Page 21 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

H e stalked out of the empty room and found himself face to face with Jacob, concern writ large across the older man’s face.

Concern which rapidly morphed into surprise when he recognised the earl.

“Milord.” He bowed low, his grey cloak falling forwards over his emerald green tunic.

Angus ran a hand through his sodden hair, too distracted to worry about propriety. “I am looking for Morwenna.”

Jacob politely averted his rheumy eyes from the splintered doorway. “Morwenna appears to be missing.” He bit down on his lip. “One of my stable boys brought me the news at first light.”

Angus couldn’t bear to remain on the narrow confines of the stairway for a moment longer. He edged past Jacob and pounded down the wooden stairs, oblivious to the startled horse which skittered out of his way.

Once outside, he placed his hands on his knees and breathed deeply. The air was cool and damp, helping to restore him to his senses.

I must find Morwenna.

But there was one thing he didn’t understand. He swung back around to Jacob, who had followed him more slowly down the stairs.

“Why was Morwenna missed so early in the day?”

Jacob removed his cap, scratched his head and replaced it, looking very much as if he would rather be anywhere but here. “’Twas not Morwenna that was first reported missing.” His mouth clammed shut.

With a sinking heart, Angus realised what he was about to hear.

“Who then?” he barked.

“Sir Henry’s personal groom. A boy named Gerrault.” Jacob fixed his eyes over Angus’s shoulder. “One of my lads, young Isaac, shares a room with him.”

Gerrault.

Angus had seen Gerrault’s affection for Morwenna and foolishly, he’d done nothing about it.

Angus cursed silently. Now a gangling groom had offered Morwenna the future that he had been poised to provide.

“I then discovered this had been pushed under my door.” Jacob handed over a scrap of parchment onto which was inscribed a short message.

Thank you for your kindness towards me.

I am sorry to leave without warning.

Morwenna

Rage unfurled in his stomach. Rage at himself as much as the young groom who had taken the opportunity Angus had been too blind, and too arrogant to seize for himself.

Holy Hell , he swore under his breath.

Jacob gave a small shake of his head and Angus raised his eyes in surprise. But Jacob’s gesture was aimed at a gaggle of stable boys coming out of the barn who promptly turned and retraced their steps. Nonetheless, Angus understood that if they remained here in the yard, they would soon have an audience.

Holding his emotions in a firm grip, he nodded sharply to the stablemaster. “Thank you, Jacob. If you hear news of either Gerrault or Morwenna, please bring it to me directly.”

“Very good, milord.”

Angus took his leave, ignoring the curious eyes following his departure through the yard from the barn doorway.

His early morning search for Morwenna would be all around the castle by noon.

So be it.

He cared only that she was found.

Servants paused in their work and bowed low as he strode past, but for once Angus did not acknowledge their presence. His thoughts went round and round in a tight spiral. Morwenna had left without knowing the true depth of his feelings, nor the true extent of her family’s wealth.

And it is all my fault.

He was a fool.

His feet had brought him back to the keep, where he was not at all sure he wanted to be. He was too restless to sit amongst his men and break his fast in the great hall. Instead, he veered towards the staircase and made a beeline for his mother’s chamber.

Nella blanched when she saw who it was outside the door.

“Lady Violetta has not yet risen from her bed,” she said pointedly, blocking the way in.

Angus ignored her. “Mother, may I enter?” he shouted past the maid.

“Let him in, Nella,” came the reply.

With obvious reluctance, Nella moved her stout frame to one side so that Angus could barrel into the chamber.

Candles had been lit but the drapes were still closed and Angus had to blink in the artificial brightness after the grey gloom outside.

Lady Violetta was sitting up in bed, with a beautiful pale green shawl draped over a white nightrail. Her long hair was loose about her face; her blue eyes alert with interest.

“Whatever has happened?” she asked mildly.

Angus knew he should sit down, but he could not stop pacing. “Did Morwenna come to see you yesterday?”

His mother shook her head. “Nor did you,” she added.

“Sorry,” he managed.

“How was Lady Foxton?” His mother straightened her shawl, watching him like a hawk.

“In good health.” Angus finally sank down onto a chair.

“I am pleased to hear it.”

“You did not come down.” He raised his eyes to her, accusingly.

“No. At my age you can get away with such things. And I thought it best to leave you two alone.” She paused. “To see how events played out.”

Angus let out a mirthless bark of laughter.

“Lady Foxton is a very beautiful, very wealthy woman,” Lady Violetta observed.

“I agree on both counts,” he said hollowly, fixing his gaze on the leaping flames of the fire. “She has gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone.” He nodded. “She has released me from our betrothal.”

“I see.” Lady Violetta clutched at her shawl. “And Morwenna?”

“She has also gone.”

His mother surprised him with a low chuckle. “Perchance I should have come down after all.”

“It is no laughing matter, Mother.”

“No indeed.” She sat up straighter in bed. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“I will write to Lady Foxton, of course.” He was growing overly warm in his mother’s stifling chamber. “But first I must find Morwenna.”

Lady Violetta settled herself back against the pillows. “When you find her, bring her to me. We have much to discuss.”

Angus kissed his mother’s cheek and left the airless room, nodding to Nella who waited in the passageway.

His stomach rumbled as he descended the stairs. Mayhap some food would restore his temper and prepare him for the day ahead. But once in the marbled entrance hall, he was confronted with a stern-faced Henry standing beside a shame-faced youth who looked all too familiar.

Angus halted in his tracks, his mind racing to put these facts together.

Henry spotted him and bowed. “Good morn, my lord.”

“Sir Henry.” Angus stepped closer.

“You remember young Gerrault, my lord?”

“I do.” His voice reverberated around the muralled walls.

Gerrault flushed a darker shade of red, but to his credit, he lowered himself into a low and steady bow.

“Well?” Angus barked, crossing his arms over his shirt.

“Jacob advised that you might like to speak to Gerrault,” Henry said mildly.

“You were missing.” Angus turned to him accusingly.

“Aye, milord, and I’m sorry for it.” He swung his gaze desperately towards his master. “I will make up my work. I have already promised Sir Henry.”

“That is not my concern.” Angus cut through his bluster. “What do you know about the whereabouts of Morwenna?”

The boy swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving in his throat. “I know naught.”

“Do not lie to me.” Angus moved closer, menacingly. “Morwenna left a note.”

“I am not lying, milord.”

“I will have you thrown into the dungeons.” Angus ignored the worried look Sir Henry was giving him.

Gerrault began to visibly tremble. “I swear, milord Wolvesley, Sir Henry. I don’t know where she is now.”

Henry laid a restraining hand on Angus’s arm. “Why don’t you tell us what you do know?”

The boy looked as if he might drop to the floor with fright. “Morwenna came to me yesterday and asked me to help her.”

“Help her with what?” Angus’s voice was icy cold.

“She wanted to leave Wolvesley,” Gerrault blurted out.

A passing group of serving maids heard his outburst and looked up in surprise before veering off into the great hall.

“Should we go somewhere more private?” Henry asked mildly.

“Nay.” Angus couldn’t bear to waste another second, even though Gerrault’s tale made him sick to the stomach. “Carry on,” he barked.

“She asked if I could get her a horse from the stables after nightfall.” The boy’s voice had become little more than a whisper. “And I said I could.”

“So you stole a horse?” Angus raised his eyebrows, remembering the last time Morwenna had attempted such a stunt.

“Nay, milord.” Gerrault pulled himself together. “I was going to,” he admitted, “but I couldn’t, because of the rain. It wasn’t safe for anyone to be out last night.”

“Quite right,” Henry spoke up.

“And then this morn, I went to see Morwenna at first light, but her door was bolted, and I feared she was gone.”

“Gone?” repeated Angus, aware of the echoes of the conversation he had so recently had with his mother. “Gone where?”

Gerrault shrugged helplessly. “That’s why I left the castle. To see if I could find her. But there was no trace.” His voice shook.

“Can you think of anywhere she might be?” Henry was looking from Gerrault to Angus, as if searching for a clue as to why this girl might matter so much to both of them.

“Only one place, my lord. And it’s most unlikely.”

“Tell us,” Angus ordered.

“She might’ve gone back to Escafeld. It’s where we were both raised. Though she wasn’t happy there.” Gerrault sniffed.

“Escafeld.” Angus drummed his fingers against his sleeve. “That’s half a day’s ride from here?” He looked questioningly at Henry, who nodded his agreement.

“I will go after her.” Henry was already edging towards the door. “Gerrault, you must come and show me the way.”

“Nay.” Angus strode past them both. “I will go there myself.”

It had to be him who put this right.

But before he reached the open doorway, reality gripped him by the shoulders. There was something he must do before he raced away from Wolvesley. Never again could he allow unfinished business to come between him and Morwenna.

“Saddle my horse,” he barked at Gerrault, before turning towards his solar. “We will leave as soon as we are able. I will meet you in the yard.

But first, he would write a reply to his friend Emelia.

*

Morwenna slept late. When she awoke, the sun was already high in the sky and streaming through the half open drapes. She lay still, dazed and confused, unable to recall where she was.

How could she be resting on such a comfortable mattress? It felt as if she was floating on a cloud. The pillows beneath her head were soft, the blankets drawn over her were cosy and comforting. Even her toes were warm.

She glanced around the spacious chamber, noting the beautiful carvings on the wooden closet in the corner and the fur rugs spread out on the floor. She was laid upon a high, canopied bed, positioned directly opposite an arched window. Through the opening in the drapes, Morwenna could make out an elegant sweep of lawn.

The rush of memory made her squeeze her eyes tightly shut.

She was at Foxton Hall.

A flood of shame brought heat to her face and neck.

She shouldn’t be here. In fact, this was the very last place she should be.

But here she was. Not only taking shelter in the hall, but sleeping in one of the best chambers, dressed in a nightgown trimmed with lace.

Lace.

Morwenna drew her knees to her chin and pressed her head against them, holding her legs tight as she relived the tumultuous events that had brought her here.

She had crept from Wolvesley Castle when the first rays of morning sunshine brought a slight orange hue to the dark sky. The day had dawned damp and chill, so instead of dressing in her poor gown from home, she’d pulled on her usual groom’s livery, adding a cloak for good measure.

She no longer felt that she owed the earl anything.

She packed her own belongings in a small cloth bag, together with a half-loaf of bread and several hard apples. She had not been able to bring herself to eat anything since the scene in the paddock, but still had sense enough to realise that the situation could not continue for long. Lack of food was already making her vision blur at the edges.

She slung the bag over her shoulder, and marched out, locking her chamber door behind her.

The more time she could buy before she was missed, the better.

The guards on the main gate stood aside to let her pass and Morwenna slipped through, marvelling at how easy it all was. She would make faster time with a horse, but theft was theft. And she didn’t want to drag Gerrault’s name into the mud. His star was still rising at Wolvesley. Nay, ’twas better this way. She raised her head high and moved forward, choosing to follow a narrow cart track through the trees rather than the open paved road.

Last night, despair had twisted into her heart at the relentless rain which conspired to keep her imprisoned in the castle. But now she could see that all would be well.

She would walk as far as she could. Then she would find shelter for the night. One day at a time. The faith that she had so recently learned to place in the earl was far weaker than the faith she had finally learned to place in her own abilities. Never again would she stay in a place that made her unhappy, for want of the courage to leave it.

But the damp air made her sneeze and hot tears squeezed from her eyes as she thought of all she was leaving behind. Fauvel would miss her. Mayhap Gerrault too. And the earl.

She no longer thought of him as Angus.

She no longer allowed herself to dwell on his piercing blue eyes and that wonderful feeling of safety and protection he had exuded. Though she was the suspected witch, ’twas as if he had weaved a spell over her. A spell which caused her to abandon all sense and proper caution.

Morwenna paused to gather her composure and remind herself that thinking like that would not aid her progress. The rumble of carriage wheels came from behind her, and she looked from right to left, unable to see a safe place where she could stand aside and let the vehicle pass. The pathway was rutted, even more so because of the recent downpour. Morwenna stumbled a little in her haste to clamber out of the way. Surely the carriage driver had seen her and would slow down?

Alas, the carriage did not slow. Morwenna’s stomach churned and she flung her arms out towards a tree trunk, but it was too late.

As she fell into the mud, she could hear a high shout of alarm followed by the whinny of a startled horse. Then her head hit the ground, and all was still.

A gentle knock on the chamber door brought her back to the present.

Morwenna looked askance at the door. How should I answer?

“Hello?” she tried.

The door nudged open, and a familiar face peeked through the gap.

Morwenna’s heart sank like a stone as she struggled to sit up. “Lady Foxton,” she managed.

The tall, elegant young woman stepped into the chamber and closed the panel behind her.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“I am pleased to hear it.” She stepped closer to the bed. “There is more colour in your cheeks, but I am still not sure we shouldn’t send for the physician.”

“Nay, please don’t,” Morwenna begged. “I have already put you to enough trouble.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Foxton tutted. “It is no trouble at all.” She folded her hands across a rippling gown of blue silk. “It is pleasant, after all, to have company. Foxton Hall is a vast and empty place, and I have been used to the chatter and bustle of Cheltenham Castle.”

Morwenna pressed her lips together. “I fear I have not been good company, my lady.”

“You had a nasty knock to the head, for which my carriage driver is to blame. If he had not been half asleep at his post, none of this would have happened.”

Morwenna had no wish to heap blame on a man who had made an honest mistake. “I feel stronger now.” She swung her legs to the floor, testing her theory.

“There is no hurry.” Lady Foxton’s voice was soft. “But if you are ready to get out of bed, I shall send a maid in to help you dress.”

Morwenna gave a strangled little laugh. “You are too kind, honestly. But I have no need of a maid.” She raised her eyes to meet the concerned gaze of Lady Emelia Foxton, noting her elaborately coiled hair and the jewels gleaming at her throat. “I am only a servant, my lady. I am unused to such luxuries.”

Lady Foxton bit down on her lower lip. “You are my guest, Morwenna. And I would not see your strength overly tested.” She took a breath. “I have no wish to make you uncomfortable, but I feel there are things we should discuss.”

Morwenna took a deep breath, trying hard to keep panic at bay. She could not discuss Angus with Lady Emelia Foxton. His betrothed.

And what else could it be?

Mayhap Lady Foxton had discerned her feelings for him. Mayhap Morwenna had even said something in the delirium which had seized her for most of yesterday.

She shook her head, resolved to show dignity today at least. “I should not take up any more of your time.”

Lady Foxton came closer and laid a hand on Morwenna’s shoulder. Her grip was gentle but firm and she smelled faintly of rose petals. “I will send in a maid and once you are dressed, we will talk in my parlour.” She smiled slightly. “There is much you need to know.”

*

Morwenna had known many strange outfits in her time. Poor gowns long outgrown, which she had squeezed into to save her grandmother the labours of making or sourcing a new one. The unfamiliar tunic and braccae which had been her uniform at Wolvesley.

But never had she been so uncomfortable as she felt in the beautiful cream dress which Lady Foxton’s maid had unsmilingly laced her into that morning.

Once finished with the dress, the maid had combed out the tangles in Morwenna’s long hair and pinned it back from her face. The pins had scraped against Morwenna’s scalp, but she was too overwhelmed to cry out.

She hardly knew what to think, much less what to say.

The maid was wise in the ways of ladies and how they should behave. She would know that Morwenna was no such thing.

Morwenna herself was under no illusions. She was a peasant from Escafeld. One skilled at training horses. That was all she had ever wished to be. It mattered not that her grandmother was once a titled lady. That was not how Morwenna had known her, and it was not a life to which she had been raised.

So why was Lady Foxton so insistently treating her like a member of the nobility?

Morwenna had followed the maid down endless stairs to a small parlour overlooking the gardens. The parlour was distinctly feminine, filled with fur throws, candles and morning sunlight. Lady Foxton sat at a small round table, eating daintily from a platter of cut bread, soft cheese and glistening grapes.

“Come and join me, Morwenna?” She beckoned towards the chair pulled up beside her.

Morwenna hesitated in the doorway and bobbed into a small curtsy.

Lady Foxton flapped her hands. “I do not like to stand on formality, my dear. Especially not so early in the day.”

Swallowing her anxieties, Morwenna stepped forward. Lady Foxton had been nothing but kind to her, she reminded herself. It would not hurt to pass the time politely in her presence, then make her escape as soon as possible.

“Sit,” she urged.

“Thank you, Lady Foxton.”

“And call me Emelia.”

Morwenna lowered herself as gracefully as she could into the chair. She was unused to such a long, restrictive gown which nipped her at the waist and caught under the polished legs of the chair.

Lady Foxton followed her gaze and tittered slightly. “The gown, of course, is much too long. I’m sorry I had nothing more suitable.”

Morwenna’s cheeks burned and she folded her hands together to stop them from trembling. “It is beautiful. I shall return it at my earliest opportunity.”

“Don’t give it another thought.”

Morwenna’s stomach rumbled, betraying her hunger. Lady Foxton hid a smile.

“Please, eat.” She pushed a trencher towards her. “You must regain your strength.”

Morwenna opened her mouth to apologise yet again for causing so much inconvenience, but instead she found herself reaching for the freshly-baked bread and chewing with enthusiasm.

“I am truly sorry for the trouble I’ve put you to,” she said, after she’d swallowed.

Lady Foxton frowned. “Morwenna, if we are to become friends, I must insist that you refrain from this endless thanking and apologising. It’s exhausting.”

Morwenna paused, another serving of bread raised part-way to her mouth.

“Are we to become friends?” she asked, startled.

Lady Foxton spread out a roll of parchment on the table before her. It was angled so that Morwenna could not read the flowing hand, even though she tried.

“I rather think that depends on you.”

Morwenna put the bread back into the trencher. “Lady Foxton. I don’t understand.”

“Emelia,” she corrected sternly. “And neither do I, not entirely.” She rolled the parchment back up. “There are two things which you should be made aware of.” She pursed her lips. “But I do not believe I am the correct person to tell you about either of them.”

“Please.” The room was becoming unbearably warm. “I should like to know.”

Emelia’s blue eyes danced. “The first, you must know already. God’s blood, I knew the moment I saw you together.”

Morwenna pressed her hands together. “Knew what, exactly?”

“There is no need to be coy, my dear. I am a woman used to spending time amongst women.” Emelia let out a peal of laughter. “I am talking of Angus, of course. That rather beautiful man who we now must call the Earl of Wolvesley.” She paused. “You are in love with him.”

Morwenna thought she might faint clean away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Sorry? Whatever for now?”

She gripped the edge of the table. “I did not know about your betrothal.” Her mouth had become as dry as straw, but she managed to force out the words.

Emelia leaned forwards. “Our betrothal no longer stands.”

The world tilted, Morwenna braced herself against a fall. “How so?”

“Because Angus is in love with you.”

Morwenna took a deep breath, then another. She had all but allowed herself to believe Angus loved her once before. And heartbreak had swiftly followed.

“It cannot be.”

“Why ever not? Angus and I have wealth enough to guide our own destinies. Why shouldn’t we take action to ensure our own happiness?” She gave Morwenna a wry smile. “There is no cause for shame. People fall in love with one another all of the time.”

“Not where I come from.” Morwenna put a hand to her aching brow.

“Ah, you should spend time in Cheltenham, my dear. The place positively rings with declarations of devotion. Some of them are even true.” Emelia’s voice took on a different quality. “I did not break off our betrothal purely for Angus’s benefit.”

Morwenna said nothing. She had no words left to her. She simply waited for Emelia to continue.

“Take a sip of ale, my dear. You look as if you need it.”

Morwenna closed her fingers around the cup and moved it automatically to her lips. Drinking did make her feel marginally better.

“I have been looking for a way out of our betrothal for some time. Not that Angus isn’t a wonderful man. He is. You know it as well as I. Any woman would be lucky to be his wife. The Countess of Wolvesley. Although, when my father agreed on my betrothal, he never guessed I would rise so high. We always thought Lucan’s heir would inherit.” Emelia paused. “There is no rational way to explain why I would not embrace such a life. Only the truth makes sense. And the truth is, my heart beats for another.”

Morwenna sat back in her chair, cradling her cup and digesting this revelation. “So you are not displeased?”

“On the contrary, I am delighted.” Emelia plucked grapes from the bunch as if her words hadn’t altered absolutely everything.

“How did you know?” Morwenna whispered.

“About you and Angus? I could sense there was something between you two when we were in the paddocks with that wild horse I had challenged Angus to tame. I felt sure he would refuse that particular challenge.” She shook her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “But any doubts I had about the two of you were removed by the message I received just this morn.”

“The message you have there?” Morwenna eyed the parchment. She would dearly love to read it.

“Quite so.” Emelia sighed thoughtfully. “Angus has explained a great deal. I had to read it twice to make sense of it all. But I still think that I am not the right person to speak on this.”

Morwenna’s heart pounded.

“And so one question remains, Morwenna. Will you come to Wolvesley with me to speak with Angus?”