Page 12 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

T he low-slung building where the grooms took their meals was full of chatter and conversation, even more so than usual. Small groups of ruddy-cheeked men and boys leaned close together over the scrubbed trestle tables, talking with great animation. Morwenna had taken a seat at her preferred small table in the corner, happy to munch her bread and observe the goings-on, too much absorbed in her own musings to much wonder at the gossip. But as soon as he spied her, Gerrault pulled up a small wooden stool and perched opposite.

“You’ll never guess who’s to come here on the morn,” he declared, rocking the stool backwards on the soft earth floor. He was clad in a freshly laundered tunic with his brown hair neatly combed.

Reluctantly, she dragged herself from the rosy glow of reminiscence. The earl’s hands around her waist; his lips upon hers. It was the stuff of dreams, only her dreams could never be so potent as to infuse her with this lightness of being; this heady rush of connection.

“I could not even try.” She softened her words with a smile.

“The Vaulters of Volterfordas,” he announced, beaming.

“The Vaulters of Volterfordas?” she repeated questioningly, her lip quirking at the undoubted excitement shining in young Gerrault’s eyes. “I have ne’er heard of them.”

“Oh, they are quite the thing, Miss Morwenna.” In his eagerness, Gerrault slipped into their old mode of address. “And the best of it is, his lordship is putting on this show just for us servants.”

Now it was Morwenna’s turn to flush with excitement. Carefully, she put down her bread and folded her hands together, lest their trembling betray her.

“How so?”

Gerrault shrugged extravagantly. “That I don’t know. But Isaac heard it from Jacob, who heard it directly from the Seneschal himself. These vaulters, they’ve even performed for the King.” He lowered his voice reverently. “And now they’re coming to Wolvesley, to perform for us.”

Morwenna opened and closed her mouth, but no words came out. Her mind raced, piecing all of this together. “So we shall watch, alongside the earl and his family?” she guessed, affecting nonchalance.

Gerrault nodded. “Though it’s my guess that only Jacob and the senior servants will sit with the likes of his lordship. The rest of us will be up in the stands. But that don’t matter none.” His gaze dropped. “I only wish my parents were still alive to see how far I’ve risen. Personal groom to Sir Henry, and now this.”

In a rush of sympathy, Morwenna reached out and placed her own cool hands over Gerrault’s. “They would be very proud.”

He lifted his chin, meeting her gaze. “And your grandmother, she would be right proud of you too,” he whispered, mayhap conscious of the hum of group conversation behind them. His eyes flickered over her wrist. “I see you still wear her cuff.”

“Aye.” Instinctively, Morwenna’s left hand went to cover it, tracing the intricate engraving in the leather. “It is all I have left of her.”

“She must have been a woman of means, once.”

“Aye,” Morwenna agreed again. Her grandmother had never liked to talk of her past, and even now she felt an ingrained reluctance to do so. Like it would be a betrayal.

“It’s fine leather.” Gerrault was peering closer at the cuff, oblivious of her hesitancy.

“I know it.” On impulse she said, “I’ve always thought my grandmother fell upon hard times. The way she spoke, the way she acted. ’Twas as if she’d been born to more than a shack on a hill.” Morwenna shrugged suddenly, not wanting to say more on the subject.

“Did you never know your parents?” His voice was sympathetic. “I can’t remember them being in Escafeld.”

“Nay. They died when I was very young. My grandmother was all I had. And I was all she had. And that was enough.”

Gerrault squeezed her hand. “A lot has changed for us both.”

Her breath caught in her throat. More had changed for her than Gerrault could ever know.

“Are you coming, Gerrault?” Isaac appeared behind him, his bright eyes widening when he saw their joined hands.

Blushing furiously, Gerrault shoved back his stool. “I’ll be right there.”

“Have you heard the news, Morwenna?” Isaac asked, raising his voice over a sudden hubbub by the ale pitcher.

For a moment her mind went blank. “About the vaulters?” she managed.

“Aye.” Isaac tipped her a wink. “I’ll wager you’ll be sitting right beside the earl. He’s that pleased with how you’ve tamed his wild horse.”

Morwenna felt her own cheeks tinge with pink, but Isaac’s suspicion may work to her advantage. “If that’s so, then I’m happy to have done a good job,” she said weakly.

“Come then, Gerrault.” Isaac gripped the arm of his tunic and turned him towards the doorway. “We have work to be getting on with.”

“Fare ye well, Miss Morwenna.” Gerrault nodded his head.

“Fare ye well.” She too rose to her feet, conscious of having taken a misstep somewhere in the conversation, but not sure where or why. And as she watched the grooms file out of the barn, ready to go about their day, she felt again the lightness in her heart, the reduction of the weight she had carried on her shoulders for so many years.

She was safe. She was protected. And upon the morn, she would be once again in the earl’s company.

’Twas all she wanted and more.

*

The next morn dawned bright with a brisk breeze chasing white-tipped clouds over the distant forest. The famed Vaulters of Volterfordas had arrived late in the evening; their horses clopping over the cobbles; the men making a poor job of blending quietly with the workings of the yard. Morwenna had heard them drinking and singing well into the night. When she went in to break her fast; the usually tidy eating quarters were littered with spilled pitchers of ale and snoring men.

Six of them there were. All small and muscular, with beady eyes and unsmiling mouths. Their hoses too were small and hardy. They were well fed, with long manes and tails that had been carefully combed, but Morwenna felt a nervous energy radiating from them, which she didn’t like one bit.

The stable yard hummed with activity as everyone rushed to complete their day’s work before the exhibition began. Morwenna was relieved to walk away from the hustle and bustle to the peace of the circular paddock, where Fauvel now whinnied in greeting as soon as he glimpsed her coming over the brow of the hill.

“You’re a good boy,” she told him, reaching up to rub his ears as he pushed at her tunic hoping for treats.

It was as if the night of the joust had changed everything. Not just her relationship with the earl; but with his horse too. Fauvel now seemed to trust her completely. She could run her hands over his withers and down to his hindquarters without him so much as flinching. He flicked his ears forward when she spoke to him; and showed no sign of skittishness, even when she bent to pick up his hooves. In her bones, Morwenna knew it was high time she put a saddle on his back. Her task was to make him rideable, not merely biddable. And accepting of people other than herself. But as soon as she had accomplished this; her work in Wolvesley would be done.

And what then?

But today, she didn’t allow her thoughts to roam further than the exhibition. Would she really be seated directly by the earl, as Isaac had suggested? In a way, it seemed plausible, for the earl– Angus– had promised to find a way they could be together.

But it was also the most incredulous notion she had ever heard. How could the Earl of Wolvesley sit beside a stable-hand in public?

How could the Earl of Wolvesley have kissed her in private? How could he have entrusted her with family secrets and spoken to her with true feeling?

If her memories were not so sharp, she would have considered herself delusional.

Fortune’s wheel never stops turning.

Her grandmother’s voice seemed to whisper directly into her ear, as if the lady herself stood right beside her. Morwenna knew it was merely fancy, but there was no disputing that her fortunes had certainly changed since she left Escafeld.

Morwenna put her hands on the paddock gate and rested her head on her arms. Soon she would discover, one way or another, if the earl really had invited the Vaulters of Volterfordas to Wolvesley for the express purpose of spending time with her. And whatever the answer, she would remember her grandmother’s lessons and behave with decorum. For if anyone were to see how his very presence affected her, her position here could soon grow untenable.

Morwenna stroked Fauvel’s white nose and remembered another of her grandmother’s wise sayings.

The more you have, the more you have to lose.

But she didn’t want fear to dominate her thoughts, nor would she let it spoil the delicious anticipation rippling through her. The hours passed with interminable slowness. Morwenna put a halter onto Fauvel and led him around the perimeter of the paddock, making him by turns break into a fast trot and then slow to a steady walk. He followed her lead, behaving more like a gentleman than a wild horse. There was no denying that she must get upon his back within the sennight.

Then the earl would have won his strange challenge.

She would have kept her word and earned her coin. Enough of it to repair the roof of her hut.

Morwenna released Fauvel, watching him canter away and kick up his heels like a youngling. What she wouldn’t give to be so carefree herself.

She made her way back to the stable yard, lost in thought and oblivious to the tumult around her. The vaulting exhibition would take place in the jousting arena; and many of the grooms were already turned out in their finest, ready to proceed beneath the stone archway and file into the stands. She saw that several of them had picked wildflowers from the meadow and tied them up into small posies, mayhap to present to serving girls from the castle. The air was thick with the pulsing excitement of Twelfthtide. Good times were coming; and hard-working folk were determined to make the most of the revelry.

Morwenna alone had a strong dose of adrenaline laced with anxiety racing through her gut.

Adrenaline because she would see the earl again.

Anxiety because it was not proper for one such as she to desire the attentions of one such as he. Because she still didn’t understand why he should have such an effect on her body and mind. And because part of her feared the magic that had sprung up between them in the paddock, may have been but a temporary delusion.

But the drumbeat of fear that had dogged her footsteps for so long, had faded. Even if those moments in the paddocks were never to be repeated, she felt sure that she could trust in the earl’s integrity.

She had admitted to him that her grandmother had the Sight.

And in turn, he had kissed her.

Her tumult of emotion forced her to sit on the edge of the bed.

She wrapped her fingers around her grandmother’s cuff and closed her eyes, hoping to settle her racing heart and mind. A hesitant knock at the door almost had her falling off the bed and onto the bare floor.

“Come in.”

Gerrault’s smiling face appeared before her, then he opened the door more fully and stepped into the gap, his tall frame hardly fitting beneath the sloping roof.

“Miss Morwenna.”

She shook her head at him; his steady presence helping to calm her thoughts. “I’m dressed exactly like a man, Gerrault, with mud beneath my fingernails and the smell of horseflesh all around me. ’Tis a wonder you can call me Miss Morwenna.”

She hadn’t meant to tease him, but he blushed at her words. “You will always be Miss Morwenna to my thinking.” He took one hand from behind his back and thrust a posy of chicory flowers towards her. “For you.”

Morwenna blinked in momentary confusion, before remembering her manners. “Why, they’re lovely, thank you, Gerrault.” It was her turn to blush as she rose from the bed to take the flowers from him. She inhaled their fresh scent, merely for something to do. “How kind,” she said, her nose still pressed into the blue petals.

His long arms flapped by his legs until he folded his hands firmly together. “I will walk with you, to the joust, if it pleases you?”

What else could she say? “It will please me very much, thank you.” She paused. “But you must give me a moment to make myself presentable.”

His smile could have warmed the icehouse. “I will wait for you down in the yard.”

He bowed his head and was gone, leaving Morwenna more flustered than ever.

Was young Gerrault sweet on her?

Surely not. She was some years his senior. And whilst Gerrault had been a popular boy back in Escafeld, Morwenna had been treated as an oddity. But the boy she had once known was a young man now; with a respectable position in a wealthy yard. He would grow into a fine man, she had no doubt of it.

A fine man, who had set his cap at her .

Or had he? Morwenna placed the wildflowers in a basin of water, splashing a little onto her flushed cheeks. Mayhap Gerrault was only being polite. Or mayhap he didn’t want to be the only groom without a girl on his arm.

She exhaled with relief, drying her hands on a rough cloth. That must be it. She was a friendly face to the lad; one he’d known since childhood. He wouldn’t want to think of her sitting all alone.

The bare flesh of her arms tingled with fresh excitement, for there was a chance she wouldn’t be sitting alone, but with the Earl of Wolvesley himself.

Should she change her groom’s attire for the soft woollen dress Molly had given her?

Morwenna’s cheeks burned afresh at the notion; for in doing so she’d be flaunting her femininity at the earl. At Angus. Why else would she swap her smart, warm clothes for a gown which the sharp wind would whistle through in an instant?

Was she hoping to draw his attention to her slender curves? She a peasant and he a man accustomed to having his pick of beautiful women?

Aye , mayhap she was.

Mayhap it was time to step out of the shadows and be noticed.

The pale-blue gown was comfortable and swirled gently around her ankles. As a further gesture towards the festivities, she untied her plait and allowed her long blonde hair to tumble freely about her shoulders. Without further prevarication, she strode out of her chamber and pulled the door shut behind her.

If it transpired that all of this had been arranged for her benefit, she would have serious words with Angus about not doing anything the like again. She had grown so nervous she thought she may well tumble into the water trough on her way down the steps.

“You look lovely, Miss Morwenna.”

Gerrault greeted her with his customary smile and a courtly elbow.

Morwenna gave him a sharp look as she came down the steps. “Many more Miss Morwennas and I shall take to addressing you as Master Gerrault. How would you like that?”

His smile faltered. “I only…”

“Gerrault, you’re the personal groom to Sir Henry and all but a man grown. I’m the last person you should be addressing formally.” She stood beside him and took his arm, softening her expression to take the sting from her words. “I only wish to pass unnoticed through the world. You know that as well as anyone.”

Although her decision to swap her braccae and tunic for a dress was drawing a lot of attention her way. Morwenna couldn’t decide if she enjoyed the appreciative looks cast towards her from the grooms gathered around the yard. Her usual reaction would be to shrink her shoulders and try to make herself as small as possible. But somehow, today, she felt she could stand tall and withstand the attention without flinching.

Not for too long though.

She nudged him forwards and they began to proceed slowly over the cobbles towards the path that led to the jousting arena, tagging along behind the chattering groups already on their way. Ahead of them, Morwenna spied Molly waving excitedly in her direction. Morwenna waved back, but moments later, Isaac’s sister had been swallowed by the crowd.

Gerrault was quiet. He stood a head taller than Morwenna, meaning that without looking directly upwards, she couldn’t discern his expression. She hoped she hadn’t pushed away a good friend.

After a long while, he cleared his throat. “I mean no disrespect, Morwenna. I’ve always admired you, that’s all.”

She stopped in her tracks, tugging at his arm until his eyes met hers. “You mean, you’ve always admired my work, surely?” Her mind whirred. “I saved Minnie and helped Farmer Jerome’s horses, when they needed it.”

He nodded. “I admired that, for certain. You’ve a gift. Whatever it is.”

“Right.” She started walking again, anxious now to arrive at their destination before Gerrault said anything he might regret.

He pulled her back, his grip surprisingly strong. “But I admire you too, Morwenna.”

This time, there was no mistaking the intent in his grey eyes.

“Gerrault, please,” she began, conscious of a swell of people walking down the path towards them.

His lips tightened. “I admire the way you stand up tall, no matter what. And your kindness, it shines from you.”

These were words she hadn’t been expecting. Her mouth hung open but she could form no reply. Heavy footsteps came closer. At any moment, the approaching crowd would have reached them, and her hand still rested in Gerrault’s.

“That’s all I want to say. For now,” he added. Then he sprang to one side and bowed smartly. “Your lordship,” he said. “Sir Henry.”

Morwenna’s heart seemed to stop beating as she glanced sideways to see two tall, imposing figures bearing down upon them. With heavy cloaks swirling, and tunics glistening with gold thread, they scattered the chattering throng of servants. Morwenna’s gaze reluctantly lifted and she beheld the lined face of Sir Henry, followed by a pair of blue eyes that brought a warm flush to her whole body.

“Well, whom do we have here?” demanded the Earl of Wolvesley. “Henry, I do believe it is your boy, Gerrault.” His piercing eyes rested on her face, looking directly into her soul. “Together with Morwenna.”