“Where is the chapel in this castle?” he asked, stifling a yawn.
“It is just down the hall,” said the monk, hurrying away. “I will find Father Oliver and meet you there.”
Étienne hadn’t even gotten off the bench when he heard someone call out.
“Get out of my way, Franklin the fool!”
Étienne’s head snapped around to see the tall boy from church that was called Wilbur. He knocked a tankard out of Franklin’s hand and pushed him hard. The boy fell back against the table and to the floor, almost knocking into Étienne.
Étienne jumped to his feet, towering over both the boys. “Is there a problem here?” he asked in a low voice.
“If there was, it is none of your business, Monk!” spat Wilbur. “And I don’t know why you’re even here because you’re a stinking Frenchman.” He brushed past Étienne being followed by a few of his friends.
Étienne’s hands balled into fists and, automatically, he reached to his side for his sword, only to remember he no longer wore it. Ever since he’d been a novice at the monastery, his weapons had all been packed away. He let out a deep breath of frustration and held out a hand to help the boy up.
Franklin looked at him with wide, brown eyes, leery at first.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I mean to help you,” he assured the boy.
“Of course,” said the boy, taking his hand. “Thank you.”
“Why do you let Wilbur push you around like that? Stand up to him,” Étienne told him. “A good punch to the jaw will make him know you don’t like the way he treats you.”
“A punch to the face?” asked the boy. “You sound . . . violent. For a monk, that is.”
“I’m not a monk. Yet,” said Étienne, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “And I would prefer if you called me Lord Étienne.”
“Of course, my lord. And you can just call me Frank. My sister and everyone else calls me Franklin out of respect since I was named after my father. But I don’t like having the same name as him.”
“All right then. Frank it is,” Étienne answered with a nod.
That made the boy smile. He was thin and very pale, but with some work and time, Étienne was sure he would develop muscles. “You are the son of a baron and you shouldn’t let anyone push you around.”
“I don’t like it,” the boy admitted. “But I don’t know what to do.”
“Hasn’t your father or one of the knights trained you to defend yourself?”
“Nay.” He shook his head sadly.
“How old are you?”
“Ten,” answered the boy.
“Ten? Then you should have been a page for the past three years, not to mention been fostered by another lord.”
“I was ill and weak for most of my life. Then my mother died three years ago and my sister, Pippa, has been looking after me. My father wants naught to do with me. He thinks I am an embarrassment to him. He would have sent me away by now if Pippa hadn’t insisted that I stay here with her.”
“Well, that explains it. Boys leave their mother’s side at seven and start training to be a man. Don’t you want to be a knight someday?”
“I do,” the boy admitted. “And I wish I had been fostered now, even though I am afraid of leaving my sister and Grimsthorpe Castle.”
“There is nothing to be afraid of, I assure you.”
“Were you fostered when you were a boy?”
Étienne didn’t know how to answer that. He had lived his life much the same way as Franklin. How could he give the boy advice when he hadn’t experienced these things for himself?
“Nay, I wasn’t fostered although I should have been.”
“Oh, I guess it is different for monks.”
“I haven’t always been a monk. And neither am I a monk now. I have trained with my brothers in using weapons and can joust and fight just as well or better than any knight I know.”
“Then – why are you training to be a monk?”
Étienne’s eyes traveled across the room where he saw Pippa enter with her handmaid right behind her. He had been questioning this decision himself lately. Why had he ever agreed to his father’s addled plan? It didn’t matter. He had nowhere else to go. He also didn’t need to tell the boy about all his problems.
“There’s your sister,” he said. “Why don’t we join her?”
* * *
Pippa stormed across the great hall, coming to an abrupt halt in front of her father and Lady Martha who were seated at the dais. Wilbur watched them from the shadows. “Father, I demand to know what this is all about.”
“Demand?” Her father didn’t like her approach. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Philippa, you will demand nothing of me. And I don’t want to hear you speak to me in that tone again.”
“I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to sound disrespectful.” Pippa lowered her head slightly when she realized everyone was staring at her. “But please, tell me it isn’t true that you betrothed me.”
“He did,” Lady Martha answered for him. “A girl of your age should not only be married but have birthed at least two sons by now. Instead, you see fit to throw expensive, loud and obnoxious gatherings and continue to play matchmaker to the peasants as if you were an old hag instead of a noblewoman.”
Pippa’s eyes opened wide, shocked by the way Lady Martha addressed her. “Father, don’t let her speak to me in this manner!”
Instead of supporting Pippa, her father sadly took Lady Martha’s side.
“I’m afraid what Lady Martha says is true,” he answered. “Daughter, ever since the death of your mother, you have been hard to handle.”
“Nay,” she protested. “That is not true.”
“It is. I never should have allowed you to have these gatherings and dances and invite half the land. And as if that isn’t too much, you then continue to embarrass me by matching up villagers and paying for their weddings with my money.”
“It is a talent I have, to bring couples together,” she told him. “I am helping people find their true love to marry.”
“That is not how it’s done.” He picked up a tankard of ale and took a swig. “A noblewoman must marry for alliances. That is why I have betrothed you to the son of a Frenchman. Your betrothed’s name is Sir Giles de Beynac and he will be arriving at the castle before the end of the month for the wedding.”
“Nay! Father, you can’t do this to me!” she screamed. “I do not want to marry a man I don’t even know. Especially not a Frenchman. Did you forget how three of your sons died?”
A shadow passed over her father’s face at the mention of his dead sons. “All the more reason to have an alliance with the French,” he answered in a low voice.
“Well, I want to choose a man on my own and marry him for love instead of alliances.”
“Hush!” Her father banged his tankard down on the table. “I’ll not hear another word. You are causing a scene. Now, smile and act pleasant because here comes your betrothed’s brother.”
“His brother?” She turned to see Franklin approaching with that odd monk in training that she’d met at the church. Suddenly, she remembered he said his name was Lord Étienne de Beynac. And he was French. Her heart sank. It wasn’t enough that she was being married in less than a month, but now she would be under the scrutinizing perusal of her betrothed’s brother as well. It was going to be harder than she thought, but now she would find a man of her own choosing and marry him in secret before her betrothed arrived.
Chapter 4
“My lady,” called a man from behind Pippa as she headed to the practice yard the next afternoon.
Pippa glanced over her shoulder to see Étienne following her. Making a face, she turned around and started to walk faster.
“Lady Pippa!” he called out, running to catch up to her. “Wait! I want to talk with you.”
At hearing him call her Pippa, her blood boiled. That was a name that only her mother and brother could call
her. She suddenly stopped in her tracks, not realizing he was so close behind her. His large body came crashing into her, knocking her off balance. If he hadn’t reached out and pulled her into his arms, she would have fallen over.
“I’m sorry, Lady Pippa,” his rich, deep voice muttered into her ear. She was so surprised by the fact that he held her tightly up against his broad chest that she couldn’t speak. He turned her around to face him, gently placing his hands on her shoulders to keep her from falling. “Are you all right? I didn’t realize you were going to stop so abruptly.”
Pippa looked up into his honey-brown eyes, seeing his golden orbs filled with care and concern. Up close like this, she realized he was a very handsome man. His dark oaken hair was short and trim but, thankfully, he didn’t have a tonsure like Brother Paul. His strong arms encompassed her protectively like the security of a fortress. It made her forget for a moment that he was only a monk in training and not a knight.
Lost in his eyes as he perused her, she found herself wondering if his brother was as handsome or as caring as him. Perhaps she had misjudged that Étienne was rude because, right now, he seemed just the opposite.
“Lady Pippa?” he asked again, caressing one of her cheeks in his palm. “Please say something. Did I hurt you?”
“N-nay,” she answered, noticing him now staring at her lips. A vibrant tingle of excitement flowed through her. They were standing so close that if he bent toward her, their lips would actually touch.
“Brother Étienne!” called out Franklin, spying them from across the courtyard. She reached out and pushed his hand from her face, stepping backward to make distance between them.
“You are a monk, so please do not touch me again,” she warned him, looking the other way when she said it, not able to gaze upon his handsome face and reprimand him at the same time.
When she snuck another peek at him, his brows dipped and his kind words turned frigid. “I am not a monk yet,” he corrected her. “And I only touched you to keep you from falling on your arse.”
Her eyes popped open wide at hearing his words. “The audacity of you to speak in such a manner to a noblewoman! It isn’t proper.”
“Proper?” He cocked is head and grinned. “I find it amusing to hear you make such an accusation when the word throughout the land is that you are far from being a proper lady.”
Pippa’s mouth fell open. So, he had heard the wagging tongues talking about her after all. She was aware of the gossip that went on behind her back but she had always ignored it. But now, when a handsome man was saying it to her face, she was forced to respond. Seeing Franklin approaching quickly, she didn’t want to argue with the man in front of her brother. “For the sake of the child, I’ll ignore that remark,” she sniffed. “And my name is Philippa, so please do not call me Pippa again.”
“I see,” he answered in a clipped tone. “Well, for the sake of the boy, you need to realize he isn’t a child.”
“What?” her brows raised in surprise. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Ma chère, he is ten years old and on his way to being a man.”
She smiled as Franklin approached. “My brother is far from being a man,” she assured him with a giggle, pulling Franklin into her embrace and kissing him atop the head.
“Pippa, don’t!” Franklin pushed out of her hold. She didn’t understand it.
“Franklin? What’s wrong?” Her eyes followed her brother’s as he looked up to the monk. Suddenly it was all clear to her. “Did you say something to him?” she asked Étienne.
“Oui,” Étienne replied. “I told him that a ten-year-old boy who will someday be the heir of his father’s estate needs to start acting like a man.”
“He’s frail and sickly,” she retorted. “Franklin isn’t like other boys his age.” She reached out for him again, but when Franklin spotted Wilbur, Martha, and their father exiting the stable, he stepped away from her and stared at the ground. Then he wrapped his arms around himself in a protective cocoon of false security.
Her father didn’t even look at them. Instead, he laughed and spoke with Martha and Wilbur, patting Wilbur on the back in a fatherly gesture. Then the three of them headed for the practice yard. Pippa’s body stiffened. She didn’t like the way her father ignored his own son and paid attention to Wilbur instead.
“Only a blind person couldn’t see that your father favors Wilbur over his own son,” said Étienne right in front of her brother. She became so furious that she wanted to hit him.
“Leave, Brother Étienne!” She reached out and took Franklin by the hand and dragged him along with her as she started walking back to the keep.
“Non. I want to train the boy. I’d like to be his mentor, s’il vous plaît,” she heard Étienne say from behind her. She stopped in her tracks.
“What did you say?” She turned around to once again find Étienne right behind her.
“I am skilled in weaponry, my lady. I would like to teach your brother what he needs to learn from a man.”
“From a man? Are you insinuating something?” Her eyes narrowed. “Because if there is something you want to say, Brother Étienne, then by all means come out and say it.”
“All right, I will.” He walked over to Franklin and laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Franklin dropped her hand and looked up to Étienne with a smile on his face. “First of all, my name is Lord Étienne de Beynac, Mademoiselle. So please do not call me Brother again.”
Pippa was taken aback by his curtness. Still, she found herself mesmerized by his French accent that only made him seem more desirable than before. What was the matter with her? One minute she liked the man and the next she despised him. She didn’t know how to feel around him.
“Franklin is my brother and I alone will decide what is best for him. He will not be trained in weaponry by you or anyone else. It is much too dangerous.”
Étienne laughed at that, as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
“What’s so amusing?” she spat.
“You are, my lady. You think you are protecting the boy by keeping him from the training he needs and desires but, in reality, you are only hurting him instead. Can’t you see that?”
“Hurting him? Nay, you are wrong. Come along, Franklin, let’s go back to the keep so you can rest.” She reached for her brother but he stepped away from her and moved closer to Étienne.
“Brother Étienne – I mean Lord Étienne is right, Sister.” The boy looked up to the man with admiration in his eyes. “I want him to train me so Wilbur and others like him can’t bother me anymore.”
“Is Wilbur giving you trouble again?” she asked. “I’ll speak to him and tell him to stop.”
“Let the boy fight his own battles or he’ll never learn to be a man,” Étienne told her.
“My brother will not be fighting anyone,” she remarked. “He is too weak to even hold a sword.”
“Is he?” Étienne pulled a sword from his waist belt that Pippa hadn’t even realized was there. She had been so busy looking into his eyes that she didn’t think to look below his waist. “Here, Frank, take this.”
“Frank?” she asked in surprise. “Don’t call him that! And get that blade away from him before he gets hurt. Why does a monk even have such a thing?”
“My weapons were packed away in my trunk, but not anymore. And to answer your other question, Frank is what your brother asked me to call him.” Étienne ignored her warning and held the sword hilt-first to the boy. Franklin eagerly reached out for it, taking the pommel in one hand, but almost dropping the blade.
“See? I told you,” Pippa said, her brother’s actions proving to him that what she said was true. “Now, Franklin, give the sword back to Lord Étienne before you cut yourself.”
Franklin’s smile turned into a frown quickly as he held the sword up to Étienne. “It’s heavier than I thought it would be.”
“Not so fast,” said Étienne. “The only reason he almost dropped the sword is because no one
has ever instructed him how to hold it correctly. Like this,” he said, placing both the boy’s hands on the hilt and showing him what to do with his fingers.
“But I thought I was supposed to use one hand to hold the sword, the way my father does it.”
“Oui,” said Étienne. “In time, you will. But for now, you need to get acquainted with the sword and so you shall practice holding it with both hands until you feel comfortable with it in your grip.”
“I don’t like this,” said Pippa. “Franklin, put down the sword.”
“Nay,” Franklin told her boldly, surprising her since he had never talked back to her before.
“What did you say?” she asked in a scolding tone. Still, he continued to speak his mind.
“Pippa, I want to learn to defend myself. I’m no longer sickly like I used to be.”
“Mayhap not, but you are still weak.”
“That’ll change in time,” Étienne told her. “It won’t happen overnight, but with my training, Frank will be just as strong as any other ten-year-old boy, mayhap even stronger.”
“I would like that.” Franklin’s eyes lit up with more happiness than Pippa had ever seen before. He had always been a shy, sickly, sad little boy. But suddenly, with Étienne taking the time just to show him how to hold a sword, her brother seemed so full of life that it brought a tear to her eye. “Pippa, please say that Lord Étienne can train me. I really want to learn. Please?”
“Well, that isn’t really for me to decide.” She looked over to the practice yard to see her father sparring with Wilbur. “Father is the one who should say if you can train or not.”
“Then ask him for me. Please, Pippa.” Franklin looked up with pleading in his eyes.
“I don’t think right now is a good time for me to be asking Father for any favors. We’re not exactly on the best of terms.” She’d just had a spat with her father and refused to be betrothed to someone he had chosen for her. To go to him now with this request would be pointless.
“Then I’ll do it if you’d like, my lady.” Étienne retrieved his sword from the boy.
Heroes of Honor: Historical Romance Collection Page 4