Bose shook his head. “I am meeting up with Grayson de Winter and his sons,” he replied. “You know Grayson and Davyss and Hugh, of course.”
“I do.”
“Grayson has asked that I join with them in two days just outside of London. I have agreed.”
It was more stunning news. The de Winters were the muscle for the crown, much as the de Sheras were the muscle for de Montfort. Now, Garran’s father was going to be part of the king’s muscle, too. Garran simply shook his head, astonished.
“You know that Grayson and Davyss are very close to the de Sheras,” he said. “Grayson de Winter is Gallus’ godfather and Davyss is Gallus’ best friend. And nowyoujoin them?”
Bose nodded faintly. “I do,” he said. “My son, as I said before, you do not have to agree with Henry’s philosophies. I am not even sure I do. But the crown must be kept intact from these men who are attempting to destroy it. To destroy Henry will destroy England. Is that what you want? More anarchy and a fractured country?”
Garran wasn’t sure what he wanted. It was too much information, too much to think about, and his mind was reeling. He lifted his hands, shaking his head as if to ward off what his father was telling him.
“You must give me time to think,” he begged softly. “Can we not put this aside for a few hours and share a meal? I would like to hear of my mother and sisters. I miss them. Can we not speak on more pleasant things, at least for the next few hours?”
Bose relented, mostly because he didn’t want to force Garran into making a quick decision that they would both regret. He had said all he wanted to say and there was nothing more he could do. Garran would either side with him or he wouldn’t. So he nodded, smiling weakly.
“This place has terrible food and even worse company,” he said. “We should go somewhere with better food and less whores.”
Garran burst out chuckling. “Why did you pick this place to stay, anyway?” he wanted to know. “This is the worst tavern in the city.”
Bose shrugged. “I was tired when we arrived in town and this was available,” he said. “But if I receive another proposition by a woman who wants to kiss me where I pee, then I will collect all of my possessions and flee the city entirely. But please do not ever tell your mother I stayed here. She would then kick me where I pee and I should be a very sad man.”
Garran was laughing so hard that he could barely breathe. His father was usually such a stately, austere man that to hear him speak so crudely, and so humorously, was one of the best things he had ever experienced. He put his hands to his face as he howled with laughter.
“You are becoming very funny in your old age, Papa,” he snorted, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Very well, then. We shall find a better place to eat with less whores. I do not want Mother to go on a rampage against you. Shall we invite Tiberius to go with us?”
Bose was standing up, laboriously, as his old muscles tended to tighten up on him. “Of course,” he replied. “I rather like young Tiberius. He is a wise and witty man.”
Garran sobered as he helped his father gain his cloak. “Aye, he is,” he replied, thinking on the de Shera brothers, men he was very attached to. “He is a good friend.”
They were heading for the door when Bose stopped, putting a hand on Garran’s arm. His expression was sincere in its sorrow and resolve.
“Please know that I am sorry I had to come to Oxford with all of this,” he said quietly. “I would not have come had I not felt strongly about it.”
Garran gazed into the face of the man he loved very, very much. “I know,” he muttered. “But let us not speak on it, at least for the afternoon. I want to become reacquainted with my papa again without the threat of war hanging over our heads.”
“Agreed.”
With that, Garran and Bose headed out into the corridor, finding Tiberius standing over near the old staircase. Tiberius went along with the de Morays as they went in search of a better place to feast, having no idea what had transpired between father in son. It was better that way. Had he known, he would have been just as unhappy as Garran was.
This was a situation that no one could win.
CHAPTER NINE
She is an angel.
That was what Maximus was thinking as he walked down the avenue with Courtly on his arm. He had returned to the bath house promptly an hour later, with a good deal of food, only to be met in the reception room by the most Godly angel he had ever laid eyes on. Dressed in a gown the color of amber, it was silky, simply cut, and emphasized everything good about her. She looked absolutely magnificent.
And she smelled strongly of lemon and lavender. It was exhilarating. With her clean hair, braided and styled, and a scrubbed face, Maximus knew, at that moment, that he had passed beyond simple infatuation with the woman. He was entering a realm he’d never before entered, something deeper and more meaningful. But it scared him, and thrilled him, so much to think about it, that he wouldn’t verbalize it, even to himself. He simply settled down to enjoy the view.
So he took her in one hand and her possessions in the other, and went outside to find a place to eat the food he had brought. Somewhere down towards the big square where the church was located, he found a small garden between buildings that had a bench made from rough-hewn logs. Putting their meal of bread, fried pork, and little pies made from meat and raisins onto the bench, he set Courtly down beside it and they both plowed into the food, starving.
“A lovely meal, Maximus,” Courtly said after swallowing her first gratifying bite. “Are you fond of fried pork, then? Some people do not like it because it is dry and crispy.”
Standing over Courtly, Maximus had a mouthful. “I adore it,” he said, chewing. “My mother, much like you, learned the art of cooking. When I was very young, she would have the cook fry pork skin in lard and it would puff up, crispy and delicious. She would make other things, too.”
Courtly was shoving the soft center of the bread into her mouth, being careful not to get crumbs on her dress. “Like what?” she asked curiously.
