Knights Divided. Suzanne Barclay
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of them. “Enough of this war talk.”
The militant light faded from Alex’s eyes, replaced by quiet joy. “Aye, I’m glad you’ve come home, Jamie. Your mother has been worried about you.” He grinned ruefully. “As have I.”
“I can only stay a short time,” Jamie murmured, not wanting to raise any false expectations.
“But if there is trouble, we’ll need every fighting man.”
“I’ve never stayed away from a battle in my life,” Jamie exclaimed. “But the attack will come from the sea, and I can best serve England from aboard the Lady.” If it came to that.
His father nodded. “I suppose there is truth in that, still…” He sighed. “Though you’re a grown man, I hate having you off fighting where I cannot defend you if need be.”
Jamie longed for the days when his problems were simple enough to be solved by his father’s strong arm and sage advice. He was on his own in this, vulnerable as a fly on a whitewashed wall. If he was caught, he’d die a traitor’s death, and no one, not even his powerful foster father, would step in to save him.
So he must not fail.
“I may not have you standing behind me, Papa, but I have the skills and training you drubbed into my thick skull.”
Alex laughed. “’Twas not easy to teach a lad who thought he already knew it all.”
“Shall we see if we can find Mama. I’ve a gift for her…a dagger from the East that I think will take her fancy.” He was adept at knowing what women liked, especially his mother, whose tastes ran to practical things, not pretty baubles.
“Your presence is the best gift she could have.” He draped an arm over Jamie’s shoulder and together they worked their way around the fringes of the crowd. “Hugh should be back soon.”
Jamie stiffened instinctively, but his father only held tighter to him.
“You are both grown, now. Let there be peace between you.”
“Of course,” Jamie said, but he knew he and his twin could never live in harmony. There was too much between them. Blood and betrayal. Guilt and remorse. “I know it hurts you that we always fought when you and your brothers were so close, but Hugh and I are so different.” Hugh, the stuffy prig, Jamie the hellion.
“Aye, Hugh was ever quiet and serious—”
Cold, remote and sanctimonious.
“And you a hellion bent on mischief,” Alex added. “’Twas evident from the first night. We’d put you together in the one cradle because we hadn’t known we’d be needing two. When you awoke, you howled for attention. Hugh just lay there, quietly waiting his turn.”
Jamie laughed. “Mama said I’d inherited your temper, curiosity and thirst for adventure.”
“Ha! Speaks the woman who pitched a kettle at me when she saw me talking…only talking, mind you…with another woman. At least I learned to control my temper. And taught you the same.”
“Lessons that stand me in good stead, else I’d have shoved Hugh’s teeth down his throat every time he tattled on me.”
“Which was often and with good cause, you rascal. Ah, there are your mother, uncles and aunts.” Alex veered toward a fivesome standing beneath the spreading branches of an old oak.
How handsome they are, Jamie thought with a spurt of pride. Light from a nearby torch played softly on the fair hair of the two tall men, Ruarke, youngest but bigger and more thickly muscled. Gareth, the eldest Sommerville and now earl, and the smiling faces of the three petite women, his mother and aunts, Gabrielle and Arianna. Though Alex had also been born a Sommerville, he’d changed his name to Harcourt when he’d wed Jesselynn, last of that line, so her name wouldn’t die out. The minstrels had devoted many a verse to that romantic gesture.
“Let the French come!” Uncle Ruarke roared in a voice that in his day had urged men to victory against the French, making him the hero of Poitiers and the scourge of the Continent. “My men are well trained. They’ll not take Wilton whilst I live.”
Aunt Gaby clutched at his sleeve. “Oh, Ruarke. ‘Tis been years since you’ve fought Is there no other way?”
“Nay!” her husband shouted. “Do you impinge my skills?”
“No one doubts your strength,” soothed Gareth. “But the French number thirty thousand. How many can you field?”
“Two thousand, twice that with your men and Alex’s. And there are at least ten other nobles who can muster a like force.”
“Too little. Too late.” Gareth shook his head. “Mayhap the king is right to try and solve this by treaty.”
“Treaty!” Ruarke’s roar shook the branches overhead and caused heads to turn the length of the garden. “That effeminate little brat will lose his crown and his head if he trusts Charles. Curse the Earl of Oxford and the other greedy—”
“Hush,” Gareth interjected. “Do you want to be arrested?”
“’Tis good to see you’ve not grown soft with age, Uncle,” Jamie called before the man dug himself in any deeper.
All five whipped around. Their mouths fell open, then lifted into smiles of welcome as they rushed to him with glad cries.
“You are well come, lad.” Uncle Ruarke lifted him off the ground in a rib-cracking hug, then passed him down the line of grinning Sommervilles, their cheeks wet with happy tears.
Lastly he came to his mother. “Happy Birthday, Mama.”
Jesselynn Harcourt’s green eyes filled with the ghosts he knew he’d put there. But they were chased away by delight. “Oh, Jamie…I thought…I feared…” She opened her arms.
“I’m fine, Mama. He bent to bury his nose in the veil that hid her wild red hair. She still smelled the same, like lavender, like home, but the fragility of her body startled him. Either he had grown or she had shrunk. Before he could voice his fears, his father’s muscular arms enveloped them. For several moments Jamie stood there, soaking up the balm of their unspoken love, then a shriek rent the air and a solid body collided with his back.
“Jamie! You wretch.” Despite the harsh words, slender arms encircled his waist and clung. “Why did you not write you were coming?” wailed a muffled voice. A fist slammed into his ribs.
Grunting, Jamie released his mother and twisted about to plant a kiss on the red curls that barely reached his breastbone. “You’ve grown, bratling, but you’re still a heathen.”
“I was ten and five last birthday and know how to act the lady when I choose.” Johanna was a miniature of their mother, with flaming hair, brilliant green eyes and a wayward nature that made Jamie seem tame by comparison. Their mother had lost two other children before delivering Johanna, so she was doubly precious to them all. And spoiled. “I’m old enough to be betrothed,” she added loftily.
“Perish the thought,” Jamie teased, though the idea of his darling Jo wed to some man was intolerable. “Who’d have you?”
“Lots of people. I’m an heiress, you know.”
Jamie glanced at his father. “You haven’t—”
“Nay, I haven’t.” Alex exclaimed. “I’m never going to part with her.” He ruffled her curls. “No man is good enough for my little princess.”
Agreed, Jamie thought. Despite the differences in the sexes and ages, he and Jo were as close as he and Hugh should have been. There was always a letter from Jo waiting when he put into port, and she’d come to London a few times with their parents to see him. Hugh had never come, of course, claiming pressing work on the estate as an excuse, whilst Jamie pleaded a busy schedule as the reason he didn’t travel to Harte Court. “More like,