Page 16 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

A ngus opened the panel and looked out, overly relieved to find two liveried servants each holding a silver tray of refreshments.

Of course. He had ordered refreshments himself just minutes earlier.

He tugged at his beard again, briefly wondering why the servants were looking at him so askance, seemingly frozen into place in their obscure tableau.

“My lord,” one of them said, his brow clearing. He bowed as low as he could, the task made difficult by his laden tray.

“My lord,” the other echoed.

Angus caught a glimpse of his grey coloured, worn braccae and suddenly their behaviour made sense. He had completely forgotten that he was still dressed as a peasant. He stood aside to let them through, waving apologetically at his mother.

“’Tis only the refreshments,” he declared over his shoulder.

“Enough to feed our army.” His mother raised her eyebrows as the servants jostled for space on the low table.

“Let me help.” Morwenna sprung to her feet and swept away the empty goblets of wine. Angus folded his hands, aware of a pinprick of remorse. He should have gone to their aid afore Morwenna.

How was she to stop thinking of herself as a servant if he allowed her to act the part of one?

He surveyed the latest offering from the kitchens. Sugared plums, honeyed figs, fruit scones, a platter of cold meat– artfully arranged. Plus three different types of cheese and a glass bowl of strawberries. His stomach rumbled in anticipation, but then he remembered the bread and apples he had feasted upon down by the river with Morwenna, and he thought that nothing would ever again taste so sweet.

“Eat,” he urged both of them.

His mother’s expression was indulgent. “Unlike you, I cannot eat at all hours of the day. If I partake of this impromptu feast I shall have no appetite for our evening meal.”

“Morwenna?” He beckoned her forwards. “You must be hungry,” he said, seeing her hesitate.

They had both ridden hard across the fields; that was what he meant. But when he saw Morwenna’s blush, he realised she was thinking of the other ways they had worked up an appetite that afternoon. He popped a berry into his mouth to hide his smile.

“Mayhap I will take something small,” she acquiesced.

“Take a scone,” his mother advised. “They are my favourite.”

Some of the tension in Morwenna’s body eased as she chewed the sweet pastry. For a moment, they were three people enjoying afternoon tea. But there were things that Morwenna needed to know.

“You should return to your story, Mother,” he declared, brushing crumbs from his shirt.

Morwenna looked stricken. “I should return to my duties.”

He held up his hand. “You must stay.” He bit back what he was about to say, that Morwenna would have to give up her lowly position in the stables.

“But the light is already fading and I must attend to Fauvel.”

He opened his mouth to argue but his mother spoke first.

“I shall be quick.” She laid a reassuring hand on Morwenna’s shoulder, making Angus wish that he too could touch her so freely.

“Very well.” Morwenna perched on the edge of the couch, her pale face looking strained all over again. Angus longed to take her fears away. She had no idea how much had changed, for her and mayhap for the both of them. If only his mother would hurry with her tale.

Violetta settled herself on the cushioned chair, leaving Angus to lower himself onto a small stool.

“You were speaking of Giselle,” he prompted.

“Ah yes, Giselle.” His mother rested her chin on her hand. “Had she lived in the time of our forefathers, she could have been a powerful priestess. As it was, her gifts were a continual source of worry for Esme. And for me also.”

“How so?” Morwenna’s voice was tight with apprehension.

“The small gifts I yield are not constant. My Sight comes and goes. It does not define me. Esme was much the same. We were both normal women, able to lead normal lives.” She tightened her lips and looked directly at Angus. “I understand, my boy, that my actions recently have not been conducive to leading a normal life. I can only hazard a guess that during these weeks of mourning I have received such strong visions as Giselle was wont to experience all the time. So vivid and so affecting that one cannot keep them under wraps.” She blinked away the tears shining in her eyes, showing with a brief shake of her head that she did not require assistance or sympathy from him. She cleared her throat and continued. “Giselle had tremendous power, even as a small child. She could talk to spirits and predict the future, always with uncanny accuracy.” His mother paused and an expression of pain washed over her. “Even when the future was not something one wanted to hear about.”

Angus leaned forward, drawn into the tale. He had not anticipated such detail. Morwenna was listening closely too, her face rapt with attention.

“Giselle predicted your father’s illness, but could do naught to avert it.”

“I didn’t know that.” He was moved to lay a hand over his mother’s. “It must have been a difficult time.”

“A terrible time. But things were about to become so much worse.” His mother took a breath. “Giselle’s Sight couldn’t be hidden. It was an open secret in Wolvesley. The servants used to come to her quite often for advice or to speak to those they had lost. We had no fear for her, because she had the protection of Tristan. And none would dare move against the mighty Earl of Wolvesley.”

Angus held his breath, his mind racing to join the snatches of information and memories he had from this time.

“But then the witch hunts started?” he guessed, causing Morwenna to flinch.

His mother nodded. “A frenzy of fear spread across the North. And Wolvesley was not immune. Especially when Tristan’s health began to fail.”

“Lucan was still a boy,” Angus interjected.

“He had just sixteen years when his father passed.” His mother put a hand to her heart as if the memory still pained her. “He was young. And it left us vulnerable.” She flicked her blue eyes to Angus. “Do you remember what happened in the village?”

He nodded, nausea twisting in his stomach as he recalled the old woman wrongly accused of murder. “The burning.”

Morwenna let out an exclamation of shock and clasped a hand in front of her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning in his seat towards her. If only he could take her in his arms.

“It was not your doing, Angus,” his mother said, her voice steely. “And it was not mine. Nor was it Lucan’s. Your brother tried everything he could to restore order, but the judiciary was a weak-willed man, too keen to give in to the mob.”

“But Lucan gained control in the end, didn’t he?” Angus had always beheld his elder brother as all-powerful. This image of a young man out of his depth did not sit easily with him.

“Aye, he did,” his mother said heavily. “But by then it was too late. Esme had already fled from here, taking Giselle with her. I begged her to stay, but she feared for Giselle’s life. And she did not want to bring further trouble to our family.” She shook her head, as if clearing it of terrible memories. “Esme and I had been careful to remain above suspicion, but if Giselle was publicly accused of witchcraft, it would only be a matter of time before we were considered guilty by association.”

The chamber fell into silence at this. No sound from outside could permeate the thick stone walls and the three of them were lost in their own thoughts for a long while. The next person to speak was Morwenna.

“What happened to my mother and grandmother after they left?”

Violetta turned anguished eyes towards her. “That I don’t know, my dear. My story ends here.” She clutched her hands together in distress. “I tried to trace Esme. I tried to get a message to her, to tell her that everything had settled down and she could come home. Over the years, I have tried many times. But no one could ever find her.”

Morwenna bit her lip, her eyes overly bright. “Your messengers mayhap did not look for her amongst the poor folk of Escafeld.”

His mother dropped her gaze. “That I cannot say.” She fished for a handkerchief and pressed the embroidered fabric to her eyes. “Pray, may I ask you, what happened to Giselle?”

Morwenna cleared her throat. “I never knew her. My grandmother told me she did not survive childbirth.”

“And your father?” Violetta asked softly.

“They were married less than a year. He died in an accident bringing in the harvest.” Morwenna’s voice became quieter. “His leg was cut with a scythe and infection set in. Even my grandmother could not save him.”

“Oh, my dear.” Violetta pressed the handkerchief to her eyes once more.

Frustration was building up inside Angus. He wanted to help but knew not how. In the end, he stood and edged around the table, which was still littered with the detritus of their refreshments. But standing, he was overly conscious of how he loomed over the seated ladies. Despite his power and wealth, in that moment he felt strangely impotent. He wandered over to the window and gazed unseeingly out at the darkening lawns.

He had brought Morwenna to his mother to see if his wild suspicion was correct. Such euphoria had filled his heart when he first glimpsed the familiar outline of the Ember coat of arms. If it meant what he thought it meant… then there was a possibility for he and Morwenna to be together.

As the granddaughter of Lady Esme of Ember Hall, no longer would Morwenna be a servant in his employ. Down by the river, with the memory of her sweet body still imprinted on his fingertips, this singular fact had blossomed heavily with significance and meaning. But now he saw that there was so much more he hadn’t considered.

Her personal history. Her sense of self. His own mother’s feelings. Everything.

But still, the most important part of the story was yet to be told.

He cleared his throat. “We have items that belong to you, Morwenna.”

His mother spoke up. “Yes, my dear. Personal possessions of your grandmother’s. I shall look them out for you. They should be yours.”

Angus frowned heavily. He was not talking of mere personal possessions. But when he turned to face the women, he saw his mother shaking her head at him and Morwenna blinking away tears. His flare of impatience drained away.

“There is no hurry, I suppose.”

“No indeed.” Violetta put a comforting arm around Morwenna’s shoulders. “I can only imagine how you are feeling, Morwenna. It must be a lot to take in.”

Morwenna nodded shakily and Angus knew another wave of frustration, but this time it was because convention prevented him from going down on his knees in front of her and taking her in a strong, comforting embrace.

His mother said quietly, “I should like to hear the end of the story, as you know it, one day. If it will not pain you too much.”

Morwenna swallowed. “My tale ends in sorrow, my lady. My beloved grandmother passed from this world last winter.”

Violetta’s intake of breath was sharp, but she remained still and composed. “I had feared as much,” she said.

“There is comfort in knowing she did not suffer overly long.”

Violetta passed her a fresh handkerchief and Morwenna dabbed her eyes. Angus folded his arms, his mind searching for a way he could offer assistance. All at once, he grasped it.

“Night is falling,” he declared, his voice too loud after the quiet confidences of the chamber. “You stay here, Morwenna. I shall go myself and see to Fauvel.” He strode to the door, pleased to be releasing so much pent-up energy.

But Morwenna shook her head and rose to her feet. “Nay.” Her voice was strong. “It is my job to take care of Fauvel. I shall take my leave.”

Angus shot his mother a look. She needed to tell Morwenna that she had no further cause to continue paid employment. That she was their guest now; no longer their servant. But Violetta only stood up slowly and took Morwenna’s hands in her own.

“You will come on the morrow? Or the next day? Whenever you are ready?” There was an unfamiliar catch in her voice. “I should like to hear more about your childhood with Esme.”

Morwenna nodded, but Angus could see her desire to leave writ large across her face. “I will.”

“Bless you, my dear,” Violetta said. “I am mighty glad we have found you.”

“Thank you.” Morwenna dropped into a small curtsy, the sight of which made Angus bristle with impatience all over again. “My lord,” she whispered, taking her leave.

He longed to say something, anything, to delay her departure. But in less than a moment, Morwenna had slipped past him and disappeared from the chamber.

No sooner had the door closed behind her than he turned on his mother.

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

Violetta walked unsteadily over to the window and leaned upon the ledge, looking out. “Whatever do you mean?”

“About the house, Ember Hall. And the land. It is all rightfully hers.”

“Of course.” Violetta raised her watery blue eyes towards him and with a wrench he saw they were filled with tears. “Do you think I intend to keep them from her?”

He scratched at his beard. “I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell her? Morwenna is a woman of means and she is out there, right now, rubbing down my horse.” Again, a terrible feeling of impotence washed over him.

Violetta’s look turned sharp. “I would guess that fact bothers you more than it bothers her. It is more likely the familiarity of the work will bring her some peace.”

The validity of her insight stung him, but did not abate his frustration. “It is not right to allow the granddaughter of your closest friend to sleep in a loft above the stables.”

He had hoped to shock her, but saw at once he had failed.

Violetta shook her head slowly, as if he were the one who did not understand the situation. “What would you have preferred? Should she have dined with us in the great hall?”

“Aye,” he ground out, teeth clenched together. That could have marked the transition from Morwenna being a servant he should not claim, to a lady sitting in her rightful place—by his side.

“Dressed in her groom’s livery?”

“You could have found her something more suitable.”

Violetta’s gaze held him like a rabbit caught in a trap. “You’re right, of course. I could have lent her a gown. We are not dissimilar in height or weight. And then that poor young woman could have sat with us on the dais, for all of Wolvesley to see and judge. She would have been quite comfortable there, I’m sure.”

Angus sank down onto the cushioned chair and rested his forehead on his hands. “Mayhap that would not have been for the best.”

“Mayhap not. You saw for yourself how she could not wait to get away.” Violetta was still looking at him searchingly.

“What is it?”

She came to sit beside him on the couch, her long skirts rustling. “Two things, Angus, that I must say as your mother.”

“I am listening,” he said, feigning patience.

She put a jewelled hand upon his knee. “Firstly, you must learn to look beneath the surface of things. Life is not all about a public show.”

This was so close to Morwenna’s earlier comments about putting on a spectacle that Angus was rendered momentarily speechless.

“And the second?” he managed.

She put her head to one side, watching his reaction. “Tread carefully with Morwenna.”

“Whatever do you mean?” He all but jumped up from the chair.

“Only that I can tell the girl means something to you.” She held up a hand to ward off his denial. “I am not suggesting anything improper has occurred. I hope I know you better than that.”

“Nothing has happened.”

A half-truth.

She surprised him by leaning closer and resting her hand over his heart. He could feel the warmth of her touch through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I believe a great deal may have happened in here.” Violetta leaned back and straightened her shoulders. “I will remind you of point number one.”

Angus sighed. “There is little I can say, save that my intentions towards Morwenna are entirely honourable.” He got to his feet, unable to sit still while such emotions surged within him. “But how can I proceed when she does not yet know that she is a woman of means?”

“You can’t,” Violetta answered swiftly. “Because, believe it or not my dear boy, you are not the most important person in this. Morwenna has had a shock. Telling her everything in one sitting would overwhelm her entirely.”

He scratched at his beard, pacing from the unlit fireplace to the darkening window. Soon the servants would be coming in to light the candles.

He hated to admit that his mother was right.

Furthermore, what the dowager Countess of Wolvesley had the grace not to say, was that he was still betrothed to another.

But for Angus, the greatest impediment towards his future happiness with Morwenna had already been cleared. He would take the necessary steps to break his understanding with Emelia. If he were a gambling man, he would wager that the lady would feel mostly relief at the end of their engagement.

“We don’t even know what condition Ember Hall is in,” Violetta continued, breaking into his thoughts. “When was it last inspected?”

Angus pulled at his beard, trying to remember. He had long been entrusted with the safekeeping of all Wolvesley property, but these last few months had disrupted his careful routines. “Perchance not since the end of winter.”

“What point is there in raising the girl’s hopes only to quash them if her family home has fallen into squalor and disrepair?”

“Then we must dispatch someone at once to find out.”

“Indeed.” Violetta smiled at him. “That is a much more sensible decision.”

He was already walking towards the door. “I shall send a messenger, right away.”

“Angus?”

He paused, one hand on the door handle. “Yes?”

“The first thing you should do is change out of those ridiculous clothes.”