by Lynn Lorenz
Logan would sit with me some nights after he’d taken Tomas up to his bed. He never spoke much, letting me write, but drank his ale and stared into the fire. It was a comfortable silence between us. Perhaps he had his own ghosts to battle. I never asked and he never spoke of it.
One night, he sat down, drank his ale, got up and paced the hall, then returned to sit again. At last, he spoke to me.
“I’ve sat here these many nights, Drake, as you wrote in that book and now, my curiosity has the better of me. What are you writing?” He rested his chin in his palm.
“I hope to chronicle the tale of my lover, who died.” I gave him a rueful smile.
“In hopes of?”
I sighed, sat back, and stretched. “Putting my ghost to rest. Healing old wounds.” I shook my head. “I’m not sure myself, but it feels like talking to an old friend, without speaking our secrets.”
“I see.” He looked into the fire, then turned to me as if to ask a question, but instead took another drink from his cup. “I’m to bed.” He pushed off from the table and went up the stairs.
I bowed my head over my book and continued to write. My ghost hovered nearby, with that same tender look Ansel always seemed to have for me, the one I’d never recognized as love until it was too late.
•●•
It was the noon meal, and I sat alone. I had been working the men hard, my mood was surly at best, and my irritation oozed like sweat from my body to be scented by everyone around me. Even Joss, his meal eaten, sat against the wall apart from me.
Sitting hunched over my charger, I stabbed at my meat, speared it, and brought it to my mouth to rip pieces off with my teeth. I may have been growling.
“Will you teach me to fight?” A small, light voice came from next to me.
I looked to the side, then down. Tomas sat on the bench next to me. He looked up with his father’s green eyes, filled with hope.
“You are too young to swing a sword.” I hoped my gruffness would move him along, but he held his ground.
“Da says I’m big enough to ride my pony.” His chin stuck out just enough to show his determination, with no whine in his sweet, child’s voice.
“Riding a pony and handling a sword are very different things.” I crossed my arms and rested them on the table.
I’d hoped to end the conversation. Tomas had other ideas.
“If I am to be duke one day, I must learn to fight.” He crossed his arms and laid them on the table in a perfect imitation of my posture. I scowled at him, surely too fierce a visage for a child. He didn’t flinch, but scowled back at me.
“Perhaps. But not now.” I stabbed another piece of meat and took a bite. Joss shifted in his seat against the wall and watched.
Tomas frowned, as if he were thinking hard, then spoke, “You are the master of arms. I am Tomas, the Marquess of Marden. I order you to teach me.” There, he’d gone his full length and sat back, arms folded, his brows drawn down and his mouth set.
Joss snorted, and petted his toy horse.
It was all I could do to keep from laughing, but I knew this had to be handled well. I had no desire to break the child’s spirit or hurt his feelings. His stubbornness to continue the argument and his bravery just to sit next to me were to be admired and encouraged.
“Well, my lord marquess, if you command, I must obey.” I shrugged and continued to eat.
I don’t think Tomas expected me to give in so fast. He looked at me with wide eyes and his mouth fell open. Then his mouth snapped shut and a grin spilled over his face. Joss stared, his eyes wide.
I suppose the idea that he, a child, could order a grown man, much less a large, fierce-looking warrior, to do his bidding was like a revelation. Tomas gloried in it. His chest puffed up like a little bantam rooster’s, and he sat taller in his seat.
Placing his elbow on the table to rest his chin in the palm of his hand, my heart felt a tug. I’d seen Logan do the same thing too many times to count, yet had never recognized it.
“Good. When can you start?” Now, my young lord was all business.
“Right after lunch. Are you free?” I might as well spend some time with the boy, if just to get him to stop pestering me.
“I am.” He rose. “Where do we meet? At the barracks?” He’d seen me drill the men there.
“How about in the courtyard?” I didn’t want to take him far from watching eyes. “By the by, where is your mother?” I thought I’d best get the good woman’s approval of this escapade.
“She’s above.” He pointed up.
“Well, run and tell her you’re going to start training, and get her permission.”
Tomas looked at me as if I had told him to fly. “I can’t speak to her.” His voice grew very quiet and soft. “Da says she can hear my prayers. I suppose I could say a prayer and ask her.” His brow worried over this problem.
I sat back, wanting to beat my own head against the table. No wonder I’d never seen the woman. She was dead.
Why no one had told me, I could not understand. Even Jackson had been remiss in explaining the lack of her presence. I wanted to shout at someone or at least grab someone by the throat and shake them.
“When did she die, Tomas?”
“When I was small. She had a fever, Da says. I don’t remember.” He looked down at his hands in his lap. “Da says she didn’t want to leave me, but she had to.”
“You miss her, don’t you?” I wanted to gather him up in my arms, but kept my seat.
“Aye. So, you see, I can’t ask for her permission to learn to fight.”
“Right. We’ll ask your da. How about that?”
Tomas brightened. “I’ll find him and ask.” He ran from the hall, up the stairs.
Joss sat back, frowning, still playing with his horse, waiting for me.
I finished my meal in blessed silence. That changed everything, I told myself at first. Then, I argued, it changed nothing. I’d sworn to avoid those feelings and would keep my word.
Logan was a free man. No wife. Unmarried, but in itself, that meant nothing. He’d never made a gesture, never gave a clear sign that he’d invite any advance, much less that he would want me. If I tried to approach him and he rejected me, it could mean more than my heart being hurt. It could mean my life.
While I wrestled with all this, Tomas pulled Logan by his hand to the table.
“Ask Drake! He says he’ll teach me, but you have to give your permission.”
I looked up into those green eyes. They weren’t smiling at me now; they were much darker, and his blond brows were furrowed. I had a cold feeling in the pit of my belly that I’d made a mistake.
“Drake.” He spoke through teeth clamped tight together and thinned lips. “I’d told Tomas when he asked me earlier this week that you could not train him. You were here to train the soldiers, not a child. And I told him that a sword was a very dangerous weapon and not one a boy of six should have.” His hands had moved to his hips as he addressed me, as if scolding Tomas, not a grown man his own age.
If he had been another man in another situation, I would have had my knife at his throat for speaking to me in that tone.
Instead, I glanced at Tomas, hanging on his father’s hand, watching us with sharp eyes. So, Tomas had played us off on one another. The boy was clever, I’d give him that. I threw myself on the mercy of my duke.
“My lord Duke Marden.” I addressed him by his title, and he dropped his hands from his hips. “The Marquess of Marden has ordered me to train him.” I kept my face straight and held Logan’s stare.
A slight widening of Logan’s eyes clued me that he understood. “Oh, he did?” One eyebrow arched upward as he glanced at Tomas, who took a sudden interest in his boots as he scuffed at the reeds on the floor.
“Aye. As the young lord of the keep, he gave me an order.” Now we both struggled to keep our faces plain. Tomas watched with an intensity I’d not seen in a child so young, his eyes darting from my face to Logan’s and back.
Now we discussed terms. “We will use a stick, Logan, and I’ll give him lessons after the noon meal. I have time while all the men eat, before I have to be back to my duties.”
Tomas hung on our words; the whites of his eyes shone all around those green pupils. He turned to his father and waited. I don’t think the child took a breath.
“Tomas. You have my permission to learn the sword, as long as Drake sees fit.”
The boy leaped into the air and gave a great whoop of joy. “Thank you, Da!” He ran around the room, circling the tables and benches and then, with a quick hug of Logan’s legs, he ran outside.
Logan sat next to me, put his elbow on the table, and rested his chin in his palm.
“You will be gentle with him, won’t you? He’s just a child.” His eyes held his concern for his son. I supposed he’d seen me with the men, giving a few well-deserved ear boxings over dropped swords or missteps. I was rough, perhaps, but not cruel. Cruelty didn’t earn anyone’s respect. Moreover, I would never strike a child.
“Of course. This will do him well, Logan. Build some muscles and some balance, so that when the time comes for him to use a sword, he’ll be well on his way.”
“And you don’t mind being saddled with the boy? He can be a handful.” Logan grinned at me. I watched his eyes crinkle and felt my heart beat harder in my chest.
“I don’t mind. He’s a clever boy, and well behaved.”
He nodded and a silence fell between us. I wanted to continue our conversation, and so said the first words that came to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me your wife had died?” I pushed a piece of potato around my charger.
“I thought Jackson had told you.” He sat back, eyebrows raised.
“No, he didn’t. Tomas just told me.”
“Oh.” His breath blew out in a soft puff.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” What else could I say?
“I miss her. Tomas does also, of course. She was a lovely woman, but delicate. When she caught the fever, she was gone in a matter of days. Tomas was only two.”
“You must have loved her very much.”
“It was an arranged marriage, you see. I had reached thirty and needed an heir, but by the time Tomas came along, I cared deeply for her. She was a light in my life.” His hands rested on the table, so near mine I could have stretched out a finger and touched him. I didn’t.
“When she died, I didn’t know what to do. I had a baby and my lands to run, but little by little, I managed. Raising a child alone has been hard at times, but now I can’t see my life without him in it.” A soft smile graced his face, making him even more handsome, if that were possible.
“You’ve done well. He’s a fine boy.”
Logan nodded. “But, he ordered you?” A chuckle escaped him.
“Oh, aye, and dead serious he was, too. I was master of arms and he the young lord marquess.” I grinned. “I had no choice but to obey him.”
Logan shook his head. “I must have a talk with Tomas about the duties and privileges of rank. Something I understand you know.” He glanced at me.
“So, Jackson told you?” Leave it to Jackson to forget to tell me what he’d told Logan about me.
“Aye. Said you’d renounced your title. Is that so?”
“It is. I was ten and eight.”
“Do you regret it?” His finger drew circles on the wooden table.
“No. I’ve been happy with my life.”
“You don’t seem happy, Lord Drake.” There was that soft smile again.
What should I tell him? All, nothing? Truth or lies?
I shrugged. “After such a loss, it’s hard to go on.”
“Aye, I know that pain.”
“Have you found any relief from it?”
His hand clenched, then relaxed to lie flat on the table next to mine. I fought myself to keep from touching him, from pulling him into my arms.
“No, I suffer from it still.”
Logan stood and left.
I finished my ale and went to find a suitable stick.
Chapter Twelve
Finding a stick should have been easy, but it wasn’t. It had to be a certain length and thickness in order to duplicate a sword’s feel. It would never have the heft, but I’d face that later.
In the end, I found the castle’s carpenter and told him of my search. He showed me his selection of thick, straight branches and I selected a few for him to work with. He sawed them off where I showed him and then planed them down to a reasonable thickness. They tapered to a blunt end. Not dangerous at all, really, and I thought Logan would be pleased with them.
I found my new student doing cartwheels and rolls in the courtyard trying to impress Joss, who sat on a bench trying not to watch him. Brute slept, but Joss’s eyes rolled each time the younger boy shouted for him to watch and see what he was doing.
Joss jumped to his feet when he saw me.
“Take your ease, Joss,” I told him, and he sank back down. Brute never even opened an eye.
“Young lord, front and center.” I used my best captain’s voice, and Tomas unwound from his imitation of a ball rolling on the ground and raced to me. The swordsticks were tucked under my arm and his eyes locked on them right away.
“We’re not using real swords?” His dismay amused me.
Joss snorted. Loudly. I shot him a look meant to quiet him.
“No. Remember, it’s one of the rules. A good soldier follows the rules.”
“I’m not going to be a soldier; I’m going to be a duke.” Tomas’ eyes narrowed.
“A good duke must first know how to follow the rules in order to make them.”
The lad seemed to take that well, so I continued. “Now, today we will work on the stances we’ll use when we are fighting.” I laid the sticks on the ground and Tomas’s face fell.
“No sticks?” Oh, he was good. The just-quiver of his bottom lip, perfected over his few years, almost got me. I took strength when Joss gave another snort, crossed his arms, and turned his back on us.
“No sticks. If you work hard on your footwork, we might use them tomorrow.”
He frowned, then nodded. I glanced at Joss, his back hunched over, his feet kicking at the stone pavers of the yard. I had come to know what that posture meant.
I sighed. “Joss, come here.” What had I gotten myself into?
Joss turned, his face beaming, his eyes bright. “Me?” He pointed to his chest.
“Aye, you. You might as well learn this also. You’ll need it before Tomas will.”
From the shadows of a doorway, I heard a deep chuckle. I knew that laugh and cringed on the inside. Logan had been watching us, and now, he was laughing.
At me. Damn.
Joss ran to take his place beside Tomas, who grinned up at the older boy he’d been trying so desperately to impress. Now, they were in it together. I wondered if Tomas had any friends to play with here. I’d never seen him with anyone. For that matter, I never saw Joss play with anyone either. He was always working for me. I made a note to myself to give the boy some time off each day. It seemed I hadn’t been thinking at all.
It had been well over ten years since I’d had a servant and never had the keeping of a boy put on me. I would have to be more…I wasn’t sure what, but I added another worry to my growing list.
We began the lesson. I showed the boys the basic footwork, the stances, and we practiced moving back and forth, from side to side, and circling steps. Joss caught on quickly, and Tomas giggled more than he should have, but they did just fine.
All the time, Logan watched as he leaned his long body against the doorframe. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me as he stood there.
After an hour, their interest waned, so I stopped our lesson and dismissed the boys. Tomas ran off to find something to eat, and Joss walked back to the
bench, pulled his toy horse out of his shirt, and sat.
I picked up the sticks from the ground and turned to face Logan.
“I see your class grows.” He crinkled. Damn, I wished he’d stop doing that. What would he say if I told him every time he did that, I got hard as a rock?
“Aye.” I held out the sticks. “I had the carpenter make them.”
He took one from me and swung it, his wrist making an arc, testing its balance. “They’re well made.” Then he poked me in the chest with the stick and stepped back, grinning.
It was a challenge, plain and simple, and I never back down from a challenge.
Pulling the stick from under my arm, I gave him my best flourish and leveled it at him. “A duel, Your Grace?”
“If you think you’re up to it.”
“I am, but I fear you may taste defeat this day.” We circled, taking careful steps as we eyed each other.
“I think the taste will be bitter in your mouth, my lord Drake.”
“You’re lucky I’m sworn to keep you safe, my lord duke.”
We grinned, and he advanced. I stepped to the side, and blocked his swing. The sharp rap of wood against wood rang out in the courtyard. A few of the men passing by stopped to watch.
I swung, he countered, and we parted. His skill was good, and I pressed him with several quick swings, lunging to advance upon him. He stepped out of my reach, and avoided a slash that would have laid his stomach open. Logan looked at me and laughed.
“That would have ended it, had we steel blades,” I charged.
“True, but we have wood, so I live.” He attacked and our sticks clacked together in sharp, tight arcs.
Joss climbed onto a bench. “Well done, m’lord Drake!”
“Seems you have an admirer.” Logan jerked his head toward the boy.
“So, it seems, have you.” Tomas had climbed up next to Joss.
“Best not to disappoint the lads.” He crinkled at me, and my heart skipped a beat. He took advantage and gave me a blow that landed across my arm. “You’ve lost your sword arm, Lord Drake.”