The Thunder Lord: The de Shera Brotherhood Book One (Lords of Thunder: The de Shera Brotherhood 1) (11 page)

“Ty, release her,” she said. “She is your brother’s wife now and you will respect those boundaries. Gal, take your wife and retreat to your chamber.”

Honey was giving orders quite ably and her sons obeyed purely out of habit, but Gallus faltered for a moment. This marriage had been unexpected and unplanned, and he had a good deal to do this night for he had planned to depart for London on the morrow. As Jeniver accepted a congratulatory kiss from Honey, Gallus turned to his brothers.

“Make sure the men are prepared to depart on the morrow,” he said, his voice low. “I do not intend that this marriage should delay our journey to London, so make sure everything is set.”

Maximus nodded. “We will be ready, have no doubt,” he said, “but what about ap Gaerwen? If the man dies, will we return?”

Gallus grunted softly with regret. So much of his life over the past day had become complicated and unexpected.

“If he dies, I told her I would send men to escort her back to Wales with her father’s body but that was before I married the woman,” he muttered. “Obviously, she cannot go without me and I am due in London, so if ap Gaerwen passes, his return to Wales for burial is going to have to wait.”

Maximus lifted his eyebrows at his brother, expectantly. “I assume you are going to tell her that?”

“I will have to.”

“Then we bury him here?”

Gallus nodded. “See if there is room for him down below in the vault,” he mumbled. “We already have a coffin for him so let us see if we have burial space as well. We will put him there for the time being, at least until we can move him back to Wales.”

Tiberius slapped his brother on the shoulder and moved back into the chapel, presumably to see about space for ap Gaerwen down in the vault. Maximus started to say something but he noted that Jeniver and Honey were walking in their direction so he excused himself and followed his younger brother into the chapel. Gallus, now alone, faced his mother and new wife.

“Go now,” Honey said before he could speak. “I will see you on the morrow.”

Gallus looked at Jeniver, who was gazing back at him with a hint of apprehension although she was trying very hard to hide it. Without a word to his mother, he took Jeniver by the elbow and headed back to the keep.

Their walk was a silent one, in the darkness of Isenhall’s small bailey with the sounds of night all around them. Gallus wasn’t honestly sure what to say to the woman because, much like her, he was rather overwhelmed with the speed in which he had become a married man. Overwhelmed but resigned. Resigned… and just the littlest bit curious. He’d managed to acquire quite a beauty and a hereditary princess at that, so there was a good deal for him to think over, to reconcile, and to become accustomed to, not the least of which he had married the heiress to the ancient kingdom of Anglesey. Aye, he had much to think over.

But that would have to wait, at least until tomorrow, because tonight he was expected to perform his husbandly duties. He hadn’t performed as a husband in over a year. Not that he had missed it, but the more he thought on that particular aspect of the marriage, the more interested in it he became. He already knew that his new wife had a luscious figure – he’d noticed it earlier. Now, that figure was to be his, rightfully so. What had his brother said to him earlier in the day? Taunting him with lumpy Bigod lady-flesh? Gallus had to admit that he was vastly relieved that was not to be the case. Instead, he’d had something of a goddess dropped right into his lap.

“My lord?” came a soft female voice.

Jolted from his thoughts, Gallus looked down at Jeniver, who was looking up at him. “You do not have to address me formally in private,” he told her. “You may call me Gallus if it pleases you. I am your husband, after all. It would seem rather strange to be so formal.”

Jeniver smiled timidly. “It does,” she agreed. “But we have only just met so it seems odd not to address you with formality.”

He wriggled his eyebrows in agreement. “That is true,” he said. “We are essentially strangers.”

Jeniver thought on that statement a moment as the steps leading into the big, darkened keep loomed ahead. Their footfalls, so soft against the dirt of the bailey, briefly filled the gritty silence.

“We… we would not be strangers if I told you something about me and you told me something about you,” she offered. “We could come to know each other that way.”

Gallus led her up the broad, stone steps. “I think it is a brilliant idea,” he said. “Would you like me to go first?”

Jeniver nodded, pleased that he liked her suggestion. “I would.”

He smiled as the dark innards of the keep swallowed them up. Now, they were in the entry, the room where Gaerwen had bled all over the floor, and Gallus hastened to keep her mind off what the room meant to her. Fortunately, it was mostly dark so she couldn’t see evidence of bloodstains still on the floor. Still, he somewhat blocked that corner of the room with his body as he directed her towards the big staircase that led to the upper level.

“Let me see,” he said thoughtfully. “I was born on the Ides of March and my father named me Gallus, after his father. My family descends from a Roman legion that was stationed in Chester and married into the Saxon nobility.”

They were ascending the steps now, dimly lit by torches shoved into wall brackets. The smoke from the burning fat they were soaked in stank up the musty air.

“Very interesting,” Jeniver said. “But how do you know your ancestors were Romans? That was a very long time ago.”

Gallus gave her half-grin, barely illuminated in the darkness. “Don’t you believe me?”

“Of course I do. But de Shera does not sound like a Roman name.”

He nodded in agreement. “It was, long ago,” he said. “Family legend states that we descend from the House of Shericus, an ancient and noble Roman family. When my ancestor came with his legion many centuries ago, the name was shortened to Shera. My father remembers his grandfather speaking of the days before the conquest when our family was still known as Shera. It was the Normans who changed it to de Shera, or ‘of Shera’, in order to make it more fitting with their own customs and surnames. Having an ancestor who sought to work with the Normans rather than oppose them, he agreed to the change and the House of de Shera was born.”

By this time, they had reached the top of the steps and emerged onto the level where Jeniver’s puppy was sleeping in her borrowed chamber. There was one torch on this level, smoking heavily, as Gallus went to the chamber where the puppy happened to be and opened the door.

“Then your family managed to keep their lands after the Normans came?” she asked as she entered the room. “I’ve not heard many tales of families who were able to.”

Gallus shrugged, shutting the door softly behind them. Jeniver had just picked up her puppy because she thought they would be retreating to another room. When she saw him close the door, she looked at him questioningly but Gallus simply threw the bolt, locking them in.

“This is my chamber,” he explained quietly. “I was honored to offer it to you for your stay.”

Jeniver nodded in realization, looking around the dark room as Gallus used a flint and stone to light the fat, tallow taper near the bed.

“It is quite a lavish chamber,” she said. “I was wondering who it belonged to.”

Gallus went around to the other side of the big bed and lit the other taper, throwing the room into a gentle golden glow.

“My wife and I shared it,” he said. “She is the one who appointed it. It looks rather like a woman lives here, doesn’t it?”

Jeniver smiled because he asked the question with some chagrin. “It does.”

He snorted at the humor of it. “It reminds me a great deal of her,” he said, sobering. “I have not had the heart to change anything about it.”

He set the flint and stone down, moving to the big wardrobe against the southern wall of the chamber. Jeniver watched him as he moved, his graceful stalking gait. She was coming to see, for the first time, his sorrow over his wife. It was in his tone of voice but more than that, it was in his movements. Now, in the quiet of the chamber, things were beginning to become evident.

“Your mother told me what happened,” she said softly. “I am very sorry for your loss.”

Gallus pulled open the wardrobe doors and a tumble of clothing fell out, right onto the floor. He just stood there and looked at it as it piled up around his boots.

“As am I,” he muttered, as if remembering those days when his wife was alive and all things were joyful. It was a brief reflection and nothing more. Then, he turned his attention to the innards of the cabinet. “But it is of no matter. She is gone and life marches onward.”

Jeniver could feel more of his sadness in that brief statement. “It is no wonder that you did not wish to remarry,” she ventured softly. “You are still grieving your loss. I suppose I did not understand that until now.”

Gallus stopped rummaging through the wardrobe and looked at her. “It is of no matter,” he repeated. “It is done. You and I are married.”

Jeniver thought that perhaps there was something resentful in that statement. It made her sad although she couldn’t figure out why. Was she sad for him? For her?

“You are doing what your mother wants you to do,” she said after a moment, perching her bottom on the edge of the bed. “I am doing as my father wished. Are our parents so selfish that they failed to take into account your feelings and mine? I had always hoped that my marriage would be a happy one, mayhap even an affectionate one, but I am not entirely sure how that can take place if you resent this marriage in general.”

Gallus stopped digging through the wardrobe. He kicked aside the pile at his feet and moved in her direction.

“I do not resent it,” he said. “In time, I will become accustomed to it, just as you will. I have every hope that this will be a happy union. I would not have married you had I thought otherwise.”

“But you still mourn your wife.”

“I do. But that has no bearing on you.”

Jeniver looked up at the man, seeing the strong lines of his face, hearing the sincerity in his voice. She wanted to believe him very badly.

“If you are quite certain,” she murmured.

He nodded firmly. “I am,” he said. He wanted to be away from the painful subject because he had only recently fought off the guilt his marriage to Jeniver had provoked. He turned the focus onto something else. “Now, will you tell me something about you? You know all about me and I know practically nothing about you.”

She smiled hesitantly although she was relieved that the conversation was taking a more pleasant turn. “I do not know
all
about you,” she corrected. “I am sure there are a few things I do not know.”

He returned her smile, winking at her as he returned to the wardrobe. “The things you do not know are the things you do not need to know,” he told her, although it was lightly done. “I am sure my brothers will fill in the gaps with lies and half-truths. Whatever they tell you, do not listen to them.”

“Even if they tell me you are a wonderful and generous man?”

He looked at her, feigning shock. “If they told you that, it would be with an ulterior motive,” he said. “Beware of Ty. The man has a wicked sense of humor.”

“And Max?”

Gallus grunted. “He is the quiet one,” he said. “But when he does speak, it is usually quite serious or quite deadly. But he has been known to tease in his time.”

Jeniver laughed softly. “I will be on guard with them, I swear it,” she said. “As for me, I am an only child of Gaerwen and Tacey. My ancestors have ruled the Isle of
Mὁn
for centuries until they were absorbed by the House of Gwynedd. Because my father wanted me to have an education, I fostered in Scotland for a few years before returning to Wales. I believe I told you that we were returning from Paris in celebration of my eighteenth year when we found ourselves on your doorstep. Never did I imagine when I awoke this morning that this would be the end of my day.”

Gallus watched shadows of sorrow cross her face as she thought of the tragedy that had befallen her that morning. She was trying to be brave about it and he respected that. He also understood it, showing bravery when all you wanted to do was break down. In that way, he and Jeniver were very much alike. He also understood that she was baring her soul to him a bit. Perhaps it warranted his own soul-baring. For some reason, he couldn’t help himself and the words started to come forth before he could stop them.

“The day started out just like any other,” he said softly. “It was misty in the morning, as it often is here so close to the river, and my wife was up early to go about her duties. She enjoyed working in the kitchens, you see. She had a great affinity for good cooking and she spent a good deal of time trying new recipes and flavors. On this day, she wanted to go to a stretch of forest that is not far from here to collect mushrooms. I was busy and could not go with her so I sent Maximus. He and my wife and a few soldiers and servants set out before noon to collect mushrooms but in short order, they returned and Maximus was carrying my wife. Her horse had stumbled in a hole and she had been pitched off, striking her head on a rock. She died the next morning without ever regaining consciousness. So, you see, I do understand what it is like to wake up in the morning, having no idea how your day is going to end. I felt as if something inside of me died that day, too. I have yet to gain it back.”