Page 6 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

H e hadn’t broken his fast or appeared at the mid-day meal. Her search for him had dictated her day so far, and this did not bode well.

Jumping directly into her work at Blackwood, Anwen began the day by addressing inefficiencies in guard patrols.

Most importantly, weaknesses in border defense needed to be strengthened, something she hadn’t been prepared to address, assuming those would not be an issue given the caliber of men in the castle.

But he was never far from her mind, nor were the revelations she’d learned after speaking with him last eve. Anwen began the night deciding not to allow him back into her heart, pushing Rystan away for self-preservation.

And then his reveal. One she had immediately known was true. Thinking back to the events of these past few years, so many memories told her that it was true. Her mother, and maid, had conspired with others, most likely, to keep Rystan from her.

Though she had no difficulty falling asleep, the events of the day weighed on her. Anwen woke more than once with competing thoughts of anger, sadness and even a bit of hope for how things had transpired.

Was there hope? Or was it too late for her and Rystan? Anwen was determined to find out.

“Lord Stirling,” she approached the archery instructor, his lost eye covered with an ominous-looking patch. Anwen had met him the day before and did not want to start this conversation. But she was here to do a job and would do so to the best of her ability.

“Good den, my lady,” he stopped beside the well in Blackwood’s inner courtyard. Typically the space would be bustling with activity, but the castle currently operated with a skeleton crew of servants.

“I wish to speak with you about the armoury audit I just completed.”

His chin raised, a sign he would not take kindly to her suggestions.

“Indeed?”

In Anwen’s experience, a direct approach, especially when dealing with men, yielded the best results.

“During the inventory check Sir Eamon asked that I complete before commissioning additional armour, I found supplies either being skimmed or miscounted.”

“Impossible.”

His response was immediate, and expected.

“Nay, ‘tis very possible. I will assume the latter, but either way, it must be addressed. I was told to speak with you about the matter, but perhaps there is another that could assist me?”

Her meaning was clear. If he would not take responsibility for the armoury, then someone else should do so.

“It is my charge,” he said, clearly annoyed.

“As I was told. If we assume those you’ve asked to handle the equipment are not up to the task, I would suggest finding another and re-allocating their duties.

With the number of recruits expected, and training the central mission here, it will be one of the most important positions at Castle Blackwood and not one to be taken lightly. ”

“I can assure you,” he said testily. “I do not take the training of our men lightly.”

She would give him some leeway. “Training? I would think not. Your reputation precedes you, my lord. It is the accounting of your valuable weapons I am attempting to account for.”

It was as deferential as she would get.

Do not let your pride interfere in this discussion, Stirling.

He paused for another beat and then asked. “Who do you suggest?”

Anwen would have breathed a sigh of relief, but she had too much to accomplish in too short a time to celebrate.

“I will be conducting meetings with each individual servant this afternoon and on the morrow and can make suggestions for placement then, if you would delegate the task to me.”

A gentle way of taking control when she was told clearly by Eamon, with the armory and training yard being ‘Stirling’s domain,’ any changes to either would be met with ‘resistance.’

“Very well.”

It didn’t please him, but Stirling’s acquiescence came more easily than she would have expected.

“Good day,” she said, the battle won.

Her mother often said that leadership was not a matter of strength, but of presence.

Hold your ground without raising your voice. Win the room before you win the war.

The same mother who kept Anwen from the man she’d loved.

“I’d have stepped in if I thought you would appreciate such a thing.”

That voice.

It haunted her dreams. Visited her when she least expected it, even after all these years. Anwen could see him as easily as she could hear him, even when Rystan was nowhere to be found. Except now he was standing just behind her.

Slowly, she turned and looked up at him.

Dressed for training, one he’d obviously just completed even though she’d not seen him in the training yard, Rystan appeared as formidable as ever.

“How much did you overhear?”

“Enough to know you got the best of him. Stirling is not an amiable man.”

“No, he is not. Though it’s reputed he is quite an archer.”

“I’ve met none like him. He could spear the center of an apple there,” he pointed to the roof of a nearby building, the secondary kitchens, she believed.

“Impossible.”

“For most, aye. But not him.”

“Well,” Anwen crossed her arms. “His skills as an archer exceed his respect for women, for certain.”

If it were any other man, she’d not have said such a thing.

It would be seen as unseemly to say so, even if the fact was true.

And it was. She knew such men well and dealt with them, as had her mother, since her father died.

Before it, the baron would accept no offense to either his wife or daughter.

It was a rare quality for a nobleman, but one that her father admired in Rystan.

“I wish I could disagree,” he said.

“That you do not is something I admire in you. ‘Tis a rare quality among your kind.”

Rystan’s laugh was deep and abiding. A sound she’d dearly missed. “My kind?”

Shrugging, she asked him to choose. “Knight. Nobleman. Earl’s son. You may pick between them.”

“I fear my father did not lead by example in this realm. Thankfully, I had a tutor who disputed many of his most outlandish claims.”

She knew precisely what he referenced. “That men are more intelligent because of the superior size of their brains?”

“Among others.”

Smiling, she admitted, “I was fortunate to have such a father as I did.”

“Very fortunate,” he agreed. “Do you miss him?”

“Aye,” she said. “My mother thrives, but there is a hole where he belonged. One she fills with orders and control.”

“A control that cost us dearly.”

Anwen could not disagree with that.

“I was horrified, of course, that she cared more for the title than for my happiness. It was not something she particularly aspired to. And yet. . .”

Anwen drifted off, not having words to properly explain.

“And yet,” he finished. “When my brother died, she could suddenly see her daughter as a countess?”

I did not wish to admit it. “Aye. The day she discovered you’d turned down the title, she was angry. I believe even more so with me for not caring. I never wanted the title, Rystan.”

“I know you did not. And am sorry for my part in losing you. But this,” he waved his arm to indicate Castle Blackwood. “Holds more meaning to me. What is an empty title, one who serves the wrong king? Without justice, there can not truly be peace.”

“It is because I agree so strongly that I am here, dealing with men such as Stirling. But it is partly that vehemence to serve Matilda, that my mother claimed concerned her. She only agreed to let me come here under the guise of an extended journey to Scotland to visit relatives.”

“Understood. Yet that was not the only reason for your mother’s actions.”

Anwen agreed. “Nay, it was not. She truly believed me marrying you no longer served me best. Forgetting, I suppose, that she was compatible with my father. They may not have been in love as we?—”

She stopped. Horrified. Had she truly said that aloud?

“As we were?” he finished.

Were. In the past. Of course it was so. How could Anwen believe any different after all that had happened?

“Aye,” she said, her chest suddenly heavier than it had been a moment earlier.

“Anwen, I?—”

“Vale,” Sir Eamon boomed, approaching them. “Well done this morn,” he said.

“Many thanks, my lord.”

The two began to converse about the training session and their shared plans for the recruits. She and Rystan’s conversation clearly over, Anwen excused herself.

“Wait,” Rystan stopped her. “Can we speak later?”

Eamon looked between them, saying nothing.

“I am meeting with servants until the evening meal.”

A meal that would be filled with onlookers. Anwen had already received her share of stares and expected much of the same during her stay here.

Having decided, and despite Sir Eamon’s private thoughts on the matter, she made a bold request.

“I could arrange a meal in my apartments, if you would be so inclined.”

Was that a small smile on the sword master’s face?

“I would be glad to take the evening meal with you.”

With a quick glance, and a nod, at Sir Eamon, Rystan excused himself for a meeting, bidding her adieu until the eve.

“You are getting on with him, it seems? I know it worried you when you learned Sir Rystan would be here. It worried me to share the information with you, to be frank.”

His question brought up another she’d been considering.

“Information you shared only when we’d arrived.”

Anwen had been too surprised when Sir Eamon had first revealed Rystan’s presence to question him about it then.

“Apologies, my lady, for the small deceit. But aye, it was deliberate on my part, not to share it with your mother. Once on the road, I considered how best to tell you and will admit to my cowardice in delaying the revelation.”

Sir Eamon Thorne. A coward? Unthinkable.

“You knew she would not allow me to come,” Anwen guessed.

“I knew she would forbid it, aye. And did not wish to take a chance on your reaction. You are not of an age to be forbidden by your mother to do anything, my lady, if I can say so.”

Her brows raised. “If I wish to inherit, you mean? My mother is quite outspoken on the matter.”

“An important distinction, to be certain. Yet, you are unwed?”

“She reminds me often and one with many causes. My mother aims high, too high, perhaps. And those matches that nearly came to fruition I could easily dissolve.”

“May I ask how so?” My admission clearly amused him.

Smiling, I recounted some of the words potential suitors used to describe me. “I’ve been called headstrong, unyielding, too involved in matters which should not concern me. The list is a long one.”

“I see.” And he did, clearly. “Lady Anwen. I’ve known your mother for many years,” Sir Eamon said, more soberly. “To inherit is to serve the will of another. You must ask yourself which life you wish to lead, and which you can live with losing.”

To inherit is to serve the will of another.

She might be capable, but could Anwen find a way on her own if necessary? It was a question she had asked herself in the past, and one to which she had no easy answer.

“I thank you for your words of advice, sir,” she said sincerely. “If you will excuse me now, I must find a new armoury master.”

Sir Eamon chuckled. “You’ve tangled with Stirling then, have you?”

Anwen did not try to refrain from smiling.

“I did.”

With that, she left the amused swordsman and made her way inside the keep, hoping the day moved swiftly, for the night held more promise than she dared hoped for in a long, long time.