Page 23 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

Seven years later…

T he golden-haired little girl stood in the centre of the long gallery and waited, as still as a statue made of stone. After many seconds had passed, she closed her eyes and opened her arms, palms facing up to the vaulted ceiling. For a long while, nothing happened. The house stood silently watching, the air thick with anticipation. A silvery light filtered into the gallery from the high arched windows, illuminating the wooden carvings on the panelled walls and giving the whole scene an ethereal glow.

But ethereal glow or not, a woman pregnant with her fifth child could only crouch beneath a banister for so long without running out of patience.

Morwenna was just about to stand up and stretch her aching legs, when she realised the light had changed. It was no longer silvery and faint, now bright patches of gold blazed from torches affixed to the walls. Lively music filtered up from the hall below, not quite drowning out the excited whisper of young children. She breathed in the heady scent of cloves, roasting meat and smoke from the fire. Then she blinked, and the scene dissolved.

Morwenna steadied herself against the cold banister as she stood upright and caught her breath. She could only see Frida, her oldest child, stood in the centre of an otherwise empty gallery. Ember Hall was now unoccupied and unfurnished. The torches which had once blazed from these ancient walls had been long extinguished. There were neither rugs nor rushes on the floor; no children to whisper excitedly to one another.

But before her eyes, Frida rose onto her tiptoes. Her face was tipped upwards, her rosy lips partially open.

Morwenna had seen enough.

“Frida de Neville, are you up here?” she cried, pretending to have just ascended the wide, creaking stairs.

Frida came back to the present quite readily. “I’m here, Mama. I’m exploring.” She skipped to a circle of light by a window and twirled in the dust motes.

“And what have you found?”

The child shrugged. She had Morwenna’s green eyes and slight build, but her father’s easy air of confidence. “Not much. It’s just a lot of empty rooms.”

“Well, that is to be expected, daughter, in an empty house.” Morwenna smiled indulgently. “The family who lived here since you were but a babe have moved south to join the court of the new King.”

Which was why they had come; to inspect the property now that it was no longer tenanted. That and to fulfil one of Violetta’s last requests. In her final days, she had urged her beloved daughter-in-law to return to her ancestral home.

“My grandchildren should run in the fields above Ember Hall,” she had breathed.

Morwenna blinked away salty tears at the memory. Violetta had provided kind and unfaltering support as Morwenna navigated her first daunting days at the helm of Wolvesley Castle. Her presence had shone like a gentle light, guiding them ever forward. The dowager countess had found deep pleasure in her role as a grandmother; the chortling laughter of her grandchildren keeping her sharp mind tethered to this world. She had passed from them peacefully, just days after the Twelfth tide decorations were taken down.

“But Esme says there’s something far more exciting on top of the hill outside.”

Morwenna came back to the present with a frown. She was still not fully comfortable with hearing her daughter casually evoke her grandmother’s name; but to Frida, Esme was not an old lady but a fun-loving six-year-old.

The same age as Frida herself.

An imaginary friend , Angus would laughingly explain to anyone who heard Lady Frida de Neville chattering away to a little girl that no one else could see.

Mayhap he was right, Morwenna sometimes mused. Or mayhap little Frida really was conversing with the returned spirit of her grandmother.

Morwenna folded her arms across her chest, drawing her cloak closer to ward off a slight chill. Outside, the first green shoots were beginning to poke through the frozen ground, but winter had not yet released them from its grip.

“Where is this hill?” she asked lightly, crossing the gallery to stand before a window.

Frida came to stand beside her, slipping her small hand into hers. “There.” She pointed eagerly at a small incline heading east towards the distant glimmer of the sea. “Can we go and look? Please?”

Morwenna smiled at her enthusiasm. “Let’s find your father and Tristan first. Then we can all go together.”

Frida ran down the stairs eagerly and Morwenna followed at a more sombre pace, trailing her hand down the smooth wood of the banister and imagining the generations of her family who had walked here before her.

Her grandmother for certain had grown up within these walls. One of the chambers so quickly dismissed by Frida would have been where she slept.

Ember Hall was not large or grand, certainly not by the standards of Wolvesley Castle. But it was sturdy and welcoming; standing four-square and strong against winter storms and battering winds. When Angus first brought her here, weeks after their wedding, Morwenna had felt instantly at home. She’d wandered around the overgrown rose garden, inhaling the fragrant aroma and imagining her grandmother’s arm around her shoulders as she fingered the soft petals.

Such strong fancies she would once have banished, fearfully, but now she simply acknowledged and enjoyed them.

Her own daughter’s undeniable Sight might once have made her weak with fright; but now she had learned to have faith in the future.

The heavy front door creaked in complaint as Frida shoved her slight frame against it. The sound of her little boots clattering across the courtyard was soon followed by a shout of pleasure.

“Father. Come quickly. We’re going up a hill.”

Morwenna increased her pace, closing the front door carefully behind her and shielding her eyes from the glare of noon-day sun. She grunted softly as a small, warm body barrelled into her.

“Mama, I’ve been riding,” her son, Tristan, announced proudly.

“Really?” She reached down and swung him into her arms, entirely consumed by a sudden rush of love.

He nodded, planting a wet kiss on her lips. “Papa says I can be a knight one day.”

“Oh, does he?” Morwenna tightened her arms about him protectively. “I’m not sure I shall let you.”

Five-year-old Tristan laughed in delight, the very image of his father. “You can’t stop me, mama. You’ll be an old lady by then.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Old ladies can be very powerful, I’ll have you know.”

Tristan shook his head doubtfully and Morwenna was ready to further argue her cause, when her attention was fully taken by Angus coming out of the barn. He was holding hands with Frida and leaning down to listen intently to whatever she had to say.

If anything, she loved him more now than she had the day they married.

He glanced up, as if aware of her thoughts, and treated her to a radiant smile. He was still a tall, handsome man. His blue eyes could still see directly into her soul. One calm word from him could steady a storm of doubt in her heart.

“I hear we are walking to a hill,” he announced, leading Frida towards them. A few strands of grey were woven amongst the gold on his head, but the years had not altered his strength or bearing.

“It’s that way.” Frida pointed behind her, pouting slightly.

“Why don’t you run along then? Show us where to go,” Angus suggested.

“Take Tristan with you,” Morwenna added, lowering her son to the ground and flexing her aching wrists.

The two children skipped off through the overgrown paddocks and Angus drew her close.

“Happy?” he asked, his voice against her ear.

“Very.” She looped her arm around his waist and rested her head briefly against his shoulder. How could she not be? In seven years, she had known naught but love and stability. Wolvesley grew stronger and more prosperous with each passing summer; her children were healthy and flourishing. Morwenna was truly blessed.

Even her role as countess, which she once approached with trepidation, had brought her a sense of fulfilment. She had not forgotten her early days in the castle, nor the hungry days before that. Soon after her marriage, Morwenna had taken Molly to one side and asked her to take charge of distributing leftover food amongst the needy in the village. And each year, she ensured that local boys were offered apprenticeships in the castle; many of them training as grooms under the expert guidance of Gerrault, the new stablemaster at Wolvesley.

“Are you pleased we came back here for a visit, as my mother wished?”

“I am,” Morwenna sighed. “But I can’t help feeling we should spend more time at Ember Hall. It’s my ancestral home, but I still hardly know it.”

“We could make it a summer retreat?” Angus suggested, helping her over a patch of muddy ground. “It would be nice to be near the sea in the warmer months.”

Morwenna smiled up at him. “That’s perfect. Then all of our children can run in the fields, just as Violetta wanted.”

They walked in companionable silence for a while, both keeping a watchful eye on Frida and Tristan who clambered on ahead of them. The ground began to rise steeply and Morwenna had to slow down. She was in her fourth month of pregnancy and grew tired easily.

“Should we rest here?” Angus hovered over her, concerned.

“I’ll be fine in a moment,” she panted, pulling down the hood of her cloak so the spring breeze could cool her warm cheeks. “Just look at that view.”

Angus swivelled around and whistled in appreciation. “Beautiful.”

Far below them, sparkling waves rolled onto a small strip of sand, bordered with rocks. Gulls cried out from the headland and a soft breeze carried the tang of sea salt.

“A far cry from the elegance of Cheltenham,” Morwenna observed. They had visited Emelia and her husband before travelling to Ember Hall.

Angus laughed. “A splendid place which suits Emelia very well. I have never seen her so content. But I much prefer to feast my eyes upon the hills and the sea.”

She nudged him playfully. “There was much beauty to be enjoyed there.”

His blonde eyebrows raised. “There was? I did not notice.” He leaned closer. “I have all the beauty any man could ask for in my lovely wife.”

Morwenna laughed easily. “Let’s go.” She took her husband’s arm, leaning into his strength and warmth.

“I could carry you, if you like?” His blue eyes glinted with amusement.

“Mayhap on the way down.”

A sudden shriek made them both look up in alarm. Tristan was chasing after his long-legged sister, his right arm stuck out at right-angles to his stout body.

“I think he is being a knight,” Angus said fondly.

Morwenna smiled, pushing away a twinge of discomfort. The only cloud on her sparkling horizon was the ever-present threat of unrest. With a new king on the throne, who knew what the future held for them all? And loyal Sir Henry was becoming too frail to lead the Wolvesley army as he had done so unfailingly these last years. The duty– the honour– had passed once again to the earl; to Angus. And one day, god-willing, it would pass to Tristan.

Morwenna huffed up the final stretch of slope. “I only hope he’ll be kinder to his sister when he is old enough to be a knight.”

“He will be.” Angus was serene. “And to his brother and sister at home, as well as this little one.” His hand rested lovingly on the slight curve of Morwenna’s body.

“Another girl,” she reminded him.

“Come and see,” Frida demanded loudly. She had successfully outrun Tristan and then come to an abrupt halt just over the brow of the hill. Only the top of her silvery blonde head was visible.

“What is it?” Morwenna asked, still catching her breath.

“Oh.” Angus stopped and Morwenna walked into his broad back. “Standing stones,” he declared, slipping his arm around Morwenna’s shoulders.

Ahead of them, an uneven circle of tall granite stones reared towards the sky. Each of them climbed vertically upwards from a narrow base, giving them an oddly human appearance.

“Seven of them,” Frida counted. “See, they’re taller than me.” She danced to the centre of the circle and twirled around.

“What is this place?” Morwenna put a hand to her heart, clutching at the folds of her cloak. Part of her wanted to gather up her family and run from yet another reminder of sorcery. But she reminded herself that her days of running were over.

She was safe. She need not run from anyone.

Unable to deny her curiosity, she moved closer to the golden-hued stones which seemed to exude some ancient energy. She put out a hand to the rough granite, sucking in her breath when she felt its warmth.

“They have been soaking up the sun all day.” Angus soothed her with his practical wisdom.

“But why are they here?” She looked around her, perplexed. This was no accident of nature.

Angus lifted his shoulders. “They must have stood like this since ancient times.”

“I like them,” announced Tristan.

“So do I.” Frida put her hands on her hips and glared at her brother. “I found them first.”

“You can both play amongst them,” Angus ruled.

He guided Morwenna to a long flat stone nearby and they sat down together, watching the gulls swooping and their children playing. Morwenna laughed as little Frida clambered to the top of a particularly wide standing stone and elaborately knighted her younger brother.

“She is entirely at home,” Morwenna said, feeling her heart squeeze with happiness. Part of her wished that her grandmother was still alive to see this; but another felt sure she was here, watching and smiling.

“And what about you?”

“I’m at home here too.” Morwenna linked their hands together. “Happy at Ember Hall. Happy at Wolvesley Castle.” She laughed. “You’re very fortunate in your contented wife.”

“That I know.” Angus pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Morwenna leaned against him, taking familiar comfort from his warmth and broad strength. “But happiness is about people more than places. My grandmother made a wooden hut into a happy home.”

“She was a very special lady.”

Morwenna tipped back her head so she could look into her husband’s eyes. “She was. And at one time I thought I would be forever lost without her. But the truth is, Angus, that I’m at home wherever you are.”

“And I you.” He kissed her upturned forehead. “And I promise to make sure that is true for the rest of our lives.”

THE END