Page 102 of While Angels Slept
Tevin looked at Cantia, who was wiping the tears off her face. It wasCantia who answered.
“She will be buried with the greatest of honors, as the wife of the Earl of East Anglia,” she said softly. “But, more importantly, she was your mother. That affords her the greatest and most honorable funeral of all. Would you like that, sweetheart?”
Arabel nodded, lifting her arms to her father, who scooped her up off the floor. Thin arms wrapped around her father’s neck, she gazed at Cantia.
“Did you know your mother, Cantia?” she asked.
Cantia’s gaze moved to the dead woman, her attention lingering there for a moment. Thoughts of her own past hovered in her mind. “Nay,” she looked away. “She died when I was very young. I do not remember her at all. In that respect, I think you were very fortunate to have met your mother. I wish I had.”
Arabel reached out a bony hand to Cantia, who took it snuggly. “I think I was fortunate, too,” she said, squeezing Cantia’s hand. “She said that I am meant to protect my father. I think I shall protect you, too.”
Cantia smiled gratefully as they moved to the doorway, opening the panel to reveal the brilliant sunset beyond. Streamers of orange and yellow brushed across the sky and they all paused, gazing up into the coming night because it was so beautiful.
“Soft strokes of the colors of sunset that appear vibrant against the deep blue sky,” Arabel uttered softly, repeating the words her mother had spoken to her as she looked up at the brilliant night. “Father, do you think she meant to leave this sunset for us?”
Tevin followed his daughter’s gaze. Then he kissed her cheek and managed to stroke Cantia’s shoulder affectionately. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so satisfied or so free.
“I do not think she meant it for all of us,” he said softly. “I think she only meant it for you. It is the last gift she could give you.”
Arabel liked that thought. As she looked up into the glistening clouds, somewhere, someway, she could see Louisa winking at her.
She winked back.
EPILOGUE
July 1156 A.D.
“Mother,” the young manwas very serious. “I am quite capable with a sword. You must not worry.”
Cantia was seated in the solar of Thunderbey Castle, gazing up at Talus and wondering when her little boy had grown up. At sixteen years of age, he was already as tall as his father although he lacked Tevin’s bulk. That would come with time, she knew, but it was difficult for her to separate the young man from her little boy. She had already been forced to do that with Hunt before she was ready, as he was now the powerful Steward of Rochester at the young age of twenty-one years. He had Brac’s good looks and sensibilities but Tevin’s heart and soul. It was a wonderful combination.
Now, Talus was her second oldest, an extremely handsome young man with her lavender eyes and Tevin’s features. He even had his father’s long, copper colored hair. But she wasn’t sure she was ready for him to grow up completely.
“Mother?” Talus said impatiently. “Did you hear me?”
Snapped from her daydreams, Cantia sighed heavily. “I heard you,” she said. “Where is your father? What does he have to say to all of this?”
“He sent me here to tell you.”
Cantia’s eyes narrowed. “He did?” She set aside her sewing and stood up. “Where is he?”
Before Talus could reply, there was much chatter and laughter descending from the upper floors. The small solar was tucked back in the big, box-shaped keep of Thunderbey underneath the stairs, so any movement up and down the stairwell always tended to sound like a herd of cattle running about. Noise echoed.
Eleanor du Reims, the image of her gorgeous mother at fifteen years of age, was the first down the stairs with her siblings close behind. She held on to the youngest child, Kinnon, who was only four years of age, but Tarran, Tristen and Elizabetha were clustered in behind her, antagonizing each other. As children verging on young adulthood, they tended to be confrontational with each other. As Cantia listened to Tarran harass his younger sister, she called out to them.
“Tarran,” she said in a threatening mother tone. “Stop pestering your sister. All of you come in here, please.”
The gaggle of children wandered into the solar, Kinnon running to his mother and lifting his arms to her. Cantia picked up her youngest, a blond little boy who looked a great deal like Hunt had at that age. She looked at the group around her.
“Talus,” she addressed her son. “Your father is taking an army to Wales and I am quite sure he did not ask you to join as a full-fledged warrior. I believe he is taking you and your brothers as squires.”
Talus was grossly unhappy as Tarran and Tristen beamed. At thirteen and nine years of age, respectively, they had recently been called home from fostering at Pontefract Castle because it had been heavily besieged by the Scots twice in the past two years, and Cantia was frantic to bring her children home. Begrudgingly, Tevin had ridden north to bring the boys home, who weren’t quite so sure what their mother was all worked up about. Their father said it was something about the irrational Scots. Now, with the prospect of accompanying their father to the Welsh border on behalf of King Henry I, they were thrilled. But Talus was jealous because his younger brothers had seen more war action than he had.
“But I have my own sword,” Talus argued. “Father will not allow me to use it because he knows how upset you become. He….”
Talus’ argument was cut off when the door to the keep opened and the grating of mail could be heard. Tevin made an appearance in the solar entry as Elizabetha and Tristen ran to him, both of them trying to talk to him at the same time. Tevin threw up his hands.
“I cannot understand more than one conversation at a time,” he said, bending over to kiss Elizabetha on the forehead and putting a fatherly hand on Tristen’s shoulder. “What is all the fuss about?”
