Page 5 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

A ngus was working in his solar when Nella came to see him.

In all her years of serving the Lady Violetta, the loyal maid had never, to Angus’s knowledge, ventured into the earl’s solar. It was a masculine place, meant for study, contemplation or quiet conversation. Even in her younger days, his mother had rarely entered. Why would she, when the ladies’ solar was equipped with long windows and soft cushions so its occupants could sit comfortably while they played board games or worked on their embroidery?

Thus, Nella gazed at his hard, dark-wood furniture and shelves of ledgers with wide, curious eyes.

“How can I help you, Nella?” he asked courteously, after several seconds had passed.

She blinked, recovering her composure. “I am sorry to disturb you, milord. I’m afraid I bring difficult news.” She bit down on her lower lip and clasped her hands together.

Angus half rose from his ornately carved desk chair. “Please sit.” He indicated the stuffed chairs by the fireplace and joined her there after putting aside his quill.

Nella smoothed down her grey servant’s gown and placed her gnarled hands on her knees. “It concerns the Lady Violetta.”

He nodded. “I had guessed.” He unconsciously rubbed at his beard before realising his long fingers were stained with ink. “What has happened?”

She hesitated, choosing her words. “My lady… sees things.”

This was not new information, to either of them. What was new was the need to discuss it. Until Lucan’s death, Violetta had always been discreet. But her grief threatened to bring this carefully guarded secret out into the open.

Despite the weight of his mantle, Angus shivered. “Go on.”

“She talks to people… who aren’t there.”

His eyes swung to the door, ensuring it was securely closed. No sound could permeate these thick, panelled walls. This was not a conversation he wanted to have, but he could hardly send the servant away unheard.

“You mean, my brother?” he asked abruptly.

Nella’s grey eyes flew to his for the smallest of seconds. She nodded, her lined face full of compassion. “Every day,” she whispered.

It was worse than he had thought.

“She has been weak, since the incident,” she continued, carefully. “But now she is recovering her strength.”

He knew what she was trying to say. “Soon she will want to leave her chamber,” he guessed.

Nella nodded, unable or unwilling to say more.

“Where there is a greater chance of her being overheard by another.” He nodded towards Nella. “One less faithful to the de Nevilles.”

She looked down, her expression obscured by the folds of her hood. “I am worried, my lord.”

“You are right to bring your worries to me.” He sighed, stretching out his long legs. His body ached, both from that morning’s ride and an ingrained weariness brought about by months of troubled sleep. “I will see what I can do.”

But what could he do, save locking his mother in her chamber? Lady Violetta was a well-loved figure. As soon as she made her first reappearance in the great hall, many would call upon her. And with her new, unsettling lack of caution, it wouldn’t be long before she shared her delusions with the wrong person.

Angus found his fingers unconsciously drumming on the arms of his chair as his mind raced for a solution.

Nella took a deep breath. “There is hope, my lord, that the problem will be short-lived. Once Lady Violetta fully recovers her strength and grows more accepting of Lord Lucan’s death, I believe she may also recover her…”

“Prudence,” he supplied.

Nella nodded. “I was thinking, mayhap, we could provide a distraction?”

He was at first surprised, but his quick mind readily embraced the idea. “I like it.” He glanced towards the window, looking for inspiration. “Another ball?”

But Nella shook her head. “The memories of midsummer may be too painful.” She swallowed, seemingly nervous of his reaction.

“Speak freely, Nella.”

“My lady always enjoyed the jousting.” She glanced up at him, then settled her gaze back down to the rushes covering the floor.

Angus raised his eyebrows as he considered it.

Held at the end of summer, the Wolvesley Joust had been a staple in the calendar since before he was a boy. Angus had seen only six summers when his father was taken by a terrible sickness, but he could still remember the nail-biting excitement of watching him ride into the ring to the accompanying cheers of a celebratory crowd. Lucan, ten years his senior, had been quick to follow in Lord Tristan’s footsteps; as brave and dauntless as his father before him despite his relative youth. Competitors had come from far and wide, with musicians and jesters providing entertainment in the castle grounds and the air thick with anticipation.

“I had not thought to arrange it for this year,” he said, his voice regretful as he remembered how his mother’s face would light up with excitement for the joust. She had always taken a seat in the family’s enclosure, clapping and cheering along with the loudest villagers, particularly enjoying those moments when her two sons emerged victorious.

Aye, the thrill of the joust would have been the perfect distraction.

Nella nodded, her disappointment clear in the slump of her shoulders. “She had a fondness for the troupe of acrobats who came to the last ball,” she suggested, pressing her lips together as soon as she realised her mistake.

Angus inclined his head. “They were here at midsummer.”

Three days before Lucan’s death.

His mind returned to the joust. It would be the perfect distraction, but it was too late now to organise such a grand event before the winter nights started drawing in.

“We could hold a smaller jousting tournament,” he said slowly, turning over the idea. “Our knights competing against one another?”

Nella’s eyes glowed. “It would do my lady good to walk outside and see beyond the walls of the keep.”

As one, their eyes flicked towards the tall window which looked out onto the castle gardens. Beyond the gardens stood the large jousting field, ringed with wooden stands. It was all but ready to welcome a crowd.

“And it would do our men good to kick back and have some fun, after the summer they have had.” He paused, pushing away painful memories of Lucan’s funeral and the slow procession of grieving soldiers. “We could extend the invitation to our nearest neighbours,” Angus murmured, stroking his beard again. “It is short notice, but some of them may make the journey.”

“Short notice?” Nella lowered her eyebrows.

He gestured toward the window. “Autumn is coming and darkness falls sooner every day. We must act quickly.” Despite the scale of the challenge, he was pleased at the plan. “I will speak to the Seneschal and set things in motion,” he confirmed. “Thank you again for bringing this matter to my attention.”

Nella rose and curtsied. “And if my lady does not recover her prudence?”

Angus gave her a tight-lipped smile. “We must hope and pray that she will.”

*

Just six days later, the men of Wolvesley were training hard in preparation. Angus stood on the wall walk and watched as his best knights pitted themselves against each other in a makeshift arena. The atmosphere was convivial, with much back-slapping and hands readily extended to help the fallen, but there was no doubting the air of excitement.

The competition was on.

To the north of the castle, a team of carpenters were busy at the wooden stands, which had stood exposed to the elements since last year’s joust. The sounds of sawing and hammering filtered through the courtyard, even penetrating the thick walls of the keep. In the stables, young pages polished boots and saddles, while horses, alert to the change of mood, snorted impatiently in their stalls. Angus checked in with his Seneschal twice a day to ensure everything was proceeding smoothly, but the answer was always yes.

Wolvesley was all but ready for the show.

Best of all was the excitement of Lady Violetta, who had emerged from her trance-like state of grieving to watch the preparations from her chamber in the western tower. Every day she stood at the window, commenting on the progress of the carpenters and the likely performance of the eager knights.

“Who will you ride against?” she’d asked Angus, eyes sparkling, as soon as he told her about the upcoming joust.

Her innocent question threw him into a spiral of doubt for as earl, he knew that no one could be trusted to compete with him in earnest.

He and Lucan had always ridden against each other in the first round, drawing screams of appreciation from the crowd. The brothers had been evenly matched in speed and strength, with the outcome impossible to foretell. Whoever won would be obliged to take on the likes of Otto Sarragnac, Earl of Darkmoor, or their distant kinsman, the Earl of Felsham.

But no one of equivalent rank was competing in this year’s joust; the pool of entrants much smaller than usual. And Angus refused to endure a parade of warriors holding back in a show of good manners for the newly ordained Earl of Wolvesley.

But from the expression on his mother’s face, it was evident she wanted her only son to participate.

He had taken her hand, squeezing it gently. “I am not going to compete,” he told her simply. “However,” he spoke quickly before she could protest, “once the winner is announced, I will ride out against him. It will be an exhibition joust, nothing more.”

Lady Violetta was accepting of the idea. And Angus himself couldn’t deny a twinge of excitement. He had always enjoyed the thrill of a challenge. He had a notion he’d be facing either Sir Henry, against whom his victory was all but assured as the loyal knight would not dare unseat him; or Maxton of Dunlore.

Maxton was a knight once sworn to the Earl of Rossfarne in the far north of England. Two years earlier, he had taken over his family estate on the fringes of Wolvesley. Angus had dined with him on several occasions, and found him to be a man entirely devoid of humour. However, his horsemanship was undeniable.

He hoped he would ride against Maxton. That would be a challenge worthy of the name.

Lost in thought, he didn’t hear the footsteps of the messenger boy until he was directly behind him.

“Milord?” the young boy said, hesitantly.

“What is it?” Startled, Angus spun around, his cloak swirling about his thighs. The boy shrank back against the low wall and, for a heart-stopping moment, teetered with his shoulders over the edge, hovering some fifty feet above the well-tended gardens. Angus shot out an arm in alarm. “Steady there.”

The boy righted himself and held a trembling hand towards him. “I have a message for thee, milord.”

“And you nearly lost your life to deliver it,” Angus commented mildly, unfurling the parchment. “Your future years are more important than any message, boy. Take more care in the future.”

“Yes, milord.”

The boy’s cheeks had become burning patches of red. Angus dismissed him with a wave and settled back against the bailey wall to read the message.

Dearest Angus,

How do you fare with my latest challenge? Have you given up? Or is my wild horse tamely eating out of your hand?

Either way, I will witness it for myself in due course, for we are preparing to leave Cheltenham as I write. We will call at Stratford on our journey north and so I cannot say when we will reach Wolvesley with any certainty. But before All Saints Day, I’ll wager.

Yours in anticipation,

Emelia

His blond eyebrows shot upwards as he read the missive once more.

Emelia will be in Wolvesley within six weeks.

His first thought was one of panic, for her horse was still a wild thing, unrideable by any but a lunatic. But then he recalled how, days earlier, he had witnessed the wild horse mildly plodding at the girl, Morwenna’s, side.

Miracles could happen within six weeks.

Once Emelia had named a date for their wedding; the future of the de Neville line would not hang so much in question. His restless relatives would be less likely to challenge his earlship.

He would have done his duty to his family.

He unclenched his shoulders and exhaled, returning his gaze to the knights’ training ground. Beyond that, rolling green fields swept down to the peaceful forest. This was the Wolvesley he loved.

And his plan to protect it was all coming together.

Or is it?

His fingers gripped the rough granite stone as he admitted that he did not fully know.

After his last trip to the circular paddock, he had taken steps to ensure he did not come into contact with Morwenna again.

He bit down on his lip, unable to control the wave of shame that washed over him as the unbidden memories rose up. For just a moment, she had stumbled against him; her slim body supported by his hands. And he’d felt something.

Something entirely wrong.

It was the same stirring attraction he’d felt when first beholding her face in the carriage; the real world receding as if warm waters were closing over his head. But added to the mix was a hot spark of desire. Desire he’d experienced once before, when his fingers accidentally brushed against her wrist as he handed her a silver mark.

What strange powers did this guileless young woman from Escafeld have over him?

Nay , he was a man of the world. He knew the answer well enough. It was in the fall of her hair, the intensity of her green gaze, the slenderness of her calves, encased in those incongruous braccae.

Her body called to his. Sang to his. But she was most likely unaware of the effect she had on him.

And he knew well the dangers of falling for a member of the lower social classes. The tanner’s pretty daughter had haunted his dreams for years after the event.

It was not a mistake he would make twice.

Angus gritted his teeth and turned for the steps that led down to the stable yard. He would walk over to the paddock now, and witness Morwenna’s progress.

Nay. He paused, one leather boot extended forwards. He would find Jacob and instruct him to bring the girl to him in his solar.

His boot sank onto the lower step.

Not my solar. He didn’t want to be alone with her in a small room, closed off from the rest of the keep.

Angus frowned, disliking the self-doubt and uncertainty swirling within him. He did not fear that he would ravish her. The passion within him was not so strong as to override his humanity. It was more that his wish to do so might override his capacity for structured conversation.

To the great hall then. It was quiet at this time of day; but there were always servants and men-at-arms milling around in there. Their conversation would not go unobserved and he would feel more comfortable for it.

He would remember who he was. Not just the Earl of Wolvesley, but a man long-betrothed to another.

And that betrothal could be on the cusp of advancing to marriage.

His heavy boots made a clomping sound as he strode over the cobbles; announcing his imminent arrival to all. A team of builders paused on their journey to the stadium and stood with their heads respectfully bowed as he passed by, while a stable boy with mahogany curls tugged manfully on the halter-rope of a stubborn pony to ensure they cleared his path.

But when he reached the stable yard, a great clamouring reached his ears. Clapping and yelling, accompanied by what sounded like a stick beating against an empty barrel.

He rounded the corner and halted, unable to make sense of what he saw.

A group of grooms had gathered together around the arched entrance to their eating quarters. One of them had hoisted another onto his shoulders; and the one held aloft was noisily hammering something into the stonework to a great chorus of approval.

“Good job.”

“That will see us right.”

Angus cleared his throat and as if a spell had been cast; the grooms fell silent.

Angus stepped forward and tipped back his head to see what they were doing. The angle of the sun meant that all he could see was the glint of metal.

“What is happening here?” he asked.

There was no answer, save the man held aloft jumping down from his high perch. As one, the grooms straightened their backs and lowered their heads.

“Have you all been struck dumb?” He cast his eyes down the line, more curious than concerned. He knew that men must occasionally let off steam.

At last, the man at the head of the line spoke up. “It is naught really, milord. Just something to ward off bad luck.”

There was a low murmuring of agreement at this; but Angus felt like his face had been dashed with cold water.

“Bad luck?”

Another man nodded. “One of the horses cast a shoe this morn. So we’ve hung it up for protection.”

Heart beating heavily, Angus took a deep breath to slow his rising temper. “You are telling me that you have hung a horseshoe above the doorway to ward away evil?”

Half of him still hoped for a denial, but the men nodded uncertainly.

He widened his stance, preventing his hands from curling into fists. “Why should you need to do such a thing?” His voice was calm and quiet. The men furthest away had to crane forwards to hear him.

And no one dared to answer him.

The silence in the yard was absolute.

Angus looked up and down the row of smartly-attired, strong and healthy grooms. Most had started working in Wolvesley Castle as tousle-haired youths, much like the boy with mahogany curls who had struggled to move the pony out of his path. The horses of Wolvesley were renowned for their speed and condition; these men worked hard.

But he was minded to demand they all left his land, immediately.

How could they have brought a symbol of superstition– or witchcraft – into his home?

When Angus spoke next, his voice was icy cold. “Take it down.” The men shrank further into themselves, away from the anger in his words. He let a couple of beats fall before letting out a mighty roar. “Now.”

The men jumped into action and he turned away, sickened. When he next looked up, it was to see Jacob, the stablemaster, hurrying towards him. He was still wearing a long leather apron, usually donned for cleaning harness, and had a smear of grease across his chin.

“I heard your voice, milord,” he wheezed, “and came straight away to see what had happened.”

Angus folded his arms across his chest and nodded to the activity across the cobbles. “I discovered your men in the act of hanging a horseshoe over the door of their eating quarters.” He watched Jacob’s face closely. “Apparently, it was to ward off evil.”

Jacob visibly blanched, but much like the grooms, said nothing.

Angus cursed in frustration. “Will no one explain or apologise?”

Jacob rocked on his feet, his eyes cast down. Angus resisted the urge to cuff the man on the shoulder to make him speak.

“You served my brother and my father before me,” he said instead. “You have known me since boyhood, Jacob, and you of all people know of my aversion to superstition.” He flinched, remembering what acts of violence such superstitions could lead to, even here in Wolvesley. The long-forgotten face of his mother’s old friend had been flickering at the edges of his memory for days now. A quiet woman who had done no harm; forced to flee her home in fear.

He shook the memories away. Since taking on the mantle of the judiciary, Angus had stamped down on all expressions of sorcery and superstition. It was but a small step from believing in the power of a horseshoe, to believing a fellow human could harness the power of the devil.

Jacob nodded slowly. “I know it.”

“Well then.” Angus waited. A few feet away, the army of grooms had removed the horseshoe and were in the process of slinking away. He fixed a steely gaze onto Jacob. “I believe I am a reasonable employer,” he stated mildly, ignoring the stablemaster’s enthusiastic nodding. “But if I do not get an answer to my question this instant, I will dock these men a day’s pay.” He ensured his voice carried to all quarters of the yard, gratified to see the grooms begin to hesitate.

Jacob shuffled his feet, indecision racing across his weather-beaten face. “May I send them away?”

Angus nodded.

Relieved, Jacob spun around to face his men. “Go about your work,” he ordered. “I want you all gone from here afore I next turn back.”

His words had the desired effect and within moments, Jacob and Angus were alone in the yard.

“Tell me what you know,” Angus demanded.

Jacob still looked thoroughly uncomfortable. “We don’t talk of evil or bad luck here. I don’t allow it.” His eyes flicked up to Angus before settling back down on the cobbles. “But I’ve not been able to tamp down the rumours this time.”

The old man paused, mayhap waiting for some sounds of encouragement, but Angus was not inclined to provide them.

“It all started when the horse arrived,” the old man said in a rush, his eyes pained.

Angus frowned. “The chestnut horse?”

“Aye, milord. One of the young lads said he’d come across a horse like that before. And that he’d been cursed by a witch.”

Angus felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. But he stood tall and unmoving, waiting for more.

“It was a joke at first. But when no one could get near him, it started to take hold.” Jacob dampened his lips with his tongue. “And then the girl arrived.”

The anger and apprehension swirling in his gut were quickly joined by a sharp dose of fear. “What about the girl?” he asked sharply.

Jacob shook his head. “Only that ever since she came here, she’s been ever so quiet and reserved. The same as the horse.”

Angus clenched his hands into fists, his knuckles white with rage. “Send the girl to see me in the great hall.”

Jacob nodded. “Right away, milord.” He turned away but Angus called him back.

“Jacob?”

“Yes, milord.”

Angus held up a finger in warning. “I’ll have no talk of witchcraft here. Not even a whisper of it. Such talk stirs up evil and brings it to our door. The next person to spread these rumours will leave without pay. Is that clear?” Passion infected his words and his voice rang about the yard.

“It’s clear, milord.” Jacob bowed his head.

Angus turned on his heel and strode from the yard, still not free of the blanket of rage that had descended around his shoulders when he first beheld the men hammering the horseshoe into the wall.

How had this taken hold in his own castle? Under his own nose?

How can I keep my mother safe if such superstitions are already ripe within Wolvesley?

Lost in his worries, he didn’t notice the slender, blonde-haired figure pulling herself back behind the barn door as he passed.

Morwenna had heard everything.