Page 2 of He Taught Me to Hope (Darcy and the Young Knight’s Quest #1)
Darcy stopped in his tracks as he listened to the lad spin his tale. This child is well-versed in the Arthurian legend. Perhaps he is not the son of a tenant after all, but rather he is from a neighbouring estate. “Is it true that you have lost your father, young man?”
The little boy said nothing, instead casting his eyes to the ground as a sign of affirmation.
Darcy continued, “You have my deepest sympathy. I, too, have suffered the loss of my father. What of your mother?”
“The Lady of the Lake?” the child responded in kind.
“Is she your mother, young man?”
Here, the lad paused, as if weighing his next response. Finally, he conceded. “She is no longer my mother. I now belong to my true mother.”
There is justice in that. Even as I doubt a single word he says, I would hate to think of him as an orphan.
“I am glad to hear it. Now, run along.” Darcy resumed his long strides.
By the time he had closed more than half the distance to his horse, he looked back to see the young child still standing there.
Taking Darcy’s act as a show of concern, the young boy ran to catch up.
“You own a magnificent stallion. I have never seen one as majestic. May I sit upon it?”
“I am not certain that is a wise idea. Do you not find him intimidating?”
“Do you believe Sir Lancelot might be intimidated by a mere animal?”
“I suppose not.” Darcy repressed a chuckle. “How old are you, young man?”
“How old do I look?”
“Just a moment ago, you swore your allegiance to me. Is that any way to respond to your King?”
“A thousand pardons, your highness. It is just that I do not find your question relevant. What age must I be to sit upon your horse?”
Darcy frowned at the young lad’s impertinence. “Fair enough,” said he, “you may sit upon my horse. However, you must tell me how you plan to carry out that feat, Sir Lancelot. ”
The young fellow positioned his small hand to his cheek in contemplation.
“I suppose I might build a wooden ladder and use it to clamber up on its back. No, no. That might take too long, I fear. And you seem in a hurry.” He glanced about his environs.
“There is a fence just ahead! Perhaps we might lead the stallion there that I might use it as a mount. Better still, I might climb that tall tree and then jump down on the horse’s back,” suggested he eagerly, as he pointed to the low hanging limb just ahead. “Or we might elect the obvious choice.”
“Obvious? And what might that be, Sir Lancelot?”
The last thing the little fellow wanted to do was to ask to be lifted upon the horse.
What brave knight worth his salt would do such a thing?
He raised a quizzical brow to his king. A stand-off ensued.
Darcy truly was quite taken with the child.
He had yet to witness such steadfastness in one so young, or such innate intelligence.
After a full minute, Darcy caved in. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, let us get on with this. I shall lift you.”
Darcy signalled his horse to approach. Sensing no apprehension whatsoever on the boy’s part, he picked him up and placed him upon his stallion’s back. The enthusiastic smile on the child’s face spoke volumes.
“I shall possess a magnificent horse like this someday.”
“So you aspire to own a stallion befitting a king. That is a lofty aspiration, indeed. I wish you great luck in that endeavour.”
“I shall require no such luck for it is my right by birth to own such a beast. You shall see.”
“If you say so,” Darcy patronised the child. “Now, allow me to hand you down.”
“Can I not have a ride?”
“No, not today. Perhaps you might have a ride at another time.”
“When might that be?”
“The next time I see you. How does that sound?” Darcy responded as he lowered the child to the ground and mounted his horse. He suffered the pain of his bruised shoulder even more having lifted the child. He was eager to return to Netherfield to have it examined and tended.
As Darcy rode away unhurriedly, Sir Lancelot shouted, “Have I your promise?”
Darcy turned about slowly. “Yes, young knight, you have my promise.”
Later that night, as was his habit, the young man beseeched, “Mama, tell me the story of the Lady of the Lake. ”
“Ben, will you never tire of that story? What say you to another?”
“Then, perhaps you might tell me a tale of Camelot. You see, I met King Arthur today. He is my new best friend!”
“Ben, what have I told you about that imagination of yours?” she asked, playfully placing her finger atop the tip of his nose.
“But it is true. I did meet King Arthur! He is very kind.”
“If you say so,” said she, as she sat on the bed and cradled her young son in her loving embrace. “So you would like to hear another tale of Camelot.”
She began to weave an enchanting tale for her son’s pleasure, secure in the knowledge that in a matter of minutes, he would contentedly fall asleep. She considered he must have had quite a day. What an imagination! Sure enough, he was asleep within ten minutes’ time.
She brushed his dark unruly curls from his forehead and imparted a gentle kiss. She then picked up the candle from the table, and headed for her own room, just across the hall.
Pausing at the doorway, she turned to look back at her son. There is nothing on earth that I would not do for you, my little Sir Lancelot.