Medieval Master Swordsmen(118)

Rod wept when David told him.





EPILOGUE



Year of our lord 1215 AD

Savignac de Duras, France





Bellay Castle towered over the landscape of the Savignac region of Navarre, guarding the northern and western borders of the province. It was a big place, heavily manned and fortified since this particular region of France was much desired by the English. But since King John had died six months earlier and his young son now sat on the throne, the French stood down their vigilance yet watched the politics of England carefully. With a nine year old boy on the throne, anything could happen.

But that was not the concern of some members of the house and hold. In fact, it was all Elizabeau could do to keep herself from collapsing from sheer exhaustion as she tried to keep track of four very small children. She didn’t have the time or energy to worry about what had become of the throne she had once been slated to assume. Six years ago, she had sworn that her childbearing days were over. A daughter shortly after marriage followed quickly by twin boys had provided her and Rhys with a lovely little family. Her husband could not have been happier. But when the twins were almost six, Elizabeau found herself pregnant once again. And then again. She’d had three girls in succession followed by another boy. Now, with four children under six years of age, she had her hands full.

Which was why she left the worries of politics to her husband. She had enough on her mind with the children. Strange how they would run amuck all day until Rhys showed himself and then, suddenly, they were angels for their doting father. And, God knew, Rhys doted. He was enamored by his children and they adored him. Although she should have been more firm with Rhys when he spoiled the children, she didn’t have the heart. She knew, deep down, that he hurt deeply for the son he left behind in Wales and showed his love for Maddoc by lavishing attention on his other children. Somehow, loving and laughing with them eased the ache. But it never went completely away, not after all these years.

But they were, in truth, brilliantly happy. They had been for twelve years. Not a day went by that they did not profess their love for one another; it was well known, in fact, that Rhys was deeply devoted to his wife more than most husbands could ever hope to be. And she clearly adored him. So each day was better than the next, and each night they thanked God that they were together. It could have been completely different for them both and they were well aware. They took nothing for granted.

This day in March dawned bright, if not chilly, just like any other. As garrison commander for Bellay Castle, Rhys rose before dawn, donned his armor, dutifully kissed his wife, and headed to the battlements. It was his routine. But the babies heard him stirring from their chamber across the hall and they rose from their little beds just about the time he quit the master bower. Five-year-old Geniver was the fastest; she always met him first as he hit the corridor. But four-year-old sister Rhiann was right behind her, squealing for her father to pick her up. Smart, talkative Morgan was three years old and sucked her thumb sleepily as she tugged at her father’s tunic. And the youngest, year-old William, yelled loudly from his caged bed to be let free.

Rhys laughed softly at the chaos at his feet; it was a morning the same as most others. He always had a herd of children clamoring around him, smart little whips demanding his attention. Picking up tiny little Morgan so she would not get stepped on, he went into the babies’ chamber to release William from his barred bed. Reaching down, he scooped up his youngest son with his free arm and walked from the room with Geniver and Rhiann skipping after him. When he hit the corridor, however, his twin sons, ten-year-old Evan and Edward, grumbled and stumbled past him on their way to the stairs.

“Why are they always so loud?” Evan mumbled. “Why can’t they stay quiet so we can sleep?”

Rhys cocked an eyebrow. “You are supposed to be up. You have work to do.”

“The sun is barely risen, Da. Why do we have to get up so early?”

“Wait until you go to foster next month. You’ll think these days to be those of luxury by comparison.”

“Anything to get away from these screaming brats.”

Rhys fought off a grin. “I will remind you of that statement when I see you for the first time after six months of fostering with Count de Visi. You’ll wish you were home again, I guarantee.”

Evan grumbled something unintelligible. Rhiann rushed to her big brother, who reached down to pick her up purely out of habit. But he was grumpy and tired and in no mood for her playfulness at such an early hour. Behind him, his brother almost tripped on the stairs as he yawned for the tenth time in as many seconds.