by Alexa Aston
Merryn told Elysande to tie small bunches of the rosemary with pieces of twine that lay on the table.
“What will you do with this rosemary?” she asked.
“You may place a few springs under your pillow at night. It will ward off any nightmares that might occur.”
Merryn looked up as Tilda came into the room. “My lady? You asked for me to give you fair warning. The noon meal will begin shortly.”
“Thank you, Tilda. All right, let’s finish with the herbs we have. We can continue later this afternoon.”
Once they arrived at the great hall, Elysande picked at the large meal. All she could think about was that Michael should be reaching Sandbourne soon. She wondered at the greeting he would receive and the condition he would find his father in. Surely, if the steward had sent word for him to make haste, then the end must be at hand. She hoped, despite the bitterness that lay between Michael and his father, that they would have a chance to make peace between them before the earl passed.
And once his father was gone, Michael would become the new Earl of Sandbourne. She assumed her uncle had mentioned that in his letter to King Edward. She hoped the king would be amenable to Geoffrey’s request to see a marriage between his niece and the knight who would soon become one of the highest peers in the realm.
Elysande noticed Tilda striding across the great hall with purpose. The servant headed toward the dais, something in her hand. As she reached them, Elysande saw the scroll Tilda carried.
“My lord? A rider from the king has arrived with his.” She presented the parchment to Geoffrey. “I’ve given him provisions and asked him to wait in case you need to issue a reply.”
“My thanks, Tilda.”
The servant scurried off. Elysande looked eagerly to her uncle.
“Why don’t we adjourn to the solar and learn what the king has to say?” he asked.
She leapt to her feet. Merryn rose more slowly, aided by her husband. They made their way upstairs. With every step, Elysande’s heart beat more swiftly.
They entered the solar. Geoffrey closed the door and they seated themselves at the table. He broke the seal and smoothed the rolled parchment out upon the table—and started laughing.
Elysande sat forward, wondering why he would do so.
“And how has he addressed this missive?” Geoffrey inquired of his wife, his eyes dancing. “To my dearest Lady Merryn . . . and that troublesome husband of yours.”
Elysande was taken aback. This didn’t sound good at all.
Merryn looked at her. “Oh, don’t worry, Elysande. The king likes to tease us.”
Geoffrey said, “Our king is very fond of Merryn. He looks upon her as he would a youngest daughter. And I’ll tell you now—fathers are never quite satisfied with the men who take their daughters to wife. King Edward likes to poke at me some, but it’s all in jest.”
“Oh.” Elysande tried to relax, hoping the rest of the missive proved to be kinder than its opening.
Geoffrey looked back to the parchment and read aloud.
I am glad to have received your missive, Lord Geoffrey. I know it can be hard to locate me when the royal court is on its summer progress. The queen and I are having a grand time, but I’ll warn you both now—I intend to make Kinwick my first stop on next summer’s tour. No one’s tarts in all of England have ever measured up to those that your cook bakes. You think I come to see the two of you and your offspring upon occasion because I enjoy your company, but I secretly only visit to sample your cook’s wares.
“See?” Geoffrey said. “The king is definitely one for a joke.”
Elysande nodded, finding it hard to believe their king would speak in such a friendly manner. She’d always thought of him as a lofty figure sitting on his throne, making serious decisions regarding his kingdom and its people. She supposed he was, after all, only a man who liked to eat and drink and enjoy life as much as the next man did, even if royal blood did run through his veins.
I’m afraid to tell you I was neither surprised to hear of Lord Holger’s death nor sorry it occurred. The man irritated me in an odd way. I’d hoped Lady Mary would be able to straighten him out somewhat. Mayhap ’tis a blessing in disguise that he has moved on. I plan to leave Lady Mary in charge of Hopeston for now. Under her guidance, I pray that the estate flourishes. I will not offer her in marriage at the moment, but leave the land to her auspices.
As for her daughters, your nieces? The queen and I discussed this matter and would have them come to court. We so enjoy having Lady Alys in our company, and this would give her a chance to get to know her cousins. I’ve been told that Lady Avelyn has no betrothal in place, so the queen will look to find her a suitable husband. With Lady Elysande’s betrothed dying before their wedding, I know she must be traumatized, so it was good of you to take her under your wing for now. We shall give her some time in which to heal. I will refuse Lord Ingram’s request that he take his son’s place and make her his wife.
Elysande nervously twisted her hands in her lap. Why would the king want her at court? Why would he not want her and Michael to marry?
You’d advised me that one of your most trusted knights—Sir Michael Devereux, son to the Earl of Sandbourne—wishes to make Lady Elysande his bride. Alas, my court advisers who keep up with such affairs tell me that would be impossible. Sir Michael was betrothed to Lady Albreda, eldest daughter of Lord Lambdin, many years ago when he came of age. I know the two have been estranged for years. ’Tis most likely that he does not even remember the brief ceremony since he would have been but a small boy. But with Sandbourne at death’s doorstep now (or so I’m told), Sir Michael must meet his family obligations and wed Lady Albreda—the sooner, the better. If not for that, I would have given my blessing for Devereux to wed your niece.
I look forward to seeing you when we return to London soon. Mayhap when you bring Lady Alys back to court, you can also escort your nieces at the same time. Lady Merryn and Lady Mary are also most welcomed to come and see their daughters off and into the queen’s care.
Elysande heard voices, but the swirling in her head left her disoriented.
Michael was . . . betrothed?
He would marry another woman. And she would never see him again.
“I’m going to be sick,” she cried out. She reached for the pail under Merryn’s chair and quickly lost every bite of her noon meal.
And lost all hope of a happy life together with Michael.
Chapter 16
Michael sat in the woods by the road that would lead him to his final destination. He cut another slice from the small round of cheese and placed it in his mouth. He pulled another piece of the bread off and ate it, as well, before washing it down with a taste of wine. He set the food aside and returned his dagger back into his boot.
He wasn’t hungry. Nor thirsty. But he was nervous. He could have arrived at Sandbourne in time to dine at noon. Instead, he’d dawdled and stopped to eat alone, with nothing but the trees swaying in the breeze as his companions. He admitted to himself that he was worried to set foot inside Sandbourne again. Though its earl lay dying, Michael didn’t want to see him again. Michael remembered being the helpless young boy whom the nobleman continually berated—when the earl wasn’t ignoring his only son.
And Michael had been grateful for that small piece of good fortune. It was easier to suffer neglect than to have his father’s sharp tongue make fun of him.
Standing, he brushed aside the feelings from the past. He was a respected knight now. He’d grown up straight and strong and lived by a code of honor. Michael had nothing to fear from a man who never meant anything to him. It was foolish for him to waste time in the forest when he could be home at Sandbourne.
Home.
That’s what Sandbourne would become after all these years adrift. It had never been that before. Michael was determined to be a good father to whatever children he and Elysande would have. They would be showered with love. He would take them to the far corners of the estate until they knew eve
ry inch of the land. His sons and daughters would grow up confident. Knowing affection. Receiving attention. Praised for their good traits and efforts.
Determination filled him. He was master of the rest of his life and needed to get on with it. That meant returning to Sandbourne with his head held high.
Michael climbed into the saddle and nudged Tempest onward. Some minutes later, he entered Sandbourne lands. No one greeted him as he passed. The workers in the fields gave him a cursory glance, but none stopped to call out to him.
He arrived at the gate and waved to its keeper. “’Tis Sir Michael Devereux. I am here to see the earl.”
The gates opened to him without a word spoken from the gatekeeper. Michael rode through the outer bailey and turned Tempest toward the stables. He dismounted when he reached the structure.
A groom stepped out. “I can take your horse, my lord.”
“Nay. I’ll care for him. You may bring him a good measure of oats once I’ve rubbed him down.”
He led the horse into the stables, looking for an empty stall. As he rounded the corner, he spied a place for Tempest. Then he froze in his tracks.
Michael realized he stood before the very stall that he’d first seen Tempest in. The one where his mother and Sir Thirkell had stood, brushing the horse till his coat gleamed like midnight. Though his memory of his mother had grown fuzzy over the years, in an instant, he saw her, laughing and pretty. He remembered Sir Thirkell with fondness, thinking about the stories of the Knights of the Round Table that he’d shared with Michael.
Bile rose in his throat as his father’s accusations toward the couple rang in his ears. Michael could picture his father lashing out at his mother. Her crumpled, trembling body on the ground. How the earl angrily struck Thirkell down. The blood that ran dark against the golden hay of the stall. Michael saw it all as if it had happened only moments ago.
Anger rose within him, a rage that threatened to boil over. He fought to keep his head and worked to control his breathing, forcing himself to inhale and exhale slowly until he felt more in charge of his emotions. No matter how ill the Earl of Sandbourne might be, the nobleman would pick up on any weakness and expose it. Michael needed to bury the past. He would enter the keep with a blank face and a hardened heart. He pushed the vivid memories aside and slammed the door on them.
His priority was to care for Tempest and make sure the groom provided ample oats to the horse. Once his mount began to eat, Michael left and crossed the inner bailey. Again, not a single person spoke to him. He remembered a few of them and almost spoke to the smithy, but the man never even looked his way. The people all worked industriously, but no joy filled their faces, as it did those who toiled at Kinwick. Michael determined things would be different when he became the earl. His goal was to have a thriving estate and happy workers who enjoyed what they did and where they lived.
A long staircase led up to the keep. As he started up it, he finally heard the first voice that spoke his name.
“Master Michael?”
He turned and saw an older knight making his way toward him.
“Sir Charles?” Michael recognized the man who’d been good friends with Sir Thirkell and had shared in storytelling duties when Thirkell spoke to Michael of King Arthur’s men.
“Aye, ’tis Charles. I knew you’d come. We all did. We all have hope that you’ll stay.” The knight looked at him with faded, watery eyes. “And that you will make the changes needed.”
“I intend to do that very thing, Sir Charles,” Michael promised.
A satisfied look crossed the soldier’s face. “Good.”
Michael entered the keep and was met by Houdart, who came hurrying down the stairs.
“Greetings, Sir Michael. Did you have a pleasant journey from Kinwick?”
He nodded. “It’s not a long ride and the weather was fine. How are you, Houdart? We haven’t seen one another in many years.”
The steward, his gray hair now totally white, looked pleased that Michael had asked. “I’m well, my lord.” A shadow crossed his face. “But I cannot say the same for your father.”
“Has he much time left?”
Houdart shook his head. “Nay. But come. I’ll take you to him. He’s been informed of your arrival.”
Michael followed Houdart up the stairs. They passed his former bedchamber and then the rooms his mother had once occupied. A fresh stab of emotional pain ground into him. He stiffened his spine, determined to stay strong. Finally, they reached the solar at the end of the corridor.
Houdart came to a halt at the door. “His joints have hurt him for years and he’s had a cough which won’t go away. But his greatest ailment is apoplexy. He’s now totally bedridden. His right side is frozen. He has no use of either limb on that side of his body. And his speech can be hard to understand at times because the right side of his mouth droops. Sometimes, he tries to say something and is quick to anger if no one understands him.”
“Thank you for warning me, Houdart. I’m better prepared to see him now.”
“Should I let you visit in private?” the steward asked.
Michael saw the hope in Houdart’s eyes and supposed the man had borne the brunt of the earl’s wrath.
“I think that would be best.”
Houdart sighed in relief. “I’ll wait for you outside the bedchamber.”
They entered the solar. Though early afternoon, it remained dark except for a lone candle burning on the table. Michael had rarely been granted permission to enter the place. Even now, he felt like a trespasser as he stood inside. He wondered at how different it would be in future days when he walked in. Elysande might be sitting in the chair, sewing or reading. Mayhap she’d nurse a babe at her breast. Michael would pull a chair close and tell her about his day out on the estate. Recount an amusing story of something that had occurred. She might have wine and cheese resting on the table, waiting to share it with him as they spoke of things to be done the next day.
It was important to him that she redecorate the entire solar with new tapestries and furniture. They would make it their special retreat, away from the worries of the world. It would be here that his family would gather after time spent in the great hall with others. The solar would become a refuge. Michael would make sure that nothing from today lingered to remind him of his miserable childhood.
His eyes fell upon the door to the bedchamber, which he’d never entered. That room was off limits to him as a child. He supposed, at one time, his mother had shared the space with her husband. Now, Michael only remembered servants sneaking from the solar. Young, pretty ones he would encounter in the corridor. It didn’t take him long to realize they’d come to pleasure the earl. The thought disgusted him. Michael planned to take his marriage vows seriously. He would never stray from Elysande’s bed nor allow her to stray from his heart. They would love one another from the first day they wed until he took his last breath. His decision to be nothing like his father would be the guiding light of his life.
Michael noticed Houdart had taken a seat. The steward gave him an encouraging nod, so Michael crossed to the bedchamber and lifted a hand to knock. Houdart cleared his throat. He looked over to the steward.
“His voice is weak now, my lord. His hearing is also poor. Even if he heard your knock, he wouldn’t be able to call out for you to enter.”
“I see.”
Michael steeled himself for what he would find and turned the knob. He pushed open the door and closed it after entering the room. Pausing a moment, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim setting. Dirt clouded the single window pane. Another of many things that he would change.
A candle rested on a table next to the door. He picked it up and used it to guide his way across the large room. As he reached the bed, he immediately masked his features and harnessed his reaction.
The current Earl of Sandbourne lay shriveled among the bedclothes. Even in the faint light, Michael could see how sallow his father’s skin was. Always a trim man, he’d grown p
ainfully thin, as if someone slowly starved him to death. His hair had grown sparse, and what little remained shot out wildly from his head in every direction.
The right side of the earl’s face didn’t match the left. His eye drooped noticeably. That side of his mouth turned down, giving him an odd, perplexed look. Michael noticed how still the entire side seemed, compared to the twitching on his father’s left side and the drumming of the fingers of his left hand along the mattress.
“So. You came.”
Michael understood the words. “Aye. Houdart told me ’twas time to return.”
“Because I’ll be dead soon,” his father complained, bitterness coating the words.
He remained silent since he couldn’t think of a gracious reply.
“I wondered if you’d come home and do your duty.”
“I would never neglect my duty to Sandbourne or the king.”
An unpleasant look crossed the earl’s face. “Wasn’t it your duty to return home once you finished fostering with Lovel?”
Michael shrugged. “Being out in the world gave me time to grow to manhood and mature. I’ll be a better lord and master to Sandbourne because of the time I’ve spent away from it. And it probably kept me from killing you outright,” he added.
His father wheezed, an eerie sound that lingered. The wheeze turned into a cough that racked his body and shook the bed for some minutes.
When it subsided, Michael asked, “Would you like some wine?”
“Nay. I can’t keep anything down these days, be it wine or food.”
Silence blanketed the room. The time stretched on. Michael took a seat, but every muscle in his body remained tense.
Finally, his father spoke again. “You want to kill me.”
“I wanted to when I was eight,” he admitted. “Actually, before that. I wanted to kill you every time you beat Mother.”
“That whore.”
Michael stood. “I won’t have you speak of her in that manner. She was a good woman who always remained faithful to you, no matter what you thought.”