Chapter 37

Wulfen Castle

Early July, 1355

F or over seven years, he aspired to be oak, stone, and iron. For the past two months, he aspired to be patient, prayerful, and at peace while awaiting an audience with King Edward beyond bare minutes spared when one formerly known as Le Fléau de l’Anglais was delivered to him.

Blessedly, England’s ruler honored Hector Wulfrith’s request that Amaury be held at the Tower of London in a state of soft confinement rather than a prison cell. But despite a good chamber, decent viands and drink, and being allowed outdoors several hours a day, time dragged—until two days past when he was brought to stand before the king of a country he had wronged a decade ago.

During their meeting attended by Sir Achard and Baron Wulfrith, Amaury had been composed, and easier that with those trusted by Edward speaking on his behalf and supporting his answers that covered what became of him after he ceased privateering all the way through to Gert’s death. However, when the king produced the bishop’s ring that had been among the De Chanson family treasures and told it now belonged to him for being stolen from the brother of William the Conqueror, Amaury had been on a knife’s edge—until Edward revealed he paid twice its value to compensate Mace for the loss and Baron Wulfrith confirmed it.

Then silence while, awaiting a verdict that would determine the course of his life and his son’s, Amaury had let his thoughts turn to Fira as often done since last he saw her when the three parties departed the estuary—the Wulfriths Wulfenshire-bound, Sir Achard and his forces northbound, and Amaury and his escort London-bound.

Now, hearing long strides and short, brisk ones beyond the curtained solar, he thought this another knife’s edge that could prove just as sharp if the ten-year-old retrieved from his duties rejected the father of whom he could remember little if anything.

God help me, he silently appealed as booted feet neared, then looked to Baron Wulfrith and Sir Sinjin standing near the hearth. They gave nods of approval, just as when Amaury asked Squire Rémy to prepare Mace for the reunion by delivering a note so the boy could decide if this was the time to end their estrangement. Since it seemed he had determined it should be, hopefully it was done with grace in his heart rather than resentment.

Now the squire soon to be awarded the spurs of knighthood drew back the curtain and motioned the boy to enter.

Mace faltered at the sight of Amaury standing center wearing fine garments provided by the baron and being fairly well groomed by way of razor and scissors before his audience with the King of England .

When his son continued forward with the note in hand, Amaury contained emotions that made his chest ache and considered the slight cleft in Mace’s chin, green eyes brighter for what appeared steel in their depths, and fine strands of silver not only at the back of his head as thought.

Less resembling his mother than he had as a wee boy, Mace halted three feet distant and boldly picked over Amaury’s silvered hair, silvered beard, and facial scars. Upon meeting his sire’s gaze, he raised the note and said with an accent not quite French, not quite English, “’Tis true you came as soon as you could?”

Fighting the impulse to catch him up, Amaury said, “I came sooner, but could only look upon you from afar until the threat to both of us was ended.”

The boy’s mouth convulsed. “That you have done?”

“It is done.”

Mace’s eyes shone brighter. “Séverine told if you lived, you would come for me.”

“With the Lord’s blessing, I have.”

“How?”

Since they must depart Wulfen Castle within the hour, Amaury said, “That tale must save, but not long, I vow.”

Suspicion narrowed the boy’s lids, but he blinked it away and said, “Then I am to have a father again.”

Amaury glanced at where Rémy had joined Hector and Sinjin to witness the awkward reunion. “Would that be a good thing, Mace?”

“If you are a good father.”

“I shall aspire to be, hopeful in time I come to mean as much to you as do your cousin and the Wulfriths who raised you in my absence.”

Mace nearly smiled. “Then I think it a good thing.”

This seemed the place to embrace, but what felt right to Amaury could feel wrong to one lacking memories of a father’s devotion.

“I am glad you came to Wulfen,” the boy said, then distress skittered across his face. “This is my home. You will not take me from it, will you?”

“I believe you should complete your training here.”

His son’s face eased. “You shall live here, too?”

Amaury hesitated, said, “I will not, though I shall visit often since just as England has become your country, it has become mine.”

“Why would you not wish to live upon Wulfen?” Mace glanced at those before the hearth. “You could train England’s defenders.”

“Since my trade is shipping, I must live near the sea.”

“With a wife?” The boy’s brow pinched. “Did you wed again? Have you other children?”

Amaury dropped to a knee. His son being a good size, he looked up. “Not yet.” He raised his eyebrows. “How would you feel if I took another wife?”

The boy mulled that, shrugged. “It would be good, but only if she is kind—and to be certain of that, one must know a woman well.”

Insight Amaury would not have expected of one so young. But then, from what he knew of the years before Séverine brought him to England, he was forced to grow up quickly.

“You are right, Mace. Fortunately, there is a lady at Stern of whom I believe you will approve.”

The boy’s eyebrows nearly met. “Most of those who live there are wed. Do you speak of one who visits?”

“I do not, but if you will accompany us to Stern, en route you can advise me as to whether this lady would be a good mother and wife.”

Mace’s uncertain smile showed strong teeth. “I could. ”

Amaury set a hand on his shoulder. “I would…appreciate it, my son.”

The boy’s gaze flickered. “Should I embrace you?”

“Only when you truly wish it.”

His son nodded, paused in turning away.

Amaury waited. Finally, Mace stepped nearer, leaned in, and loosely put his arms around his father’s shoulders.

A good beginning, Amaury thought, and thanking the Lord for small steps ahead of larger ones, slid an arm around him. Though he expected that to be the extent for now, as if something sealed up in the boy split open, his embrace became fierce and a sob escaped.

Eyes stinging, Amaury held his quietly weeping son and sidelong saw those who had tried to fill the holes in the fatherless boy’s life depart the solar.

Minutes later, Mace eased back. Vulnerability about his face making him appear younger, he said, “I prayed as Séverine told I should, even when I stopped believing God would return you to me.” He drew a forearm across moist eyes. “I wish He had not taken so long, but I shall thank Him that you live and came when you could.”

“As soon as I was able,” Amaury affirmed.

The boy raised a hand and, receiving a nod, lightly traced a scar on Amaury’s face. “I have scars, too. Will you tell how you got yours?”

Hurting for what the boy suffered that caused his niece and him to flee the home of Lady Eugénie D’Argent—and struggling against vengeful thoughts—Amaury said, “In time I will, and perhaps you will tell how you came by yours.”

Mace stiffened. “When I am ready.”

“Agreed.” Amaury released him and straightened. “Now gather what you will need for a few days, and be quick so we may arrive at Stern well before the turning of day. ”

“First I must see to my charge.”

“Your charge?”

“Aye, recently Baron Wulfrith’s nephew was admitted to Wulfen to train as a page. ’Tis my responsibility to teach Sebastian all I learned when I served at table.”

Amaury smiled. “He is a good pupil?”

“Much work to be done to prove worthy, the same as it was for me, but he advances.”

Longing to enfold his son again, Amaury said, “You do your training proud.”

Mace stepped to the side and snatched up the note he must have dropped when they embraced. Though color warmed his face as if he revealed too much of himself, with what seemed reverence, he placed it in the purse on his belt and said, “This is important to me.”

More so than the letter Séverine was to have given him when he was old enough to read what his sire was never able to speak.

“And now I can,” Amaury breathed as his son ran from the solar, then looked heavenward. “I thank You, and if this day’s blessings end here, I shall strive to be content.”

Still, hopeful of another blessing, he moved his thoughts to what awaited him at Stern. Since Fira had months to reflect on all that happened during their short acquaintance that could haunt him unto death if his dark dreams did not entirely resolve, she might disappoint. Too, she must also consider his business—that just as it would keep him from his son for long periods of time, it would keep him from her. Much potential for disappointment but, sadly, understandable.