(Author's Note: This tale is a "period" piece. Liberty has been taken with the use of Olde English in the writing to match the tone of the times.)
Nearing the top of the turret stairs, the challenge rang out "Who goest there?"
"Tis I, Lord Robert, Giles." was mine response.
"M'Lord, thou art the only stir upon this cold clear night."
"Is that not good after many years od struggle, Giles?"
"Aye, M'Lord. All thy subjects give ye thanks to now live in peace and comfort. Tis our good fortune to have M'Lord. Without thee, it sure nary a one amongst us wouldst be living."
Giles words were truely heartfelt. He'd fought at mine side in all the battles. He'd toiled endlessly in time of famine on but mere crusts of bread and swigs of water. He'd held firm as many fell to the plague. Laying mine hand upon his shoulder, mine response were, "Yes, old friend, thou hast been a true and loyal subject through all. Such loyalty shan't ever be forgotten."
He bowed his head in saying, "At thy service, M'Lord." Then asked, "M'Lord, art ye troubled by yet another problem of the realm?"
"Nay, Giles. A ruler's matters, in peaceful times, are thankfully less weighty. Just mine seek of the fresh, cool night air in hopes of deepening mine rest at later retire."
"As ye wish, M'Lord."
Mine turn to part halted when Giles continued, "Perchance tis time for ye to address the matter of an heir?"
Giles, despite his lower station, had a gift which he now used. I'd known him to be able to read a person's mind, into hidden thoughts that troubled one's being. No longer rapt by his gift, the exchange ended with, "Perchance, Giles, perchance."
Striding away with thoughts of an heir returned. An heir would bring great joy and was needed to insure the future of the realm. But, caution was required in choosing a new wife. Four years had past since mine first was taken by the plague. It had been a good match, to solidify the alliance with Westridge in marrying the Lord's daughter. But, from the onset, she was a frail and sickly woman and had died childless. Scarce were times when we attempted conception as she rarely had the strength. E'en if she had conceived, there was much doubt that she couldst carry and birth a child. Thoughest there were many choices, none was made for fear of the same tp repeat.
Stopping after twenty paces, full view mine lands was clear in the pale moonlight. Mine revelry was short, afore I heard Giles repeat his challenge.
"Tis the Widow Gwen", came the reply.
"Please halt, Widow. M'lord is upon the ramparts, let us ask his leave." He then shouted out, "M'Lord may the Widow Gwen pass this way?"
"Give her leave Giles", was mine grant.
The Widow Gwen brought much ease to mine mind. She was but one, of few, widows of past enemies made when their mates were slain for their defiance of my authority. There were many women made widows of in past times of war. A great number cursed mine person in their grieving wails. Gwen was one of scarce few whose loss was a release from a miserable life with what had been a cruel, evil mate.
Memory still lingered of how wretched she looked when found upon mine collecting victor's spoils from her fallen husband's estate. Unbefitting her place and belieing the substance of her husband's lands; she'd was dressed in dirty rags, bruised, battered and starving. In spite of her woeful appearance, she held firm with dignity and grace as she lauded me in releasing her from much misery.
In showing mercy to her, the entire castle benefitted greatly whenst order issued to bring her in. After full health was restored, all were blessed with her beauty, wit and charm. And, without my biding, she asked for and was granted command of the inner household that she managed with great efficiency.
Mine greeting formed as she neared, "Gwen, what keeps ye about at such late hour? Do thee have pressing matters of mind that keep thee awake?"
"Nay, M'Lord, tis not matters of the mind that denies mine sleep. Thy household has never been better. We've stores of plenty and all thy subjects are hale and vigorous. Instead, tis mine seek of the cold, night air. Tis been of aid, in the past, to put mine body at rest on nights when sleep is hard to come."
Afore contining converse, a stab of pain stuck my shoulder. Twas not unfamiliar, a reminder left by a foe's sword along with a scar where blow hadst pierced flesh. Mine hand went to thy inflicted shoulder to knead the area for relief.
Gwen took note mine discomfort to asked "M'Lord, art thou in pain?"