Chapter Eight
Don Temple stood by the door and watched as Isabel held her daughter. She had been sitting looking out the window when they had arrived, and Aracely had flung herself at the woman's feet. The two of them now held each other and cried while Temple watched. He felt nothing watching this reunion. He may have accomplished a great feat by saving Isabel's daughter, but he had been too late to save his own. As joyous as the occasion was, it was not enough to outweigh his own grief.
"Carlos?" Isabel said. He looked up so his eyes met hers, but he did not reply. "Carlos, come here," his aunt said motioning him closer. Temple walked over and knelt beside them. His aunt brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. "Thank you. Thank you, My Dear Boy."
Temple stared at her face. She was alive, but she wouldn't be much longer. She looked old and weak. She didn't even stand from that chair when they entered. "No," he said softly. "No, thank you. If it weren't for you . . . When I was a boy, no one wanted me. No one but you."
Her eyes saddened. "That's not true. I talked to Sofia after the tournament. I wondered how long it would take her to figure it out. She told me what she saw. I think your father wanted you too."
"He's got a hell of a way of showing it."
She saw the dark look in his eyes, and it reminded her so much of Javier that it hurt. "No, Carlos. No, you can't blame this on him too. He couldn't have wanted this. The situation with your father has always been complicated."
"He could've stopped this a long time ago."
"You won't let him!" Aracely looked up at them through her tear stained cheeks. Carlos had stood and was inching toward the door in retreat. Her mother looked more in pain now than ever. They had apparently forgotten she was there. She had no idea that Carlos knew who his father was. No one had ever told her. Isabel continued, "You say you want him to claim you—that you want him to acknowledge what he did. If you wanted people to know the truth, you could have exposed him a long time ago. The fact is, you don't want anybody to know either because what would that do to your reputation? You are just like your uncle. You're tempted to turn and walk out that door. You won't admit it, but you're running from the truth because you know the truth isn't as simple as you think it should be. This wasn't his fault."
"So it's my fault?"
"No! No, Carlos, you're not listening. It's nobody's fault. It's certainly not yours, but if you blame him, it will only drive you mad."
"Forgive me. But I fail to see how this is not his fault. He is responsible. He and those who are close to him will pay for what they've done. I will get justice for my family. And if that makes me a madman, so be it."
Francisco had been told that Temple had arrived and wanted an audience with the king. The prince waited for them both. Temple was the first to arrive. Francisco saw the strain and exhaustion in his face. He had heard about everything that had happened and the rumors that found their way through his halls that Temple had gone to rescue his sister. The man looked beaten and broken like he had never seen him before. Francisco offered his sincerest apologies and condolences as best he could. Temple seemed not to hear him. He didn't react at all until the king entered, and he bowed in the presence of his king.
"Yes, Sir Temple?"
"I came, Sire, for two reasons. Firstly, to apologize."
"Apologize?"
"Yes. I didn't have your permission to leave the army and find my sister."
The king shrugged. "The campaign was over. You had urgent business to attend to. You sent me word. I understood. Did you succeed?"
He nodded. "She's with my aunt. I left them at the convent. I have no home to send them to, and my aunt is too weak to move anyway."
"Good. I did hear about the destruction you left in your wake. Philippe will be sorry he crossed you. Your apology is accepted although it was unnecessary. What is your other request?"
"I want your permission to go back. I have unfinished business with King Philippe and his knights."
"Go back? Campaigning in winter is a mistake, Temple."
"I'll manage. I'll destroy his kingdom one foot at a time if I have to."
The king nodded. "In the hands of a lesser man, it would be a fool's errand. But, yes, I believe you can. Go, with my blessing. Do what you feel you need to. Let no man stop you. You are my champion, and you answer to me and me alone."
"Thank you, Sire."
"Wait here. I have something I want to give you."
The king hurried from the room on a mission and Francisco stared at his friend confused. "What are you doing?"
"What?"
"What about the peace?"
"Peace?" Temple asked confused and obviously offended. "Where have you been?"
"Together we may convince my father once again that peace is our only alternative. It's not too late."
"'Too late?' My family is dead. I want justice."
"Justice or vengeance?"
"Sometimes they're the same."
Francisco scoffed. "Even if you are right, you went and saved your sister, and if the rumors are true, you got plenty of justice. You killed the only family de Roig had. You burned several villages. You've got justice."
"And Philippe? How many times does he get to destroy my family?"
"Him again? What happened to your grandparents was unfortunate. Granted, I see why you blame Philippe. If you asked nicely to camp on the lands of one of Philippe's nobles and he told you no, you would have camped anyway. And anything that happened as a result of that would be on your shoulders, but you know as well as I do that your mother wasn't raped so you can't blame Philippe or your father alone for your existence."
"Don't bring my mother into this," he said coldly.
"No, you're the one who brought your family into this. As for your father, I can't speak for the man. I don't know him. But your mother must have respected him. At the very least, she enjoyed his company. You wouldn't be here if she didn't."
Temple stepped angrily toward him. "Stop. Now."
Francisco saw the rage in his friends eyes. He stood taller meeting the challenge. "No. I won't stop until you realize that you are wrong. I'm sure King Philippe desires peace, and I can't let you ruin what little chance we have left. I know you hate the man and choose to blame him for everything, but even you can't deny that he saved you. You owe Philippe your very life."
The remark was enough to blow what fuse Temple had left. His fist flew of its own volition and struck the prince. Philippe had saved him as a boy, and everyone like to remind him of it. He had rescued him; so what? He brought him out of the snow only to throw him back in it and hope that Javier Temple would take pity on him.
Francisco swore grabbing his jaw. Just as his father returned, he spat blood on the stone floor. The king looked over at Temple whose face was expressionless, but his fist remained clenched at his side. His son looked at Temple shocked, and he felt he knew what had happened. He chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Temple. He probably deserved it."
"I owe King Philippe nothing."
"Is that what he said? Then, by all means, punch him again," the king said laughing. "Here, I have brought you something—a proper instrument of the justice you seek. Do you recognize it?"
Temple finally looked away from Francisco to the king. He offered him a sword. He drew it a few inches from the scabbard. "This is my uncle's sword. I haven't seen this . . . since . . ."
"Before he died right?"
"Right."
"I was with the army that summer. They came and told me that he had been wounded and that he lay on the field dying so I went to him. He had always been a loyal vassal of mine as well as a friend, and I knew that Leon was about to suffer a great loss. He spoke of you. As he did, he reached for the hilt of his sword. I don't think he knew that it had been broken in the fight that killed him. He wanted you to have it. He told me to tell you that it was yours now. I brought the pieces back and had it reforged for you. During all this talk of peace, I forgot about it. But this blade has a real purpose now. I trust you will act in the best interests of your kingdom. Do with it as you see fit."
"I will," Temple said absently drawing it and holding it up to the light. It had been over ten years, but he could still hear his uncle's voice: "This is yours when I say it is." As he remembered Javier Temple, he remembered how he had been the one who had taught him to fight. He had taught him the importance of family and of his responsibilities as the head of his house. Now, he had a carte blanche from the King of Leon and he had his uncle's sword, and he would use them both to make things right.
Returning Aracely had bought Philippe some time. Temple stayed away almost a month before he returned with his men—rested and ready for more blood. Tristan sat with his father and the chancellor wondering how long the revenge of Don Temple would last. Refugees continued to pour in from the border. Soon the whole region would be completely devastated. Philippe had sent troops to stem the tide. It was working to some extent. Temple's men were fast and small enough to avoid the army, but that army's presence was enough to make him lie low.
With the arrival of spring, Temple's forces combined with Leon's regular army and became a destructive force. For the next few years, Temple even more ruthless than his predecessor Javier. The infamous and violent Green Knight was beyond pity. Don Temple became an object of complete hatred and disgust in Philippe's kingdom, more hated, in fact, than even the King of Leon himself. Also, the observation of Temple as a dragon seemed to fit. The rumor went through the whole realm as he became a symbol of terror. When the rumor reached Temple, he took advantage of it. He changed his heraldry. It remained green, but with a gold dragon, and his banners inspired fear wherever he went.
"I heard about your son, Soledad. I apologize," Philippe said to end the silence.
"It's war, Sire. We all know what might happen when we go out there," Soledad replied, and then silence reigned once again. "I worry about the refugees," he said after a moment.
"What do you mean?" the king asked.
"What happens when they stop coming?"
"Explain yourself."
"With every village destroyed, fewer and fewer refugees come back. Fewer and fewer are surviving his wrath. His violence grows with every engagement. If they stop coming, he's stopped leaving any survivors."
"Do you think it will come to that?" Tristan asked.
"It's possible," Philippe said.
Soledad sighed. "I told you we should have kept him when he was a boy. I told you Leon and his uncle would turn him into a monster."
"No," Philippe replied. "Leon didn't turn him into a monster. We did. . . . I did."
Tristan was about to protest, but Soledad caught his eye. He shook his head signaling him to leave his father be. They were all silent. During the reign of Philippe's father, battle between the two kingdoms had waged hot. But with resources depleted, the war had calmed down in recent years. It still went on, but with much less vehemence. Until now. Neither kingdom could continue at this pace for long. Temple was intent on destroying them all. What would happen when he was forced to slow down? With such desperation, that man would be unpredictable.
"Ah, there he is! My own favorite knight!" the King of Leon said as he greeted Temple with a smile. Temple only stared coldly in reply. He had grown quite hard over the past couple of years. The king was pleased at what he saw as a growth in character in his favorite knight. The prince was not. Although once friends, the two were still at odds with one another. The prince just glared at his former ally for peace. "I heard you haven't rebuilt Asturius."
"I have been busy, My King."
He laughed. "Yes, that's right. That's right. Sit down; sit down. How is your cousin?"
"Well. Still at the convent. I figure she should be safe there especially now that my aunt has passed away as well."
"True. True. How are your numbers?"
"We've lost a fair few, but our numbers grow every day."
"And you train these men?"
"Yes."
"Have you knighted any of these village boys?"
"No. There is no place among us for those looking for glory and recognition. Those who show talent end up as fellow trainers—acting as sort of squires. A few noble born of those who were my squires before have been knighted, and they lead their own armies under Don Reyes."
"Good. Good. You have done well. Your swordsmen are some of the most elite in all my armies. . . . And what of women?" the king added somewhat secretly.
Temple just stared. "I believe they still inhabit this fair earth of ours, Sire."
He laughed. "Yes, you're right. They do. But you've had time to mourn. Let's get you married again. You need an heir. And all that talent would just be a waste if it ended with you."
"I'm afraid, Sire, that I don't have much to offer a wife right now. I have no home. And no time."
"Nonsense. A decent dowry will be enough to rebuild the place. You know, I have a few daughters myself. . . ."
"No," the prince said. "I see your mind. You'll have him marry my sister, have a son, then kill me off—your weak, obstinate son—and put your grandson on the throne."
The king chuckled. "Pay no attention to him, Temple. He's just jealous."
"All the same, Your Majesty, I'd rather not cross my future king."
"Have it your way. I'm sure we can find some nobleman willing to give you his daughter."
Temple stared at the floor. "I gave all I had to my first wife and my children. I have nothing left."
"You're just talking nonsense. You go back out and lead the armies of Leon, and since he does not want you as a brother-in-law, Francisco and I will be on a mission to find you a bride."
"Your servant, My Liege," Temple said rising. He bowed and returned to his men.
"So I'm arranging marriages now?" the prince said in frustration. "I should've joined the church."
"You know you'll do as I ask. Be sure she's pretty. And young. With a personality that's obliging—not abrasive. I want to give my loyal vassal something he'll enjoy. She should be from a good family too—one where her father or brothers are skilled knights and come from a long line of good knights."
"So a beautiful, agreeable woman from good stock. Are you breeding knights now? Or just little Don Carlos Temples?"
His father scoffed. "Just do it." He turned to go.
Francisco sighed. "What if I want to marry the hot little wench!" he called out after him.
Francisco read off names of women that he thought would make a suitable bride for Temple. His father objected to each one for some reason or another. This one's family wasn't good enough; this one was too plain; this one's breasts were too small. Francisco finally ripped up his notes and tossed them aside. "I don't know what you want from me."
The king thought for a moment. "You mentioned Rodriguez's daughter," he said pacing.
"Yes. You made a disparaging comment about her nose. Or maybe it was her ears. I don't remember."
"Doesn't she have a sister?" his father asked ignoring his sarcastic tone.
"Several. Of his eight children, I believe five are girls."
"Any married?"
"One."
"And only one is on your list?"
"The others are younger, and Rodriguez isn't the wealthiest noble. I mean, with five daughters to provide dowries for . . ."
"Temple married his first wife for money. Dowry isn't my primary concern at the moment—so long as it's respectable. Which one of his daughters is it that I always compliment him on?"
"Gabriela."
"Ah, yes. The little angel. Why not her?"
"She's too young for him."
"Is not. How old is she?"
"16 or 17. Not any more than that."
"Your mother was younger than that when I married her, and I was in my thirties. Or maybe closer to forty."
"My point exactly."
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Sofia was that age when she married him."
"She was a little older, and he was younger. He was less troubled then."
"Less famous you mean. He's always been out to destroy Philippe. Ever since he was a boy. Sofia softened him too much—losing her was good for him. He's back where he belongs."
"So wait, let me be sure I understand. You think his first marriage made him too soft so you want him to marry again?"
"He's matured. He won't go back."
"That's a shame."
His father shot him an evil glance. "How can you still want peace? Especially now. We want him to have heirs. He needs one at least. Let's get him a wife. Back to the Rodriguez girl. I like her."
"So be it, but you're asking for a shipwreck."
"My son—ever the pessimist. It's why God has kept me alive so long. You would have rolled over and let Philippe have this kingdom long ago. That's why I'm glad Temple is on my side. What will you do when I die, and Philippe wants peace, and he betrays you again? One day you'll learn. And I'm glad Temple will be here to teach you. I suppose we should find you a wife as well. It's a shame Temple didn't have a sister."
"He has a sister."
He shook his head. "Cousin."
"Well, maybe he would have if a certain someone didn't have his mother killed."
The king glared at his son. "Francisco, you will send word to Rodriguez that we will be coming for a visit. Tell him we have an offer for him."
Manuel Rodriguez was flattered by the arrival of his king and his offer. He was somewhat ashamed at his modest proposal for a dowry, but the king himself didn't seem to mind. He delivered the news to his daughter. He had some difficulty reading her reaction as she was overcome with shock. She did seem pleased. He hoped she was. The whole family was immensely flattered by the news. Don Temple was the greatest noble in the realm. He was humbled that the king would even consider his family for this much less accept his daughter as a bride for the Lord of Asturius. His other daughters were a little jealous, but they understood the honor that they would all gain from this. He sent word to his sons who were out fighting. They would never believe it. He was ready to celebrate himself. He went in to his room to find his wife staring out the window. Her expression worried him. "You look sad. Why? Today is a great day for our family."
She smiled sadly. "I know."
He sat next to her. "We are joining our house to that of the greatest of the realm outside the royal family."
"I know, but at what cost?"
"What do you mean?"
"She's your favorite. She's used to being showered with love and affection. He won't do that. I spoke with the prince. Since his wife died, he's cold and hard. And we're giving our daughter to him. I remember him as a boy. I do. But I've heard the rumors too. I know that in Leon, he's a hero, but he's heartless. He burns village after village killing the innocent with the guilty. He's not interested in marriage. Prince Francisco said the king wants him to marry. How will he treat this young wife that he doesn't want?"
He put his arm around his concerned wife. "Those stories are exaggerated. I'm sure all will be well."
"I've warned her."
"And?"
"What do you think? She's marrying a handsome hero. Not to mention a man she pities. She remembers when he was here all those years ago. She knows his story. . . . I think she's in for a disappointment."
"Maybe not."
Francisco sent for Aracely. She should be at her brother's wedding. He wasn't sure when the last time Temple saw his poor sister was. The girl had been at the convent several years, and the peace and quiet had done her good. She could have stayed as long she wanted. The Temple family had been very generous to the convent, but Aracely was restless and eager to move on with her life. Blinded by his rage, Don Temple saw nothing beyond his hatred of Philippe. Francisco worried that Temple's wounds would never heal, and his life would be consumed by his quest for vengeance. For his family's sake, Francisco hoped that his father was wrong, and Temple would benefit from his marriage.
They had expected Temple to arrive the day before, but he had not, nor had they received any word. Francisco found Manuel and his wife. "I'd like to apologize on behalf of Don Temple. Since that unfortunate incident with his family, he sort of lives by his own timetable."
"Perhaps he not pleased with your choice of wife?"
"Oh no. I'm sure that has nothing to do with his delay. I expect him to arrive very soon. His responsibilities with the army take up so much of his time."
"We understand, My Liege."
Alfonso approached his master with great care and consideration. Temple was staring fixedly at three grave markers. He hadn't moved an inch for hours. He could have been a statue stationed here to watch over and protect them. "Alfonso," he said addressing his squire.
The young man didn't realize that Temple had noticed him, but he tried not to act surprised. He bowed slightly. "Yes, Sire?"
"How long has it been?"
He wasn't sure what his master meant. How long had they been in Asturius? Or how long had he been sitting there? "You've been sitting there all day. The sun is almost gone. Prince Francisco expected us two days ago."
"No. No, how long has it been?" he asked nodding at the stones.
"Oh. About three years, Sir."
Temple hadn't realized it had been that long. It seemed like only yesterday that they had arrived for the tournament that was to give him peace. He could still picture her sleeping with a smile on her face tucked safely against him. He had failed her. She and their children had died three years ago, and their murderer still lived. But it wasn't over yet. He still had a lot of fight in him. He planted a kiss on the cold stone that marked his wife's grave, stood, and dusted himself off. He began walking toward his camp, and Alfonso obediently followed. "Have everything packed tonight. We leave at first light."
"Yes, Sir," Alfonso said confident that it could be arranged. His men were used to their master's moods and were always ready to move at a moment's notice. To his shock, though, Temple abruptly turned. "What is it, My Lord?"
"It is the right thing to do?"
"Sir?"
"Getting married again. I'm doing the right thing." Alfonso watched Temple carefully. He almost sounding like he was asking a question.
"My Liege, I did not know your wife all that well, but I believe this is what My Lady Sofia would have wanted."
He sighed and looked toward the heavens. "I think so too."
Aracely hesitantly approached the prince. He noticed her and smiled. "What is it, My Lady?"
"Any news of my brother, Sire?"
"I just received word. He should be arriving any minute."
"What took him so long?"
"He made a stop at Asturius."
"Is he finally rebuilding it?" she asked with a ray of hope in her voice.
"No. Not that I know of."
She sighed. She had hoped that the years would have eased his pain, and he would have found some healing. "I know it hurts him, but I thought . . . since he was getting married again . . ."
"So did I. There he is now."
The gates opened, and a band of warriors dressed in green rode into the courtyard. She ran among them and found her brother. "Carlos!" she called smiling. He dismounted, and she hugged him. "Come. We have so much to catch up on." She led him down the halls and into a little sitting area. "Why are you so quiet?"
He shrugged and took a seat. "You look older," he said simply.
She laughed. "So do you." He said nothing. She made another attempt to start a conversation with her brother. "So what made you decide to remarry?"
"The king asked me to."
"And that was enough?"
"It usually is."
"I met her. She seems sweet. But why did you choose her over her sisters?"
"The king and Francisco chose her. You'd have to ask them."
"You don't know why?" Aracely studied him. He stared at a spot on the floor. His eyes were cold and expressionless. He had allowed his hair to grow longer, and it fell in waves about face. It was an attractive look, but his smile was gone. His voice was flat, and his expression remained blank. "Do you know anything about her at all?"
"Manuel Rodriguez's daughter, isn't it?" he replied without emotion.
"Do you even know her name?"
"Something Rodriguez, I imagine."
Aracely continued watching her brother closely. Her joy at seeing him faded quickly. "Carlos, you're not ready for this. You know nothing about her—not even her name. Did you know that she's younger than I am?"
"I didn't know Sofia either. And she was your age when we got married," he replied defensively.
"But . . . It's not that you don't know anything about her. It's . . . you don't care, do you? Why did you go back to Asturius? Why, Carlos?" He didn't answer. "Why haven't you rebuilt it? You need time. I respect that, but, Carlos, I'm ready to go home. You're stalling. You don't really want to get married again. . . . You're still grieving."
"I'm fine. The king is right. It's time I moved forward."
She shrugged and tried to talk about something else. "How long will you stay?"
"What?" he asked finally looking at her.
The look of shock on his face further annoyed her. She rolled her eyes. "You can't just marry the woman and leave. You stayed with Sofia all winter. Remember? And she wasn't even sure what to think of you at first. This woman already adores you. You are a hero of Leon, and she is honored to be your wife. She's sweet. And young. You have to be good to her."
"I can't stay all winter. I have things to do."
"Like what? Burning more villages? Killing more innocent people? You may be a hero, but even in a convent, I hear the rumors. I hate to think what Mother would say."
Temple stood up abruptly. "She's dead. And they must pay for what they've done. They will pay."
He turned to go, but she called out to him. "Carlos?"
"What?" he replied coldly.
"It won't bring them back. And none of them—not even Father—would want to see you like this. And if you're not good to her, you are no better than they are."
"What would you have me do? Lay down my sword and my lance and leave Philippe and his son to reign in peace? To allow him and his son to prosper?"
"You have to let it go. If Philippe is at fault in this, then God will not allow him to go unpunished." He scoffed and shook his head. She continued to try to reason with him. "Carlos, no one denies that Philippe has wronged you—even Philippe himself would agree. But you are taking this too far. It has long ceased to be justice. You are nothing but a madman wreaking havoc on the helpless. Take some time. Marry, if you must. But take her home to Asturius. Rebuild. Start over. It's not too late. And some time away from the clanging of steel and the splintering of lances will be good for you. You need peace. And quiet."
"I can't. I won't. I've already had to start over. I can't do it again. I have a duty to Leon and my family, and I will not neglect it."
He turned to go. She called out to him, but he ignored her pleas. Temple left his sister and walked heavily down the hall. He looked up to see Francisco waiting for him. He ran a hand through his longish hair and sighed preparing himself for another battle. But at the moment, Francisco's errand was one of business. He fell into step with his father's knight and expected him to follow his lead. "I have made excuses for you long enough. Your delay has concerned your future father-in-law. You keep alienating everyone and no one will stand for you. You need to smooth things over with everyone." He stopped outside a door. "Wait here," Francisco said coldly and left.
Temple sighed and looked over his appearance. Someone behind him cleared their throat. He turned and saw a woman before him. Recognizing her, he forced a smile. "Lady Rodriguez. It is a pleasure to see you again," he said bowing slightly.
She smiled softly and approached him. "You remember?"
"Of course. How could I forget the lady who restored me to health? And you haven't changed at all," he said kissing her hand.
"You flatter me, Sir Knight. You've changed—changed a great deal. You were barely more than a boy then. But that was ten years ago."
"Has it been that long?"
"Yes, My Lord. Now, you are a grown man and a hero. You seem taller, stronger. Your hair is longer too. . . . You will take care of her, won't you?"
"Of course. Consider it a return on the kindness you showed me long ago."
They were silent only a moment before Francisco returned with his father the king and Don Rodriguez. "I thought you were rebelling against your king's plans for you, My Lord," Don Rodriguez said with a slight grin.
Temple smiled. "Not today. Forgive my delay. I have many obligations."
"Of course. We understand."
"He is our hero. He sends Philippe's army running for the hills if they but see his banners on the horizon. He pushed our Green Knight too far. His rule will break under the wrath of this dragon," the king said with a laugh clapping his knight on the back.
"Yes. We are very honored to join our family with yours, Sir."
"As am I, Don Rodriguez."
Tristan charged his horse forward. He lowered his lance at his opponent's shield. The force of his blow knocked other rider to the ground. With weapon in hand, he charged toward the man again, slinging the metal ball over his head and at his opponent. The other man blocked it with his shield.
"Your advantage is forfeit, My Prince!" the knight overseeing the prince's training called.
"Forfeit?" he yelled frustrated.
"Yes. Finish the combat on foot." Tristan angrily tossed his weapon aside, but he dismounted. His squire handed him a sword, and he continued.
Philippe and Matias watched from a distance. "He's good, yes?" Philippe asked.
"Yes. Like his father."
"Yes. I unhorsed a few knights in my day," Philippe said with a grin.
"We may be looking at the next champion of your realm."
"Really?" Matias nodded. Philippe thought for a moment. "Can he best Temple?"
Matias raised an eyebrow. He stared at his liege for a moment. He was serious. "No. No, he can't. I watched him defeat my son at the tournament, remember? No one can best Temple. The man can't be touched. And he has something that Tristan does not."
"What's that?"
"Experience. He's been fighting on a battlefield at least since he was eighteen. Tristan may have been raised in the garrison around knights, but he's never seen any real blood spilt."
"Are you saying he's a coward?"
"No. I'm saying he's never fought against an opponent who was really trying to kill him. He's never fought to survive. It's a different kind of experience."
"He's the prince of the realm. He's all I have. If anything happened to him . . ." He stopped at the expression on his advisor's face. "You know what I mean. And I know he should be out there, but I just can't do that right now, not with Temple on the loose."
"You think he'd go out of his way to harm Tristan? He never has before."
"One of the refugees sent him a warning. Besides, Matias, I took his child from him. Who else would be his prime target?"
Temple opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. His young wife lay across his chest, clinging to him. He had known her less than a day, been married to her for even less, but he already determined in his heart and soul that Philippe would not touch her. He had failed to protect his first wife, but not this one. He would not be fooled by Philippe's empty promises of peace so he could harm this poor woman too. This woman would be safe.
She wouldn't have been his first choice for a bride. Not that she wasn't beautiful, but she was young. And Aracely was right. She did adore him. He could see that. He wished he could be whatever she thought he was, but he had a rougher task at hand. He kissed her head, laid her down, and tucked her in. He rose and dressed. He walked down the hall out to the battlements and watched the rising sun. He was restless. He knew he was obeying his king by being here, but he hated sitting still. He should be out in the field where he was useful—not here enjoying the comforts of a married man. Aracely would never forgive him if left this soon, and if he left before the woman conceived, the king would only make him return.
"Wondering how long my father is going to keep you here?" Temple turned to see the prince. Francisco stood watching him with his arms folded across his chest. Without answering he turned back to the wall. "Where is your wife?"
"Asleep."
"She okay?"
"What exactly are you implying, My Prince? That I forced myself on that innocent little thing you sent to my bed?" Francisco's face turned red with anger. "What's the matter with you? . . . She's fine. She was a little hesitant at first, but before I was done, she was moaning like a whore." Francisco felt his blood boil the way he talked about her, and his face began turning red. After all, he would have never dreamed of talking about Sofia that way. Temple noticed his reaction and smirked. "I didn't make her do anything she didn't want to."
Francisco stepped toward him. "You son of a—"
"Hello! Francisco and my favorite knight!" They both turned to see the king approaching. Francisco took a few steps back away from his father's hero of the hour, but he continued to glare at Temple. "How was your night, Temple?" the king asked secretly. "I'll bet it was better than Francisco's here," he said chuckling.
"It was fine, Sire."
"Good, good. Francisco here wasn't much help in finding a bride for you. He couldn't seem to find a suitable girl with breasts the right size. I think he's holding out on us—keeping one in hiding for himself."
Temple grinned. "The one he did pick was fine, My Liege."
"Everything satisfactory?"
"Her breasts were perfectly fine. They were each . . . more than a mouthful."
The king laughed heartily. "More than a mouthful?" He slapped Temple's arm. "See why I like him?"
Francisco wasn't laughing. "Yes, I especially appreciate the irony. Your favorite knight—the same man who is on a rampage, bent on destroying Philippe because he blames him for killing his family—when it was you who ordered their execution." The king's face hardened. "It was you who was responsible for his grandparents' death. It was your troops who killed his mother. I wonder . . . what would have happened if Philippe hadn't happened along and saved young Temple's life?"
"My grandfather was a traitor," Temple said coldly—not moved by Francisco's speech.
The king was enraged. "Yes. He betrayed me. I gave him warning after warning. I never ordered the death of the boy or his mother."
"Well, my mother had died by that time. And Temple's was a pretty little thing too. You were in need of a new woman. I doubt you would have married her. She had a bastard after all. But you're not above settling for a mistress."
"You shut your mouth!" the king yelled angrily. "If you were not my son—my only son, I'd have you punished severely for this insolence." He swallowed hard. "I apologize Temple. You know he lies."
"I know. He and Philippe make a good pair. Manipulating who they want trying to get 'peace.' Now, if you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I need to get back to my wife."
Temple hurried down the hall away from them, but Francisco caught up. "Temple!" he called.
He turned with a look of clear frustration on his face. "What do you want now? To watch? Or did your father send you down here to check the blood on the sheets?"
Francisco rolled his eyes, but he didn't reply. He knew Temple was baiting him. "I want to talk to you about your sister," he replied changing the topic of conversation.
"Aracely? What about her?"
"Staying at that convent has been good for her. But she's getting restless. You know this."
"What am I supposed to do about it?"
"Temple, you're all she's got left. Who else is to look after her?" Temple sighed heavily. "Look, I have an idea that may suit her. And take this 'burden of responsibility' from you."
"What did you have in mind?"
"What if she married?"
Temple eyed him with a dark curiosity. "You're not touching my sister."
"No! Not me."
"What? She's been spoiled, and therefore, not good enough for Your Royal Highness?"
"Would you calm down? It's not that. I can't give her what she needs. She wants out of the convent, but the life of the princess—and eventually the Queen of Leon—may be too much excitement for her right now. I have a cousin—son of Don Reyes."
"Yes, I know him well. I thought he was married?"
"He was. His wife died. He has three young children. He needs help with them, and he needs a companion. Your sister needs to feel useful and needs protection. They're fairly equal in status and rank. Their temperaments will complement each other. I think the match would be good for them."
"Sounds like a reasonable plan. Go ahead and arrange it," he replied moving toward the bedroom door.
Francisco grabbed his arm. "You are her guardian. You should talk to Reyes. For that matter, you should talk to Aracely and see if she would even consider this."
Temple threw off the prince and glanced at the door. "I am busy, My Prince, or have you forgotten my current task given to me by your father?" Francisco did not reply, and Temple left him where he stood. He didn't slam the door behind him, but he did shut it louder than he should have. His wife stirred and sat up. "Good morning," he said simply, hoping his irritation at Francisco didn't bleed through.
"Where were you?"
"I went for a walk," he said running his hand through her hair. He could tell she absolutely melted when he touched her, and he decided that by God, if he was to be stuck here for the next several months, he might as well enjoy himself.
Tristan wondered why nothing else was said about his marriage, but he figured it had something to do with the fact that now was not the time for a wedding. It didn't really matter to him. He was ready to go to the field with the army anyway. He wanted to inspire the troops—help them rally when they saw those green banners bearing the dragon. His father was against it, but it was time he did his duty for the army. He knew his father wanted him protected from Temple, but he was growing impatient with his father and his concerns. He and the king had gone out for a hunt, and he had been trying to discuss it with him, but the stubborn old man wouldn't listen. The dogs began to bark. "Sire?" they heard from a distance.
"We'll continue this discussion later," Philippe said sternly.
"Fine," Tristan said and pouted leaning on a tree.
"Sire?" they heard again.
"Over here!" Philippe called.
Soledad appeared from through the trees. "Hello," he said cautiously sensing the tension. "How's the game?"
"Nothing. Tristan here can't keep quiet."
"An interesting rumor just came in from Leon."
"What is it?"
"Don Temple remarried," he said.
"Really?" the king asked tossing a treat to one of his dogs. "Who did he marry?"
"A daughter of Manuel Rodriguez. One of his youngest."
"Huh. Imagine that. Good for him. Don't tell de Roig though. I don't want another fiasco. The last thing we need is to give him another reason to kill us all."
"You can tell whomever you want. They'll need an act of God to find the woman."
"What do you mean?"
"She's not at Asturius. He never rebuilt it. She could be at the king's. She could be at Don Reyes's. She could even be with her parents or his sister. He's certainly not announcing from the mountaintops where she is."
"Can you blame him?"
"I guess not."
"Come along, Tristan. Let's go back inside." Philippe began to walk back to the house with Tristan and his hunting dogs following him. He addressed Soledad. "Has he any children?"
"I haven't heard. I just heard he was married."
"You think he'll be interested in peace again?"
"I doubt it. Rumor is the king wanted him to have an heir and that's the only reason he remarried. I think peace is still the farthest thing from his mind."
"In that case, I pity the poor woman. I suppose we'll never have peace so long as he's around."
"So we need more than the king to die?"
"I just don't know what we need anymore."
"I know what I need," Tristan called.
"Later, Tristan," Philippe called.
"Tell him I need to be with the army, Soledad." Out of respect for Philippe, Matias didn't respond to Tristan's request.
"You're too young, Tristan. And it's too dangerous," his father replied. They entered the grounds of the castle. "Go and find something useful to do instead of running your mouth." Tristan stalked off.
Matias waited until he was out of earshot before he spoke. "Forgive me, Sire, but Tristan just turned twenty-one. When you were his age, remember what you were doing? I seem to remember a winter camp in Leon on the lands of a certain Sir Temple."
"Which is why he's better off here. Besides, I was older than that."
"Not by much. And that wasn't your first engagement in Leon. . . . You can't keep him here forever. You know this."
He sighed. "I know. I was hoping to have peace by now, and he wouldn't have to go."
"You have to let him. He has to take his place as the prince of the realm."
"He's already changed. This war has changed him, and he's not even on the field. He's dark and moody."
"He's a restless young man who knows his place, and he can't understand why he's not there."
Philippe sighed. "Can you keep him off the front line?"
"I'll get word to my son and some of the other knights I know. They'll keep an eye on him."
"Can you keep him from Temple?"
"I can't promise you that. You know I can't. If you're serious about this, you might want to talk to him."
"About what?"
"You know what I'm talking about. You need to tell him what happened all those years ago."
"And how would that change anything?"
"He should be prepared for whatever he might encounter. After all, Temple knows the truth. He might also need a warning."
"A warning?"
"An object lesson in staying away from pretty young girls."
Philippe shook his head sadly. "True. That's all we need—Tristan to produce the next generation's Don Temple."
"So you'll tell him?"
Philippe thought for a moment. "No. He knows enough about where Temple came from to serve as a warning." Matias was about to speak, but Philippe cut him off. "He's angry enough at me already. You tell him I said he can go. Just keep him safe for me."
"He's going to find out, Sire."
"Not today."
