Fathers and Sons

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “I…,” Bose tore his gaze away from the old man, looking to Morgan with a degree of shock never before witnessed. When his friend smiled encouragingly, the startled father seemed to snap out of his trance and he grabbed the older knight by the arms, hard enough to break bones. “I have a son? Summer has given me a son?”

  Soft laughter could be heard from Tate and Farl, convinced that Bose was not going to tear them all to pieces for failing to relay the news in a more timely fashion. Morgan merely smiled into the ashen face.

  “A fat little lad with your dark hair,” he replied. “He eats constantly and screams loud enough to rupture my eardrums. He shall be a mighty warrior someday.”

  Bose’s eyebrows rose as his shock wore thin, a faint mottle of color reappearing on his pale cheeks. “God’s Beard,” he mumbled, turning to look at a beaming Artur. “I had no… for God’s sake, it’s not time yet. The babe is not due to arrive for three more weeks.”

  “He is here nonetheless,” Artur said over the knights’ laughter. “Summer forbade us to send word of her birth, knowing how panicked and irrational you would become. She was afraid you’d kill yourself riding day and night to return home.”

  Bose took a deep breath, running a gauntleted hand through his wet hair. His eyes moved from the men surrounding him to the keep beyond. An unmistakable longing pulled at him, tightening his throat and squeezing his heart until he could hardly breathe. He could not stop the well of tears filling his eyes.

  “I must see them,” he muttered, pushing past the men in a blind rush to reach the keep. “Summer… you say she is fine?”

  Artur was close behind, as were the other three knights. “As healthy and whole as the day ye left her,” the old man replied steadily. “She began having pains on the night ye departed for Chaldon and by dawn she was holding yer squalling son in her arms. We hardly had time to work up a substantial worry.”

  “And my son is well?”

  “Well, Bose. Well.”

  Bose did not know whether to laugh or cry. All that mattered was the fact that his son had been born, healthy and strong, and by the grace of God his wife had survived unscathed. God’s Beard, he was desperate to hold her, to tell her how much he loved her and to thank her for her most gracious gift of a son.

  Into the massive keep, even the servants were smiling broadly as their rushed lord mounted the stairs, followed closely by his knights. The closer he came to his wife and new child, the more tears and emotion threatened to overwhelm him.

  As Bose entered the familiar second floor where the bedchambers were situated, he realized he could hardly breathe through the force of his feelings. Closer and closer he drew until finally he burst through the master chamber door. What he saw nearly sent him to his knees.

  Summer was sitting up in bed, holding a swaddled bundle and smiling radiantly at her pale-faced husband. When the man seemed unable to move his feet in a forward direction, she held out a hand to him.

  “Welcome home, my darling,” she said softly. “Come and m-meet your new son.”

  Bose let out a ragged sigh as Artur gave him a shove, pushing him into the warm, sweet-smelling chamber.

  “God’s Beard, Summer,” he croaked. “Why… why did not you send word? Why did not you demand I return home, to be with you while you…?”

  “Because you would have been absolutely useless,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “Look at you now; I am fine, the babe is fine, and still you look as if you are seeing ghosts. Believe me when I tell you that you would not have survived my night of labor.”

  Near the bed, Bose collapsed on the edge, staring at the small, squirming bundle in his wife’s arms as if unsure of the truth of the matter. As if hardly believing all had happened as it should, a healthy wife and a healthy child. Summer smiled at his disbelief and patted the bed beside her.

  “Do not sit so far away,” she commanded quietly. “Come and sit with us.”

  Woodenly, obediently, he rose and moved around the bed, staring down at the two human beings most precious to him. After a brief, hesitant moment, he lowered himself carefully beside his wife and son.

  “Hold out your arms,” Summer commanded, preparing to hand over the child. “He shall not bite you, Bose. H-Hold out your arms, I say.”

  He extended his hands awkwardly, unsure of himself. “I have… I have never held an infant before, Summer. God’s Beard, what if I drop him? What if I crush him?”

  She laughed, listening to Artur and the knights titter. “He shall scream like a banshee if he’s not comfortable. You w-worry overmuch, husband. Now fold your arms; that’s right.”

  With a good deal of coaching, Bose finally placed his arms in the correct position and Summer neatly deposited the tiny bundle in the crook of his left elbow. Peeling back the swaddling, Bose was blessed with the first glimpse of his squirming, fat-cheeked son.

  “Oh, Summer,” he breathed, his uncertainty and surprise being replaced by awe. “He’s marvelous. Absolutely marvelous.”

  Summer’s eyes were filled with tears as she watched her husband’s expression. “Indeed, darling,” she stroked his clammy black hair, feeling her strength return by the mere sight and smell of him. “Since you refused to discuss names, I was forced to choose a proper title without your consent.”

  Bose watched the infant as he suckled on his fingers. “I apologize for my reluctance,” he offered feebly. “I… I was afraid to. Afraid to hope that our child would not live long enough to be named and afraid that you would not live long enough to name it.”

  She shushed him softly, kissing his ear. “I know,” she whispered. “There is no need to explain your fears to me, darling. But I refuse to hear any c-complaints should my choice not be to your liking.”

  “As long as it isn’t Kermit.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Nay, husband, I have spared you such embarrassment of a first name. But have no doubt my son will bear the name somehow.”

  He smiled for the first time since returning home, his face soft with enchantment as he continued to gaze at the bundled infant. “Anything you choose is fine, love, truly. I swear I’ll not dispute you.”

  Summer watched his features carefully as she replied. “I rather like your father’s name, Garret, but I wanted to honor my brother as well. Stephan has meant a good deal to us both,” gazing down at the fair baby’s face, she ran her finger along a silken cheek. “Therefore, I have decided to name your son Garran. Master Garran Kermit de Moray.”

  Bose gazed down at the rosy face, more wonder and joy and contentment filling him than he ever thought possible. All of his fears, his pain and his sorrows were fading rapidly until he could scarcely recall the feelings that had been a part of him for more years than he cared to count. For within his arms lay the catalyst to a greater healing and sitting beside him on the massive bed lay the very key to his heart.

  A key that would give him three more children in the years to come. All of the Gorgon’s children would grow to see adulthood and one would live to fight alongside his mighty father. But for now, there was no more misery and no more sorrow. No more woes to plague him.

  Finally, the Gorgon had found peace.

  * THE END *

  REALM OF ANGELS

  A Medieval Romance Novella

  By Kathryn Le Veque

  Author’s Note

  This novella was written for a Christmas collection and based on the Mouse King in the story The Nutcracker and The Mouse King by E.T.A. Hoffmann in 1816. This is actually the original “Nutcracker” story, as Alexander Dumas’ story and the Tchaikovsky ballet came well after. I was very excited to do this, thinking it would be a simple thing to give the poor Mouse King a sweet backstory.

  I was wrong.

  Reading the original story, Hoffmann was one of those 19th century writers (like Lewis Carroll) who would drop acid and then write his tales. The original story is complicated, hard to follow, and doesn’t make a lot of sense. It’s very bizarre. So, I had to stew on
it for a while to see what I could come up with to give the very evil Mouse King a sympathetic story.

  While wanting to remain true to the tale, I was being pulled very strongly towards the tale as a whole, not just one character, so I decided to write my story to essentially reflect the dynamic between Marie (called Clara in later tales), the Nutcracker, and the Mouse King – but with a twist. In the original tale, it’s the Nutcracker who walks away with Marie. In my story, it’s the Mouse King who gets the girl. I had to give that poor (mean) character his happily ever after.

  Hoffmann aside, this novella ties into the novel I released in September 2017 entitled SHIELD OF KRONOS. Our heroine, Juliana, is a secondary character in that novel and the daughter of Val de Nerra (VESTIGES OF VALOR). In this book, she’s our sympathetic leading lady, so this novella could also be considered a very long (secondary) epilogue to SHIELD OF KRONOS, which took place about six months before. At the same time, it is also an extended epilogue to VESTIGES OF VALOR because of the glimpse into Val de Nerra’s family so many years later.

  Even so, this story stands entirely on its own, as all of my stories do, so I do hope you enjoy it. It’s a short, sweet glimpse into a romance that is truly one for the ages.

  Onward into the Realm of Angels!

  Hugs,

  Kathryn

  PROLOGUE

  THE KING OF MICE

  Selborne Castle

  November, 1201 A.D.

  He didn’t know where else to go.

  It had been an onset of an early winter this year and travel from the Continent had been difficult and slow. Snows had been heavy and deep, and the level of misery was beyond normal expectations. Coupled with the way he traveled these days… in shadow, his features hidden by a mask in the shape of a mouse that he’d purchased off of a physic who used it to keep away the smell of ill and dead patients, it made for slow and sometimes dangerous movement. People would see him and fear him because of the mask, but when they saw what was under the mask… well, that was even worse.

  In truth, the mask was there to hide a disfigurement from a fire he’d been caught in. The entire right side of his face had been burned, half of his hair singed off, and he had scars all on the right side of his head, face, and neck. His nose had survived, but it was red and scarred, too. The mask didn’t cover all of it, but it covered a good portion of it and what it didn’t cover, he concealed beneath a kerchief he tied over his head. What remained of his hair was tied off at the nape of his neck and trailed down his back.

  It had been beautiful hair, .

  In fact, he’d been a man of comely looks, so much so that a princess had once vied for his hand. They were to be married until the accident that robbed him of the face he’d been born with. She couldn’t stand to look at him because of it. So, he’d been given a good deal of money to simply go away. It had been a terrible moment in his life, realizing that the woman he’d been slated to marry hadn’t been able to see past those scars to the man she said she’d once loved.

  A man who had left everything to be with her.

  Now, he was returning home in shame.

  But the truth was that he didn’t want to go to the home of his father. The man had told him he’d been a fool in the first place for having run off with a woman promising him lands and wealth. So he didn’t want to go back to his father’s house to admit he’d been wrong. That wouldn’t do at all. He may not have had much pride left, but there was something left. Remnants, in fact.

  And that was why he’d come to Selborne.

  She was at Selborne.

  He could still see her face. Eyes like emeralds, lips like rubies. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, someone he’d adored and someone who adored him in return. But he’d stepped on that adoration and ground it under his heel, turning it into dust when he made the choice to leave with the princess who had promised him the world. It had been a superficial decision at best and one that had cost him everything.

  Now, he found himself back at the home of the woman who had adored him since childhood.

  He had to go somewhere, so he came back to Selborne. The massive bastion in Hampshire, home of the de Nerra family, home to people he’d known all of his life and had loved all of his life. His father had served Sir Val de Nerra when he’d been very young, and he had nothing but fond memories of his childhood at Selborne.

  But that was all he had now – only fond memories. It had been almost four years since he last saw Juliana de Nerra, Val’s daughter and the only woman he’d ever loved. He’d wanted to marry her until the promises from the princess had turned his foolish head. But the betrothal to the princess hadn’t been his idea; it had been thrust upon him with the promise of massive wealth and titles, and he’d been blinded by it. He’d never had feelings for the princess, not ever. But he’d chosen her and her wealth over the woman he adored, and now he had nothing. Nothing but memories.

  Returning to Selborne was like returning to the scene of the crime.

  Juliana was here. He’d come back to Selborne because she was here, because he wanted to be near her even though he knew she didn’t want to see him. After what he’d done, he didn’t blame her. But still, he wanted to be close to her, if only to catch a glimpse of her now and again. It was the only place he wanted to be.

  The only place he could go.

  He was a knight, and a very good one, but he did not seek service from Val. In fact, he didn’t want Val to even know he was there. He didn’t want anyone to know he was there. With the damage to his face and neck, it would take a sharp-eyed man to recognize him, but he couldn’t take any chances. He sought work in the kitchens or in the stables, and he was put in the butchery. He killed and processed animals for the de Nerra family table.

  Having once been a powerful and celebrated knight, it was something of a sorrowful position to now be butchering animals as his vocation. But he didn’t feel shame in the position. In his estimation, it was better than he deserved and at least he had something to do now, a way to earn his keep. Moreover, he was close to the woman of his heart. In the month he’d been there, he’d already seen Juliana a few times and she was more beautiful than he remembered. He was content with admiring her from afar.

  He didn’t deserve any better.

  His domain was now the butchery and the kitchen yard, and he never ventured far from his domain. He rarely said a word and was obedient to the cook, who commanded him about and didn’t ask too many questions about the damage to his face and the odd mask he wore to cover it. Sometimes, he took the mask off just to breathe, but he quickly put it back on when people came around. But that wasn’t too often because he slept in a shed next to the butchery that contained axes and knives and a sharpening wheel; tools of his trade. Still, he wasn’t entirely alone. He did have the companionship of the little mice that ran between the stables and the kitchen yard. Sometimes, he even fed them. The cook saw him once and, given the fact that the mask he wore resembled a mouse, laughingly called him the King of the Mice.

  It seemed that the mice were all he had these days.

  The once-great knight, now reduced to a Mouse King and his self-made realm of misery.

  He expected nothing more.

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT WAS HER

  Four Years Earlier

  The Ides of December, 1197 A.D.

  Hollyhock House, London

  “He is here, Juliana!”

  “Who?”

  “Rhogan de Garr!”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I heard someone call him by name! I saw him!”

  Lady Juliana de Nerra looked at her sister in shock. That shock soon turned to pleasure, and pleasure to giddiness. It was exactly what she’d been hoping for and to realize the man was here… the realization of it was enough to bring a blush to her cheeks.

  He was here!

  It was the Christmas season in London, perhaps the best season of the year for young and old alike. With just a few short days un
til the start of the Epiphany, the twelve days of Christmas that would cap off the season, there was a giddy excitement in the city as the great houses along The Strand open their doors and invited their guests into the warm and gluttonous halls. There was more food in these homes than some people saw in a lifetime, Hollyhock included.

  The de Nerra party had come all the way from Hampshire to attend the celebration, mostly because Val de Nerra was a very important man in England. As the recently-appointed High Sheriff of Southern England, his jurisdiction ran from Cornwall to Kent, so if there was anything important going on in London, Val was either involved or invited to it. That meant any grand party, in this case given by the House of de Winter, was something Val and his family were expected to attend.

  But politics was the last thing on Juliana’s mind as she entered the massive manse. All she cared about was the beauty and the festivity of it. Hollyhock put on a grand display – the glow of thousands of lit tapers and music filled the air. As she stepped towards the hall, packed with people, she could see flecks of gold falling on the guests, sprinkled from the Minstrel’s Walk above by servants to make it look as if it were raining gold. The shimmering effect in the light of the candles was both brilliant and magical.

  Still… that wasn’t the only thing that had her attention. She was most interested in a certain young knight her sister had evidently seen.

  But Charlotte was grabbing at her, annoyingly, and she couldn’t really enjoy the spectacle before he with her younger sister pawing at her. As a servant took her snow-dusted cloak away, Juliana slapped at her sister’s hands.

  “Charlotte, stop,” she hissed. “Stop pulling on me!”