Page 15 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

A ngus fished inside the cracked leather saddlebag and encountered several lumpy packages which he brought out and laid on the grass. Morwenna had re-tied her tunic, more was the pity, and a pinched look had come over her pretty features.

“Do you regret what we have done?” he asked her bluntly, never one to beat about the bush.

She smiled faintly. “Not in the way you might imagine.” She folded her arms across her chest in a protective gesture.

“Then how?” He sank to the ground beside her and put a hand on her knee. He would offer her all the comfort in the world if he knew what ailed her.

She nibbled on her lower lip, not knowing how the gesture affected him. “There are moments when we are together that I forget you are an earl. Then the moment ends, and I remember.”

He found himself staring at her open-mouthed. He had not expected that.

Morwenna shrugged and busied herself unwrapping the longest of the oilskin packages to reveal a rough hunk of bread. With capable hands, she tore it in half and held one half out to him. He sniffed cautiously, but his rumbling stomach would gladly accept anything.

Exhaling heavily, he bit into it. “Would you prefer that I was not an earl?” he asked, chewing ruminatively. The bread was surprisingly tasty.

She answered quickly. “Of course.”

Of all that had passed between them, this was the most surprising. Angus swallowed hard and turned to look at her. “Is that the truth?”

“Aye.” Her green eyes flashed in puzzlement. “Why should you doubt it?”

He put the bread down, no longer interested in food. His hands shook as if he had taken a fever. He cleared his throat, needing to be sure. “You would take me as I am now? In these poor rags, with nothing to offer?”

She nodded, her face still a picture of bewilderment. “Then we would be equals. We could build a life together.” She also placed her uneaten bread down on the grass and grasped a white leather cuff worn around her left wrist. The fingers of her right hand traced the pattern engraved into the leather, as if they had done so a thousand times.

“A future?” He wanted to be sure of her meaning.

Her cheeks tinged with pink. “Aye, a future. Though ’tis bold of me to picture such a prospect.”

“And you would like a future with me? Even one without the wealth of Wolvesley?”

Morwenna shook her head at him so her blonde plait fell over one narrow shoulder. “Look at me, Angus. Do I appear to you as a woman who needs wealth to make her happy? Nay,” she answered her own question. “Coin enough for food and shelter. That is all a body needs.” Her conviction flowed through her voice.

He took up the bread again and began breaking it into pieces, needing a distraction. “I do not believe that everyone thinks as you do.”

She shrugged. “My grandmother used to say that people with great riches don’t know the true value of them. But the folk working the fields, they do.”

“Your grandmother with the Sight?” he queried, noting how her voice broke when she spoke of her.

She nodded. “The only family I ever really knew.”

“I’m sorry.”

They sat in silence for a while. Angus finished the bread and discovered two rosy-red apples in another package. The fruit was sweet and juicy, almost as good as a dish served in the great hall. Such a swirl of emotions fought inside him as he ate. Memories stirred from his youth and mingled with a dull longing for what could never be.

Here was honesty. A relationship of equals indeed, when it came to what was in their hearts and their minds. But not when either name or rank was considered. For this brief moment in time, he had taken the great risk of disguising himself so that he and Morwenna may spend a few stolen hours together. But this escapade could not be repeated. The risks were too great, for both of them.

“Ah, Morwenna,” he sighed. “You don’t know how much I too wish things were different.” He meant it with every fibre of his body. He could so easily take this wondrous young woman again into his arms and profess feelings for her that were entirely honest and true. He would cherish her, protect her, worship her with his body.

And in so doing, risk her ruin.

It could not be.

He was an earl and must marry accordingly. Not only that; he was an earl who had long been betrothed to another.

Angus swallowed the last of his apple and flung the core into the stream. The mid-afternoon sun was hidden behind the tall trees and their golden-hued glade was now cast into shadow. He was conscious of a creeping chill; of the horses grazing nearby and the need to return to the castle before he was missed.

“But I can tell you this,” he spoke up. “Your grandmother sounds like a wise woman, but not all poor people understand the true value of things as she did. I once knew a girl…” His voice broke off. He had not intended to share this memory, but when he was with Morwenna, somehow he found himself airing his proper feelings, however long he’d been keeping them under wraps.

But will she want to hear this?

She leaned over and touched his hand. “Go on.”

He took a breath. “Johanna, she was called. Her father was the tanner in the village. We played together as children. I thought she was wonderful.” His eyes flickered over to Morwenna and saw her watching intently. “Wild and wonderful. I was very young,” he added, making sure she knew. “This was all a long time ago.”

“What happened?” Morwenna bit into her apple and fixed her gaze on the stream.

“We planned to elope.” His voice shook with the echo of laughter and the remembered daring of youth. “Lucan was earl by then and I knew he wouldn’t approve. But I told Johanna that I didn’t need my brother’s blessing. That we could do well without his coin or his castle. I thought we could ride off together and start a new life somewhere.” He fell silent.

“And?” she prompted, turning to face him.

“And it turned out that what Johanna in fact wanted was to be aligned to the Earl of Wolvesley, not to be the wife of a poor, disinherited labourer.” Angus smiled at Morwenna’s shocked face. “She was most probably right. After all, I would have a lot to learn as a labourer.”

Morwenna let out a short laugh. “What became of Johanna?”

“She turned her sights elsewhere. I believe she is now married to a publican who runs an inn on the road to York. They make good business and mayhap enough coin to satisfy her.” He pulled a face. “Mayhap we both had a lucky escape.”

He saw the moment the gaiety left Morwenna’s face. “I am not the same as Johanna.”

“Not in any way,” he agreed softly, reaching out to grasp her wrist. “And it is a great gift that you have given me.”

Morwenna tossed what was left of her apple into the stream with a good, strong aim. “What gift?”

He fumbled for the words. “That you would choose to spend this time with Angus the man. Not Angus the earl.”

Sighing, she interlinked their fingers. “You are one and the same.”

“But if we were not?”

She tilted her face up towards him, a smile playing around her pink lips. “Then I fancy we might do this again.”

The jolt of elation he felt upon hearing her words was instantly subdued by the knowledge they were both weaving a fantasy. Dreaming of a future that could never be theirs. He would insult neither Morwenna nor his future wife by taking a mistress. And he could not marry a horse trainer– however skilled or beautiful she may be.

But he didn’t want to let go of her hands. He didn’t want to ride back to the castle and return to reality.

“Cruel fate,” he said.

“Fate brought us together.”

“It did. And I will never forget this day.” He pushed down a wave of sorrow, determined to commit every detail of the afternoon to his memory. The soft breeze playing with Morwenna’s pale blonde hair; the sincerity in her green eyes; the slenderness of her wrist and the surprising intricacy of the engraving in her leather cuff. He looked more closely at the bracelet. “What is this?”

“It belonged to my grandmother.”

Angus blinked, not sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Their meeting had been so charged with emotion; mayhap he was seeing things that were not there? But no, the pattern on the cuff was familiar to him.

“What was your grandmother’s name?”

She startled at his abrupt tone. “It was Esme.”

“Lady Esme of Ember Hall?” His voice sounded strangled, as if all the air was being pushed out of his lungs.

Morwenna let out a peal of laughter. “My grandmother was hardly a lady. I think I should have noticed that.”

Angus felt his heart beating hollowly in his ribs. “But she had the Sight?” he whispered.

“Yes, I told you already.” Morwenna tried to pull her hands away but he held them tight. “Angus, what’s going on?”

“This is the Ember coat of arms.”

She successfully wrestled free of his grasp and peered more closely at her wrist. “It’s just a pretty pattern.”

“Nay.” Angus stood up, the muscles in his legs feeling tired and cramped. “I would recognise it anywhere.” He held out a hand and pulled her upright, for now uncaring of the panic in her eyes. “Morwenna, we need to go and see my mother.”

*

Their ride back to the castle was, if anything, faster than their ride away from it, but Morwenna was no longer the one in control. The earl led them both, needing no spurs to urge on his horse who instantly picked up on the urgency.

An urgency which left her head spinning with unanswered questions.

Angus had claimed the pattern on the cuff was a coat of arms, but Morwenna did not see how this could be true. Her grandmother had been no titled lady but she had been a woman of principle; she never would have taken anything that did not belong to her.

Perchance she had once been in service to this house that Angus spoke of, with the cuff presented to her as a gift. But Esme had never mentioned anything of the sort. And she had treated the cuff as if it was something personally precious, more than a token from an employer.

In truth, Morwenna couldn’t think of any time when Esme had explained how she came to own such an exquisite item. Was that odd? Maybe she should have asked more questions.

But Esme had rivers of reserve running through her and Morwenna had learned from an early age that there were limits to how much she would share. She’d always assumed memories of the past caused her beloved grandmother too much pain.

She tightened her lips as the landscape whipped by. There was no mystery here.

The cuff had simply always been a part of her life. Her grandmother had worn it constantly; pressing it into Morwenna’s hand only when her frail body no longer had the strength to get out of her narrow pallet bed.

And if Angus– if anyone – thought they could take it from her, they would soon learn otherwise.

Angus rode directly to the stable yard and dismounted on the cobbles, handing his reins to a young groom who had the misfortune to be present. Morwenna sent up thanks that they weren’t greeted by Gerrault or Isaac, for she couldn’t have withstood the scrutiny, nor the inevitable barrage of questions afterwards.

“Can I help you?” stammered the boy, mayhap unable to reconcile this newcomer’s unkempt appearance with his regal bearing. His eyes then moved to Morwenna, who he recognised at once.

Morwenna held his eye and gave a slight shake of her head. The last thing any of them wanted was a scene.

Angus straightened his shoulders, looming over the boy, but instead of explaining he merely held out a hand towards Morwenna.

“Come,” he said.

Not an invitation, an order .

She dismounted on legs that threatened to give way beneath her, but she managed to summon a smile as she held over the reins to the young groom. She had seen him once or twice in the eating hall and had no doubt he knew exactly who she was. Had he recognised the earl? She must hope not, else word of this would spread throughout the stable yard by the time she returned.

If she returned.

Her position at Wolvesley had withstood witchcraft and attempted theft. Perchance all would be undone by her grandmother’s cuff.

Angus barely waited for her to reach his side before he set off, striding beneath the archway and into the immaculately-kept courtyard. Morwenna scurried after him, unable to spare a glance towards either the imposing stone lions nor the splashing fountain as his long stride ate up the ground.

“Angus, please,” she gasped, as they hurried up the steps to the keep. “I don’t understand what is happening.”

He turned his deep blue eyes upon her. Those eyes had looked at her with kindness, connection and passion just hours earlier, but now that warmth had been replaced by a searing urgency.

“You have no reason to be concerned.”

Small comfort indeed.

He set off again, his shabby clothing striking a discordant note amongst so much marbled grandeur. And yet, their presence was not challenged. Neither guard nor footman barred their path, nor even looked askance at them. It was because of the earl’s commanding presence, Morwenna realised. The clothing of a peasant could do nothing to dim his natural air of authority.

When they reached the stairway, he stood aside to let her pass.

“After you,” he said, curtly.

Was that his good manners? Or a desire to keep her where he could see her?

She preceded him up the stairs, one hand trailing on the polished dark wood banister to keep her balance. Her sense of bewilderment increased with every step Additionally, she was conscious of damp and grass stains on her tunic, from where she had lain in the grass. And she had no idea if she had tied her laces correctly; not having recourse to any kind of looking glass.

This was not how she would choose to enter Wolvesley Castle.

High windows together with well-spaced wall torches lit the upper storey of the keep. Angus urged her along a spacious gallery which overlooked the entrance hall, and then down a narrower passageway. The apprehension building inside her reached new heights as she realised they were heading towards a doorway at the end of this corridor.

She paused again, desperate to ask Angus again why it was so imperative they visit the dowager countess right away, but one look back at his grim-set face sent all her intentions into dust. He reached past her and knocked brusquely on the door, not waiting for an answer before he turned the handle.

Morwenna’s first impression was of a blaze of light; so intense after the shadows of the passageway that she had to blink until her eyes adjusted. Ahead of her, Angus was talking, but Morwenna was so overwhelmed she couldn’t tune into the words. She was both curious and terrified. Violetta de Neville was spoken of with warmth and respect by the men in the yard; but what on earth would the dowager Countess of Wolvesley make of her son’s strange appearance and even stranger companion?

She leaned against the panelled door for support, trying to steady her breathing and summon the resilience required for this challenging turn of events.

“Angus?” she heard a high-pitched, cultured voice saying sternly. “Where are your manners? Pray do not leave this young woman standing alone in the doorway.”

Morwenna opened her mouth to demur, but no sound came out. Her head spun and her stomach churned, but then she felt Angus’s warm fingers wrap around her wrist.

“Come in, Morwenna,” he said, impatience flickering across his face.

“My boots,” she faltered, cringing at the notion of her muddy boots dirtying the finely embroidered rugs on the floor.

“To hell with your boots,” Angus muttered.

“Angus!” His mother’s voice was loud with admonishment.

“We have much to discuss, Mother.”

“No doubt we have. But first, pour your companion a draught of wine.”

Wine was the last thing Morwenna wanted. It would muddle her thoughts which were already scattered and confused. But it would be rude to refuse. Perhaps she could merely sip at it. Angus ushered her towards a tapestried couch, and she sank to the edge of it, darting quick looks around her.

What she saw was less than reassuring. Violetta de Neville stood some feet away, regally attired in a rich green gown. Her long white hair was neatly pinned up. Her blue eyes as sharp and piercing as her son’s. And those eyes were fixed on Morwenna’s leather cuff.

“You see what I mean?” Angus asked, walking back towards the couch with a silver goblet of wine in one hand.

His mother silenced him with a slight shake of her head.

“No more until her cheeks have more colour in them. I have no wish to summon the physician. That man has already exhausted my patience once today.”

Angus pulled up a short stool and perched beside the cot, holding out the wine to Morwenna who took it with trembling hands.

“Drink,” he urged.

Morwenna lowered her lips to the goblet. She intended to take only the smallest of sips, but the wine was sweet and rich and she found herself taking a long, restorative mouthful.

“Good,” said Angus, and she finally found a flicker of something in his voice. “What is this about the physician?” He turned to his mother.

“Tsk, the man is a tiresome pest. Drink this. Don’t drink that. Full of orders, when I believe after all these years, I have finally earned the right to do as I please.” The dowager countess drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much. “I shall outlive him, I’m sure of it.”

Angus pressed his lips together, but Morwenna could tell he was suppressing a smile. “Well, it’s good to see you out of bed, Mother.”

She prodded her son with a manicured finger, jewels glinting from her hand. “Nothing ails me, Angus. Nothing but grief and the passage of time.”

A cloud passed over his eyes, but he rose to his feet to fetch a cushioned chair from the corner. “Here, Mother. Take a seat.”

“Thank you. For now, I would prefer to stand.” Her blue gaze switched again to Morwenna who felt herself shrink backwards under the scrutiny. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Mother, this is Morwenna. She has been training one of my horses. Morwenna, this is my mother, Lady Violetta, Dowager Countess of Wolvesley.”

“I am pleased to meet you,” Morwenna murmured. The air of unreality she had experienced down by the river was still wrapped around her.

“You too, my dear,” the countess replied kindly.

Violetta linked her fingers together and took a few regal steps towards the high arched window, seemingly deep in thought as she gazed out over the castle gardens.

Morwenna almost fell off the couch in shock as she felt Angus’s hand close over hers. “Have you finished with the wine?”

Further startled, she realised she had drained the goblet. “I have.” She sat up straighter. “Mayhap you can tell me why I am here?”

Violetta swivelled around at her words, a smile playing around her lips. “I hear Esme’s determination in your voice, my dear. You have her courage, as well as her green eyes.”

This was the last thing Morwenna had expected to hear.

“You knew my grandmother?” she forced out.

“I knew her very well.” Violetta crossed the room with small elegant steps and lowered herself onto the couch next to Morwenna, eschewing the more comfortable chair Angus had fetched for her.

Morwenna bit down on her lower lip, her mind reeling. “How?”

Violetta pressed a gnarled hand down onto Morwenna’s, making her startle again. “Our families were close neighbours. Esme and I grew up together. Her parents, Lord and Lady Howell, took me in while my father was away fighting. Much later, when I first came to Wolvesley as a bride, Esme came with me.”

“As a maid?”

“As a friend.”

Morwenna used her free hand to rub her aching forehead. None of this made any sense. “But my grandmother was not a grand lady.”

Violetta surprised her further by letting out a tinkling laugh. “Believe me, my dear, nor was I. My father was a mere knight; not even a favourite of the King. The Howells of Ember Hall seemed very grand to me back then.”

The old lady’s grip on her hand was warm and comforting. Strength flowed through her touch. Gradually, Morwenna felt her bewilderment lessen and her interest grow.

“And you recognise her cuff?” She held her wrist towards the dowager countess, no longer anxious that anyone would try to take it from her.

“May I?”

Morwenna nodded and Violetta placed her jewelled fingers on the leather bracelet, smiling softly as she traced the pattern.

“I would recognise the standard of Ember Hall anywhere. I spent many happy days there.”

“Nay,” Morwenna whispered, unable to reconcile these pieces of information with the life she had known. “There must be a mistake.”

“Many mistakes.” Violetta sighed deeply. “But not on this occasion. You are the granddaughter of one of my oldest friends.”

“I can’t be.” Morwenna resisted the urge to snatch her hand away. “We lived a modest life, my grandmother and I. Nothing like this.” She looked around the beautiful chamber, at the carved oak furniture, the fur rugs covering the floor and the bright frescoes on the plastered wall. How could her grandmother have left this magnificent place to end her days in a draughty wood hut on the edge of a poor village?

“I am sorry to learn she fell on hard times.” Violetta’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “She left us in such difficult circumstances and I tried to find her afterwards, I really did. But I should have tried harder.”

Morwenna found herself moved by the dowager countess’s emotion. Those tears were real; so was the break in her voice.

“My grandmother came from a place called Ember Hall?” The words sounded strange in her mind, but even stranger voiced out loud. “And she once lived here, in Wolvesley Castle?”

Violetta took a breath. “Together with your mother.”

Her mother .

This was too much. Her voice was a mere croak. “What about my grandfather?”

Violetta winced, before casting a glance towards her son who was hovering at the other side of the couch. “Fetch us more wine, if you please, Angus.”

Morwenna wanted to refuse. If she drank more wine, she would be intoxicated. Mayhap unable to walk out of this chamber. And right now, she was filled with the desire to do exactly that. Get up and leave this woman who was taking everything she thought she knew about herself and turning it inside out.

Angus poured wine into three goblets and passed them around. Morwenna took hers silently, but didn’t drink. Angus, however, drained his goblet in one gulp.

“You must tell her about the land,” he said in an aside to his mother.

Violetta flapped her hand. “All in good time. People are more important than property.” She turned again to Morwenna. “Your mother, Giselle, was born right here in this very room.”

Morwenna was beyond words now. She sat limply while Angus paced up and down the chamber and Violetta told her strange tale.

“When I met Tristan, he was not the Earl of Wolvesley. Nor did he expect to become so. He was merely a cousin to the old earl, second heir after the earl’s own son. I was a country lady. We married for love.” She shrugged at the surprised expression on Morwenna’s face. “And I was less than thrilled when our plans for a simple life together turned to dust, the day he inherited this title.” Her sharp gaze softened as she looked towards the window. “Though it is true, I have been happy here.” She held up a hand towards Angus as he moved to interrupt her. “I know, this is not my story, it is Esme’s.”

“I shall ring for some refreshments,” Angus declared. “Morwenna looks in need of them.”

Violetta tutted. “It is more likely the case that you are in need of them yourself. You think of nothing but your belly.”

“That is not true.” He grinned boyishly, making Morwenna’s stomach flip. “It is not always true,” he corrected, pulling down on a blue cord hanging near the fireplace.

“Esme was with child,” Violetta said unexpectedly. “She was unmarried and she was with child,” she added, making her meaning clear.

Despite her best intentions, Morwenna took another mouthful of wine. “I had guessed as much, long ago.”

Violetta nodded. “The obvious solution was to bring Esme to Wolvesley, where no one knew her story. We let it be known that her husband had died. Giselle was born, and never was there a more lovely baby girl.”

Morwenna leaned forward to place her goblet down on a side table before she drank too much. “Did you ever know my grandfather?” she asked quietly.

“I knew him.” Violetta compressed her lips. “Your grandmother was a wise woman, but even wise women sometimes make mistakes.” She paused. “He was not an honourable man.”

Morwenna clutched her hands together to prevent them from shaking. “Was she unhappy?”

“For a while. Her parents were good people, but they could not see past her indiscretion,” Violetta admitted. “But once Giselle had arrived, we looked only to the future. My son Lucan was born a few years later and the two of them grew up as close as siblings.” She smiled in memory. “They were happy days.”

Morwenna looked up at Angus, who was now standing by the window and looking out “Did you know my mother?”

He shook his head briefly. “I have some memories of Esme’s daughter, but I didn’t know her properly. There were more than ten summers between Lucan and I. Giselle was a young woman by the time I was born.”

“A young woman with gifts,” Violetta interjected, meaning stamped all over her face.

“Mother…”

“I must tell the story as it happened.”

“What kind of gifts?” asked Morwenna, although she already knew the answer.

“It will come as no surprise when I say that Esme had the Sight?” Violetta looked quickly to Morwenna for confirmation. “Both of us, in fact, had some small ability.” She paused and shot a look of pure steel at her looming son who looked poised to interrupt. “You must let me tell this tale in my own words, Angus.”

Angus scratched at his beard, looking for all the world as if he wished he had never brought Morwenna here. “You should be more careful in what you say,” he insisted.

“Morwenna is Esme’s granddaughter. She will not be easily shocked.”

Morwenna tried to speak up, to acknowledge the truth of this, but Angus did not seem willing to hear her. In the small time since Violetta had started telling her tale, their roles had reversed. Morwenna was now strangely calm, whilst Angus quivered with agitation.

“Mayhap. But there are others who may hear.” He nodded towards the closed door and, as if to prove his prediction true, a knock sounded at the other side of the wood. With a warning look at his mother, Angus crossed the room and paused before the panel. “Don’t say another word,” he whispered.

Morwenna exchanged a glance with Violetta before fixing her eyes upon Angus. Whatever was about to happen now?