“Thank you, Brother Geoffrey,” Wheaton said and turned to lead them across the bailey yard.
The castle had an old square keep, but it was well-maintained. Jamie scanned the walls and outbuildings and saw that these, too, were kept in good repair. Charles Wheaton may be a disagreeable character, but a man who took good care of his property merited some respect.
They settled into the hall, which had a blazing fire in the hearth, an impressive display of weapons on the wall, and clean rushes on the floor.
“Charles, you should have told me they were here.” Jamie turned at the sound of a woman’s voice behind him. A frail woman, who looked to be about his mother’s age, had come into the hall and was walking toward them, leaning heavily on the arm of a servant.
Wheaton rushed to her side and took the servant’s place. When he turned back to face them, Jamie was startled by the transformation in the man’s expression.
“Meet my wife,” Wheaton said, beaming down at the delicate woman. “A better woman, God never made.”
“Charles, please,” she said.
She had a light, sweet voice that reminded Jamie of music from the high strings of a harp. But her pallor made it plain as day that Wheaton’s wife was in poor health.
“This is your aunt, Lady Anne Wheaton,” Wheaton said, then quoted Chaucer: “ ‘Any man worth a cabbage all his life ought to thank God on bare knees for his wife.’ ”
Anne Wheaton’s hand was icy and as light as a feather in Jamie’s as he bent over it, but there was warmth and laughter in her hazel eyes.
“We have waited a very long time to meet you,” she said.
Jamie was confused. “But I only just heard…”
“Of course, dear,” she said. “But we knew about you all along.”
“Then why—”
He did not finish his question because she began to cough. It was not a delicate cough, but one that racked her frail body and made Jamie wince.
“Let me take you upstairs, love,” her husband said. “I am sure these young men will wait while you rest an hour.”
She shook her head. “Just let me sit by the fire, and I shall be fine.”
Wheaton helped her into a chair, then placed a cushion behind her back and tucked a blanket around her. “How’s that, love?”
Jamie could not help softening toward Wheaton as he watched the big man hover over his sickly wife.
“Do not fret, Charles. I do not intend to let God take me today,” she said, smiling up at him. Then she turned to Geoffrey and Jamie. “Please, take a seat. We do not often have visitors these days, so this is a great treat for me.”
“For me, as well,” Jamie said and meant it. He took the chair opposite her, though the heat from the roaring fire was going to make him break out in a sweat.
“A gallant young man,” she said, turning to her husband. “Just like Richard.”
Wheaton patted her hand.
“Can you tell me about him?” Jamie asked, finding it easier to ask her than his uncle.
“It did not surprise me that your mother trusted him, for ’twas easy to see that Richard had a pure heart,” she said, a smile in her eyes. “He was the kindest man I knew.”
“If he was so kind, how could he leave my mother with that man?”
“He did feel guilty, but what could he do? That man was her husband,” she said. “Meeting your mother affected him deeply. If she had been free, he would have offered for her. He was very troubled and prayed often for her safety.”
“Hmmph. He should have fought for what he wanted,” Wheaton said. “Instead, he used the abbey as an escape from life.”
“But all turned out well for your mother,” Lady Anne said, a smile lighting her pale face. “When we met them, it was clear that she and Lord FitzAlan are devoted to each other.”
Jamie nodded.