellish night to be over.
“He was a good man,” a burly, red-haired knight approached the viscount. “He was well-liked. This will be hard on his men.”
Tevin glanced at one of his four most trusted knights. Sir Simon Horley was a ferocious fighter, not given to fits of sentiment that he wascurrently displaying.
“I fear this will be harder on his father and wife,” Tevin’s dark eyes glanced up at Rochester’s keep. “We’ve lost a fine knight, but they’ve lost considerably more.”
Simon wandered away, pacing around Brac’s body like a guard dog. Tevin’s gaze moved to the three other knights who served him personally. Each man was worth his weight in gold, skilled and powerful fighters. They all stood around Brac’s body, protecting it, showing respect for Brac and his family. Soon enough, they would put him in the ground and move beyond the grieving. But not tonight.
Tonight belonged to Brac.
*
“We have a problem.”
Settled in Rochester’s warm, smoky solar with a cartographer’s drawing of England spread out before him, Tevin glanced up at the two knights standing in the doorway. Sir John Swantey had uttered the ominous words and Tevin focused his attention on the lanky, slender man.
“What problem is that?” he asked.
The knight sighed. “Charles Penden. He refuses to let us bury his son. He wants to burn him instead.”
“What does the wife say?”
“She’s nearly gone to blows with him.”
Tevin stared at him a moment before slowly rising from the massive table that held the well-worn map. His expression was pensive. “We have more of a problem than that. I received word this morning that Dartford Crossing has been reclaimed by the opposition.”
John’s eyebrows lifted, perhaps in disbelief and some frustration. “Then we retake it, my lord?”
Tevin shrugged as if John had just made the most obvious statement in the world. “We’ve no choice. That bridge is our link to London and regions beyond.” He thumped the vellum beside him. “But what Icannot figure out is if the king’s forces, specifically Worcester, is trying to separate me from my seat or if by taking control of the crossing, they’re trying to separate the Empress’ concentration of forces. To separate Kent from London would be a great feat.”
“And to take Thunderbey Castle would be a stroke of excellent fortune.” The second knight spoke, although it was not in a tone that one would have expected from a warrior. This knight was smaller, wearing heavy mail that seemed absurd on such a slight frame.
At second glance, one would notice that the knight was, in fact, a woman. Lady Valeria du Reims had been fighting with her older brother since she had been a very young woman. She was fierce in battle, though Tevin knew he should not allow it. Still, he had never been able to deny her. Val did as she pleased and Tevin was weak enough to let her. If he’d tried to stop her, she’d only go fight for someone else. It was a pity as well. She was a lovely girl with pale red hair and luminous dark eyes. She would have made an excellent match as Viscount Winterton’s sister. But in her current state, she would only make some man an excellent knight instead of a wife, and there was no market for that sort of thing.
