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cathedral with Hunt to one side and Charles to the other. She knew
that the Viscount Winterton and the other knights were standing directly behind
her, as she had seen them upon entering the chapel. Myles de Lohr was as somber
as she had ever seen him, nearly close to tears, she thought. He and Brac had
known each other since they had been squires, a long friendship that had seen
life and death together. Though his blue eyes were watery, his appearance was
neat and his collar-length blond hair was combed. He had forced a smile when
their eyes met, but there was no warmth to it. He was as miserable as she was.
    The funeral mass
was in Latin. Cantia’s father had taught her the language at a young age, when
it was a rarity for a female to know how to read or speak it. It was a male
language, reserved only for the educated. But she knew it, and she understood
everything the priest said as he spoke his low, soothing words.
    Hunt kept asking
her if the funeral was grand enough. She finally had to hush him so that she
could concentrate on her prayers. Over her shoulder, Myles finally motioned to
the boy and Hunt left his mother to go stand with the knights. Myles was
something of an uncle to him, sometimes to the point of conflict. In very rare
times when his father would deny him something, perhaps a toy or an activity,
Hunt would run straight to Myles, who would more often than not make him feel
better with some manner of distraction. Now, with Brac gone, Myles felt more
protective of the lad than ever. The situation earlier in the kitchen yard had
strained every ounce of his self-control; had he possessed any less, he would
have throttled Charles. But his was a peculiar position in life; a substitute
father to Hunt, yet a servant to him as well. When the fidgeting child left his
mother to come to him, Myles picked him up so that he could see where his
father lay.
    Too soon, the
liturgy was over. Too soon did they want to put Brac in the crypt. Cantia
realized that she wasn’t ready for that moment as the knights broke rank to
collect the body of their liege and deposit it in the crypt next to his long-passed
mother. The monks began their lament again and Cantia could hear the blood
pulsing in her ears. Her control began to slip. Pushing her way through the knights
bearing her husband’s body, she took one last look at Brac’s handsome face,
fighting the torment and anguish that was roiling up inside her.
    She picked a
rose from the vine that was draped across him, pricking her finger and sending
a drop of blood onto the blue and gold colors of Rochester he wore across his
chest. Unnerved by the sight of her blood on his clean tunic, she tried to wipe
it off, but it absorbed into the fabric. The harder she wiped, the more it
would not come out. Big hands suddenly grabbed her wrists and pulled her gently
but firmly away from Brac’s body.
    “If I had a wife
who loved me very much, I should be greatly comforted to have a spot of her
blood on my tunic that would soon be laid to rest with me in my grave,” Tevin’s
low voice was in her ear. “It would be as if I took a part of her to my grave
with me. A greater honor I could not imagine.”
    The tears
welling in Cantia’s eyes because she had mussed Brac’s tunic now welled for
another reason. She looked at Tevin, the lavender eyes glowing with humble
gratitude. “I did not think on it that way,” she whispered. “What a beautiful
thing to say.”
    He allowed
himself to smile at her, a reassuring gesture. “I think Brac would say the same
thing, don’t you?”
    She was greatly
comforted by his words. “He would.”
    “May I stand
with you?”
    “I would be
honored, my lord.”
    They put Brac in
the great stone crypt and closed the lid as she stood there. His effigy would
be added later after the stonemasons finished it. For now, it was a plain
crypt, strong and solid as Brac had been. Cantia stood there as Charles paid
his final respects and as the cathedral cleared