Page 22 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

H ow he regretted his impulse to ride to Escafeld now that his legs and back were aching, the weather was dull, and his quest had proved futile.

Angus tried to swallow his frustration as Gerrault made enquiries at a ramshackle inn some miles from the poor wooden hut which his beloved Morwenna had once called home. He was standing with their horses, both of whom were exhausted from hours of galloping. A drizzle of rain was running down his neck, towards a chilly gap between his shirt and his now filthy mantle. He could not remember when he last felt more miserable.

“They can offer us accommodation for the night or a change of horses,” Gerrault declared, walking tentatively back towards him.

Angus knew he had been glowering at the boy for the best part of the day. Glowers which were mayhap excessive. After all, none of this was young Gerrault’s fault.

All of it was his fault, and his fault alone.

He harrumphed in response, attempting to sort through his muddled thoughts. Their horses were too tired to continue back to Wolvesley, that much was undeniable. As much as he wanted to be home, preferably in a hot bath, with this whole regrettable incident behind him; Angus had to admit that he too was tired.

And hungry.

And the boy looked fit to drop.

“So be it,” he growled. “We will stay here until the morn.” He took a breath, about to order Gerrault to see to their horses, but then he reconsidered. “Where are the stables?”

Gerrault hid his surprise. “Back there.” He pointed to a weed-strewn courtyard through which a gaggle of chickens were clucking and scratching for food. “I can see them settled, milord.”

“Nay, I shall settle my own horse.” Angus forced his tired legs to start walking. “Mayhap I should tend to your horse as well, Gerrault. ’Tis my fault you are out here in the cold, instead of at Wolvesley where we both belong.”

He flicked a gaze over his shoulder, somewhat gratified to see the youth speechless with astonishment.

Gerrault scratched at his head as he led his horse into the stall alongside Angus. “It has been an honour to ride with you.”

Angus laughed out loud, wincing at the smell of old hay and horse manure. “I have been nothing but rude. When in truth, your directions were invaluable.” He summoned his inner steel. “Thank you.”

The boy almost dropped his saddle onto the cobbles. “Any time, milord.”

Angus laughed again, but mirthlessly. “I do hope there will not be another time.” He settled his saddle against the wall and began to rub down his horse’s coat with a twist of straw. It was many years since he had done this, as a young knight at the Lindum training academy, but the actions were somehow soothing.

“I hope we find Morwenna.” Gerrault’s pale cheeks coloured as he worked.

“Aye, me too, lad.” Angus paused, remembering the cold, hard shock of coming up against the empty hut. Grass had grown over the path to the front door, which clearly hadn’t been opened in many weeks. An air of abandonment hung over the small shack. Standing back, Angus could see holes in the roof and ivy entirely covering one wall.

His resolve had hardened. Morwenna would not come back here.

But where was she?

Please don’t let her be sleeping outside, exposed to the elements , he begged, silently. Don’t let her be injured, or afraid, or have fallen amongst rogues.

He rested his forehead against the horse’s warm shoulder, all too aware that those outcomes were mayhap the most likely.

Morwenna was not in Escafeld. And she was not to be found on any of the paths leading to Escafeld. Angus had dispatched riders in every conceivable direction. No one had seen her since she left Wolvesley.

If only he had gone to her that night.

If only he had stopped her walking away from the paddocks.

If only, if only, if only. The refrain beat around his head like a caged bird.

“She will be alright, milord.”

Gerrault’s hesitant voice cut through his spiralling thoughts.

Angus jerked back to the present to find Gerrault’s grey eyes fixed upon him.

“What makes you so sure?”

Gerrault’s smile transformed his face. “Because she’s Morwenna. I’ve known her all my life and she’s always found a way to survive. She’s stronger than she looks.”

“That I know,” Angus agreed. But no matter her inner strength, he hated the idea of Morwenna being in trouble; either here in the present or back in the past. All he wanted was to protect her from harm. Which was a bitter irony, considering the pain and upset he had caused her.

And to think his ire had risen against this blameless boy.

“I believe that Morwenna may be lucky to have you as a friend,” he said slowly.

Gerrault blushed again, busying himself scooping out oats for the horses.

“She helped me, after my parents died. It’s only right that I look out for her.”

At one time, Angus may have questioned the lad further, intent on finding out to what extent Gerrault wished to look out for Morwenna. But now he was weary to the very bone.

“The horses will do well now until morn. Let us now go inside.” He scratched at his beard then fished in his cloak for a bag of coin. “Here.” He tossed it to Gerrault who caught it neatly, his face a picture of surprise. “Make sure you get a good meal inside you,” he advised. “We have another long ride ahead of us tomorrow.”

*

Angus slept little on the hard, narrow bed in the inn. The floor sloped dramatically to one side and all night he had the feeling that he might roll off his mattress. The next morn, however, dawned bright and it was such a blessed relief to see the sun once again that he felt his mood improving.

He broke his fast with a bowl of thick, gloopy porridge. If his stomach had not been growling with hunger, he would have set it aside. But the innkeeper made it clear that there was no alternative.

He strode through the thin entrance hall to the courtyard, ducking his head under a low beam and blinking as he emerged into the light.

A new day, he thought, resolved to make the best of it.

Gerrault was out before him, making their horses ready. He could hear the lad chatting away as he worked.

For the briefest of moments, Angus tilted his face to the sun and believed that he may yet find solace.

But how can there be solace without Morwenna?

He paused in the middle of the cobbled yard and closed his eyes against the onset of despair. Chickens clucked around his feet and horses whickered to one another, but he closed his ears to these normal, everyday sounds.

How could he sleep and eat and talk without knowing she was safe?

“Good morn, milord.” Gerrault banged the half stable door shut behind him and ducked into a hasty bow.

Angus opened his eyes and regarded his travelling companion. The boy had a healthy colour in his cheeks and a streak of dirt on his green tunic. In one hand he held a horse brush and in the other a hoof pick. Highly aware of his own dishevelled appearance, Angus disregarded the dirt. He could hardly order Gerrault to go and change, either way. They had not thought to bring a change of clothes with them.

“Good morn, Gerrault. How are the horses?”

“Well rested, milord. I will have them ready before long.” Gerrault hesitated. “Will we ride straight back to Wolvesley?”

Angus raised his eyebrows. “Unless you can think of anywhere else Morwenna might have gone. Had she friends, or family nearby?” A jolt of hope surged through him, making his knees weak.

But Gerrault shook his head. “Nay, milord, I cannot think of any. I have been thinking hard, all night.” His voice broke and Angus saw how worried he was.

“Steady, lad,” he advised, putting his own fears and worries to one side and putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You told me yesterday that all would be well,” he added, almost accusingly.

“Aye. Morwenna can look after herself.” Gerrault dashed at his eyes, leaving another streak of dirt across his youthful face.

“We will find her,” Angus promised. “We will ride back to Wolvesley. But then I will send out every man I have.” His hand closed into a tight fist. “I will allow no harm to come to her.”

Gerrault nodded, relief shining in his grey eyes. To him, the word of the Earl of Wolvesley was as good as law.

Angus clapped him on the shoulder and went to heave up his saddle. Tacking up his own horse would provide a welcome distraction and give him something to do with his hands while his mind raced.

Gerrault had believed his fine words. Words which Angus meant with every fibre of his soul.

But how could he track down Morwenna if she didn’t want to be found?

*

Morwenna felt more uncomfortable with every minute that passed.

She had allowed Lady Foxton to persuade her back to Wolvesley.

Now she was sitting in the vast, echoing great hall; dressed like a lady and feeling like a fool.

But she did not regret her decision to come. She had to give herself this chance of happiness. Aye, she could have returned to Escafeld, as she had planned. Emelia would have willingly given her use of a carriage for the journey. But Escafeld did not feel like home anymore. It hadn’t since her grandmother’s passing.

Morwenna had always put faith in her instincts. And her instincts told her, quite pressingly, that Wolvesley was where she needed to be.

Near Angus.

Albeit, this was a side to Wolvesley she had never grown used to. The great hall was a far cry from the paddocks and woodland, where she had felt like she belonged. And Angus was not here.

“Gone for two days,” the Seneschal had declared, bowing his head politely to Lady Foxton and glancing curiously at Morwenna, who he no doubt recognised.

Every time she glimpsed a passing serving girl, she wondered if it was Molly. But even though there was no sign of Isaac’s sister, Morwenna couldn’t shake the notion that everyone here recognised her and knew that her place was with the grooms and stable hands. Not beside the refined and lovely Lady Foxton. Not wearing cream muslin and a fur cloak which made the back of her neck overly warm. “He will come, Morwenna,” Emelia declared serenely, sipping from a goblet of wine.

“How can you be sure?”

“He rode to Escafeld to find you. When he discovers you are not there, he will return.” Emelia twisted in her chair to look out of the high arched window and consider the angle of the sun. “Before nightfall, I would wager.”

Morwenna bit down on her lip, wanting to keep her anxieties locked up inside. If Angus had found her hut in Escafeld, he would have seen with his own eyes how poorly she had lived there.

The tapestries hanging on the plastered walls seemed to leer down and mock her plight. The marble columns had never seemed so smooth; the wooden carvings so intricate. Morwenna leaped to her feet, ignoring the chair which clattered onto the stone-flagged floor behind her.

“What is it?” Emelia leaned forward in concern.

“I must take a breath of air.”

“Morwenna, wait.” Emelia half rose from her chair, but Morwenna had already turned and walked briskly from the hall.

Her skirts flared out behind her as she rushed down the marbled passageway towards the entrance hall. The gleam of golden light from the courtyard shone to her like a beacon. Once outside, she would be herself again.

But her pathway to freedom was barred by a vast dark shape which moved in front of the sun, blocking the light. Unwilling to pause, even for a moment, she ducked to one side, but two strong hands reached out and gripped her shoulders.

“Morwenna?” The familiar voice was raised in wonder. “Is that really you?”

She didn’t have to raise her head to know that she stood beside the earl. The sound of him, the height and breadth of him, the very presence of him all soothed her soul. Like a frantic hammering that had ceased, allowing birdsong to flourish in the sudden silence. Once more, she could breathe. Once more, she was whole.

He had lied to her.

But then he had ridden out to find her.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet the full force of his piercing blue eyes. They were fixed on her face as if they would never look away again.

“It is,” she said, entirely unnecessarily.

“You are here.”

“Aye.”

She couldn’t tear her gaze from his. As if they had a will of their own, her hands crept up towards his stubbled cheeks. At her touch, he closed his eyes.

He looked tired and dirty. Mud smeared his rich cloak and a film of dust coated his golden hair. But no dirt could dull the intensity of his inner light. Nor his energy which hummed from every pore.

“I am so glad you are here,” he whispered. “I was so worried.”

“I was with Lady Foxton.”

His eyes jerked open. “Emelia?”

The sound of her name on his lips caused Morwenna a twinge of discomfort. “She is waiting in the great hall.”

“It is not Emelia that I have been longing to see.” He reached up to clasp her hands in his own, his eyes travelling over her beautiful gown with some surprise. A smile quirked at his lips. “While I was racing around the countryside looking for you, you were at Foxton Hall?”

“’Tis true.”

His face sobered. “Safe?”

“Aye.” She nodded again. “Safe.” She wanted to say more. To tell him that although she had been safe in body, her spirit had been most troubled. But before she could form the words, Angus had dropped to his knees before her.

“I have never been gladder of anything.”

“What are you doing?” she asked in alarm, conscious of the curious eyes of passing servants. Through the open doorway she spied two men-at-arms striding past the fountain on their way to the keep. In another moment, they would be climbing the steps. “You must get up,” she hissed.

“Nay.” He pressed her fingers firmly. “I will stay here, on my knees, until I have said all I have to say.”

“People are staring.”

“I care not.” Resolution shone from his eyes.

“But I do.” She could feel heat travelling up her neck towards her face.

Angus angled his head over his shoulder. “Get out,” he roared towards the courtyard. “Leave us,” he ordered a group of servants on the stairs. He raised his eyebrows at Morwenna. “Better?”

“Not really.”

She was still held in his grip, but for the first time ever she was now looking down at the mighty Earl of Wolvesley. The top of his golden head did not quite reach her shoulders.

“Marry me,” he said. The momentous words tripped from his tongue so easily, she could not believe she had heard him correctly.

Struck dumb, she could only stare down into his beautiful eyes.

“Marry me,” he repeated, more forcefully this time. He tilted forwards until his forehead pressed against Morwenna’s belly. “Please.”

“Angus.” She wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him closer to her. “I cannot marry you,” she whispered, half furious. “You are the Earl of Wolvesley. And I am a nobody.”

“You have lands and property of your own,” he said, steadily. “Ember Hall stands on the northern fringes of the Wolvesley estate. It is a fine house. Your ancestral home. Your rightful inheritance.”

She reeled backwards, unable to make sense of it.

“You do not need to marry me,” he continued, his words falling over one another. “You do not need to marry anyone. You are a woman of means, Morwenna. You can do entirely as you please.”

“I don’t understand.” She tightened her grip of his hands, seeking his strength. When that didn’t stop the hall from lurching, she also fell to her knees.

Angus put his hands on her waist and held her steady. “Lord and Lady Howell came to regret their cruel behaviour towards your grandmother. She was their only heir and they left her everything. Alas, upon their death, Esme had already fled from Wolvesley and despite our very best efforts, we were not able to find her.” His voice rose with passion. “Just think, Morwenna, how different things could have been.”

“That is in the past,” she whispered, unable to contemplate an upbringing so markedly altered from the one she had known. Unwilling to wish away those happy years she’d known with her grandmother. The future though, that was different.

As Angus spoke, the future spread out before her, glittering and inviting.

“I will show you the deeds. They have long been in our safe-keeping.”

She opened her mouth but no words came out. She cared naught for deeds. Angus carried on talking, naming a yearly sum of income from tenant farmers. Morwenna put her hands over her ears and silenced him with a shake of her head.

“Stop, please. It is too much to take in.”

“I kept things hidden from you. And then you disappeared. I vowed I would never do that again.” Angus stroked her face gently. “You are a strong, intelligent woman, Morwenna. I am telling you that from this day forwards, you need never be dependent upon anyone, ever again.”

She swallowed hard. “My grandmother’s house?”

“She grew up there, aye.”

“I never knew.”

“It is yours. All of it. I have checked and re-checked.” Angus paused. “Though Ember Hall is not your only option. If I have understood correctly, there is also a young groom out there who very much admires you.” He cocked his head towards the stable yard.

“Gerrault?” She felt her face break into a smile.

“A fine young man,” he declared.

“The finest.”

His face creased in concentration. “There. I believe that is it. I have told you all I know. But tarry a while, for there is more I must say.

“More?”

“I am a judiciary. I have long put my faith in books and learning. But in the short while I’ve known you, Morwenna, you’ve taught me that instincts are more important than knowledge. When I am with you, my heart fills with happiness. I have longed for the chance of a future side-by-side with you. I have longed for you .” He took a ragged breath. “I love you.”

A strange emotion unfurled in Morwenna’s heart, sending tingling sensations all through her limbs. Was it hope, she wondered?

Nay , it was something stronger than hope.

It was joy .

She rose to her feet, resting her hands on his shoulders, gazing down at the face of the man she loved.

“Does your original offer still stand, my lord?”

His brow creased into a frown. “To train my horse?”

“Nay,” she laughed. “To be your bride?”

“It will always stand.”

She dropped a kiss onto his golden head. “Then I am delighted to accept.”