Chapter 10

Return to Brocéliande

Eight weeks in the saddle, stopping at night to set up tents, sleeping on the hard, unyielding ground. Sweltering heat in the summer sun, torrential rain and wind, treacherous slippery trails. By the Goddess, he’d be glad to sleep in a bed for the first time in two torturous months. As he and Gaultier approached the familiar forest surrounding le Chateau de Landuc , Cardin was inundated with a fond flood of childhood memories.

Hunting with his older brothers, Gaultier and Bastien. Practicing archery in the dense Breton woods. Felling his first stag. Developing equestrian skills with Sir Lancelot du Lac , the trio of brothers spending each summer as lads training with the illustrious First Knight of King Arthur Pendragon. With Lancelot now a close friend as well as former mentor, his brother Bastien brought Gunnar and Haldar—the two oldest of Cardin’s three nephews—to la Joyeuse Garde every summer solstice for the same purpose.

Guilt washed over him as he thought of his own son.

Lukaz.

Cardin had never even seen his boy, let alone trained him or taken him to Lancelot’s famous white castle in southern Bretagne.

He’s better off living with Bastien and Gabrielle in le Chateau de Beaufort. When he turns seven—this Winter Solstice—he’ll be old enough to begin the training to become a knight. Bastien can bring Lukaz along with Gunnar and Haldar next summer to Lancelot’s castle. The three cousins can all train together. Lukaz is far better off without me, a compulsive gambler who wagers his winnings and brawls in every tavern in town. A drunken sot who drowns his guilt in goblets of golden mead. No, I can never be a decent father. I’m no longer a decent man.

In the distance, the enormous barbican defense towers of le Chateau de Landuc rose like impenetrable pillars above the massive oak, birch, and fir trees of the Forest of Brocéliande. As their entourage approached, the watchtower guard—recognizing Gaultier and Cardin, two of the three sons of Lord Esclados le Ros and the Lady Laudine, chatelains of the imposing fortress—lowered the drawbridge over the moat, allowing them entrance into the castle bailey.

Quentin, Master of Horse, greeted the arriving travelers, accompanied by his assistant Argant and half a dozen stable hands. As the riders dismounted and handed the reins to the capable grooms, Cardin spotted his father, whose vigorous stride, hearty grin, and firm handshake reflected both his physical strength and parental pride.

“ Bienvenue, mes fils . Welcome home, my sons.” He clasped Gaultier’s broad shoulders in a warm, paternal embrace. When he turned to Cardin, tears brimmed in his dark, expressive eyes. “It’s been far too long. Your mother will be overjoyed to see you. And grateful that you heeded her call to come home.” Brawny arms gripped Cardin in a tight, affectionate bear hug.

Conflicting emotions assailed him.

Guilt. Grief. Shame. Joy.

And when he looked over his father’s broad shoulder and saw the adoring amber eyes of his beloved mother, Cardin’s knees nearly buckled from the blinding impact.

Wordlessly—as if too overwhelmed to speak—his maman wrapped her loving arms around him, resting her head over his thunderously pounding heart.

And he—the broken son, floundering in a tumultuous sea of sorrow and shame—was a little boy once again in the comforting cradle of her maternal embrace. Shuddering and shaking, he succumbed. And melted in his mother’s loving arms.

She cushioned Cardin’s head upon her shoulder, resting a soft cheek against his bristled one as she tenderly stroked his long, thick hair. “I’m so very glad you’ve come home. I’ve missed you terribly, mon fils. Je t’aime . I love you, son. As big as the sky.”

As big as the sky. Maman always said that when we were young. Her love for her three sons was infinite. Endless. Eternal.

Cardin lifted his head and gazed down at her tender, tear-streaked face. Glorious auburn hair, interwoven with streaks of silver, was gilded by the golden sun. Regret and remorse throttled him in a choking, smothering vise.

Why did I stay away so long? I’ve missed her so much, yet always denied it. And now, I’ve finally come home. Just in time to say goodbye. By the Goddess, I’ve been a fool. Please, let me make it up to her. In whatever time we have left.

Raw emotion rasped her quavering voice. “There’s someone who’s been waiting to meet you for a very long time. In fact, his whole young life.”

Taking him by the hand—like she’d always done when he was just a lad—Cardin’s mother coaxed him up the cobblestone path toward the crenelated castle. “Come, Cardin. Meet your son.”

Time stood still.

The warm sun kissed his weathered face. A late summer breeze whispered through his long hair. Birds chirped and twittered in the tall trees. The crisp, clean scent of pine mingled with the pungent tang of the freshwater moat.

From the corner of his eye, Cardin glimpsed Sir Olivier de Montfort—First Knight of le Chateau de Landuc —leading the wearied warriors from Biarritz across the grassy bailey toward their quarters in the knights’ lodge near the stables. Gaultier and Papa watched with bated breath as he followed his mother, stumbling up the cobblestone path toward the castle entrance.

And there, in front of the massive oak double doors leading into the imposing Chateau de Landuc , stood a dark-haired little boy, his innocent face alight with wonder.

Waiting to meet his pitiful, prodigal father.

“Cardin, this is Lukaz. We call him Little Wolf, after you, Basati—the Basque Wolf of Biarritz.” Releasing Cardin’s hand, Laudine gestured for the awestruck lad to step forward. “Lukaz, this is your father, Sir Cardin de Landuc, Captain of King Guillemin’s royal archers from le Chateau de Beaufort in Finistère. He’s been defending the region of Aquitaine, for King Philippe of France, at le Chateau de Montmarin in Biarritz.” She stroked Lukaz’ dark, shiny waves so like his own. “ Dis bonjour à ton Papa . Say hello to your father.”

“ Bonjour, Papa .” Sturdy little arms tightly encircled his waist as Lukaz flung himself into a clutching, clinging embrace. “I told everyone I’m not a bastard! I do have a father. You.” He nestled his small head into Cardin’s quivering stomach. “I’m so happy you’ve come home.”

Stunned speechless by an onslaught of conflicting emotions, Cardin shook, his stomach clenched, and his throat constricted, as he caressed the boy’s soft hair and held him close for the very first time.

His voice raspy and raw, Cardin choked out a muffled response. “Me, too. And I’m pleased to meet you, Lukaz. I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long.”

Enormous blue eyes, filled with hope and desperate longing, looked up at him imploringly. “When you go back to Biarritz, please take me with you. I don’t want to live with Tonton Bastien and Tatie Gabrielle anymore. I want to live with you .”

Panicked, Cardin searched his mother’s rapturous face, pleading for her intervention and his salvation.

“We’ll have plenty of time to discuss that later. But first—Lukaz, why don’t you introduce Papa to Lady Ulla and Vill?” Laudine laid a gentle hand on the little boy’s back, guiding him toward the two companions who waited patiently on the large stone step in front of the castle entrance.

Instantly animated, Lukaz spun toward the intriguing young woman in a deep green dress whose long black curls tumbled to her slender waist. “This is Lady Ulla. She’s a Priestess of Dana, like Mamie. She’s giving me archery lessons, Papa. And teaching me to hunt with her falcon, Finn.” He knelt to the ground and hugged a massive grey wolf who lovingly licked his proud, smiling face. “And this is Vill, her wolf. Lady Ulla healed him when he was a wounded pup. She found him caught in a trap. His leg was broken and bleeding. But she healed him, Papa.” Lukaz scratched the wiry fur behind the wolf’s alert ears. “Vill fetches the game that Finn hunts. He retrieves it for us. Lady Ulla trained him, Papa. And she’s helping me train a falcon, too. My very own peregrine. Her name is Rask. Lady Ulla helped me name her. It’s a Viking name!”

Laudine chuckled at Lukaz’ youthful exuberance. “We can tell your papa all about it once he’s had a chance to come inside. Give your Uncle Gaultier a big hug hello, and let’s bring him and your papa into the castle. I’m sure they’d like to wash up, change clothes, and have some of Ma?lys’ delicious pot-au-feu . Come, let’s bring them both inside.”

Cardin followed his mother, his son, the wolf Vill, and the enigmatic Lady Ulla into the castle foyer where afternoon sunlight streaming through the stained glass transom window above the entrance door cast a brilliant palette of colors onto the gleaming pinewood floor.

Memories flooded him. Playing cache-cache— hide-and-seek—with his two older brothers. Training with Sir Olivier and the knights of Landuc. Riding his father’s magnificent Friesian and Ardennes horses from the renowned castle stables. Summers at la Joyeuse Garde with Lancelot and his intrepid knights. Yuletide celebrations, with an adolescent Lady Ulla strumming her golden harp, filling the entire castle with her melodic, angelic voice.

Dancing with his beloved wife.

A smothering blanket of guilt robbed Cardin of breath as his chest compressed with grief.

“Are you all right, Papa?” Blue eyes as bright as Charlotte’s searched his face.

Cardin straightened his spine, threw his shoulders back, and inhaled deeply to regain his composure. He cleared his throat and forced a reassuring smile. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s been a long time since I’ve been home.”

A dutiful valet descended the stone stairwell which led to the upper two floors of the castle. “Your bedrooms are ready, my lords. I’ve placed a bucket of warm water in each chamber for you to wash. There’s herbal soap, a clean drying cloth, fresh tunic and pair of braies on each of your beds . Shall I escort you upstairs, messieurs ?”

Cardin glanced at his brother Gaultier, whose eager expression conveyed his impatience to remove the grime and filth from their long journey.

A protective arm resting on Lukaz’ shoulder, his mother suggested brightly, “You two go on up to your rooms and refresh. I’ll bring Lukaz into the alcove outside the kitchen, where you can join us when you’re ready.” She kissed her two sons’ stubbled cheeks. “See you in a bit. à bient?t .” With a warm smile, she led Lukaz, Ulla, and Cardin’s father, Esclados, toward the castle kitchen. “Ma?lys made some oat cakes with cinnamon and honey. Let’s have one or two while we wait for your Papa and Uncle Gaultier. Ulla, would you care to join us?”

As he started up the stairs behind his brother Gaultier and the valet Jehan, Cardin noticed that Ulla declined the invitation with a humble shake of her head. She hugged Lukaz, kissed Laudine’s cheeks, and whistled for her wolf, who perked up and trotted instantly to her side. With deep green eyes as verdant as the dense forest, she held Cardin’s assessing gaze, wordlessly saying goodbye.

And flashed him a dazzling smile that robbed him of coherent thought.

“See you tomorrow, Lady Ulla. For my archery lesson. And the hunt. Bye, Vill!” Lukas waved farewell and happily followed his grandmother to the awaiting treats on the trestle table.

Cardin watched the beguiling dark-haired priestess quietly exit the castle through the back kitchen door, her loyal lupine companion at her heels.

She’s breathtaking. Beautiful. But not for you, Basati.

You’re a drunken brute. A savage beast.

No woman will ever want the Basque Wolf from Biarritz.

Head bowed in shame, Cardin silently climbed the castle stairs, followed Jehan and Gaultier down the long stone hallway, and escaped into the sanctuary of his solitary room.

****

That evening, as Cardin enjoyed a supper of leek pottage, roast venison, baked trout, and fresh vegetables with herbs from the castle garden, he watched his young son savor the sweetmeats and cherry pastries from the dessert platter and lick his sticky fingers with childish exuberance and obvious relish. “Do you like the honey cakes and tartelettes aux cerises ? Ma?lys is a talented cook, isn’t she? I always loved those cherry tarts when I was a boy. Seems you do, too.”

“I love them, Papa. But my favorite is tarte aux mirabelles . Lady Ulla made one for me, and it was so good! Maybe she’ll make one for you, too.” Lukaz took another hearty bite of the fruit pie, smacking his lips with audible appreciation.

“You really like Lady Ulla, don’t you, Lukaz? She is a talented archer and huntress. I’m delighted your lessons with her are going so well.” Laudine sipped her chamomile tea and smiled sagely at her grandson, her auburn eyes twinkling in the candlelight from the chandelier above the oak table.

“I remember she used to have the most beautiful voice. She’d play the harp and sing Yuletide carols for the entire castle. Yet now it seems she doesn’t speak much, if at all.” Cardin ducked his chin in gratitude and whispered “ Merci, ” as the valet Jehan refilled his goblet of wine.

“She’s mute, Papa. Lady Ulla can’t talk anymore.” Lukaz regarded him with Charlotte’s expressive blue eyes. Pain sliced Cardin like a knife. “But she can whistle for Vill and Finn—her falcon. And she can write messages on her tablet for Mamie to read. That’s how she helped me pick the names for Kol and Rask.”

Cardin raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his mother. “How did Ulla become mute? An injury?”

Reflective and hesitant, Laudine set her ceramic cup of herbal tea down upon the white linen covered table. “She lost her husband, his father and brother, and her infant son in a brutal pirate attack on their Chateau des Tourelles in Normandy three years ago, while you and Gaultier were in Biarritz. Two of her knights helped Ulla escape, and brought her back here to us. She hasn’t spoken a word ever since.”

She lost her husband, like I lost Charlotte. And her beloved babe, too. Ulla’s entire family has died. No wonder she suffers in silence.

Cardin took a pensive swallow of wine, contemplating Ulla’s inconceivable loss.

Across the table, his older brother Gaultier furrowed his brows in concern and voiced the question Cardin wanted to ask as well. “What happened to her husband’s castle? Does Ulla plan to return to Normandy?”

His innocent face contorted with anguish, Lukaz shot a terrified glance at his grandmother. “I don’t want Lady Ulla to go to Normandy, Mamie . I want her to stay here with us.”

Laudine reached across the table and comfortingly gripped his little arm. Lovelight shone in her sage eyes as she replied soothingly, “Lady Ulla won’t go back to Normandy. She wants to stay here in the Forest of Brocéliande— where she feels safe.”

A brusque counterpoint to Laudine’s melodic voice, Cardin’s father Esclados responded in a rich, deep baritone. “Ulla couldn’t go back to le Chateau des Tourelles even if she wanted to. King Philippe sent a legion of royal knights to vanquish the pirates and seize the castle for the French crown. It’s extremely valuable because of its location on the bank of the Seine River, which flows directly into Paris. Lady Ulla’s husband, Sir Romain de Montreuil, was positioned there to defend the fortress and the bridge for the French king.” He swallowed a hearty gulp of wine, wiping his mustached upper lip with a calloused, swarthy hand. “That’s why the pirates wanted the castle—to intercept incoming vessels, laden with goods and riches, on their way to King Philippe’s royal palace— le Palais Royal —on l’?le de la Cité in the heart of Paris.”

Cardin eyed his gruff father with concern. “What of Ulla’s dowry? You said she was the daughter of a Viking chieftain. Surely she must have an inheritance.”

“Ulla was twelve years old when her family died. Her dowry—which included vast farmland in Normandy—was seized by the French crown.” Bitterness blazed in Esclados’ dark eyes as he beheld his incredulous son. “She came to live with us as a young girl then. And has returned as a widow now. She has nothing. That’s why she’ll remain here at Landuc with us.”

“And we’re very fortunate to have her. She’s a gifted healer. A skilled archer. And an expert huntress.” Laudine beamed with admiration for the former pupil she had obviously grown to love. “She’s also a furrier and talented seamstress. Ulla cures hides from the animals that her falcon hunts— or the snares she sets in the forest. Many of the villagers pay for her healing services with pelts and skins as well. Ulla uses the fur and leather to craft winter clothing, which she sells at the local market, on festivals, or during jousting tournaments. In fact—that’s how she met her husband. He was the champion of the Beltane Joust held here at le Chateau de Landuc four years ago.” She smiled nostalgically at Cardin, her voice edged with sorrow. “You and Gaultier were far off in Aquitaine, at le Chateau de Montmarin in Biarritz. But your father, brother Bastien, and Sir Lancelot organized a magnificent three-day joust. And Sir Romain de Montreuil, one of King Philippe’s royal knights from Paris, was the champion.”

Laudine practically swooned, reliving the romantic, chivalrous tale. “During the joust, Sir Romain wore Ulla’s colors—a ribbon of dark emerald green, symbolic of her healing herbs and of the Forest of Brocéliande. He won not only the jousting championship but Ulla’s heart as well.”

Moved by the stirring memories, Laudine placed a hand over the bodice of her scarlet velvet gown. “Your father and I hosted the wedding here that summer. And Ulla went off with her new husband to le Chateau des Tourelles in the village of Vernon, where Romain and a bevy of royal knights defended the Seine River for King Philippe of Paris. Until the gruesome attack three years ago, when she was brought back to us, stricken mute with grief. She now lives in a stone cottage at the edge of the forest with the wolf she healed as a cub.”

Lukaz leapt from his chair, spilling his cup of watered ale with a careless elbow in his effervescent exuberance. “That’s Vill, Papa! She healed him, and now he defends her. Like a guard dog.” He turned his large, imploring eyes to Laudine. “Can Papa take me to Lady Ulla’s cottage for my archery lesson tomorrow, Mamie? I want him to see me hit the target. And come hunting with us, too.” He spun toward Cardin, his eager face ablaze with hope. “You can meet Finn, Lady Ulla’s falcon. And my peregrine, Rask. Please, Papa? Will you come with us tomorrow?”

Guilt tugged at Cardin as he beheld his bright-eyed young son.

I’ve been absent his whole life. Such a simple request. But it means so much to him.

As the joy of giving brought an unfamiliar yet welcome warmth into Cardin’s cold, cloistered heart, a grin stretched across his grim, bearded face. “Of course. I want to watch your archery lesson. And I love to hunt, too.”

Lukaz threw his arms around Cardin’s neck and lunged headfirst into his father’s awkward, inexperienced embrace. “I’m so glad you came home, Papa. I told everyone I’m not a bastard. I do have a father.” Tears brimmed in the enormous blue eyes that were so much like his beloved mother’s. “ You .”

Cardin, too overwhelmed to speak, cradled Lukaz against his pounding chest.

And—for the first time in his miserable, wretched life—Basati, the Basque wolf of Biarritz, felt a father’s love for his son.

That evening, when Lukaz insisted that his Papa tell him a bedtime story, Cardin regaled his son with a chivalrous tale of how the valiant knights of le Chateau de Montmarin defended Aquitaine against Spanish pirates from Castilla for King Philippe of France. When Lukaz was finally sleeping, Cardin came downstairs to the alcove near the castle kitchen, where his mother Laudine, his father Esclados, and brother Gaultier were enjoying a glass of wine near the crackling fire in the stone hearth.

How do I ask about her illness? Approach the subject of her impending death? I need to know how much time she has left. And how soon I can get back to Biarritz.

Strangely, the thought of returning to Aquitaine did not beckon Cardin with its promise of remote refuge and escape from the painful past. Instead, the idea of leaving Brocéliande and abandoning Lukaz a second time filled him with overwhelming remorse and shame.

He’s mercilessly teased for being a bastard because you’ve been absent his entire life. Are you going to break his heart and abandon him again? Condemn him to a life of ridicule and pain? By the Goddess, Cardin, what kind of father are you?

He accepted a goblet of rich red wine from his father and sat down at the oak table with his parents and oldest brother.

Gaultier spared him the difficulty of broaching the delicate subject. “Maman is being treated by Ulla, who is a gifted guérisseuse . Using her exceptional knowledge of healing herbs, Ulla prepares elixirs and tinctures, which she gives Maman twice a day.” Dark eyes shining with love, Gaultier smiled sadly at Laudine. “We hope notre mère will be with us through the whole holiday season.”

Laudine reached across the table and squeezed Cardin’s calloused hand. “You’ve made my Yuletide wish come true. Thank you for coming home, son. It means the world to me.” She stroked the hair on his knuckles and gazed at him with golden eyes gilded by the candlelight. “Most days, I feel well enough to teach my student priestesses and cultivate the herbs and plants in the glass greenhouse of my verrière. But sometimes, I must take to my bed, overcome with fatigue. I pray the Goddess gives me the strength to welcome in the New Year.”

Esclados rose from his chair, the greying streaks in his black hair glistening like strands of silver. “Come, my love. It’s time for bed. You must rest as much as you can.” Helping Laudine to a stand, he bid goodnight to his two sons while his wife kissed Cardin and Gaultier on both cheeks.

“See you in the morning. Lukaz is most anxious for you to watch his archery lesson with Ulla. And join them in the hunt. Goodnight. It’s so good to have you home.” Laudine linked her arm though her husband’s as Esclados led her away from the table where their two sons finished the goblets of wine.

Cardin watched his parents cross the expansive foyer and climb the stone stairs leading to the bedroom on the upper level. I’ve been gone nearly seven years, wasting my life away. Now, I’m finally home, just in time to say goodbye. By the Goddess, I’ve been a fool.

The jarring scrape of Gaultier’s chair against the wooden floor as he rose to his feet interrupted Cardin’s melancholic reverie. “Well, I’m off to bed too. Morbleu , it’ll be good to sleep on a mattress again! Dors bien, mon frère. Sleep well. See you in the morning.” He downed his wine, set the empty mug upon the table, and clasped Cardin on the shoulder before heading up the stairs.

Alone with his thoughts, Cardin stared into the fiery embers glowing in the hearth. The haunting image of Ulla danced in the flickering flames.

My mother’s healer.

My son’s teacher.

A wounded warrior, just like me.

He ducked his chin in gratitude as the servants accepted his empty goblet and cleared the table. Cardin, pensive and solemn, retired to the bedroom of his childhood where he removed his boots, tunic, and breeches.

And dreamt of the beguiling beauty and his forgiving, adoring son.