Chapter 21 Geoffrey of Frell

  "It's my job to keep the kingdom safe, since I am the Reeve."

  Never mind that Reeve is a peasant's title.

  "The masses have chosen me as Reeve."

  Never mind that the masses peasant populous received tie votes or a merchant man would never have been chosen for the job.

  "Your job is to take care of this family whenever I'm working."

  Never mind that he hadn't been called to so much as settle a dispute once."

  "So I can keep the peace elsewhere."

  Never mind that Rosewood was at least as peaceful as it had ever been.

  "I have chosen you."

  Geoffrey Frell paused to let his words sink in and to savor his wife's good soup.

  Of all the possible responses, a piteous whimper filled his ears.

  "Forget it.  This soup is too good for a beast like you."

  His "chosen one" threw himself to his feet.

  "I guess I can spare something for one as loyal as you."

  Reeve Geoffrey reached into the bread basket, pulling forth the most stale piece he could find, then tossed it to stop the whine that had just begun.

  "Good old dog."

  <cough>

  "Francis, what are you doing up?"

  Francis continued to cough as he leaned against the doorway.  Geoffrey picked him up and brought him to the table.  He set him upon his knee and fed him soup from his own bowl.

  "I'm not a baby."

  "Of course not, you're nearly full grown," he soothed.

  Francis was too weak to continue to protest.  At least he was eating.  When he'd had a fair amount Geoffrey carried him upstairs and set him down.

  "Rest yourself son."

  "Henry," he murmured as he climbed into bed.

  "Your brother is sleeping too."

  "Sick," he rolled over.

  "Yes, you're both sick.  Sleep now."

  "Heard," <yawn> "him."

  Oh.  Geoffrey hurried from the room, bidding him good night.  Francis didn't hear him, he was already asleep.

  "Henry?"

  "I got sick again."

  "I heard.  Do you want some soup?"

  "No!" he blurted, clutching his stomach.  Realizing he'd spoken sharply the boy added meekly, "I'm sorry papa...."

  "I won't be throwing you in the dungeons this time Henry.  You get yourself into bed and we'll call it even."

  With his sons safely in bed he sought out his wife.  He found her in the privy, which smelled of sickness.

  "Esmerelda, you're sick again?"

  "You have your cloak on, you are sick again."

  "No, Henry was sick again, and he missed, again.  I wore my cloak when I went out to burn the sick rags."
  "I can get you a maid."
  "You know I want to do the cleaning myself...well most of the time."
  "You must be tired.  I'll take your cloak for you."

  "I need to wash my hands.  Why don't you wait in bed for me?  I'm going to be awhile.  I need to make sure that Henry made it back to bed.  Then I need to see if Francis is up to some soup."

  "Done and done.  I fed Francis some soup and saw them both to bed."

  Geoffrey snuck downstairs to check on the dog.
  "I see you took my speech to heart.  You will take good care of the family, yes?"
  Huff

   Spoiled hound.  Sleeps in a cushy bed from his lady and eats his master's bread.  Geoffrey chuckled softly.

  Geoffrey crawled into an empty bed.

  She's likely tucking the boys in one more time.  Works herself to exhaustion she does.

  At last Esmerelda tiptoed into the room.

  As she took her dress off in the faded moonlight Geoffrey felt a tightening of his loins.  But when she slipped under the covers he asked nothing of her.  He ran his hands over her back until she fell asleep as she so often did for him.