Chapter Nine

The unforgiving rain continued to pour. The roads were muddy to the point of endangering anyone who used them. The rest of the terrain was threatening to flood. At least the lightening gave Temple just enough light to find his way back home through the hazardous conditions. Upon arriving at his destination, he blew his horn. "Open the gate!" he heard from the other side of the castle wall. He heard the chains creak as the portcullis began to rise. He rode beneath it and into the grounds.

"Where are your men?" he was asked by a guard running toward him to get his horse.

"Camped outside the village," he said over the sound of the storm. "Tell your master that they'll be fine through the night." He dismounted and landed in a puddle.

"He'll have warm fires and beds ready for them tomorrow."

"Good. They'll need it," he replied and hurried to shelter. He removed the hood of his cloak and shook out his wavy, dark hair. It was soaked. The rain hadn't let up the past several miles. He was anxious to get to a fire and a warm bed. He walked through the halls, and those who saw him avoided his gaze. He knew his reputation preceded him, and he didn't much care. He went into his room. He slipped out of his boots and threw his soaked cloak on the floor. Through the gentle glow of the fire, he could see the outline of his wife's form in bed. He stepped toward it, leaving wet footprints on the floor behind him. She was asleep. Their son was asleep next to her. He had heard about the arrival of the infant, but he hadn't seen him yet. He watched him sleep for a moment.

"My Lord?" his wife asked drowsily.

"Yes?" he said softly.

"We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

"I didn't want to spend the night in the rain."

She sat up. "Did you see him?"

"Yes. Don't get up," he replied gently. "It was not my intention to wake you. I'll go sleep in the other room."

"You don't want to hold him?"

"No, it's okay."

Her face fell. "You're not pleased."

"No, no, it's not that." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "But I'm drenched. And I'm exhausted. You stay in here with him, and I'll see you both in the morning."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Good," he replied as she lay back down and he replaced the covers over her. "What did you name him?"

"I was waiting for you to come home. What do you think we should call him?"

"Whatever you want." She didn't answer. "Goodnight."

Temple rose the next morning to find his wife sitting in the room with him. "Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Yes," he said somewhat disoriented.

"You slept a long time. Are you finally dry?" He nodded rubbing his head. He wondered how long she had been there. "May I go get your son?"

He nodded. "If you want." She left, and he stretched. He couldn't tell her that he was really not in the mood to gush over a baby—even his baby. It was rest he needed—a brief period to recover. He could still hear thunder. The rain had not stopped. He got out of bed and washed his face. He went and collapsed on the couch by the fire. He didn't mind so much that the king wanted him to remarry. And the girl was nice enough. She just wanted to talk all the time. She asked about his childhood, his scars, what he wanted for his future—their future.

He reminded himself that Sofia had been like that too. She had asked about his scars. And he had given her an epic for every one of them. She just watched him with a mixture of adoration and respect—sometimes horror and pity depending on the source of the scar. Then she would console him. He knew he could have all that back if he wanted it, but no one understood that he didn't. And she didn't understand that he didn't want to talk. She wasn't his friend. She wasn't his companion. She wasn't his priest. She was his wife. His second wife. She was the mother of his children. And that's all she was, and he intended to keep her that way.

She walked in and handed him the baby. The boy looked up at him. His eyes were dark and inquisitive, and he had wisps of brown hair on his little head. He tried to put his little fist in his mouth. Temple struggled for something to say. "He's a good-looking boy."

"Yes. Just like you."

"Thank you," he said, handing him back to his mother. He kissed her forehead. "He's perfect," he said, but she wasn't sure he meant it. "I'm going to go bathe—wash off some of the filth from the battlefield."

"Manuel," she called after him.

"What?"

"I want to call him Manuel. After my father."

"Sounds perfect," he said walking away. Since their marriage, he may not have been warm or friendly, but he had been gentle and kind. She hoped that in time their relationship would improve. She didn't understand why he kept them both at arm's length, but he was a good man so she just bore with it as best she could. She touched her son's cheek. At least she had him.

Temple sat in the hot tub soaking his weary muscles. There was a knock on the door. What did a man have to do to get a moment alone? "What is it?"

Francisco entered and glared at his father's favorite knight. Temple raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me for not rising and bowing, My Prince," he said coldly.

"Yes, please, by all means, remain where you are. Your steward has the latest documents from Asturius for you to go over. Have you seen your son?" he asked taking a seat.

"I did."

"Help me understand. You've rebuilt the villages. You're getting a steady income, and you were given a decent dowry. Why haven't you rebuilt your home?"

"I will when I have the time."

"I think you're avoiding it. You don't want to go back there because it's where you lived with Sofia and your daughter." Temple's stare darkened. "I remember the way you were with them. And this new family? You're hardly ever here, and when you are, you avoid them like they have the black death."

"You want me out? Kick me out. Your father promised to protect my family, but I can move them to your uncle's. Don Reyes would be more than happy to take us in."

"You should go back to Asturius. It's your lands—your home."

"You'd have me rebuild it, and for what? So I can send her and my son to die there as well?"

"Is that why you keep them here? The brave, proud, champion Don Temple is scared?" Temple rolled his eyes and looked away. Francisco realized he had hit a nerve. Temple still felt a great deal of guilt. His voice softened. "You think you'll lose them again, don't you? You don't want to get close to them because you think they'll only be taken from you. You think Philippe will find a way to destroy them too. You're afraid—afraid that you won't be able to protect them."

Temple was silent a moment. "I may not be doing what you think I should, but I never asked for this. Any of it. Don't forget that."

"Neither did she," Francisco added softly.

Temple scoffed. "If you like her so much, why didn't you marry her?"

"My father insisted on giving you the best."

Temple eyed the prince suspiciously. "That boy mine?"

"I would never touch your wife. Some of us are still men of integrity."

"Good to know."

"And even if I offered, she sees only you."

He stared at the wall. "Yeah, she's sweet. Now, if you'll be so kind, Sire, to let me finish my bath so that I might get my affairs in order with my steward. Then I'm returning to my men."

"You wanted peace once."

"I still do. And we shall have it. Once Philippe has paid for what he's done."

"Don't you think he has? Time and time again?"

"Have you ever lost a child?" The prince shook his head. "I've lost two. Trust me. He hasn't begun to pay for his sins. You want peace? Once Philippe is dead, you can rule his whole kingdom in peace."

Lady Temple did not see her husband much over the next 18 months, but it didn't surprise her. Her mother had warned her he'd be distant, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Their son didn't know him and wouldn't go near him. Even though he had returned earlier that week, she still saw him very little. As she sat in her room working on some embroidery, she had fallen asleep. She awoke with a start. It was late, and no one had fetched her to put her son to bed. She wasn't even sure where he was. She hurried into the adjoining room, and she was stunned at what she found. Her husband was holding their son. He saw her. He put a finger on his lips motioning for her to be quiet. She couldn't help but stare for a moment. He had looked away from her and down at his son. "Here," she said reaching for the child.

He brushed her aside gently. "It's okay. I've got him."

She watched him in disbelief as he put his son to bed. There was a gentleness in him that she just didn't expect from him. She did see it in him every now and then, but it never ceased to shock her. Their wedding night was the first time she had seen it. His face hadn't changed its expression all day. When the time came to go to their room, he gave everyone a dark look, and no one dared follow them. He led her to their room. He slid the bolt, locking them in. He stared at her. Uncomfortable by the look, she stared at the floor. "You fear me," he had said simply.

"No, My Lord."

"You do. I've seen that look on a thousand faces." She shook her head. He approached her. He tilted her chin up to look at her face. "You must not fear me," he said simply. She had been amazed at the gentleness in his touch. She did not expect that from him.

"Not you, My Lord. I fear I won't please you."

"It does not please me to see you afraid. Know this, I have no wish to harm you."

Now, she watched him be a father to their son, and she wondered why he couldn't be that way all the time. As he walked by her, he squeezed her shoulder in an affectionate gesture. She followed him into her room. She still looked at him confused. "What?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't see you with him much." He didn't say anything. "Does he remind you of him?"

"Of who?"

"The son you lost." His face instantly tensed, and she regretted what she said. She had known better than to even approach such a subject.

She couldn't know what went through his head: the memories of the convent—the nun who offered to let him see his children. He could see his daughter's hand hanging from beneath the sheet. He reached out and touched it, but he regretted it instantly. It was so cold. He didn't look further. He chose to remember her as she was. And his son? He was nothing more than a small bundle in the nun's arms, and he left him that way.

"I'm sorry," his wife whispered. "I just . . . I'm just trying to figure out . . ."

He shrugged. "He doesn't," he said coldly. "I never saw my son," he said turning away.

She wanted to ask why, but she didn't want to push him further away than he already was. She just wanted to learn who he was. She wanted to understand. He just would not allow her that. "I see that Manuel is warming up to you?" she said changing the subject back from one son to the other.

She was pleased to see a half smile appear across his face. "Yes. I guess he is." He reached out and put a hand on her head. He leaned down and kissed her temple. "I'm proud to have such a son."

"Are you interested in having any more, My Lord?" she asked softly.

He tilted his head back and stared at her a moment. "I suppose. It is the king's wish."

"And you, My Lord? What is your wish?"

He shuffled somewhat nervously in an action that seemed odd to her. "I used to want children," he said with a curious look on his face that she could not read.

"And now?"

"I don't know." His brow furrowed in thought. He clenched his eyes shut to consider his answer. "I haven't really thought about what I want from this. I know you've been busy . . . with Manuel, and God knows, I've had plenty to do. I don't want to overburden you, and it not like I'm ever here . . . I guess . . . What is it you want from me?"

"You are my husband. I want you to stay. I've always wanted you to stay."

He stepped closer to her. He put a hand on her head and held her against his chest. He pitied that look on her face. And she was so small. His hand covered much of her head. She was standing mostly straight up, but her head barely reached his collarbone. "I have a duty to my king," he began.

She shook her head. "That's your excuse. Your first duty is to your family."

"Why do you think I go out there? I'm trying to keep you and our son protected."

"Is it? I thought it was revenge."

He was silent a moment. His expression darkened, and his voice turned cold. "Like you said. My first duty is to my family. And I owe them that."

"You feel guilty?" she asked looking up at his face. He stepped back but said nothing. He only looked away. "It wasn't your fault, My Lord."

"They were coming for me. They wanted to get to me."

"But—"

"No," he said shaking his head. He stepped toward her and cupped her face. "But it doesn't matter. He won't touch you. He can't touch you. I won't let him."

"Who, My Lord?" She didn't finish her question before he kissed her.

"You are my wife. And I won't let anything happen to you. Or Manuel. Ever. You understand?"

At that moment, she was slightly afraid of him. He was trembling, and he had a wild look in his eyes. "I trust you. . . . But I always have. What's wrong with you tonight?"

"Nothing. Nothing," he said backing away. "Let's just go to bed."

"Are you going to stay with me?"

"Yes. Yes, I'll stay. At least for tonight, I'll stay."

The situation in terms of the war continued as it was even if it slowed a bit until the end of Tristan's 26th year. Much to his father's dismay, he began going out to the field with the armies. Even though he was his father's champion, he was not exactly put in the heat of battle. He remained protected as much as was possible. As frustrating as that was for Tristan, at least his father allowed him that much. And Tristan could understand that Philippe was too old to go out with them now, and why it made him nervous having his only son in danger.

While Tristan was serving his father's army, he had uncovered interesting news and was eager to share it with his father. He went home and found Philippe going over documents from the battlefield with the chancellor. Tristan entered with a smile on his face.

"Welcome home, Mejo," the king said looking up as he entered.

"I come bearing news. Rumors from Leon."

"From that look on your face I guess it's good news."

He sat down. "A couple of things. First, and just because news of Carlos Temple always seems to interest you, he has children."

"Children?"

"Yeah. Two boys."

"Really?"

"Manuel is five. And Javier is almost three."

Philippe was confused. Where would he get such detailed information? "Where did you hear this?"

Tristan grinned smugly, leaning back in his chair. "Francisco."

Philippe found himself on the edge of his seat. "The Prince of Leon?"

"Yes. He found out I was close by, and he arranged to meet with me secretly."

"Why?"

"He wanted to tell me that his father was dying."

Philippe's heart skipped a few beats. "Dying?"

"Yes. And Francisco hopes for peace. So, of course, I asked about Temple and if he would get in our way. He told me about his family. He's still not a fan of peace, but he will obey his king. The past several years his acts against us have been condoned and even encouraged by the King of Leon, but now, he'll follow a peaceful man."

Philippe smiled and began to pace the room. "We shall have a tournament to celebrate this pact. We'll invite knights from all over the realm to participate. Even Leon. Yes, we'll even have a representative of Leon compete. I wouldn't care if Temple himself represented his kingdom if it meant peace. I mean, this will all take time, of course. The king will have to die. Francisco and I will have to work out the details of the treaty. But it will be a time of great celebration in this kingdom." He laughed. "Tristan, do you know what this means?"

"Yes. You've been working for peace for a long time. I'm glad the news pleases you, Father."

Soledad cleared his throat. "My King, I believe you also had some news for Tristan."

"Yes, yes. I had nearly forgotten. We've set the date for your marriage for the next few months. We thought it might bring some hope to our kingdom. Can you even imagine what it means now? You'll be married within six months and in a year or maybe two, we shall have peace."

"I am to be married?"

"Yes. Does that not please you?"

"It's not that. I guess I just need to get used to the idea."

"Oh, it will be fine. Leonore is coming with her father to spend some time with us. I admit, I already see her as a daughter. You two will suit each other well. Then after we celebrate the new year, you will be married. Ah, a new year. It will be a new start for us all."

"Mama, Mama!" Lady Temple sat up with a start as her younger son ran into the room.

"What is it?"

"Papa here!" he said with a wide grin on his face.

"What?" She looked up in time to see Manuel coming around the corner dragging his father behind him.

"Look what I found," the boy said smiling.

She looked at her husband confused. He shrugged. "Francisco sent word to me about the king."

"Oh, right." The boys excitedly began to speak to their father and invited him to play with them, but Lady Temple held them back. "Your father has to go see the king." They began to protest, but she interrupted them. "It's very important. You can play with your father later." She gave him a nod, and he left.

At the end of the night, she sat in her room getting ready for bed when he entered and sat down dejectedly on the end of the bed. "Any news from Aracely?" she asked after a few moments when he said nothing.

"Baby's a girl," he said without emotion.

"I'm sure she and her husband are very pleased," she replied tentatively.

He nodded. "The boys?"

"I put them to bed. You can see them in the morning. They will want to see you. How was the king?"

"Not well."

"Francisco has been preparing to take his place." Her husband scoffed. "What?"

"He's weak. Philippe'll overrun this whole kingdom in a month."

She sat next to him and put a consoling hand on his arm. "No. He'd never get past you. Are you all right?"

"Bastard's keeping me here. Won't let me go back and do my job."

Francisco was making him stay? She had to force the look of joy from her face. "Well, at least you'll have some time with the boys."

"I suppose."

She wondered at his attitude. He was normally restless, irritated, and sometimes more than little cold—even on a good day—but in the six years they had been married, she had never seen him depressed quite like this. She didn't say anything. It seemed that whenever she did, she only made things worse. She just stroked his arm and waited patiently. After all, she wanted to help him. She wanted to see his wounds heal. Maybe the two of them were about to finally have a breakthrough as a couple. Maybe for a moment, he would let his guard down and talk to her. She had hoped their relationship would have improved over the years, but it had instead degenerated to mere politeness, and she was almost convinced that even that was feigned.

Francisco had tried to reassure her that he just needed time. He was just trying to be a good husband to two wives at once. When he let go of Sofia, he would be the model of a devoted husband and father. She wished she believed him. Don Temple had plenty of time, but six years and two children later, nothing had improved. He was gone now more than ever—both physically and emotionally. And as glad as she was that Francisco was forcing him to stay, she knew such news would only make him more irritable than he already was.

He was silent for what seemed an eternity. He finally looked down at her with a strange look on his face. "You don't have to do this," he said softly.

"I know," she replied. She knew that for him what he just said could have been considered a dismissal. She did not acknowledge it as such. She laid her head on his shoulder. She wanted him to know she was there for him. She wouldn't leave him when he needed her even if he wouldn't admit that he did. And never mind that he was hardly ever there when she needed him. She still harbored some hope—even if it was a waning hope—that he could change, and maybe with the promise of peace his anger and grief would be assuaged. Maybe it wasn't time, but peace he needed. He eased his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked. He shook his head. She waited for him to say something. Anything. He never did. He finally shrugged her off and headed for the door. "Where are you going?"

"For a walk."

"You want me to join you?" He shook his head and walked out the door.

Temple paced along the outer wall. His king was dying. What did that mean? He saw the way his wife looked at him expectantly, and it gnawed at him. He knew what she wanted from him, but he just could not give her that right now—as much as he wanted to. Damn him. Damn Francisco. Why did he make promises on his behalf that he knew he wouldn't keep? Stay? He couldn't stay, and once the king died, he would be trapped. How would he get justice for Sofia then? His sweet little girl? His son that wasn't even given a chance? Isabel? Aracely? He would have to think of a way. There would have to be a way for him to get justice for his family, and he would if it killed him. He sneaked back inside and into the room where his sons slept. They were so young and innocent. They looked so vulnerable. And how did they get so big so fast? He smiled to himself. Manuel reminded him so much of himself. He was agile and strong. He already showed some promise of being a great knight. And little Javier, he was so funny. They were good boys, and he had the woman in the next room to thank for that, and he knew it. He felt guilty. He may have felt guilt for the death of Sofia, but he also felt guilt over his current wife. And some days the guilt for one did outweigh the other. He could admit that. He owed her. When they got peace and he could do no more for Sofia, he would rebuild. He would take his wife and sons home and be whatever she wanted. He would have the time then. He could stay with them, watch over them, and protect them. One day, he would make it all up to them.

She had long since retired for the night by the time he returned. He said nothing—only climbed into bed and pulled her to him. She let him have what he wanted. But then, she lay there staring at him. Earlier, she had thought he had shown a vulnerable side, but now, even after such an intimate moment, with his back to her, she felt further away from him than ever. She was disappointed and discouraged. He may have sworn to protect her and their boys, but it had nothing to do with her. She couldn't even remember if the man had ever even called her by her name. She and her children were nothing but items on his long list of responsibilities. She wiped away a tear. Her mother had been right. He would never let her get close to him.

King Philippe made his way through the crowds that had gathered at his home. He had made it a point to speak to all his visitors. Nobles had come from far and wide to celebrate the prince's marriage. Many wished to show support to their prince and their king, but they were also curious. The war with Leon had slowed considerably the past few months. The latest news was that king was dead, and the prince had taken his place. The infamous Green Knight had all but disappeared. Whispers of peace had found their way into many halls, and all wished to know if they were true.

"Ah, Ferdinand del Mau," Philippe said greeting yet another of his guests. "How have you and your family been?"

"Splendid, Sire, splendid," the man said bowing to his king.

"Are your wife and children with you?"

Del Mau grinned. "No, no. I think my daughter may be in mourning."

"What for?" Del Mau nodded at the prince who had his bride on his arm. Philippe smiled understanding. "Ah, yes. I've heard that many young women of the realm have donned black this day."

"Yes, your handsome son has disappointed the hopes and dreams of many."

"But the rest of us will have to settle for peace, I suppose," the king said with a grin.

"Yes, I heard about that. Is it true? Are we to have peace again?"

"We are. The new King of Leon and I almost have it settled. I plan to celebrate with a tournament. You shall have to be sure and tell your son to join us. I'd be happy to let him compete."

"I'm sure he would be honored, Sire." The two men looked over at Tristan who leaned over and whispered something in his wife's ear. She blushed and looked away. "Your son seems quite taken with your choice of bride, Sire."

"Yes. It was a very good match if I do say so myself. They are both rather smitten. I hope to have an heir in this castle soon. And with the peace, this shall be a place of great joy once again."

Del Mau nodded and lowered his voice. "What about Temple?"

"Temple? What about Temple?"

"I was there all those years ago. Remember? What happens to him now?"

"I don't know. I guess it's up to him. Excuse me, My Lord. Enjoy yourself."

Tristan was pleased with his father's choice. He was just not quite as comfortable as he seemed. He had spent time with Leonore, but she was still a bit strange to him. In fact, the whole situation was strange to him. He only knew how to behave around ladies in a formal setting, but this was different. And she was younger than he. She was in her late teens, and he would be twenty-seven in a few months. And Tristan had never lived with a woman before. He didn't even recall his own mother. Now there seemed to be women everywhere. There was Leonore and her attendants who seemed to surround his wife. And her things. Her belongings littered their room and overflowed into others. And even though the girl herself was nice enough, she very much crowded his space. He hoped he would adjust in time. For now, he would simply embrace what he did enjoy about his new bride until he grew accustomed to everything else.