They slept deep into the night, the best night’s sleep either one of them could ever recall.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was justbefore dawn as Tate made his way out of the keep and headed towards the building that housed the knights; he was going with a particular purpose in mind. Having just left Toby sleeping soundly, he was determined to find Stephen and clear the air between them. But his thoughts inevitably kept drifting back to Toby, her delicious body in his arms and the myriad of emotions that continued to assault him.
It was true; he felt as if he was suffering a gentle onslaught of emotions that he never believed himself capable of. It was something terrifying and wonderful, something that caused him to lose control as if he was a weakling. Whatever power Toby had over him, it was stronger than all of the might he had ever faced. All she had to do was give him a word, a look, and he surrendered like a fool.
But he had to get a grip on himself as much as he was able to. The first step would be to straighten out whatever odd situation had evolved between him and Stephen. And the second would be to determine the next course of action with Mortimer on their heels. Still, thoughts of Toby filled his mind and it was an effort to concentrate on issues that he knew must be the priority.
The knight’s quarters was a stone building built against the side of the outer wall. It was a badly lit structure with small,cell-like chambers. Tate entered the building and into a small common room with a muted fire burning in the hearth. He’d barely closed the door when one of the cell doors flew open and Kenneth appeared with a sword in his hand. When he saw it was Tate, he lowered the weapon.
“’Tis you,” he muttered.
“Aye, it’s me,” Tate replied. “Where’s Stephen?”
Kenneth yawned, tossing the sword back onto his bed. “He relieved me upon the battlements about an hour ago.”
Tate turned for the door but Kenneth stopped him. “Is something amiss?” he asked.
Tate paused after opening the panel. “Nay,” he said after a moment. “I simply must speak with him.”
Kenneth wisely kept his mouth shut, suspecting that whatever it was did not involve him. If it was a private conversation between Tate and Stephen, there was little doubt as to the subject. As Tate shut the door behind him, Kenneth wondered if he should follow to make sure there was no bloodshed with the undoubtedly volatile subject. On second thought, however, he decided to stay his course and simply remain an uninvolved bystander. With a woman involved, it was the safest course to take. Or so he believed.
Tate mounted the steep stairs to the battlements of the gatehouse, his trained gaze moving over the cold and dark landscape, searching for anything out of the ordinary. With a gaping hole where the main gates used to be, he was particularly on edge even though there were thirty soldiers patrolling the gap. A loop half-way around the wall walk brought him right to Stephen.
The big knight was on the west wall, in quiet conversation with one of the knight’s from Warkworth. The bulk of their army had remained, at least until the gates were repaired, so several hundred soldiers and a few knights lingered. When Stephen sawTate, he excused himself from the conversation and went to his liege.
“Nothing to report, my lord,” he said. “All remains quiet.”
Tate nodded, his dark gaze moving over the pre-dawn landscape once more. “Very well,” he replied. Then he continued to stand there, gazing over the view but not really seeing it. Stephen stood beside him silently, vigilantly, as he always had. Tate finally crossed his arms and emitted a heavy sigh.
“Stephen, I must ask you something,” he said.
“Of course, my lord.”
“You and I have long been friends, have we not?”
Stephen nodded slowly. “It has been my honor.”
“We have seen much of life and death together.”
“Indeed we have.”
“I consider you one of the finest men I have ever served with.”
“A true privilege, my lord.”
Tate turned to look at him. “I would not want anything to ruin that.”
Stephen returned his gaze. “Nor would I.”
Tate cleared his throat, a waver in his confidence. “I find that I must be honest with you, Stephen. I suppose I should have been from the onset but I was unsure how to go about it.”
“Speak your mind, my lord.”
Tate lifted his eyebrows with some hesitation. “I am attempting to,” he cleared his throat again. “You were with me when Catherine died.”
Stephen’s expression visibly eased. “Aye, my lord. I was there.”