Page 18 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

T he morning light was too bright, and his back was pressed inexplicably against a cold, hard wall.

Angus emerged from a deep sleep feeling cramped and uncomfortable. He put up a hand to shade his eyes from the unaccustomed light and immediately encountered something soft and warm by his side. A smile broke over his face as he realised where he was.

Morwenna shifted on the pillow, drawing long strands of blonde hair away from her face.

“Good morrow,” he whispered.

For an age, he had wanted to be close to her. Now they were so close on Morwenna’s narrow bed that not an inch could separate them.

“You’re finally awake,” she teased. “I thought I would have to get up and leave you here.”

He placed a hand on her cheek and rose up to press a kiss against her parted lips. “Now why would you do a thing like that?”

“Some of us have work to do,” she retorted, pulling the thin blanket so that it covered the parts of her Angus most wanted to see.

Her bantering words hit him like a pail of cold water, banishing the last remnant of sleep. “Nay,” he said, mayhap too forcefully given the tense expression that came over Morwenna’s sea-green eyes.

She answered steadily. “Fauvel is yet to be ridden. My work is not complete.”

“I can find another trainer to work with Fauvel.”

But he saw at once that he had said the wrong thing.

“I would prefer to finish what I have started. Fauvel trusts me, but he is not yet ready to trust others.”

Angus felt frustration building inside of him. Morwenna should be a guest in the castle with her own chamber and an allocated lady’s maid. Instead, she was sleeping in a draughty room above the stables, which let both daylight and chill winds in through any number of cracks.

After all she had learned yesterday, after all that had passed between them , she was still preparing to dress in her groom’s livery and attend to his horse.

“Morwenna,” he began, trying to soften his voice. “It is not proper.”

Her green eyes gazed right into his soul. “You are embarrassed.”

“’Tis not that.”

But he could not deny that she was right. The impropriety was inside his mind, rooted in his long-ago vow to steer clear of relationships with anyone not of his social class.

She turned to face the bare wall. “Yet I did not ask you to come here. And I did not demand that you stay.”

The situation was slipping beyond his control. He tried to take hold of her hand but she snatched it away.

“I came willingly, and I stayed willingly, and I would do it all over again.” He spoke from his heart and hoped he was reaching her. “I want to give you everything, Morwenna. I want to restore you to your family’s rightful place. And that is not in the stables.”

Morwenna hugged her knees, her face still turned away from him.

“I would like to court you,” he continued, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. “I want to sit by your side in the great hall. I want us to be together.”

He had ne’er opened his heart to anyone before and now he felt weak with the possibility of rejection.

But Morwenna’s small hand crept slowly over his. He grasped it like a lifeline.

“And you cannot court a woman wearing your groom’s livery.”

He found himself laughing, partly with incredulity but mostly with relief at this acknowledgement of their shared future. “I have oft said that the Earl of Wolvesley should be able to do as he pleases. Mayhap I could try it.”

Although even the Earl of Wolvesley could not court two women at once. He must write to Emelia before the day was out.

Morwenna sighed, tilting her head so her beautiful eyes looked straight into his. “You are right. I see it, though I do not like it. But there is one thing I must have.”

“Name it.”

She held his gaze. “One more day.”

He didn’t want to agree. But he could see by the resolution in her face that he had little choice.

“How do I know that at the end of this one day, you will not ask me for another?”

She shrugged her slender shoulders. “Fauvel is ready to be ridden. After today, if I have not done so, then I will have failed in the task you set me. Either way, my work here will be all but finished. If it pleases you, I will select one of the grooms to continue working with Fauvel.”

Aye, it pleased him very much.

“One more day.” It felt like a lifetime. “But you must promise me that you will come to the keep and meet again with my mother. There are things we must discuss.”

“Afterwards,” she promised, squeezing his hand.

He nodded, resigning himself to the sequence of events. “May I watch your work with Fauvel?”

She looked surprised. “You are welcome of course. Come to the circular paddock at noon. Though I am not sure it will be of interest.”

He leaned closer to her. “Everything you do is of interest to me.”

Morwenna blushed prettily. “I hope that is not true. I must rise up and dress. Will that be of interest?”

“Most definitely,” he growled, part of him very interested indeed. Alas, the sound of the horse below whickering for his morning oats stopped him in his tracks. He groaned out loud, dragging a hand through his tousled hair. “I have stayed overly long.”

“I could find some more groom’s livery and you could leave in disguise?”

“Nay,” he smiled, approving of her ingenuity. “I have already said that we will not creep around in disguise again.” He sprang from the bed, aware and uncaring of his nakedness, although he was not expecting the sharp autumnal chill which quickly clamped around his body. “God’s Bones, it is like the depths of winter in here.”

Her laugh was like a tinkle of chimes. “Winter is much colder, I assure you. Especially in a wooden hut.”

He had located his clothing and was in the process of pulling on his shirt, but he paused to consider her words. In the cool light of morning, he could see more of her room than he could last night. The room was sparsely furnished, with a simple washstand and a small wooden closet in one corner. But the walls and door were solid and strong. Unlike a hut, he imagined, where both the elements and ill-intentioned intruders could wander through at will.

“Is that truly where you live, Morwenna? In a hut?”

She nodded. “Aye. And I make no pretence otherwise.” She averted her eyes from the part of him that was still unclothed; the part most directly within her eyeline. “So you see, my room here above a stable is grand indeed.”

He grunted noncommittally, quickly stepping into his breeches and fastening his mantle about his neck. He had never before tried to picture her life before she came to Wolvesley and now he felt humbled by what he had learned. Morwenna spoke nicely and had undoubted skills with horses. He knew, of course, that she would not have been raised with fine clothes and comfort, but this new knowledge sliced into him.

Once decent, he perched again at the end of her bed and took hold of her hand. “Your past has made you who you are.” He chose his words carefully. “And I would not change that. But the future can be different.” He swallowed. “I want it to be different.”

Silently, he willed her to accept.

A smile broke over her face, making his heart glad. “I begin to believe you may be right.” She flinched as a tuneful whistle floated up from the stable yard. “The grooms are already up.” Her green eyes widened. “How will you return to the keep unseen?”

He had already thought about this. “I do not need to make it all the way to the keep; merely to get away from here without being spotted.” He leaned forwards and kissed her cheek, reluctant to leave but knowing he must. As he glanced out of her small window, he saw the yard already springing into life. Horses looked over their half-stable doors, ears pricking to the sound of buckets being filled with feed. “’Till noon, Morwenna.”

“’Till noon.”

Angus slipped quietly down the wooden stairs, hoping with every fibre of his being that he would not encounter the stable boy attending to the horse below. Happily his luck held; the horse stood alone in the stall, looking only mildly surprised to encounter such a grand visitor before receiving his morning oats.

Angus took a deep breath and peered out into the yard. The morning sunshine was battling a greyish mist which clung stubbornly to the chilly air. If he could emerge from here without being seen, then Morwenna would be saved from suspicion. He saw no one about and took his chance, striding out and swinging the half wooden door closed behind him. He set off at a jaunty pace, his cloak billowing around his calves as he cut through the yard making a beeline for the archway. With every stride he took away from Morwenna’s quarters, the safer he felt she was.

He had all but reached the archway when Jacob bowled through it, startling in surprise to see his lord and master at such an hour. He jumped to the side and bowed.

“Good morrow, milord.”

“Good morrow, Jacob. I’m just out for an early morning walk.”

“Very good, milord.”

Angus nodded curtly and strode past, cursing himself for explaining his presence. Mayhap Jacon would have thought nothing of the encounter, but he might be more prone to pondering it now.

Angus was unused to subterfuge. He did not enjoy deception, and his heart sang to think that after today, he would have no need of it.

He bounded up the stone steps to the keep, relieved to be stepping inside, away from the clinging mist and ominous grey light. He had intended to go straight to his chamber to wash and change, but the enticing aroma of freshly-baked bread lured him instead to the great hall which was already filling with people. Just through the doorway, he encountered Sir Henry.

“Henry,” he boomed jovially. “Come and break bread with me.”

“My lord.” Henry gave a small bow.

“Come.” Angus urged him towards the dais, where the table was already laid with fresh bread, figs, honey and soft cheese.

Once seated, he turned to his friend and ally. “What plans do you have for the day?”

Henry was spreading a hunk of bread with sticky honey. “Gerrault and I had planned to ride out towards the Darkmoor borders with a few of the men.”

Angus paused, a fig part-way to his mouth. Gerrault was the tall youth who had feelings for Morwenna. But Angus felt more inclined to forgive him for this, now that his own future with Morwenna felt more secure. “What takes you to Darkmoor?”

“We’ve heard reports of unrest. A few skirmishes. Nothing too serious.”

Angus chewed ruminatively. “Those are Otto Sarragnac’s lands.”

Henry nodded. “I have already sent messengers to the Earl of Darkmoor to ask for his assistance, should we need it.”

“He will give it freely.”

“That I know.” Henry took a swig of ale. “It is not from the North that we look for threat, but to the West.”

“And how are our friends in Powys?”

“Quiet.” Henry grinned, tearing off another hunk of bread. “And by the look of the morn, they will remain so for a while at least.”

Angus frowned. “How so?” He spoke through a mouthful of bread and cheese.

“The weather is changing. A storm is expected before nightfall. I am already re-considering our plans. Perchance we will train with the men as usual today, and journey to Darkmoor once the bad weather has passed.”

Angus clapped him on the back, hastily apologising when the experienced knight half-choked on his food. “Whatever you think is best, Henry. I would not want you caught out in the open in a downpour.”

“Nay, my lord. I am not as young as I once was.”

“Nonsense.” Angus reached for some customary banter, then reconsidered. He took a mouthful of ale and then spoke quietly. “I owe you a debt of gratitude for taking on the leadership of my men.” He stumbled a little over the words, still thinking in his own mind that the Wolvesley army belonged to Lucan.

“It is an honour, truly.” Henry surprised him by grasping his arm. “I will lead your men for as long as you wish.”

“Forever then,” he quipped lightly.

“Nay, not forever.” Henry shook his greying head. “Do not forget that I rode out alongside your father.”

“I do not forget it.” Angus felt a twinge of guilt. “Would you prefer to be sitting by your fireside on a damp day like today?”

Henry laughed out loud, making several men below turn their heads towards the dais. “Not in the slightest. But there are two things I know to be true. May I speak freely?”

Angus nodded and waved a hand for him to continue.

“The first is that my strength will not last me many more years. The second is that in times of peace, your men are happy to follow my orders. But in times of war…”

A beat of silence fell between them.

“They would prefer to follow the Earl of Wolvesley,” Angus finished for him.

“Exactly so.” Henry paused and said emphatically, “They would prefer to follow the man whose standard they bear.”

Angus made a noncommittal noise, his head beginning to pound. “I need a little more time, Henry, to secure things here. Are you telling me that war is coming?”

“Nay, my lord.” Henry answered quickly, then lowered his voice. “But we both know that our King has seen more years of battle than even myself. Moreover, he is still grieving the Queen’s death. Times of unrest may be coming to our land.”

“If so, we shall be ready for them.” Conviction grew within Angus. He had found the woman he wanted to marry. He and Morwenna would secure the de Neville line at Wolvesley.

He and Morwenna would keep his mother safe from suspicion.

With a warm thrill of recognition, he realised he could have no better ally in that goal.

“I do not doubt it.” Henry dabbed his lips and pushed his plate away. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I will be about my day.”

“Good day to you.”

Angus left the great hall just moments after Henry. Having satisfied his hunger, he was now impatient to see if the messenger he had sent to Ember Hall had returned.

And impatient also to despatch another messenger to Emelia. He may be confident in his suspicions that the lady also wished to be freed from their long arrangement, but he could not countenance the idea of her arriving in Wolvesley before he had a chance to forewarn her of his intent.

That would be poor treatment indeed, of an old and important friend.

He bounded up the staircase and all but ran along the gallery to his mother’s chamber.

Nella opened the door after his first knock.

“Milord.” She bobbed into a stiff curtsy.

“Nella,” he greeted her. “How is Lady Violetta faring?” he asked quietly, glancing behind her to check his mother was not lurking nearby.

“Much more herself,” Nella whispered. “Her nightmares have ceased and she is held less in the grip of her visions. I begin to hope that the danger has passed.”

Angus smiled in genuine relief. “That is what I too hope.”

“I will leave you to talk.” Nella curtsied once more and then stood back to allow him inside.

“Good morrow, Mother.”

“Angus.” Violetta turned towards him, pleasure stamped on her face. “What a surprise. Will you break your fast with me?” She gestured to a silver tray laden with the same fare Angus had already enjoyed in the great hall.

He pursed his lips regretfully. “I have already eaten.”

“No matter.” She brushed aside his apologies and took a place at the small round table. “Join me, at least.”

“Of course.” He sat down in the cushioned chair by her side, noting his mother’s steady hand as she cut into the cheese. She was dressed in a beautiful gown of grey silk, with pale green flashes at the sides. Her long white hair was pinned into a neat chignon and, as always, jewels flashed on her fingers and about her neck. “Did you sleep well?” he asked politely, knowing it would not do to launch straight into his questioning.

“Very well.” Violetta flashed him a dazzling smile. “Lucan came to see me.”

All of Angus’s hopes and certitude drained away. He felt diminished by her words, as if a heavy weight had descended from the sculpted ceiling and landed directly upon his shoulders.

“Really, Mother?”

She nodded happily, taking small bites of bread. “He came to tell me that everything would be alright.”

Angus took a steadying breath. “In what regard?”

The dowager countess pressed her lips together. “He was not specific,” she said reprovingly.

“I see.”

Angus did not see at all. But then he gave himself a little shake. He had told Morwenna last night that he had no qualms about her ancestry. Yet here he was, fearful of his own mother’s announcements.

“I am glad you take comfort from it,” he added quickly.

Violetta treated him to a smile. “What have you really come to see me about?” She held up a hand and continued before he could speak. “Let me guess. Could it be a beautiful young woman named Morwenna?”

Despite himself, Angus felt a flush of embarrassment, which he pushed away as ridiculous. “Her beauty has nothing to do with it.”

“You’re right, of course.” Violetta reached for a handful of fresh berries. “Although I do believe her beauty has a great deal to do with your particular interest in this matter.” She popped the berries into her mouth, feigning a deep interest in the dull view out of the window.

He held up his hands in surrender. “If you must know, I have some feelings for Morwenna.”

“Some feelings?”

“Strong feelings,” he corrected. It was as if the years had been stripped away and he was sitting before his mother as a distraught youth, confessing to unrequited love for Johanna the tanner’s daughter.

He pushed the memory away. Back then, Violetta had correctly divined that he would eventually recover from that particular heartbreak. But if she made the same pronouncement now, he would counter it.

The dowager countess fixed him with a steely blue gaze. “And what are your intentions towards my friend’s granddaughter?”

“Entirely honourable,” he spluttered, taken by surprise.

“You intend to marry the girl?”

“I do.”

His heart pounded as he waited for her judgement.

Violetta smiled and patted his arm. “I am delighted for you both.”

Angus frowned in bewilderment. “That’s it? You’re delighted?”

“Esme was once my dearest and most loyal friend. Why would I not be pleased?”

Angus cleared his throat. “There is the matter of my existing betrothal…” his words trailed away.

Violetta inclined her head. “I was never convinced that was a good match. And Lucan himself was too young and inexperienced at the time to judge well.” She fixed him with a piercing stare. “My expectation is that you will deal with this situation in a manner which leaves Lady Emelia with her dignity intact.”

“Of course.” Angus nodded emphatically.

“The Foxtons have long been allies of the de Nevilles. The lady must not be treated ill.”

“I will do all I can to alleviate any awkwardness.”

“Well then.” His mother’s smile was serene.

Angus hesitated, his mind leaping back to the person who most occupied his thoughts. “And you have nothing to say of Morwenna’s lineage?”

Violetta shrugged. “You forget that I was once merely the daughter of a knight. Your dear father was distant cousin to an earl. Lineage did not loom large for either of us, not until the terrible Battle of Cadfan, when losses were great and Tristan was declared the last surviving heir to the Wolvesley estate.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “I begin to believe it might all be possible. I might marry Morwenna and we might be happy.”

Violetta patted his arm again. “You are right to value happiness. Tristan and I were happy together, right until the end. So were Lucan and Angelique.” Her brow clouded with sorrow.

“But what of Ember Hall?” Angus pushed on, not wanting to revisit such painful memories. “I must see if we have received news from the messenger.”

“Angus, my dear, your impatience does you credit. But you forget, Ember Hall is many miles distant. Even riding all through the night, our messenger has no hope of returning until much later today.”

His hand thumped gently on the table, making the dishes tremble. “I do not enjoy waiting.”

“You never have,” his mother observed drily. “But are some things not worth waiting for?”

His lips curved into a smile. “You may be right.” The distant rumble of a carriage rolling into the courtyard made him prick up his ears. “What is this? We are not expecting visitors today?”

“No indeed.” Violetta pushed back her chair and went over to the window, craning her head to the right so she could see the sweep of driveway.

Angus impatiently ran through his list of jobs for the day. The first thing he must do was write to Emelia. Once that was done, he could visit Morwenna in the paddocks to witness her finally proving that Fauvel was a horse that could be ridden. Next, he must ensure she came back here to speak with his mother about Ember Hall. Even if the messenger had not yet returned, he decided, the news of her inheritance was too important to wait.

Once Morwenna was fully furnished with all the details of her family’s past, he would ask the question he longed to give voice to.

If Morwenna will do me the great honour of becoming my wife.

Angus could not deny the thrill of excitement which gripped him. He was as giddy as a boy in the school room. The last thing he wanted right now was an unexpected guest.

As if from a great distance, he heard his mother’s sharp intake of breath.

“What is it?”

Violetta cleared her throat and turned to face him. “It is a carriage.”

He made an impatient gesture. “I could have guessed as much, Mother.”

“A carriage bearing the Foxton standard.” She put a hand to her heart. “Angus, I believe your unexpected visitor is Lady Emelia Foxton.”