While Angels Slept (5 page)

She picked a
rose from the vine that was draped across him, pricking her finger and sending
a drop of blood onto the blue and gold colors of Rochester he wore across his
chest. Unnerved by the sight of her blood on his clean tunic, she tried to wipe
it off, but it absorbed into the fabric. The harder she wiped, the more it
would not come out. Big hands suddenly grabbed her wrists and pulled her gently
but firmly away from Brac’s body.

“If I had a wife
who loved me very much, I should be greatly comforted to have a spot of her
blood on my tunic that would soon be laid to rest with me in my grave,” Tevin’s
low voice was in her ear. “It would be as if I took a part of her to my grave
with me. A greater honor I could not imagine.”

The tears
welling in Cantia’s eyes because she had mussed Brac’s tunic now welled for
another reason. She looked at Tevin, the lavender eyes glowing with humble
gratitude. “I did not think on it that way,” she whispered. “What a beautiful
thing to say.”

He allowed
himself to smile at her, a reassuring gesture. “I think Brac would say the same
thing, don’t you?”

She was greatly
comforted by his words. “He would.”

“May I stand
with you?”

“I would be
honored, my lord.”

They put Brac in
the great stone crypt and closed the lid as she stood there. His effigy would
be added later after the stonemasons finished it. For now, it was a plain
crypt, strong and solid as Brac had been. Cantia stood there as Charles paid
his final respects and as the cathedral cleared out of all those in attendance.
Myles took Hunt with him and she could hear the little boy proclaim his
approval at the grand funeral as the knight escorted him from the room. At some
point, the Viscount Winterton left her, too, until she was the only person left
in the warm, candle-lit chapel. It was peculiar sensation, empty and wrought
with finality.

It was the same
cathedral she and Brac had been married in, the same place where Hunt had been
christened. Now it was the place where her husband was buried. Standing there,
gazing down at the sealed crypt, Cantia felt as if her life was over.  She put
her hand against the icy stone sepulcher.

“I first saw you
when I was eleven years old,” she murmured. “But from the time I was old enough
to understand, I knew that I would be your wife. When I met you, I was not
sorry. You were tall and skinny and you teased me about my missing front teeth,
but deep down, I knew I loved you. I have always loved you. And now that you
are gone, I do not know what shall become of me. I never imagined that I would
be without you.”

Her hands were
rubbing the stone, the calm she had been able to achieve now suddenly overtaken
with grief again. The tears came and she laid her cheek against the cold stone,
wishing with all of her heart that it was Brac she was laying against.

“Oh… God,” she
sobbed softly. “Please do not leave me, Brac. Please do not go.”

Her soft sobs
filled the church, an empty room now as empty as her broken heart.

***

Tevin stood just
outside the doors of the noble cathedral, waiting for Lady Penden to come out.
Val and John wait with him, though they stood several feet away and huddled in
soft conversation. Since Myles had charge of the Steward and the young boy,
Tevin appointed himself the lady’s escort. The entire Penden family needed
tending this night and it was their duty, as knights and vassals, to see to it.

In hindsight, it
probably hadn’t been the best idea to leave her alone with her husband in the
cavernous cathedral, so cold and devoid of hope. It wasn’t long before he could
hear weeping. He glanced over at Val, who merely shrugged her shoulders. Val
felt more emotion than she let on at times, and he knew that she was
intuitively sympathetic to Lady Penden. It was difficult not to be.

“You should not
let her weep overlong,” Val said. “She has had three days of constant grieving.
At some point, she must come to terms with it.”

“Three days for
a lifetime of marriage hardly seems an outrageous price,” Tevin replied. “We
have all known Brac Penden for many years, though we were not been particularly
close to him. He was a good man. Allow him his due, especially from his wife.”

“She will make
herself ill,” Val said, more strongly. “You must remove her from the cathedral
without further delay.”

The weeping was
not easing. He thought it was getting worse. His sister had a point in not
allowing Lady Penden to make herself ill. He didn’t need that on his
conscience, too. In the distance, the funeral party was moving back down the
road to the castle, anticipating the feast that was sure to follow. It would
last all night. With some regret at having to force Lady Penden back to the
event that would, in essence, be a celebration her husband’s death, Tevin
pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against and turned for the cathedral
entrance. He was just as surprised to see Lady Penden already standing there
waiting for him, completely composed.

“My lady,” he
greeted. “My knights and I have waited to escort you home.”

“My thanks,” she
said, her tone slightly stuffed from all of the crying. “Where is my son?”

“De Lohr took
him back to Rochester.”

She took a deep
breath, looking up into the new night sky. A million stars winked back at her.

“Such a lovely
night,” she murmured. “’Tis hard to believe the night could be so lovely during
a time like this.”

Tevin motioned
to his men, one of whom brought around the lady’s small gray palfrey. Cantia
continued to stare up into the night as if oblivious to all else. She was
struggling to put the tears aside, struggling to conduct herself as the wife of
Brac Penden would. She finally glanced down, noticing the horse.

“If you do not
mind, my lord, I would rather walk,” she said.

His eyebrows
lifted. “Walk?” he repeated. “If it would not be too taxing on you.”

“Not at all. I
love to walk.”

“My lord,” came
a stern voice from one of the knights. “’Tis not safe to walk these roads. We
must make haste back to…”

Another flick of
the wrist from Tevin not only silenced the knight, but had the horse disappear.
It was blatantly clear who was in command. Without another word, his knights
spread out around them, staying to the edges of the road, in front and behind,
well out of earshot of the viscount and Lady Penden. They were silent
protection for the apprehensive walk back to the castle. During uncertain times
like this, the night could harbor all manner of threat and there wasn’t one man
who did not take this lightly. To walk out in the open, with enemy conflicts
all around them, bordered on the fool-hearty.

But Tevin said
nothing to that effect. The lady had been through enough and if walking brought
her comfort, so be it. One of his men brought up his charger, a red beast with
flaming eyes, but he waved the horse away. He would walk, too.

“Thank you for
your kindness in arranging my husband’s funeral,” she said as their steps fell
in unison along the dirt road. “I am most grateful.”

“It was the very
least I could do, my lady,” he said. “Warring times are hard on us all, but not
too hard that we should forget our civility and manners.”

She was silent
as they continued to walk. The three-quarters moon overhead cast an eerie glow
over the landscape, ghostly beams shimmering off the River Medway in the
distance. It was, in fact, a lovely night.

“May I ask a
question, my lord?” she asked.

“Of course.”

She started to
speak but caught herself. He looked down at her to see what was causing her
such difficulty.

“What is it?”

She shrugged. “I
want to phrase this correctly so that you will not take offense.”

“My lady,
nothing you can say would offend me. What is it?”

She looked at
him, then, her lavender eyes haunting in the moonlight. “If I ask you this
question, will you promise me a completely truthful answer, my lord?”

“I am always
truthful.”

She cocked her
head slightly as if debating the validity of that statement. “Very well,” she
said. “This is something I must ask, for my own sake. I fear that I have been
lied to in order to spare my feelings.”

“Why would you
think that?”

“I want to know
of my husband’s last moments. And I do not want to be spared any detail. Were
you with him when he died?”

Tevin hadn’t
expected that question, but he wasn’t surprised by it. “I was, my lady.”

Her lovely
features tightened. “Then you spoke to him before… before he passed on?”

“I did, my
lady.”

Her jaw began to
tick and her expression turned to one of frustration, sorrow. “Perhaps I am
being foolish, my lord, but one of my biggest regrets is the fact that I did
not have a chance to say farewell to my husband before he died. Certainly, I
saw him off from the castle the day of the engagement, but I was not at his
side when he died and….” Her lower lip began to tremble and she wrestled for
her composure yet again. “You were there when he died. Perhaps you can tell me
how he looked, what he said. To hear it from you would be to have been there.”

Tevin didn’t
dare look at her. He could feel himself folding like an idiot, succumbing to
both her tears and her wishes. Usually he was far more resolute, a paragon of
strength when all else around him crumbled. But there was something inanely
pathetic and touching about Lady Penden and he could not help himself.

“My lady,” he
said after a moment. “This has been a trying day. Perhaps this is something we
should discuss at a later time.”

She shook her
head, firmly. “Nay, my lord. I would discuss it now. I… I cannot explain why I
must know this, but I believe I must hear it in order to overcome my sorrow. Or
at least deal with it. As it is, everything feels open and hanging and…
meaningless. Will you not tell me?”

He thought a
moment, looking off into the night, mulling over the intelligence of such a
move on his part. He tried to phrase it as delicately as he could, as honestly
as he could.

“As we were
riding up on the Dartford Crossing, we were ambushed,” he said quietly. “I do
not believe there were many men, just enough to do damage. They stayed to the
trees and fled once their arrows had been fired. Brac took two arrows right
away, both to the chest. But he stayed mounted, giving orders and following his
men into the woods. By the time he reached the perimeter of trees, the enemy
unleashed another barrage of arrows and he was struck in the belly. That one
was enough to topple him from his horse, and that was where we caught up to
him.”

Cantia remained
silent, staring at the ground as they walked. When she did not reply, he
continued.

“It was clear
that his wounds were mortal,” his voice grew softer. “Myles was the first one
to him, with the rest of us close behind. He tried to remove the arrows, but
Brac would not let him. He knew it was hopeless and did not want to waste the
energy fighting the inevitable. When it was evident that his time was short,
Myles collected him into his arms and called him brother. We reaffirmed our
love and respect for him. Brac spoke of the greatness of England he would never
live to see, and of the beautiful wife and son he would leave behind.”

She emitted a
noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob, but she held her ground. “I know
all of that,” she said hoarsely. “Were the wounds painful?”

“He was shot in
the chest and in the belly. I would imagine so.”

“Was it really
hopeless? Had he allowed Myles to remove the arrows, do you think he would have
lived?”

Tevin came to a
halt, facing her in the moonlight. She was an exquisite creature, even in the
dark. “Nay, my lady, I do not,” he said quietly. “The wounds were mortal the
minute the arrows pierced him. There was never any chance.”

She gazed at
him, steadily, her lavender eyes filled with tears. “Tell me the truth,” she
whispered. “Was it horrible? Did he suffer greatly?”

Tevin stared at
her. He should have stopped himself from telling her, but he didn’t. Until the
day he died, he did not know why he simply didn’t shut his mouth. “It was
horrible.”

She sobbed and
the tears fell. Filled with remorse at his lack of control, he reached out to
grasp her arm in a comforting gesture. But she shook her head sharply and
pulled away before he could touch her.

“Nay,” she
whispered. “I… I am all right. I will be fine. Thank you for telling me the truth.
It means a great deal.”

He watched her
resume her walk down the road. With a heavy heart, he followed.

CHAPTER FOUR

The viscount’s
army rode out before sunrise. Cantia knew this because she had been awake all
night, staring into the hearth of her bower and wondering how she was going to
survive the rest of her life. It wasn’t simply grief she felt; it was
loneliness for her husband’s presence. His clothes were still strewn around the
room where he had last left them. An old pair of boots lay haphazardly at the
side of the bed. She missed his teasing, his joy of life, his tenderness when
he touched her. She missed everything.

Hunt had slept
in her bed, placed there by Myles an hour or two before dawn. The boy had
fallen asleep in the knight’s arms, sitting in the great hall with him and the
other warriors and listening to them tell great stories of battle. It had been
the perfect diversion for him and a chance for Cantia to collect her thoughts.
But instead of bringing comfort, her thoughts turned dark and miserable. Life
was an ugly thing now. If only for Hunt, she would have to do her best to
struggle through it.

It was still
dark outside when she watched the army drain from the bailey. There were a few
soldiers left behind to man the gates and the watch-towers, but for the most
part, the castle was empty.  It was less than ten miles to the Dartford
Crossing, an area once controlled by her father before his passing two years
prior. Now the fiefdoms of Dartford and Gravesham had passed to baronetcy of
Gillingham and, consequently, Charles Penden. Someday they would belong to
Hunt. She hoped he would be as fine a baron as his father would have been.