“The same, your grace,” Otto said, with a more even tone. His eyes were narrowed, and Rafe suspected the man was already plotting a way out of his new situation.
Stephen gestured to his guards. “Escort these two out. They are to be confined under armed guard until escorted to their respective monasteries.”
Otto and Ernald were taken away.
“As for the matter of Henry Yarborough, I will find a more suitable place for him to be fostered, one that will benefit someone other than Otto.”
Luc leaned over and whispered something to Alric, who stood next to him. Rafe wondered what it was about, but then the king pointed to Rafe, erasing all other thoughts.
“Yes, your Grace,” Rafe said.
“One last item, while everyone is gathered here,” the king said. “The Welsh border is still of strategic importance, and it must be defended at all costs. As you already know, it’s not a place for the weak-hearted. Life on the marches is precarious, and we’ve lost many men and strongholds to both the damned Welsh and twice-damned English rebels. I need reliable castellans to guard the castles I do have. Men to hold the land, and to train new fighters for the battles ahead. Sir Michael Corviser did such service for my father. I think it is only right that you, Sir Raphael Corviser, will do the same for me.”
“Yes, your grace,” Rafe said instantly.
“There is a place called Martenkeep. It is in need of some repair in addition to refortification. You’ll be given enough coin to pay for such work. And once you establish yourself there, we’ll send young men to be trained in the matters of riding, swordplay, and all other realms of combat.”
“How many can be trained there?” Rafe asked, suddenly aware of the potential enormity of what was being asked of him.
“As many as you feel you and your men can responsibly instruct.”
Rafe would have to find good people to handle some of the elements of training. At Cleobury, as many as half a dozen men served as teachers for various tasks. “I’ll confer with Lord Rainald de Vere for advice.”
“Good idea. Work quickly to make the castle properly fortified and ready to be inhabited. No woman wants to live in a half-built house.”
“Woman?”
“Certainly you don’t plan on living as a bachelor. Life in the marches can be lonely, and Martenkeep is isolated. When you’re ready, a suitable bride will be found.”
“Thank you,” said Rafe, “but I already have one in mind.”
* * * *
Angelet was sitting alone in her chamber of the home provided by Sir Luc’s family. She felt restless and ill at ease, and was startled by a knock. “Yes?”
Cecily stood in the doorway. “You have a visitor, Angelet.”
“A visitor?”
Rafe stepped in. “Hello.”
Cecily closed the door, leaving them alone.
Angelet rose to her feet. “Rafe. I heard you’re to be a castellan. That’s wonderful.”
“I’m not here to talk about that.” He crossed the room to meet her. “What’s all this about a nunnery? Why are you determined to stay away from me? What more do I need to do to prove myself worthy of you?”
“Nothing! God, Rafe, don’t you understand? It’s not that you’re not good enough for me. It’s that I’m not good enough for you. I was born cursed.”
“You were not.”
“You have your legacy now, Rafe. You have a duty to carry on your family line. Marry a woman who can actually bear a child…”
“That’s what’s troubling you?” he asked, sounding amused.
“Don’t pretend it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter to me.”
