Page 7 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

“L ucan is so looking forward to tomorrow’s joust.”

His mother’s words reached him as if through a fog. Angus fought the desire to sink his head into his hands and close his eyes; but he was on full view in the great hall and he could not risk attracting more attention from the men at arms seated below him. It was dinner time and excited chatter filled the air, together with delicious aromas from heaving platters of food. In the far corner, a trio of musicians played a lively jig, much to the displeasure of the dogs stretched out by the hearth.

Beside him, Lady Violetta settled herself more comfortably on her padded seat and indicated that Nella should pour her wine. “He tells me your victory is all but assured; so long as you watch for the starting flag.” She giggled, looking for a moment like the vivacious young woman she once had been. “Apparently you have a tendency to be distracted by pretty faces in the crowd.” She sipped her wine and arched a tapered eyebrow. “Lucan’s words, dearest, not mine.”

Angus lifted his gaze to Nella, who was studiously ignoring the conversation while she filled his mother’s trencher. The table was spread with all manner of fine foods; roasted guinea fowl and smoked salmon paired with honeyed carrots and seasoned beets. Bowls of figs and sugared plums glistened temptingly nearby. Angus stretched out a hand towards them and then thought better of it. The sweetened fruit was usually his favourite, but his appetite had all but disappeared.

“When did Lucan say this to you, Mother?” Angus asked, trusting in the background noise of the musicians to drown out his words.

“Why, just this morn.” Violetta speared a chunk of meat.

Angus felt his frustration go into battle with his instinctive sympathy. Part of him wanted to confront his mother; to make her admit that Lucan was dead and that this conversation had only taken place in her imagination. While another part acknowledged the comfort she must derive from her fancies.

And another small but insistent part of him wondered if his mother spoke the truth. She really had conversed with his dead brother this morning.

He forced a forkful of fish into his mouth, chewing to avoid having to speak. Deep down, he had always acknowledged this possibility. Even as a child, he’d noticed that his mother was somehow different to the other titled ladies that came to Wolvesley. It was something about her eyes and the deep wisdom they contained. He remembered walking into her chambers one day to find a small group of women standing in a circle, holding hands and chanting. A parlour game, his mother had laughingly explained. But the air in her chamber had been heavy with… something. Some intention. Some magic , mayhap. He’d long ago pushed these memories aside, not wanting to unpick them. Not wanting to examine what they meant. It didn’t matter to him if his mother had what they called ‘the Sight.’ She was still his mother and he loved her.

Nay, what mattered was keeping her secret from the rest of the world. Though that task was harder now than it had ever been.

Nella lowered her head and prepared to move away to the servant’s table, but he motioned for her to stop.

“Dine with us,” he said, an order rather than an invitation.

He needed to know there was another witness to this conversation. That he wasn’t imagining things himself.

“Oh yes, dine with us, Nella dear.” Violetta nudged her chair sideways to make more room. “It is lonely with just two of us here on the dais.”

Angus looked at her sideways, ignoring a childlike flicker of annoyance that his mother claimed to be lonely in his company. Must she make it so clear that Lucan had always been her favourite?

Violetta did not appear unwell. Indeed, the pall of grief and exhaustion that had hung around her in the aftermath of her oldest son’s death had all but dissipated. Her eyes were sharp and bright; her movements deft and deliberate. Nella had pinned her long white hair into a neat chignon and hung bright jewels about her throat. Lady Violetta looked every inch the chatelaine of Wolvesley Castle, as she had been for most of her life. Lucan’s young wife had never had the chance to take the helm; hampered by a difficult pregnancy and then dying in the throes of a futile labour. Violetta had not once flinched from her duty, until these past weeks, when she had taken to her chamber and refused to come out.

Mayhap it was during this time of isolation that her iron grip on reality had begun to loosen.

“I am happy to see you here in the great hall, Mother,” he commented. “It felt lonely indeed, dining alone.”

Her eyes clouded for the slightest of moments, but then she covered his large hand with her small one and squeezed gently. “You will not be alone for long, my boy,” she said. “I foresee a wedding.”

Across from his mother, Angus saw Nella’s eyes widen with alarm. This was a new and unwelcome development.

“You foresee a wedding?” he repeated, testing out the words. “My wedding?”

“Oh yes.” Violetta nodded happily. “It will be a wonderful day. Blue skies, and the most beautiful bride.”

Angus reached for his own goblet of wine while his mind whirred. His mother must have known of the betrothal Lucan had brokered with Emelia’s father. It was no secret; even if the apparent reluctance of the young people involved had invited frowns of disapproval.

But why would she speak of it now?

The wine turned to acid in his mouth as he pondered the possibilities.

Did this mean that Emelia would consent to their marriage once Morwenna had tamed the wild horse?

Was their dance of prevarication about to end?

He forced himself to swallow down the wine, despite the tang of vinegar.

This was too much. Too dangerous . He couldn’t risk his mother talking like this and being overheard. As judiciary, he had been summoned to imprison people for less.

“Mother, please, do not speak of things that we cannot know for sure.”

Her eyes flickered to his, like a sparrow looking for food. “But I do know it for sure,” she contested gaily. “For I have seen it.”

Enough.

He pushed back his chair, realising too late that the scraping sound would alert everyone in the hall to his actions. His rising temper cooled as dozens of people paused their conversations and swung their gaze towards him.

So Angus did the only thing he could do. He reached out a hand and picked up his goblet. “A toast,” he declared. “To the bravery of the Wolvesley knights in tomorrow’s joust,” he paused. “And to the memory of my brother.”

There came a resounding chorus of ayes , which echoed up to the vaulted ceiling as his men-at-arms and their families smashed their goblets together.

The moment of scrutiny had passed.

Angus lowered himself back into his chair, arms trembling.

“That was a lovely thought, dear.” His mother turned to him, tears shimmering in the corner of her eye. “Lucan thanks you.”

God’s Bones.

What could he do? It was not safe for his mother to be out in public, but it was too late to cancel the joust now. Competitors had already begun to arrive.

Angus couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge Violetta’s latest proclamation.

If Lucan was somehow witnessing events at Wolvesley, he would be more likely to taunt his younger brother than thank him. Of that, Angus was sure. They had been friends as well as brothers and their good-natured rivalry had run deep. His mother’s casual invoking of his brother’s sentiments brought him a great deal of pain mixed in with the fear he felt for her sanity.

For her very future.

Responsibility had never sat so heavily upon his shoulders.

At long last, Lady Violetta rose elegantly from the table and said good night.

“Good night, Mother.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her chilled hand.

“I will pray for her,” whispered Nella, pausing by his chair, her face ashen with worry.

“Pray for us all,” he told her. “We have never needed it more.”

*

Morwenna couldn’t sleep. Usually she fell onto her narrow mattress with relief, minutes after eating the evening meal, and fell into her slumbers easily. But on this night, her thoughts refused to settle.

It had been a tumultuous day. There was small wonder that her mind—nay, her whole body—still hummed with the energy of it.

After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, she sat up, pleased to push away her rugs and feel the rush of air around her person. She was agitated, almost as if she had taken a fever. But she was not ill.

Silvery moonlight spilled through the narrow window. Morwenna made up her mind.

If she stayed in her chamber all night, sleep would never come. A moonlit walk would soothe the unending circle of her thoughts. She need not go far.

Moving quickly, she slipped on her usual tunic and braccae, covering them with a shawl for the night air would carry a chill. Outside, she blinked until her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness before padding down the wooden stairs, speaking soft words of reassurance to the palfrey in the stable below her chamber.

It was a clear night, filled with sparkling stars and illuminated by a large blood moon hanging over the distant woodland. She would have no need of a torch to light her way. Morwenna breathed it all in: the scent of horses and hay; the screech of an owl and an answering howl from far away. A whisper of wind tousled through her loose hair. Already she felt calmer.

She would walk in the paddocks, she decided. It would not be wise to venture far, nor upon unfamiliar paths. She half expected guards to rise up from the shadows and question her, but none came. They would likely be deployed within the keep itself, with others keeping watch on the outer walls. At least, that was what she hoped.

Not that I’m doing anything wrong.

Morwenna clutched the shawl across her chest and walked with purpose. Some of the tension in her shoulders eased away as she left the cluster of buildings behind her. The night air was cold, but not overly so. Her footsteps matched the drumbeat rhythm of the question in her mind.

What to do? What to do?

The answer had seemed abundantly clear when she hid in the barn earlier that day. But much had changed since then.

She paused beside a massive oak tree, steadying herself against its gnarled trunk.

Nay, that wasn’t true. The only thing that had changed was the pattern of her thoughts. The knife edge of fear and distrust that had dogged near every waking moment of the last few months had relinquished some of its grip.

An old feeling of trust– in herself, in the future– had blossomed in its place.

It was mostly her success with Fauvel that had caused this renewal of faith. But it was also the admiration she had seen shining from the earl’s eyes.

And the pull of attraction she felt in the pit of her stomach for the handsome man with the golden hair and towering strength. Being in the earl’s company made her feel vital and alive. Reminded her of the good that remained in the world. Even as his very post of office reminded her of the bad.

What to do? What to do?

She walked on, noticing a group of horses stood resting in a hollow. She had no wish to disturb their peace. Morwenna turned away from Fauvel’s circular paddock and instead headed for the long hawthorn hedge which marked the boundary of the usual paddocks, preventing the earl’s livestock from wandering at will along the winding lane leading away from Wolvesley.

If she followed the inside of the hedge, there would be no chance of her getting lost.

The dense bushes were covered in red-gold foliage which glinted in the faint moonlight. Had she arrived in Wolvesley for May Day, she would have seen the same hedgerow bedecked in beautiful white flowers. She reminded herself that there was little chance of remaining here until next spring. Even if she stayed to finish her work with Fauvel, that would be completed long before winter was out.

The thought of leaving this place, of never seeing the earl again, caused a twinge of sadness.

Ridiculous. Especially as she still contemplated fleeing within a sennight.

Morwenna shook her head and huffed out a sigh, her warm breath floating on a cloud before her. There was nothing to be gained by pulling at the twisting threads of her own thoughts. What she needed was a sign from above.

She lifted her eyes to the shimmering stars above, willing peace and certitude to settle within her.

What should I do? she begged silently.

As if in answer, she heard a rustle in the long grass behind her. Morwenna whirled around, peering into the darkness to try and discern what manner of creature approached.

At first, she could make nothing out. Then a small figure crept beyond the cover of the oak tree, making a beeline for the hedge where Morwenna herself now crouched.

Was it a child? It was small enough. But why would a child be creeping around the Wolvesley paddocks long after dark?

She shrank back towards the high hedge, unsure what to do next. Thankfully, it looked as if the child might pass her by without even seeing her.

But then the figure slipped and fell.

Without thinking twice, Morwenna emerged from her hiding place.

“Are you hurt?” She ran towards the child who looked up at her with wide, brown eyes.

“I lost my footing.”

The voice was feminine, but it did not belong to a child. In fact, there was something familiar about it.

Morwenna extended a hand. “Let me help you up.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the person who was not a child took hold of Morwenna’s palm and rose to her feet, limping only a little.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly.

Morwenna could make out little about her, only that the top of her head came lower than her own.

“Are you hurt?” she asked again.

“Nay. Only my ankle is a little sore. But it will pass.”

She knew that voice, had heard it earlier today. “You are from the castle?” She wanted to be sure the girl was not left stranded.

“Aye.” The girl squeezed her hands together, looking down. “I am only out for a walk.” The words burst from her.

“As am I.” Morwenna paused. Overtures of friendship did not come easily to her these days, but she could not ignore the frisson of fear coming from her companion. “I think I spoke to you in the keep. You directed me towards the great hall.”

The girl shook her head. Morwenna made out russet brown curls, glinting the same hue as the hawthorn hedge behind her.

“Forgive me, miss. I cannot recall it.”

Morwenna found herself smiling in the darkness. ’Twas almost a relief to be so easily forgotten.

“You did not consider my outfit strange? I felt sure the sight of a young woman wearing braccae in the keep of Wolvesley Castle would be remembered.”

This time there was a pause. Instead of issuing a hasty denial, the girl was considering her words.

Still, her next question came as a surprise.

“You are Miss Morwenna?”

“How do you know my name?”

She heard the girl swallow. “First, tell me please, is it true? You are the trainer come to work with the earl’s new horse?”

Morwenna felt her pulse pick up speed, but she was more curious than alarmed. And still wanting to reassure the young woman before her, whose eyes shone wide with fear.

“I am Morwenna, yes. What is your name?”

The girl bit down on her lip. “I am Molly.” She paused, anxiety coming off her in waves. “Older sister to Isaac.”

Ah, that explained the air of familiarity. They had the same short stature and mahogany curls.

Morwenna had the same instinctive liking for them both.

“I know Isaac.” Morwenna nodded, keen to reassure her. “Shall I take you to him?” It was a foolish offer, for she didn’t even know where the boy slept, save that he and Gerrault shared the same loft.

But Molly was shaking her head vigorously. “He isn’t there,” she whispered.

A beat passed. “What do you mean?” Morwenna whispered too, even though they were alone in the paddocks.

Molly reached out and took her hand, the gesture so sudden and unexpected that Morwenna almost snatched her arm away. The girl’s fingers were cold. She was wearing only a thin cloak over her servant’s dress.

“Will you help me?” She bit down on her lip. “I mean, will you help Isaac?”

It was a long time since anyone had appealed to Morwenna for personal assistance.

She placed her free hand on top of Molly’s. “Isaac is a kind young man. Of course, I will help if he is in trouble.” Morwenna frowned. “Though I don’t understand. What trouble can he be in?”

“’Tis better if you come and see.”

Pushing further questions aside, Morwenna followed Molly along the line of the hedge until she came to an abrupt halt. They were far from the torchlit walls of the castle now. The only sound came from Molly’s elevated breathing.

The girl flashed another quick glance at Morwenna before plunging into the hedge and emerging with part of it in her small hands.

Molly propped a wide branch against the hedge near Morwenna. “You won’t tell no one, will you, miss?”

“About what?” She was genuinely perplexed.

“Isaac made this hole today. It’s quite safe. He blocked it up with this branch, see?”

Morwenna nodded, still not following. “The hole is too small for the horses to get through anyway.”

Molly gave her a strange look. “Most of them.” She wrapped her arms about herself, shivering slightly. “If my suspicions are right, he’s still not back.”

“Back from where?”

Instead of answering her, Molly grasped her arm again. “Come with me, please. I can’t help but worry he’s come to some harm.”

Morwenna ducked her head and followed Molly through the hole in the hedge. They emerged onto a farm track leading down a steep hill.

“This goes down to the village,” the girl said softly. “Where my pa lives still.”

“Is that where Isaac has gone?” Morwenna felt as if she were trying to piece together a puzzle.

Molly nodded wordlessly. “Isaac only went because pa has taken bad again. It’s his chest, miss. It gets so he can hardly breathe. And then he can’t work in the fields, which means there’s no coin for food.”

Morwenna digested this. “That is very grave.”

“Pa has good days and bad days. He’ll be up and about again soon.” Molly’s voice was brittle with determination.

“I’m sure he will.” Morwenna was about to say more, but a high-pitched howling rippled through the stillness, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Wolves,” whispered Molly, gripping Morwenna’s hand tight enough to hurt. “God’s blood, what shall we do?”

Morwenna reached for her courage, knowing that panic would not serve them well. “There are no wolves left in this part of England.”

“So folk say.” Fear made Molly’s words run together. “But they were rampant once. It’s what this place is named after.”

“Hundreds of years ago.” Morwenna spoke words of reassurance while her mind raced. The howl came again, no closer but more insistent. Morwenna relaxed slightly. “I do not think that is a wolf, Molly. ’Tis merely a hound.”

Molly’s breath still came in short bursts. “Are you certain?”

Morwenna licked her dry lips. She was not completely certain, but her instincts told her to relax. “Let us continue,” she whispered.

They had not gone much further before a large shape loomed out of the darkness. Molly froze, but Morwenna smiled with relief.

“’Tis Isaac,” she said.

Molly forgot all about the threat of distant wolves as she ran towards her brother. “Where have you been?” she demanded.

“Moll?”

“Aye. I was so worried.” She gave her little brother a good-natured thump on the arm.

Isaac was standing by the side of a short, grey-coloured pony, the reins gathered in his hands. His voice wobbled with frustration. “’Tis Daisy you should blame. I don’t know what ails her, but she won’t take another step forwards.” His eyes alighted on Morwenna. “Who have you brought with you?”

“’Tis Morwenna, the one you told me about,” Molly answered quickly.

Is Isaac turning towards me with something like relief?

Morwenna walked quickly towards the pair of them. “Isaac,” she greeted him, as if there was nothing untoward in their meeting like this.

“I am that glad to see you,” the boy mumbled. “Although you shouldn’t have told her,” he shot as an aside to his sister.

“I didn’t. Not on purpose, anyway.” Molly’s voice rose incredulously. “But now we may have to.”

Morwenna’s attention was mostly on the grey pony. If Molly had been frightened before, Daisy was all but paralysed with terror. She stepped closer, breathing deeply, conveying an air of patience and calm towards the little mare.

“We’ve only done it this once, Morwenna. And ne’er will again. My nerves aren’t equal to it,” Isaac declared.

Morwenna shifted her gaze to Isaac. His obvious nerves were certainly not helping the situation.

“What is it that you’ve done?” she asked quietly. “I can’t imagine it is anything so terrible.”

The siblings exchanged glances. Morwenna could almost hear their minds churning. Asking the inevitable question, could we trust her?

Molly spoke first. “When the old countess was up and about, she would allow it. But now there’s no one I can ask.”

“Ask for food, she means,” Isaac interjected. “Leftovers, from the castle kitchens.” He nodded towards the saddle on the pony’s back which was strung with saddlebags, now empty.

“To take to my pa.” Molly’s voice wobbled. “’Tis wrong for him to go hungry whilst we throw so much away.”

Morwenna’s eyebrows raised. “Wrong indeed,” she declared.

“And it’s not as if the earl would mind,” Isaac blustered on, scuffing his boots on the dirt track. “If he knew. But no one can ask him a question like that. And there’s no sign of a new countess coming any time soon.”

Part of Morwenna’s mind latched with interest to this throwaway comment, but this was not the time to ponder the Earl of Wolvesley’s matrimonial prospects.

“I will say nothing of this, to anyone,” she promised. “The important thing is for us all to return safely to the castle.”

“But I can’t make Daisy move since that dog started howling,” moaned Isaac. “And we can’t abandon her here. I shouldn’t have brought her, only I thought I’d be quicker on horseback.”

“’Twas a foolish thing to do,” Molly scolded him. “We’ve risked enough without having horse theft listed amongst our crimes.”

Daisy’s eyes bulged at the raised voices. Morwenna held out her hands in a silent request for calm.

“You two go on ahead,” she urged them. “I will bring Daisy and turn her out in the paddocks.”

“Nay.” Isaac’s curls bounced beneath his cap as he shook his head. “She stays in her stall overnight. The one next to the food store.”

“Very well, then I will take her there.”

“Will you be alright? I mean, can you manage her all by yourself?” Molly was visibly shivering with cold.

“Daisy and I will manage very well, I promise.” Morwenna reached out for the reins, willing Isaac to hand them over without further protest.

They had problems enough with the pony standing stock still. If she turned and bolted, things would grow much worse.

Thankfully, Isaac and Molly agreed to her plan without further resistance. The two of them turned and retraced their steps back to the castle, the lilting flow of their sibling banter fading as they walked further away.

Morwenna and Daisy were left alone.

She turned to face the grey pony, pushing away spiky tendrils of worry over what would happen if she were to be discovered like this.

I have also risked enough, without having horse theft listed amongst my crimes.

But fretting would only increase the tension in the air, and what Daisy needed was calm reassurance that she had nothing to fear. Not from the howling. Not from Isaac’s unfamiliar frenzy. Not from anything.

It took several minutes before the pony lowered her head and nudged at Morwenna’s pockets, her worries abandoned in a quest for treats.

“I have nothing for you,” Morwenna murmured. “But I shall find you a carrot, once we have returned.”

Snorting gently, Daisy followed her back along the dusty lane, her hooves making scarcely a sound on the soft earth. Morwenna felt tiredness lapping at her and was pleased when they finally reached the hole in the hedge, which was only just big enough for the small pony to squeeze through. Looping the reins over her arm, she carefully repositioned the branch so the hole was hardly visible.

They made it back to the yard without further adventure. Morwenna returned Daisy to her stall, giving her a pat and a carrot in farewell.

But when she arrived at her chamber, she found someone waiting for her.

“Have no fear,” came the whispered instruction when she reared backwards in alarm. “’Tis only Molly.”

“Molly.” Morwenna put a hand to her pounding heart. “Is all well?”

“Aye, thanks to you,” the girl said, stepping closer so Morwenna could see her better in the faint glow of torchlight from the yard below them. “Isaac is safely back in his bed. But I thought to bring you this before I retired to mine.”

She held out something long and flat, laid on the crook of her arm.

“’Tis a gift,” she added, when Morwenna made no move to take it. Her smile shone brighter than the stars above them.

“For me?” Morwenna was touched by the gesture. “But Molly, you should not waste your coin on me.”

“No coin was used, though it would not have been wasted,” Molly spoke quietly but forcefully. “If it were not for your help, my brother might have been questioned o’er a missing horse come the morn.” She shuddered at the notion. “Take it,” she urged.

Morwenna stretched out her tired arms and took the item from her, gasping a little as the soft fabric unfolded.

“’Tis a dress,” she said, surprised and a little bemused.

Molly nodded. “It was passed to me from the late countess’s lady’s maid when I first came to the castle. She didn’t want it no more. But although the maid was only small, she still stood taller than I do. The dress pools on the floor about my feet and my stitches are not neat enough to make the necessary alternations.” She closed her hands about Morwenna’s. “It will be the perfect length for you.”

“I cannot take it,” Morwenna protested. “I will have no occasion to wear it.”

Molly inclined her head. “You ne’er know these things. Mayhap the right occasion will come along soon enough.”

Morwenna’s lips inched into a smile. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Good night, Morwenna.”

“Good night.”

Morwenna stood and waited until Molly’s light footsteps reached the bottom of the steps, then waved as the maid ran quietly across the yard. She was still smiling as she pushed open her chamber door and eyed her waiting bed with relief.

A tumultuous day had turned into a tumultuous evening. And tomorrow was the day of the joust.