by Alexa Aston
Oderic shook his head. “Nay, young man. I’ll wet my whistle and have a bit of bread, but I’ll return immediately to my liege lord’s estate.”
Michael heard in Oderic’s voice what the knight did not bother to express aloud. That he believed he would not be welcomed by the Earl of Sandbourne. That the nobleman would probably pound away, pumping the soldier for information about how his son’s training progressed.
And as an honorable knight who upheld the code of chivalry, Sir Oderic couldn’t lie. The answers he would give would not be ones the earl wished to hear. For Michael was the slowest of all Sir Lovel’s pages and lagged behind in every activity assigned to him. His chubby fingers made him clumsy. His thick legs saw that he finished last in every physical task, especially in delivering messages around the castle and its grounds. He was, for all intents and purposes, a miserable failure.
Yet Michael believed he would overcome these obstacles. He didn’t know how or when, but Geoffrey had told him that he, too, had been slow to grasp things at first. Geoffrey shared with Michael that he’d made a terrible page. And look at him now. Geoffrey de Montfort was the finest of all Sir Lovel’s squires. Even the nobleman himself said that Geoffrey was the bravest of them all and would be the first to be knighted amongst their group.
Michael gave Sir Oderic a curt nod. “Thank you for the safe conduct back to Sandbourne. I’ll see you when I return at summer’s end.”
The knight gave him a rare smile. “I’ll return for you in six weeks’ time. We’ll have much to discuss on our journey.”
He watched Oderic head toward the stables. So it had already been decided that his father would not accompany him back to Sir Lovel’s. The knowledge cut Michael to the quick, but he resolved to push it aside. He would find his mother and enjoy spending the afternoon with her.
And push the dread of speaking with his father into a dark corner of his mind. For now.
Michael entered the keep. He stopped a servant girl unfamiliar to him and inquired where his mother might be.
“So you’re the young master?” she asked pertly.
“Aye.”
“I heard you were coming home.” She studied him a moment. “You’re not at all what I expected.”
He shrugged. What could he say? He was short. Pudgy. His stained clothes reflected three days of travel without being changed. He knew he looked less an earl’s son than most.
“You can try—”
“Michael?”
He turned and saw his father’s long-time steward coming his way. Alarm filled Michael at having to see his father so soon.
“The earl is waiting for you. Follow me.”
Michael reluctantly fell into step behind the man as he mounted the staircase. So much for spending an enjoyable afternoon in the company of his beloved mother. Instead, he prepared himself for the tongue-lashing he would receive. Reaching into his pocket, he stroked his good luck charm, a pink rock he and his mother had found as they walked around the estate one afternoon. He always kept it within reach. His fingertips brushed against it now, as he willed the small stone to bring him courage for the encounter ahead.
They reached the door to the solar.
The steward paused. “Go on in. The earl is expecting you. He saw you ride through the gates.” He nudged Michael.
So his father had seen his arrival. Michael wondered why he hadn’t taken the time to come greet his son in person as he would any guest that graced Sandbourne. It made him question whether his mother even knew her boy was expected for a visit. It wouldn’t surprise him if the knowledge had been kept from her.
He pushed the door open, throwing his shoulders back and holding his head high. Preparing for the worst. Hoping for the best—though knowing that was unlikely.
His father sat in his favorite chair, holding a pewter cup, as he nibbled from fruit and cheese which sat on a platter on the table next to him. He glanced up. Already the earl wore a frown on his face, as if merely the sight of his son caused him great disappointment.
“Close the door,” he barked.
Michael did so and approached timidly.
“Don’t be such a mouse. You’re a man. Act like one,” his father commanded, as if simply uttering the words would make it so. In the earl’s world, it did. No one dared cross the nobleman. His orders had to be followed swiftly, without hesitation. And if the Earl of Sandbourne became displeased in any way?
Pity the soul who drew his wrath.
“You’re filthy, boy,” his father admonished. “Don’t even think of sitting down and spreading the dust that clings to you.”
Michael wished he’d had time to wash the stains of travel from his hands and face and change his gypon and cotehardie before this meeting occurred.
His father’s nose crinkled in disgust. “You haven’t lost any of that fat on you. I’d hoped Lovel would have worked it off you by now.”
What was he supposed to reply?
“I do work very hard in service to Sir Lovel, Father.”
The earl snorted. He stared at Michael without speaking, his eyes roaming up and down in judgment. “God’s teeth, but I believe you’ve actually gained weight!”
Michael shuffled uneasily. “I can promise you that I put my heart and soul into every task which I am assigned. And I eat no more than the other pages do.”
“Hmph.”
Michael hesitated, wondering if he should speak. He decided he would try to be the man his father expected. That would mean taking the initiative in their conversation.
“Would you like to hear about what I’ve learned so far, Father?”
“I know what you should’ve learned, boy,” the earl snapped. “How to curb your appetite, for one. How to polish armor till it gleams. How to sharpen a sword. How to deliver a message, quickly and quietly. How to sit a horse. Are you still afraid of horses? Or has Lovel stamped that fear out of you?” The earl’s eyes flashed in interest for the first time.
The mention of it caused the pit of Michael’s stomach to shrivel as memories flooded him. He’d been put on a horse at a very young age—and promptly fell off. Over and over. One aggravated horse stomped on his foot so hard that the animal broke it. Michael spent weeks off his feet as the bones healed. He’d finally learned to tolerate being around horses during his year away from Sandbourne, but they’d never be his friend. Once again, he had Raynor Le Roux to thank. The squire had spent numerous hours with Michael once he’d discovered Michael’s fear of the large beasts. Raynor’s teaching skills and patience paid off. Michael no longer was ridiculed by the others regarding his lack of finesse upon a horse.
“I ride as well as any boy that fosters with Sir Lovel,” he said, which was the truth. But he didn’t reveal how he still panicked each time he first sat in the saddle. How his heart raced. How it pounded so violently that he thought it might tear away and jump from his chest.
Then as he became used to the horse under him, the panic would slowly subside. He’d learned to control the animal with the reins and his thighs. Raynor had taught him that mastering being in the saddle was as much a mental game as a physical effort. Michael was proud of how far he’d come along in the past year. He would show his father how different he’d become. How much he’d grown up in such a short amount of time.
Summoning every bit of bravery he possessed, he said, “Mayhap tomorrow we can ride out together, Father. I’d love to see the land around Sandbourne and hear about what you’ve done this past year while I’ve been gone.”
There, he’d spoken up. Ventured to address his father in conversation instead of only waiting to reply to a question. Showed his interest in their property. After all, one day he would hold the title of earl. Geoffrey had told him ’twas never too early to learn about the estate you would inherit.
His father eyed him with more interest now. “Mayhap Lovel is making something of you. I don’t remember you being so bold in the past.” The stern look the earl wore had Michael wishing the ground would open up
and swallow him whole. “However, I am curious as to how you behave around a horse nowadays.”
The earl stood. “Let’s go to the stables. I want to see you saddle a horse. You do know how to saddle a horse?”
“Aye, Father.”
Without further conversation, his father strode from the room. Michael raced to keep up with him, sweat breaking out along his hairline. He knew the basics. What each piece did and where it should be placed.
But pages didn’t saddle horses—only squires did so. He’d watched Geoffrey and Raynor do it many times. Raynor was kind enough each time he took Michael out to ride to explain over and over what he did as he drew each piece mounted on the wall and affixed it to the horse. Raynor claimed the repetition would do Michael good and that he’d be able to saddle a horse in his sleep when the time came.
But that time would be sometime in the future. His father wanted to see his progress. Now.
Michael tamped down the reluctance flooding him and told himself to get control of the emotions rushing through him. He did so when the other boys teased him. His greatest skill had been learning to take their cutting words in stride and let them wash off him as water spilling from a bucket might. As they left the keep, he slowed his breathing so that it became deep and even—another thing Geoffrey had taught him to help calm himself when his nerves threatened to spin out of control.
I can do this.
Repeating those words over and over, he hurried after his father. The older man’s long strides kept Michael running as he tried to keep up.
They crossed the bailey, passing many people hard at work. No one spoke a word to them. ’Twas so unlike Sir Lovel’s, where every person shouted a greeting and rewarded one another with a smile. Sandbourne ran efficiently, but Michael understood now that it wasn’t a happy place to live and work. He’d been out in the world a bit now and could see how his father’s oppression blanketed those who lived on the estate.
Michael swore in that moment that when he finally gained the title, everything would change.
Everything.
They approached the stables and entered. He was glad to be out of the strong sunlight. By hurrying across the bailey, he could already sense the sweat gathering in his hair and drizzling down his back. His palms, too, had broken out as if he’d dipped his hands in the horse’s trough. Michael wiped them against his thighs. He wondered how he’d be able to lift a heavy saddle and hoist it on whichever horse his father selected, much less if he could hold on to it without it slipping from his grasp.
If only Geoffrey and Raynor were here to cheer him on. Their constant support had changed how Michael viewed himself. Others might see him as slow and fat, but Michael had learned he possessed a keen mind and a clever wit. Even Geoffrey told him that he spoke as well as one thrice his age. One day, the fat would melt away as his mother promised and his body would catch up. He would become one of the finest knights in all the land. Why, he might even serve in the king’s guard someday.
Michael heard voices and pulled himself from his reverie. Laughter came from one of the far stalls. His father stopped a moment and listened, then charged ahead like a foot soldier rushing into battle.
Alarm exploded inside Michael as the tinkling laughter sounded again. ’Twas his mother’s gentle laugh, which always sounded to him like bells merrily pealing. He ran to catch up to where his father now stood, feet apart, glaring into a stall.
Michael stopped next to his father and looked inside. The stall held an ebony horse Michael had never seen before. Next to it stood his mother and Sir Thirkell, one of his favorite knights in his father’s employ. Thirkell and his friend, Sir Charles, had told Michael stories about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table from the time he was a babe. Michael had thought back on those stories during the nights he had trouble falling asleep. He used his fascination with the tales to push aside the taunts from that day.
“Michael!” his mother cried in joy as she caught sight of her son. “Do you like him? It’s your new horse, Tempest. Sir Thirkell just brought him home. We were feeding Tempest bits of carrot. He’s a greedy little thing.”
“My lord,” Thirkell said, acknowledging the earl’s presence before he looked to Michael. “Young Master Michael. ’Tis good to have you home for your summer visit.”
His mother stepped behind the knight and stumbled as she squeezed by him in the narrow stall. Thirkell caught her by the waist as she toppled forth. She gave him a tentative smile as he righted her.
With that, his father exploded. “Get your hands off my wife!”
His mother took a step forward. “I only—”
The earl struck his wife hard. She spun in a full circle and fell to her knees, blood dripping from her mouth, her eyes haunted with fear. Michael knew it wasn’t the first time his father had injured her. He’d seen the bruises she tried to hide. He remembered the times she’d been bedridden for a week at a time, unable to walk after one of her husband’s beatings for the slightest infraction.
Thirkell gave his the nobleman a look that chilled Michael’s heart. The knight bent and lifted the countess to her feet and steadied her. He turned and faced his liege lord.
“I have sworn an oath to protect your family, my lord. That includes your lady and your son. I simply brought the countess to the stables to see the horse she wished purchased for Master Michael’s homecoming.” Thirkell paused. “I am sorry if I offended you by preventing her from falling.”
The earl’s eyes narrowed in a way that brought terror to Michael. “I’ve seen the looks you give one another when you think no one sees,” he said, his tone more menacing than Michael ever remembered. “I know the slut sneaks off to your bed.”
Thirkell’s brows shot up. “I sleep in the barracks with a hundred other of your men, my lord. No woman—much less the lady of Sandbourne—ever graces my bed. You dishonor your wife by claiming so.”
Michael saw his mother shrink against the stall’s wall as the knight spoke. Blood stained the front of her light blue cotehardie. He turned back to view his father. Michael knew his father would never back down from the accusation, no matter how outlandish it was.
“You dare to call me a liar?” the earl demanded.
Thirkell shook his head. “Nay, my lord. You are simply mistaken. Nothing untoward has gone on this day, or any other day. I am in your service and loyal to you and the Devereux name.”
Michael saw the blur as his father moved toward Thirkell. His brain refused to comprehend what happened so quickly.
Yet seconds later, he watched the knight’s eyes go wide. Thirkell’s hands flew to his throat, where a red gash angrily crossed his flesh. Michael glanced and saw the dagger his father always carried dangling from his hand. Blood dripped from the blade. Michael looked on as the knight crumpled to his knees. Thirkell tried to speak and then fell forward with a dull thud. Michael’s jaw dropped open. No words came out. He watched the blood begin to pool under the knight’s head, saturating the hay.
His father approached his mother, a gleam of madness in his eyes. Michael remained frozen in fear, unable to move.
“You have tested me, woman. Beyond what any man should endure. You’ve played me for a fool many times while you’ve dallied with other men. ’Tis time I rid myself of you, a woman who pawned off a child on me.”
His mother took a step forward. Michael wanted to cry out for her to run away, but he couldn’t speak.
“I have never been unfaithful for a single moment, Husband,” she declared. “Michael is your son. No one else’s.”
His father moved with lightning speed and slapped his mother, knocking her against the wall. His fists pounded her face. Pummeled the soft flesh of her body.
Michael had to act. He must save her. Even if his father did the same to him as he did to Sir Thirkell. He had to be a man—for his mother’s sake.
The earl’s blows had forced his wife to the ground. He savagely kicked her now. Michael heard a rib crack and her gasp of pain
. He slammed into his father, knocking him aside. Michael rode his father’s back and began to choke him as the earl tried to regain his feet. Distantly, he heard his mother wheezing, a pitiful sound that broke his heart.
Suddenly, his father pried away the fingers from his throat and tossed his son off. Michael hit the ground so hard it knocked the breath from him, as if he’d fallen from a horse. He tried to suck in air, but his lungs seemed to freeze up. Before he could breathe, his father grabbed him, fists bunching into Michael’s clothes as the earl lifted his son to his feet. Then an explosion of stars danced before Michael’s eyes because his father brutally backhanded him.
Pain rippled along his cheek. He brought a hand to his face and touched the blood. His father’s signet ring had sliced open his cheek.
Michael staggered to his feet and yelled, “Stop!”
The earl did so. It shocked Michael that his words had finally gotten through the fog of madness surrounding the man.
“No more, Father,” he ordered, his voice quivering.
The earl gave him a grim smile. “You’re right. I won’t put up with this any longer.” He glanced at his wife, now curled in a fetal position, her face already swelling. “Behold your mother for the last time, boy.”
Michael sucked in a quick breath. Would his father kill his mother right now?
“You and I will never see this slut again. She’s betrayed me for the last time. I’ll find witnesses to her adultery. Pay them if I have to. She can spend the rest of her days on her knees in a convent, thinking on her multitude of sins and hoping God will forgive her many betrayals. As of this day, she is dead to me—and to you.” His eyes shifted to the trembling, bloodied woman lying in the hay. “I won’t be humiliated by a whore anymore. I’ll see that you are locked away. That no one will ever know where you’ve gone. May God have mercy on you, for I have none left in my heart for you or your wanton ways.”