by Bree Wolf
“Just once,” Robert said, holding out his bow. “If you try it, I promise I’ll study all afternoon tomorrow.”
“Really?” Charles whispered, eyeing the bow and his brother suspiciously. “Only once?”
“Only once.”
Reaching out his hand, Charles reluctantly took the bow, surprised how light it was. Then he accepted the arrow his brother offered him and stepped up to the mark. Taking a deep breath, he followed Robert’s instructions, carefully fitting the arrow onto the string. Bracing himself, Charles let it slide over his hand as he pulled back the string and took aim.
Beside him, his brother grinned, and Charles felt goose bumps crawl up his back. What had he gotten himself into?
“I promise I’ll study with you,” Robert said, eyeing his brother with a satisfied grin.
“All right,” Charles said and pulled back the arrow as far as he could, feeling beats of sweat pop up on his forehead. His fingers began to tremble with the exertion.
“But only if you hit the mark,” Robert whispered into his ear.
“What?” Startled, Charles spun around, staring at his brother, who instantly ducked as the arrow was released and shot past his head through the thicket of the forest.
Staring after it, both brothers winced when a pained howl reached their ears mere moments later.
“Drat!” Robert exclaimed, his hand once more closing around his brother’s arm. Dragging him forward, he found his way through the thicket and out of the forest. When the meadow came in sight, voices echoed over from the stables, and they found their tutor, Mr. Punham, lying in the grass, hands wrapped around his left calf, face distorted painfully.
“I hit him,” Charles whispered, staring at the arrow protruding from his tutor’s lower leg. Blood seeped from the wound, staining his stockings as well as the grass.
***
Waiting in their father’s study, Charles couldn’t get the image of Mr. Punham’s distorted face out of his head. “I shot him,” he whispered for the millionth time. The man had taught him Greek and Latin, opened up the world to him of the beauties of ancient societies, and now, he lay bleeding in the downstairs parlour.
“He will be all right,” Robert whispered beside him, his own cheeks a slightly paler colour as well. “After all, it is only a flesh wound.”
Staring at him, Charles shook his head. “How can you say that? How can you−?”
The door opened, and both boys shot to their feet.
Never had Charles given his father cause for displeasure, and so when the man’s stern eyes fell on him, Charles felt tears stinging his eyes. “I am so sorry,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the floor.
Coming to stand before them, their father shook his head. “I am severely disappointed in you.” His voice rang cold, not resembling the kind-hearted man Charles knew him to be. “I might have expected such behaviour from you, Robert, but Charles, what in the devil’s name has gotten into you? Shooting an arrow at your tutor?” Again, he shook his head, disbelief darkening his eyes. “I thought you to be a responsible, young man, not a reckless child.” Sighing, he closed his eyes. “I suppose I was mistaken.”
His gaze shifting from one son to the other, Viscount Norwood crossed his arms, and Charles knew that he was about to find out what punishment he was to receive. “Since I cannot trust that you will display appropriate manners when in London, I am afraid I have no choice but to leave you here.” Charles gasped, feeling the blood rush from his head. “You are to stay at Bridgemoore under Mr. Punham’s strict supervision−should he decide to stay on−and spend your summer reviewing the appropriate behaviour of a gentleman. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Father,” Charles whispered as stars began to dance before his eyes and the breath caught in his throat. “I am so sorry.”
“Well, it is a bit late for−”
“Father!” Robert interrupted, taking a step forward. “Charles is not at fault here; I am.”
Unable to believe his ears, Charles stared at his brother.
Lord Norwood’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? Did Charles not shoot the arrow? When we came upon you, he was holding the bow in his hand.”
Straightening to his full height, Robert raised his head. “He took it from me. In fact, the only reason he was out there was to try to stop me. It was my idea. The bow and arrows are mine as well. I have been practising for a while now, and when Charles found out, he told me I was not to continue. However, I did not listen.” He took a deep breath. “I know I should have. I did not mean to hurt Mr. Punham. It was an accident.” He glanced at his brother. “Do not punish him. He is merely trying to protect me.”
For a moment, Lord Norwood remained silent, glancing back and forth between his sons, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Is that true?” he finally asked, looking at Charles.
Feeling the blood drain from his face once more, Charles didn’t know what to say. He glanced at his brother, stammering unintelligibly.
Nodding his head imperceptibly, Robert’s eyes urged him to agree.
“Well, I…” He took a deep breath and then looked at his father. “Yes, it is.”
“I see.” For a moment, Lord Norwood’s eyes lingered on his younger son before they moved to Robert. “In this case, it is you who will remain at Bridgemoore for the summer, and you will remain indoors and study.” Robert swallowed. “You do not set a foot outside, am I understood?”
Robert drew in a sharp breath before nodding his head. “Yes, father.”
Returning to the seat behind his desk, Lord Norwood bid them to leave. “Oh, and Charles? Although it is noble to want to protect your brother, I would strongly advise against lying to your father! Is that clear?”
Charles nodded, then followed his brother out into the hall. The second the door closed behind them, he pulled Robert back. “Why did you do that? It was my fault. I shot Mr. Punham.”
Robert shrugged. “That may be so, but the only reason you were out there was because I did not give you a choice.”
“That’s not true,” Charles disagreed. “I could have just left. You did not force me to pick up the bow.”
“Maybe not, but I distracted you.” When Charles opened his mouth to protest, Robert lifted a hand to stop him. “Leave it be, Charles. Go to London, see that stupid stone of yours, and who knows, a day may come when I need you to protect me.” Smiling, Robert clamped a hand on his brother’s shoulder then turned around and walked down the corridor.
Charles simply stared after him, for the first time understanding the true meaning of brotherhood.
Read on!
About Bree
USA Today bestselling author, Bree Wolf has always been a language enthusiast (though not a grammarian!) and is rarely found without a book in her hand or her fingers glued to a keyboard. Trying to find her way, she has taught English as a second language, traveled abroad and worked at a translation agency as well as a law firm in Ireland. She also spent loooong years obtaining a BA in English and Education and an MA in Specialized Translation while wishing she could simply be a writer. Although there is nothing simple about being a writer, her dreams have finally come true.
“A big thanks to my fairy godmother!”
Currently, Bree has found her new home in the historical romance genre, writing Regency novels and novellas. Enjoying the mix of fact and fiction, she occasionally feels like a puppet master (or mistress? Although that sounds weird!), forcing her characters into ever-new situations that will put their strength, their beliefs, their love to the test, hoping that in the end they will triumph and get the happily-ever-after we are all looking for.
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