Page 75 of Retribution

“Nay,” he said. “This is not something I ever saw myself with. Who knew I would own a fishing fleet?”

Gerard looked at him, grinning. “And your wife hates fish,” he said. “There is great irony there.”

“True,” Aidric said. “She says that eating fish is like eating a relative.”

“The siren legend?”

“Exactly.”

“Still,” Gerard said as he stood up, picking up the fire poker to stir the embers in the hearth, “you have a good life here. No one deserves it more, Aidric. You are missed in London, but I do not blame you for staying here.”

Aidric sat back in his chair, looking at the rich furnishing in the hall and the pile of dogs over near the hearth, sleeping. “I will never leave it,” he said. “Except, of course, to go to the Welsh marches and capture Eleanor de Montfort. You do realize she is going to have a sizable escort.”

Gerard nodded. “We know,” he said. “That is why we are stopping at Lioncross Abbey on our way north to collect three hundred men from de Lohr.”

“Why did you not bring royal troops from London?”

“Because an army would move slower,” Gerard said. “We need to move swiftly and moving three hundred men who are already in the marches made logistical sense.”

“Where is Eleanor supposed to be now?”

Gerard put the fire poker away. “When we left for Cornwall, she’d not even left London yet,” he said. “Assuming she departed within a week or two of our departure, she should be somewhere in Nottinghamshire.”

“That does not give us much time.”

“Nay, it does not,” Gerard said. Then, he pointed to the upper floors. “Go and tell your wife to hurry up. This is not a game. We all have a schedule to keep.”

Aidric started to laugh, which was good for him considering he’d been sweating out the birth of his second child with a great deal of anxiety. Anything Gerard or Bennet said, or did, was meant to distract the new father and, so far, it had worked. Cleodora had been in labor since early that morning and it was just after the nooning meal now, so it hadn’t been terribly long as births went. But to Aidric, it was still terrifying, no matter how long it took.

“Papa!”

A little voice bounced off the walls and Aidric looked up to see his young son, Achilles, being brought in by Filly. Achilles St. John had his mother’s white hair, but his father’s hazel eyes and features, making him a strikingly handsome little lad. Once Filly entered the hall, she put the boy on his feet and he ran to Aidric, who swung him up into his arms, kissing little cheeks as the child giggled.

“No child yet, my lord?” Filly asked.

Aidric shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Not yet. But soon, hopefully. Then you’ll have two children to take care of.”

Filly grinned. “I do not mind, my lord,” she said. “Achilles is a joy.”

He grunted. “A joyful terror, but I’m glad you think so.”

He had no sooner said the words before Celyn descended the main stairs, a smile on her face as she looked directly at Aidric. Bennet, seeing his wife, went to her, but her focus was on the new father.

“Go and see your wife, Aidric,” she said. “The baby has come.”

“It has?” Aidric said, fear and elation in his voice. “And how is my wife?”

“Well,” Celyn said. She was a lovely woman with dark hair and a fine-featured face. “Both mother and child are doing very well, indeed. Hurry, now. Take the young lad up to see his new sibling.”

Aidric was already on the move with Achilles in his arms. “Is it a boy?”

Celyn shook her head. “I am not permitted to tell you,” she said. “Cleo wants the privilege.”

That put Aidric on the run. He raced up the stairs as Achilles screamed in delight, rushing to the master’s chamber where his wife had given birth. He stopped running by the time he reached the door, looking at Achilles and putting his finger to his lips, indicating for the child to be silent. In response, Achilles put his hands over his mouth. With a grin, Aidric pushed the door open.

The chamber was warm, smelling of cloves. The midwife and her sister were there, two women from the village who had delivered his first child as well. They were quite competent. Over on the enormous bed, Cleodora was sitting up, her white hair braided neatly, as she held an infant to her breast. With a smile of pure delight, Aidric approached the bed.

“Look, Achilles,” he said, pointing the infant out to his son. “Mama has a new baby. See?”