Truth be told, many of the fortresses in England were stripped of their armies as their lords took them to The Levant, so Snow Hill wasn’t too unique in that respect, but it was unique in the sense that it had a nine-year-old lord and his mother to rule along with Lord Dorstone’s two remaining knights. Even more unique was that one of those knights was the son of an earl, highly skilled Tarran du Reims. When most of England’s greatest knights had heeded Richard’s call, Tarran was a rare exception to still be in England, but given the circumstances, no one blamed him.
Except his father.
There was trouble stirring in East Anglia.
Tevin du Reims was the Earl of East Anglia, an extremely powerful warrior who had managed to survive the Anarchy those years ago. He had four sons, two of which were mustering the East Anglia army for their own journey to The Levant. Tarran had sent a missive to his father upon his return from France detailing everything that had happened to Lord Dorstone and the Somerset fleet. He told his father that he would be remaining at Snow Hill to help Lady d’Mearc rebuild her army, a noble intention, but Tevin had never been happy about Tarran serving away from East Anglia. Two of his sons served him, while Tarran and the youngest son, Kinnon, served other houses. Kinnon was already in The Levant with the Earl of Coventry, leaving Tarran, perhaps the greatest son, languishing on the Marches.
At least, that was what Tevin’s reply said in response to his son’s missive. Although he appreciated his son’s generous heart in helping Lady d’Mearc, Tevin made it clear that he wanted Tarran home to attend East Anglia’s call to the Great Quest. Less than a year earlier, Tarran would have jumped at such a request. He wanted that glory in The Levant.
But not now.
These days, he was where he wanted to be.
With Tresta.
His father didn’t know that, of course. Neither did Tresta. But the past seven months had seen a friendship develop between them, something kind and polite and, at times, entertaining and Tarran didn’t want to leave that, not for all of the demands his father would make of him. It was a friendship borne from necessity, something that had started the very night Tresta had said her farewells to Teague and something that continued to grow. There was no more belligerence on Tresta’s part when it came to Tarran, and there was no more aloofness or disinterest on Tarran’s part when it came to Tresta. A new foundation had been built from the ashes of the Somerset disaster and Tarran was happier than he’d ever been in his entire life.
But eventually, he would want more.
On a day like today, with Sebastian throwing snowballs with rocks in them and Gabriel complaining like a little brother should, he found he was more content than he’d ever been. He’d grown to love the combative big pair because they reminded him very much of him and his own brothers.
He knew how to deal with feisty young men.
“Bas,” he said as Gabriel rubbed his head and pointed to his brother. “Come here. Drop that snowball and come here.”
Sebastian was a big lad who resembled his father to a fault. He had Teague’s smile, devilish though it might be. He dropped the snowball and sauntered over to Tarran, eyeing his brother as he did so.
“He lies, you know,” Sebastian said flatly. “He cannot prove there was a rock in it.”
Tarran eyed him as he calmly walked over to the snowball Sebastian had dropped and kicked it apart with his boot only to find a rock in the middle of it. Sebastian’s cheeks turned red when he realized he’d been caught.
“It was the first time I put a rock in it,” he insisted.
Tarran shook his head. “A man who calls another man a liar shows weakness of character, Bas,” he said. “Is that how you wish to be known? As a man who points fingers at others and takes no responsibility for his own actions?”
Sebastian looked away, both defiant and contrite. “It’s only my brother.”
“He is the man you should be the most faithful to. When all others leave your side, a brother will stay forever.”
Sebastian looked at him again. “You have brothers, don’t you?”
Tarran nodded, making his way back over to him. “I have four.”
“Have you never fought with any of them?”
Tarran gave him a half-grin. “When we were very young, as children do,” he said. “But I’ve not fought with my brothers since I went away to foster. We understand each other and we support one another. That is how you must treat your brothers.”
“It’s been a long time since you’ve seen them?”
Tarran’s smile faded. “Too long,” he said. “I hope to see them one day, soon. Meanwhile, I am here keeping you from throwing snowballs with rocks because it is not the honorable thing to do. The next time, you will admit doing such a thing or you will feel my hand to your backside.”
Sebastian had a healthy respect for Tarran, who wasn’t afraid to dispense a fatherly beating, all with the full support of Tresta. Without Teague, Tarran had stepped into that role purely by necessity.
It seemed that he had many roles by necessity at Snow Hill these days.
Leaving Sebastian and Gabriel to resume their snowball fight sans rocks, he headed towards the castle that the little pair was making out of snow. It was really quite good for young children, who were five and four years, respectively. Rhys and Jasper looked up at Tarran when his shadow fell over the castle.
“Look!” Rhys said excitedly. “This will be our castle when we grow up!”
Tarran pretended to inspect it, with very tall towers that were in danger of falling over. “Very fine,” he said. “What is the name of this place?”
Rhys cocked his head, looking much like his mother in that action. “Snow Castle.”
“But your home is already called Snow Hill.”
“I know,” the boy said. “But this will be my castle. Snow Castle.”
“And mine!” Jasper piped up. “These towers are mine!”
He touched one and it went over, destroying half of their creation. Rhys stood up and started to bawl as Jasper, angry, kicked down all the rest of the towers. Tarran fought off a grin as he took the shattered Rhys by the hand and began leading him towards the keep.
“Come along, young master,” he said. “Let us find your mother and ask her where she keeps the sweet cakes from last night. I want one. Don’t you?”
Rhys was still crying, rubbing his eyes and smearing dirt on his face, but the mention of sweet cakes had his attention. “The ones with the currants?”
“The same.”
It was enough to cause him to forget his destroyed castle. As they neared the keep, a man with a crown of curly white hair emerged from the keep and headed in their direction. Rhys pulled his hand from Tarran’s grip and ran towards his grandfather.
“Apa!” he called. “Apa, I want sweet cakes!”
Hector Hardwicke opened his arms up to his second youngest grandson, hugging the boy tightly and then spinning him around and listening to him laugh. Tarran came to a pause, watching Hector and Rhys. He genuinely liked Hector, a man of great reason, and Hector liked him. They got along very well.
“More sweet cakes for this one?” he asked, looking at Tarran. “The lad already has more spirit than should be allowed. Feed him those cakes and he’ll be climbing the walls.”
Tarran chuckled. “He and Jasper had a falling out. The sweet cakes seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Oh?” Hector looked over at Jasper, several feet away, kicking a mound of snow. “What’s he doing?”
“Destroying a castle that he and Rhys built.”
Hector lifted his eyebrows. “I see,” he said. “You know that Jasper only builds those to tear them down. I’ll watch out for them now, Tarran. Surely you have many other things you could be doing.”
Tarran nodded. “A few,” he said. “But keep your eyes on Bas and Gabe. They are throwing snowballs with rocks in them at each other and someone may come away missing an eye if they’re not careful. Your daughter would murder
us both if that happened.”
Hector chuckled. “They are too much like their mother,” he said. “I can remember Tresta doing the same thing to Hallam. Poor lad. What a beating he took from his sister. If you’ve ever wondered why my son has a lumpy head, now you know.”
Tarran laughed softly. “I had wondered that, actually,” he said. “In fact, I must find that lumpy-headed son of yours, but first I must speak with your daughter. Have you seen her?”
Hector pointed back into the kitchen yard, tucked in behind the keep. “In the yard,” he said. “I’ll tend to the wild animals now.”
With that, he carried Rhys off as the boy begged for the sweet cakes Tarran had promised him. With a grin, Tarran headed off into the kitchen yard in search of a certain woman he couldn’t go for an hour without thinking about. Tresta was so heavily in his thoughts these days that it was all he could do not to act on feelings he’d let veer out of control. They’d grown and multiplied until he didn’t even recognize them. The attraction he’d felt for Tresta long ago, the one he’d so ably suppressed, had returned with a vengeance and formed into something powerful.
He’d stopped trying to fight it.
Tarran spied Tresta as soon as he entered the kitchen yard. The chickens were kept in a small corral with a shelter to keep them protected from the weather, but part of the roof of the shelter had caved in and a couple of the kitchen servants were repairing it as she stood over them and watched. She caught sight of Tarran as he approached and did something that had only been a recent development.
She smiled at him.
Tarran had only seen that smile when it was meant for Teague or even her brother, but never for him. Of all of his accomplishments in his life, seeing that smile now when she looked at him was one of his greatest.
He smiled back.
“I heard the screaming,” she said. “What have they done to Rhys this time?”
Tarran chuckled. “He and Jasper were building a castle and part of it collapsed,” he said. “Jasper did what Jasper is so capable of doing and kicked it all down. Rhys took exception to that.”
Tresta came away from the chicken coop, rolling her eyes. “He takes exception to everything, unfortunately,” she said. “I worry about him. He has two older brothers. One would think he would toughen up by now.”
Tarran lifted a dark eyebrow. “I am part of three older brothers to a youngest fourth sibling,” he said. “I do have a much elder brother, but he was already living on his own when I was born, so it was just the four of us. Trust me when I tell you that Rhys will develop a thicker hide, in time. Either that or he will develop a strong sense of self-protection. One way or the other, he’ll do fine.”
Tresta looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. “I’d forgotten about that,” she said. “You told me about your brothers. Talus, Tristen, and Kinnon, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And everyone survived intact into adulthood?”
Tarran laughed. “Every one of us,” he said, holding up his hands. “I’m not missing any fingers or toes, thankfully.”
Tresta sighed and lowered her hand. “It wasn’t so bad when Bas and Gabe were fostering,” she said. “I only had Jasper and Rhys to worry over, and Teague spent a good deal of time with them. They listened to him. They listen to you, Tarran. How they must be a burden upon you at times.”
He frowned. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “I enjoy everything about them.”
“I suppose it is good practice for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“For when you have your own children someday. You really should, you know. You have a way with children.”
He didn’t want to comment on that, mostly because the only person he wanted to have children with was standing next to him. When she said things like that, he wanted to come right out with everything he was thinking and feeling, and all future intentions. Already, he was like a husband and father around Snow Hill, without the ultimate benefit of that position – Tresta as his wife and lover. Sometimes, he resented that, but it would do no good to speak of it. Not now.
He simply kept his mouth shut.
“I wanted to speak with you about the traveler we had with us last night, Lord Brilley,” he said, changing the subject. “Did you hear him speak on the young men on his lands who are loyal to England? With his property so close to the Welsh border, I was surprised to hear that, but I was thinking I might travel up north for a few days to see if I can recruit some of those men for our army. Would you be agreeable to that?”
Tresta shrugged. “If you think it is a good idea,” she said. “Truly, for things like this, you do not need my permission, Tarran. The army is yours. Do what you will with it.”
He looked at her. “The army is not mine,” he said. “It is Sebastian’s and it is yours. I am merely a knight in your service so I would not presume to make decisions like that without consulting you.”
She looked at him seriously. “I do not like it when you talk like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you are simply a vassal.”
“I am.”
“Nay, you are not.”
He eyed her. “Does this castle belong to me?”
“Nay, but…”
“Am I Lord Dorstone?”
“Nay, but…”
“But nothing. I am simply a knight sworn to your family, so I will never make any important decisions without your approval.”
She frowned because he seemed snappish. “I simply meant that you are more like family, Tarran. You are part of us and I trust you to make the right decisions.”
He lost all of his humor, looking at her as if she’d just said something horribly offensive. The friendship they’d developed over the past several months meant he was more honest with her and less formal, and in moments like this, it was a bad combination. It could lead to him saying things he shouldn’t. For some reason, her words hurt him. As tall as he was, he leaned over so only she could hear him when he replied.
“Don’t you ever say that again,” he hissed. “Never again.”
With that, he turned on his heel and marched off towards the stables. Greatly puzzled by his behavior, and a little insulted, Tresta followed.
The level of comfort in their relationship was something she’d grown accustomed to, as well. It was a friendship she had come to depend on greatly. In fact, she’d come to depend on Tarran greatly, which caused her some sleepless nights. She’d been so dependent upon Teague and now, there was Tarran. But her relationship with Tarran was so much different than it had been with Teague. Sometimes, Teague had treated her like the young woman he first met. He could be almost fatherly with her at times.
But not Tarran.
There was no fatherly manner about him. He treated her like an equal. He listened to her thoughts and opinions, and he discussed everything with her. Teague had never done that. Tarran treated her as if she had a brain and although she knew it was because, technically, he was her vassal, she didn’t look at him that way. She looked at him as a friend and partner.
A very handsome friend and a very kind partner.
Maybe that was the problem.
She caught up to him just as he entered the stables, heading off into a corner of the stone building where the warhorses were tethered, including his. She stood in the doorway, watching him as he began fussing with Arion, who had grown very fat over the winter. Slowly, she made her way over to that corner of the stable.
“Tarran, what on earth is wrong with you?” she asked, though not harshly. “What did I say to upset you so much?”
He was bent over a leg, pulling it up to look at the hoof. “Nothing,” he said. “I should not have… I am sorry I snapped at you. I had no reason to.”
Tresta wasn’t going to let him off so easily. She came closer, watching him as he started to clean out the hoof. “Something upset you,” she said. “I wish you would tell me what it was. I said you were more like p
art of our family, and you are. I did not mean it as an insult.”
She heard him sigh heavily. “Please… just forget about it,” he said. “I do not know why I became angry.”
“That is a lie.”
“So it’s a lie. But I do not want to talk about it, so let us simply forget about it.”
Tresta was becoming increasingly frustrated with his attitude. “Do you not wish to be treated like family, Tarran?” she said. “Is that it? You do not want to be part of us? I thought you were happy here. Are you not happy?”
His picking slowed. “Please, Tresta,” he said softly. “Please… just do not push. Just forget about it.”
It was rare when he called her by her first name, but he had been known to do it in private. But the way he said her name… there was a plea in it. It took her a moment to realize he was begging and she could have done one of two things at that moment. She could have agreed to his request and left the stable. Or, she could stay and force him to speak about what she had done to upset him. She wasn’t an easy woman to get rid of, not when something mattered to her.
Increasingly, he mattered to her.
“Tarran, please,” she said quietly. “I only want to help. Will you not tell me why I upset you so? If for no other reason, so I will not do it again?”
He sighed again, only this time, it was sharply. She wasn’t going to let it go and he knew her well enough to know that. He dropped one hoof and picked up another, picking at it.
“I do not want you to say I’m part of the family because I am not,” he muttered.
“But I feel as if you are. We all feel as if you are.”
He stood up straight, leaning on Arion as he looked at her. “What am I, then, if I am part of this family?” he said. “Am I your brother?”
She wasn’t sure what he was driving at. “Nay, not a brother.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “A husband, then?” he said. “Am I your husband?”
She blinked as if startled by the question. “Nay,” she said. “But you have been an excellent father figure to my sons. They love you very much.”
Age of Gods and Mortals Page 20