And, surprisingly, the Earl of Arundel, whose friendship with the captain blossomed to the point that the Halygast became one of the lead cogs of the ad hoc English navy, and Wekesa’s steady hand and wise strategy had helped secure victory against the French fleet.
They load Harry’s roan destrier, Nomad, and Iain’s black one, who Harry learns is called Nemesis, onto the Halygast and spend a pleasant four days pottering down the Channel under blue skies and fair winds to Plymouth.
When they arrive at Dartington at the end of the week, Annie takes one look at Iain, screams, and faints.
Iain jumps off Nemesis and picks her up, rasping at Harry to fetch a cool cloth.
Annie wakes up in Iain’s arms, looks at him, and promptly faints again.
Alys comes out with little Joan and Iain clutching at her skirts. They are four and three now, and stare at the man their mother claims is their father with a mix of reverence and fear. Alys hugs Harry, and pats him on the cheek. ‘It’s good to have you back,’ she whispers in his ear. ‘This before me is the man I married.’
‘I’ll go to war no longer,’ Harry whispers back. ‘I am yours, and Dartington’s, and his, only.’
Alys breaks the embrace then, and looks over his shoulder at Iain. Harry turns too, and sees Iain’s face, transformed, as he squats on the ground and beckons to the children.
Eventually, little Joan, the braver of the two, walks over to him.
‘Hello,’ Iain says. ‘I’m your Uncle Iain. I can’t speak very loudly so we have to whisper, like we’re telling secrets. I’m going to teach you all sorts of terrible things to say in Gaelic. Would you like that?’
Joan beams and grabs Iain’s sleeve, before turning back to Alys and saying, ‘Mummy! We have so much family now!’
Harry’s heart feels like it’s going to swell straight out of his chest, with the way Iain is looking at his children, and Alys is looking at everyone.
Iain catches Harry’s glance and ducks his head, embarrassed. ‘I’ve taken lives for so long,’ he rasps, his eyes wet. ‘I forgot it’s possible to make life, too.’
Iain refuses to let Piers and Bevis take the horses to the stables. He settles Nomad and Nemesis in their stalls himself. Harry goes to check on him ten minutes later, but quietly backs out again upon finding Iain, cheeks wet with tears, hugging Numbles while the old beast whickers happily and smears hay-slime all over his back.
Alys takes them both on a tour of the new hall, finished (finally) two years ago, soon after Harry had left for Antwerp. Harry is frantic with embarrassment the entire time, and finally drags Alys aside, whispering to her that Iain has quarters at Fontainebleau Palace, so he’s not going to be interested in Dartington’s poky little improvements.
‘But this is my home,’ Iain says, coming up behind them silently. ‘And I care greatly how it’s been rebuilt during my long absence.’
Alys smiles and shows them the new, larger solar, with a lady’s chambers and its own separate staircase. ‘And I’m very glad I planned this, because I need my own space. Especially,’ Alys says, indicating the cart overflowing with travelling chests in the courtyard, ‘since it appears someone has more scarlets and silk hose than I have dresses.’
‘Oh!’ Iain says. ‘Actually, most of that is for you and Annie and the children.’
Alys raises an eyebrow.
‘After all, why be cousin to the King of France if you can’t make use of his tailors?’ Iain smiles.
‘We’re keeping him,’ Alys says to Harry, her voice low and serious.
They all dash down to the cart then, unloading and breaking open chests. Harry hasn’t felt this light in so very long, watching Iain and Alys argue with sharp good nature over whether a length of velvet would make a better dress or doublet.
Then Alys finds the chest containing the scarves and ribbons. Her brow furrows. ‘Iain, why on earth do any of us need so much haberdashery? I, for one, have no intention of ever going to court again.’
‘Well,’ Iain whispers, in his rough, ruined voice, ‘you’re going to go through a lot of ribbons, because every time that great Sassenach idiot rides into a tournament he’s going to need a favour.’
‘Oh lord,’ Harry groans. ‘You’re teaming up on me.’
And two bright, mischievous brunets look at him and grin. ‘Who, us?’ says Alys, her face innocent.
‘We’d never,’ purrs Iain.
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