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“Desertions?” Lawrence looked around the tent. “How many men have we lost?”
His captains looked at each other, then at Baron Oxbryn, who shifted uncomfortably in his camp chair before answering, “My lord captain general, this is only to be expected at this time of year. When the weather improves, I expect most of the men—”
“How many men?”
“In some regiments, a third of the men,” said Oxbryn, shifting back the other way in his seat. “Morale has...suffered, sir.”
“Blast it all,” said Lawrence, smacking the map table. “We are safe in camp at a friendly city. This army won a great victory this autumn. How is morale suffering?”
From the far end of the table, Duke Hugh cleared his throat. “Perhaps the men are not so sure as you are that we won a great victory.”
“And what do you mean by that, your grace?”
Hugh held up a dispatch from the table. “This news from Keelweard is alarming. I think we can all agree about that.”
“Keelweard, and Duke Herbert’s allegiance, is a problem for the future. I’m interested in the current situation.” Lawrence tried to stare the man down, but Hugh was as stolid and imperturbable as ever, and eventually Lawrence looked away. Turning to Oxbryn, he said, “An extra ale ration for the men this week. And two days’ liberty in the city for any man who stays in camp a full month.”
He thought these were far more likely to work than the traditional method of flogging and chains. But none of his captains seemed very enthusiastic about his ideas. And he could swear he saw half of the officers giving significant looks at Hugh as they filed out. Blast that man—the way he sat in the back and undercut a fellow with a shrug or a raised eyebrow. Lawrence was a tolerant man, and he would never have thought the day would come when he would see a raised eyebrow as a sign of subversion, but there it was.
He fumed inwardly as he rode back up from the army camp to Dunharvin Castle. It had been a great victory. It had been! He had saved Keneburg, and he didn’t think it was too much to expect Hugh and the other captains to recognize that fact. He should have had the thanks of the city and a medal from the lord mayor and everything else.
But instead of being grateful for the victory they had achieved, the officers seemed to regret the loss of some grand, sweeping victory that they might have had. Oxbryn had been the first one to say it to Lawrence’s face: “We might have destroyed Lukas’s army entirely, if we’d been a bit faster.”
Of course, what the man meant—what they all meant—was that Lawrence should have been faster. But he had been as fast as prudence dictated. How was he to know that Lukas would slip away by river and leave his baggage train and wounded behind? The Sigor army had done exactly what they were supposed to do, following the plan precisely. The fact that they had only defeated the enemy, but not destroyed them, was no reason for everyone to sit around moping.
And why worry about Keelweard now? One blasted wedding wasn’t a treaty. Who knew what Duke Herbert was up to? The man was living under Gramiren occupation now. And nothing he did, one way or another, was Lawrence’s fault, blast it all.
When he got back to the castle, he went by habit straight to Flora’s chambers. But she was on her way out, with her ladies in train behind her. “So sorry, darling,” she said, with a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ve got a charity luncheon with the bishop’s wife. We’re raising money for the wounded.” Then she rushed away, and he was left standing in the hall, half-hard and frustrated.
They barely had sex once a week now. Her enthusiasm had definitely cooled, and looking back, he thought he could discern the moment the cooling had begun: the battle with Lukas back in November. No doubt, like her husband and the captains, she thought he ought to have done more to crush Lukas’s army.
Of course, she wouldn’t come right out and say it to his face, the way the men would. She would say things like, “We did very well, darling. Next time we shall do better.” But he had seen her talking privately in the Noon Court and in dark corners of the great hall with her son and heir, Pedr. And she had sent an unusual number of messages to her son Andras this winter. No doubt they were all making war plans without him.
He went back to his own chamber and started a letter to his captains, making even more suggestions to raise morale. It started well, but by the second page, even he could see that he’d stopped making practical recommendations and was instead justifying his own conduct as captain general. Not to mention veering dangerously close to saying defamatory things about Duke Hugh. He crumpled up the draft and started over. Better not make the situation any worse.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of laughter echoing down the passage. And then, a few moments later, by the sound of a baby crying. He sighed, trying to concentrate on his letter, but the sound made him think of his little daughter, Helena, and after a minute he tossed away his quill in exasperation and walked down the hall.
The child was Louis Davies, of course, the son of Sir Walter and Lady Rada. He was barely two months old now, and the castle ladies were still smitten with him. Sure enough, before Lawrence got halfway to the next suite, he heard the sound of a woman cooing and singing a lullaby. The crying faded away, replaced by happy giggles and burbling. And then adult laughter again.
Looking in at the door of the parlor, he was met with a remarkable sight. The woman holding the child and singing and making nonsense noises to entertain him was his niece, Elwyn. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her with Louis, but he still wasn’t quite used to seeing the girl like this. Elwyn Sigor, normally cynical, foul-tempered and profane, actually seemed happy for once.
Not that he minded it; nothing would be better for the girl than to develop a maternal side and settle down at last. Lawrence had a notion she might finally see the benefits of married life. He could hope so, anyway. For more than a year and a half now, he and Flora had been trying to get Elwyn to marry Andras. She stubbornly refused to do anything of the kind, but maybe now she might change her mind at last and submit to her duty.
Sir Walter, standing near the hearth, noticed Lawrence and brought him over a small glass of wine. “Hope we didn’t disturb you, sir,” he said.
Lawrence took the peace offering and raised the glass. “Not at all. This is the sort of disturbance I never mind.”
Now that he was in the room, he looked around the corner and spotted the rightful King of Myrcia seated on the floor amid a heaping pile of toys—gifts for little Louis. Lawrence was inclined to remonstrate with his nephew—Edwin had clung to his toy soldiers a bit longer than a boy ought to. But then he noticed that Meredith Barras, daughter of the Duke of Pinshire, was sitting with him. They were looking through the toys, handing them back and forth, and apparently sharing stories of their own childhoods.
If anything could make him feel better than seeing Elwyn develop a mothering instinct, it was seeing Edwin getting along with the girl who might well be his queen someday. Yes, the marriage had been Flora’s idea initially, but Lawrence was fair enough to admit Meredith might be quite suitable.
Then the idyllic picture was shattered as Meredith rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Honestly, Edwin,” she said, “you’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”
Edwin’s face flushed, and he turned away from her, grinding his teeth. Apparently they weren’t getting along quite so well as it appeared at first glance. Blast it all.
Elwyn had just handed little Louis back to his mother, and Lawrence beckoned her out into the hall. “What’s going on between Meredith and Edwin?”
The wide-eyed, innocent look vanished from her face instantly. “What do you mean, ‘what’s going on’? Do you mean Flora’s ridiculous idea for the two of them to get married?”
“Yes, of course. Are they not getting on well together?”
“No.” Elwyn shook her head, like she couldn’t believe anyone could be so thick. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but they’re really not well-suited at all. But then, you’re the one who keeps telling me I have to marry Andras, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“You know, it might be nice if I could count on you to help me turn Andras into an ally.”
“He is an ally.” Elwyn’s eyebrows contracted, then one of them curled up. “Oh, you don’t mean against the Gramirens, do you? You mean an ally against Flora and the other Byrnes. Finster’s balls, I’ve told you all along we can’t trust Flora.”
How was it that this girl could make him this angry, this quickly? No one else could do that, not even Broderick the Black and Duke Lukas.
“You’re wrong,” he snapped. “We could trust Flora. But now maybe we can’t. It’s an important distinction.”
Elwyn nodded. “Oh, I see. She’s kicked you out of her bed, has she?”
He wanted to slap her, but even if she was thoroughly unladylike, she was still technically a lady, and he wouldn’t stoop to the level of a brute. Not for her, anyway. Instead, he forced a smile and said, “By the by, did you hear the latest news from Keelweard? It’s just come in this morning.”
“Keelweard? What’s happened in Keelweard?” Her expression was still set and hard, but her voice was softer now. He knew he had her. If she was hurt now, it was her own fault for being so damned foolish last spring.
“There’s some concern that Duke Herbert might be making peace with the Gramirens and switching to their side. It’s hard to know for sure, but one thing’s for certain: his daughter Lady Hildred Cuthing is married. She’s now Baroness Stenburg. The Baron, as you might know, is a commander in the Gramiren army, and no doubt one of the better ones, to receive such a lovely reward for his services.”
The color drained from her face. “You really enjoyed telling me that, didn’t you?” She turned unsteadily and then ran off, down the corridor.
Perhaps that hadn’t been the nicest thing to do, but blast it all, it felt good to get the better of that girl for once.