Perils of Wrath

by Park, Elsie

  Audri adjusted her posture and shifted in her seat, her back and legs stiff. She wiggled her toes in her shoes to relieve the prickly sensation overtaking them from hours of non-movement.

  “There’s only two good things about returning to Guildon, and that’s seeing my mother and taking our trips to the village.”

  “Yes. Both Lady Craven and those blessed villagers have missed you. They’ll be glad to see you back.” Gail smiled at her, and Audri returned the candid gesture.

  Audri was glad the long travel would be over soon, but she felt anxious at her return. She shifted in the seat for the hundredth time, trying to accommodate herself in the bumpy carriage, but she knew the discomfort had more to do with her apprehension. It wasn’t hearing Festus’s irate voice or dealing with uncivilized guardsmen that bothered her. She’d become calloused enough to ignore most of that. No, Audri dreaded the sadness and concern that claimed her mother’s beautiful face.

  By law, Festus could use Honora as a punching bag, and no one could stop him. But Audri would. She didn’t know how, but she’d find a way. She’d rescue her mother from that tyrant. Because of this, Audri wouldn’t back down from showing a hardened shell. Her very survival demanded that she remain strong for both her and her mother’s sake.

  These thoughts accompanied her mind the remainder of the journey, her feelings growing darker and more troubled as the gates of Guildon opened for the horse-drawn carriage, admitting them with an arrogant reception.

  The carriage halted in the courtyard, and a guard opened the door. Audri stepped down from it, Gail close behind. She stood on the mired cobblestones a moment to stretch her stiff limbs, her nose wrinkling at the scent of animal feces mixed with mud and hay.

  “Home sweet home,” the cynical mutter escaped her lips.

  Audri looked about the yard for any sign of the lady of the castle. She yearned to see her mother. She wasn’t waiting long before Lady Honora Craven’s graceful form exited the living-quarter entrance and approached. Audri’s five-foot, eight-inch frame, considered to be quite tall for a woman, didn’t match her mother’s petite five-foot stature. Her mother had always said Audri took after her father in height, among other things. Audri’s dark brown hair, brown eyes, and more rounded features offered stark contrast to Honora’s slender face housing bright blue eyes.

  Her mother, dressed in a stunning blue surcoat with yellow trim and her light blonde hair tucked into a single plait and covered with a half-wimple, stretched forth her arms as she neared. Though she wore a welcoming smile, Audri read underlying sorrow in her eyes.

  “Audri, dearest, you’re home.” Honora threw her arms around her daughter and hugged her close. “How I’ve missed you these past weeks. Are you all right?”

  Audri returned the embrace. “I’ve missed you too, Mother. And yes, I’m fine.”

  Honora pulled back, keeping her hands on Audri’s shoulders, and stared into her daughter’s eyes, searching for the truth.

  Reading Honora’s concerned expression, Audri assured her. “Really, Mother, I’m well. It was nothing I haven’t been through before and come out stronger for.”

  Honora pulled Audri into her embrace again, and they held each other a long moment, Audri’s cheek resting against her mother’s head.

  Audri finally pulled back, searching the yard. Gail busied herself directing servants taking Audri’s belongings to the room.

  “Where’s Festus?” Audri asked with uncertainty. “It’s odd he’s not here to meet me with his usual assault of shouting and curses for another disgraced homecoming.”

  “He’s been in his conference room all day and has ordered he not be disturbed,” Honora explained. “He said that, upon your return, you are to wash up and join him there.”

  So, it seems the reprimand will be delivered in private this time. Audri’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, and her mental guard shot up. Festus delighted in making her a public spectacle. What was he up to? It would be like him to throw her off-balance by doling out something different. But she’d be ready for him; she always was.

  “Very well, I’ll wash up and go see him.”

  Honora nodded. “I’ll see you to your room.”

  Honora turned and extended her left elbow to Audri, the movement pulling her kirtle sleeve up above her wrist. The bluish-yellow mark wrapped around her small appendage in the shape of large fingers drew Audri’s gaze.

  “Oh, no,” Audri said as she lifted Honora’s bruised wrist with gentle fingers.

  Honora immediately pulled back and tugged her sleeve down. Her rueful eyes met Audri’s before she began walking toward the living quarters, leaving Audri to follow. “Come, my dear,” she called over her shoulder. “The evening meal will commence soon.”

  Audri felt Gail at her side, and she turned to her lady-in-waiting with an anxious look.

  Gail had no words for the familiar situation. She just looked down with melancholy eyes.

  Though she had never truly expected life at Guildon to change during her absence, Audri still felt a pang of disappointment that it hadn’t. Deep in her heart she wished that something, or someone, had magically appeared to help mend the dismal life inside Guildon’s cold and heartless walls. But her rational mind ridiculed the invented notion, sending it back to the recesses of her anguished soul.

  1: About 200 pounds.

  Although the weight of a stone was not standardized until 1350, this measurement is used for the purposes of this book. For more information, please see the appendix.

  Chapter 2

  Upon reaching his new residence, a room across the hallway from the child’s chamber, Roland glanced at the adjacent door, wondering if the little lass was in there. He’d not yet seen her, but he had heard that she’d arrived earlier while Roland had been packing his belongings. When he’d hand-delivered the written missive detailing his new position and loftier accommodations to the commanding knight, the man had sneered, pinning Roland with a why-are-you-so-special expression before crumbling the parchment in his hands and turning away without another word.

  A homely male servant with drooping eyelids and weathered, wrinkled skin unlocked his new room and helped Roland carry his trunks in, placing them near an empty, upright wardrobe. Roland stated he preferred to unpack his own belongings, but that he was in need of a shave.

  The servant nodded. “I’ll have the barber sent up immediately, sir.” He handed Roland the key to his room and left.

  Roland, leaving the door ajar, turned to peer around his chamber. He was immediately satisfied with the lodgings. The room wasn’t small, but it wasn’t so large that warmth from the fire, which was already blazing in the hearth, would be lost. It was perfect—a regal abode compared to the hole he’d previously occupied. Several chairs sat around a small table six feet from the fireplace. A large bed, the mattress suspended off the floor by a crisscrossing rope system beneath it, was covered with linen and wool blankets. It ran parallel to the wall eight feet behind the table and chairs. A single window with shutters closed tightly against the cold March wind sat by the wardrobe. Roland laid his crossbow on the table and then set about arranging his belongings.

  He picked up the smaller of his two trunks and placed it against the wall on the floor next to the wardrobe. As he unpacked a black tunic and brown leather belt from his trunk, parting gifts from his parents, his thoughts turned to his reason for coming to Guildon. Roland had always believed that his birth parents died from a fever when he was a young boy, and then he had been taken to Graywall and put under the care of Emmy Firthland. Emmy had cared for him and other orphans in Graywall for four years until Lord Calan and Lady Elsbeth Beaumont adopted him, after which Roland called Fairhaven home.

  Now in his early twenties, Sir Roland’s curiosity about whom his birth parents were had intensified. Feeling some inert significance in discovering whence his bloodline originated, he
had set out to discover it. Open to the truth of his lineage, his parents had supported his search. Calan, a powerful influence in England, had offered his help, but Roland felt this was something he should do on his own. Calan suggested Roland start with Emmy.

  Roland recalled his bittersweet conversation with Emmy, the very exchange that had led him to Guildon.

  “They didn’t die of a fever as you were led to believe for nearly two decades,” she had said. “Their deaths weren’t natural ones, Roland. In truth, they were surrounded by sinister events.”

  Roland had been shocked by this declaration. When he’d set out to gather information on his heredity, at best he figured he’d learn their names, their trade, and possibly find a grave site. He never imagined hearing something so dubious.

  Emmy hadn’t known many details of the situation, only that Roland had been removed in haste from his original home in Guildon by her sister and brother-in-law, Liliana and Richard Griffith. Knowing Emmy cared for orphans, they had brought Roland to her in Graywall and pleaded that she care for him. They told Emmy nothing of the circumstances, nor even the names of Roland’s parents, to keep Emmy and Roland from danger. It was agreed for safety’s sake that they wouldn’t contact each other again. That was the last time Emmy saw or heard from her relatives. Since Emmy had never visited them in Guildon, Emmy neither knew where in the village they were located, nor whether they still resided there. They could be dead for all she knew. Emmy could only wish him luck in his pursuit of answers.

  That’s how Roland found himself in the far north, working for one of the most ruthless earls in England.

  The same questions he’d had since visiting Emmy invaded his mind again. Did my parents meet with a doubtful accident? Did they drown or were they driven to kill themselves? Or were they . . . murdered? He could barely think the word. But if the latter, then who had been responsible for ending their lives?

  How unfair life can be, Roland thought as he finished transferring his clothes to the wardrobe. He hung a small pouch of cloves inside. Being an expensive deterrent to moths, he was grateful his mother had provided him with the spice before he left home. He paused in arranging his things, wondering why terrible things happened to good people. He considered, for the hundredth time, whether his parents had been good people or if they’d committed indiscretions that invited their untimely death.

  Roland ran a stiff hand through his hair. Regardless of their dispositions, their deaths had forever shaped the direction of his life. Familiar frustration with his lot tempted him to slam the wardrobe door shut, but wise words from Emmy, the last ones she spoke to him before they parted, entered his mind.

  You must keep your temper, Roland, especially over things that you can neither change nor control. I know you think life has handed you an unfair card in taking away your parents. But take care, for that kind of view hies from selfishness. Conquering anger is a battle only won through patience and true perception. Calm your mind before you react in a way you’ll regret later. Beware the perils of wrath.

  Sound advice, though not easily followed in deed. It took immense restraint and willpower on his part to remain calm and unaffected in the face of life’s events. Still, he forced a slow hand in closing the wardrobe door.

  Roland dragged his second chest next to the first. Opening it, he removed his brigandine and placed the body armor, along with the assorted pieces which protected his limbs, on the floor in a corner between the trunk and the wall perpendicular to it. He left his chainmail in the trunk. About to use his tunic sleeve to rub mud from one of his gauntlets, his hand stilled above it. It was a squire’s task to clean his armor . . . and he had one now. Well, of sorts. As to how the little girl would perform, he would soon discover. He set the metal glove aside, his brows turning down as he recalled the ridicule already beset him by the Guildon knights for obtaining a female squire.

  Though he hadn’t officially met his charge yet, knowledge of his new position had already spread, no doubt by way of gossipy servant prattle, sending jests in his direction.

  “He couldn’t handle a lad so they gave him a lass to esquire.”

  “How absurd. A female squire. What’s next, pigs on the royal throne?”

  “It would take an army of knights to tame that one. Our sympathies, Sir Roland. We’ll start planning your funeral.”

  “She’ll have Sir Roland trained as a woman before he makes her a knight.”

  “A true knight would never accept such a dishonorable assignment.”

  Roland had seethed at these insults, but he was satisfied to have read the jealousy behind their words at his singular position, which allowed him more freedom than they had.

  Roland had about a half hour before he must return to Lord Craven’s conference chamber, where he’d be introduced to his “squire,” and he decided to change his clothes for the occasion. He wanted to appear as firm and somber a mentor as possible upon first impression. Maybe she’d respect his authority and not give him the same trouble she had doled out to her other tutors.

  He picked out the black tunic from his parents, a garment that reached just below his thighs, and a pair of brown chausses to change into. Stepping behind a tall privacy screen, he donned his new clothes, cinching a brown belt around the waist of his tunic. He put on black leather boots that comfortably hugged his calves and attached his gilded knight’s spurs to the heels. After finger-combing his shoulder-length hair a few times, he belted his sword around his waist, positioning it at his left side. A knock on his door frame drew his attention to the castle barber, who entered his chamber with several cloth rags and various shaving instruments. The barber closed the door behind him and approached the table where he set down his supplies.

  Roland had some serious quandaries to confront and didn’t feel aptly prepared to face them. He hoped a shave would also help him to appear firm and unyielding at the first meeting with his new squire.

  With Gail’s assistance, Audri washed up in a tub of warm water and donned a deep-purple surcoat over a gray kirtle. Sitting at a small side table between her wardrobe and the fireplace, Audri dabbed her temples and the inside of her wrists with her favorite lemon-scented oil as Gail brushed her hair. The citrusy aroma, procured by infusing lemon balm plant leaves with grapeseed oil, calmed her nerves and made her happy. Happiness was scarce in Guildon. She was grateful Festus rarely got close enough to discover her use of the perfume, or he’d surely take it from her.

  Gail plaited Audri’s hair, tying the interlaced locks at the end with a soft leather cord. The braid hung down to her lower back. Audri looked about her room as Gail retrieved shoes from a chest and placed them on her feet. Aside from the room being dusted and cleaned, nothing had been touched since the last time she’d been there. Her oak chests and wardrobe were situated along the wall flanked by a full-length privacy screen. Her bed sat against the wall perpendicular to the screen, and the medium table surrounded by four padded chairs remained in the center of the room. Gail’s smaller, but no less comfortable, bed and chest occupied the corner closest to the door. A special cabinet on the top-most shelf of Audri’s wardrobe, which usually contained a stash of snacks, was currently empty. She made a mental note to have the cook make up a batch of her favorite treat: shortbread, the most delectable, buttery, sweet biscuits. Her mouth watered at the very thought, but she’d keep the directive quiet. Though Audri delighted in annoying Festus, she was careful to regulate her actions to suit her own benefits. If Festus knew of her favorite delicacies, he’d surely make them more difficult to acquire.

  A low, gurgling growl from the center of her body declared her hungry state.

  “Well, your stomach knows it’s time to eat,” Gail announced as she stood up from putting shoes on Audri’s feet.

  Audri grinned sheepishly at her tummy’s audible protests. “On that note,” Audri stood up, “let’s get this meeting with Festus over with so we can enjoy the e
vening meal.”

  “Yes, I’m famished.”

  Audri nodded with a smile, but after they exited the chamber, she hesitated in the hall. Something in the pit of her stomach rolled with a troubling unease, and it wasn’t just her hunger. She squirmed where she stood. What was Festus up to? Her eyes were drawn to the closed door opposite hers. Orange light shone through the one-inch space between the bottom of the portal and the floor, suggesting a flame in the fireplace. Her brows drew together. Had someone claimed this room in her absence? She wondered who it was.

  “Are you coming, milady?” Gail said, stopping as she realized she had left Audri behind. She looked back at Audri with lifted brows.

  “Yes. I was just making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.” She gave her maid a half-smile and started forward, catching up quickly. Gail waited for Audri to pass her, then followed a step behind.

  The guards opened Festus’s door for Audri as she neared, and she took one step into the dimly-lit conference chamber. She stood in the doorway and didn’t advance. Festus sat at the end of his long table with his feet propped up on the top as he watched her. His fingers were placed flat against each other, pointing upward. He held them against his stern lips.

  “Come in, Audrina,” he bade. Her eyes narrowed. She felt like a sheep entering a wolf’s den.

  “Not you,” Festus said, his eyes looking past Audri to Gail. Gail stopped short outside the doors as he dismissed her with a flick of his hand. Audri saw the hesitation on her friend’s face and gave a nod of assurance.

  Gail barely had time to mouth, “I’ll be right here,” before a guard shut the doors, barring her from the room.

  Audri hoped her relaxed steps displayed a confidence she didn’t rightly feel as she moved to stand at the opposite end of the table.

  For a moment, Festus just stared at her, the crackling torches along the walls creating the only sound in the room.