He looked at his uncle. So much like his father. For a heartbeat, it was like having him back.
“Mother said you were responsible, but before I could investigate or do anything, she took ill. She didn’t eat, just sat and stared at nothing. Waited. She wasted away.”
“You’re a good son,” his mother said. “Did you bring the package of estate papers to Swift?”
“Before noon. Now, have some broth.” Gareth took a spoonful to her lips, but she didn’t take it. Frustrated, he put the spoon in the bowl.
“I should have been with them,” he mumbled. It was a selfish thought, but the truth.
“No. You mustn’t think like that. You have so much to live for. You must carry on what your father and I have started.” She combed her fingers through his hair. “Don’t become bent on revenge. Know that nothing will ever be the same, and that anger isn’t strength, quite the opposite. It’s difficult now, but you are strong.” She smiled and he saw a brightness that had been gone for months. “I loved your brothers, but I always thought you were the best of your father and me. Now, give me a kiss so I will have pleasant dreams.”
“It was the last time we spoke. She passed away that night in her sleep.”
“Sarah was a kind woman who was devoted to her husband and sons. She was ever in the middle between Thomas and me. She saw to it that I had a room somewhere and food to eat. Still, I didn’t make it easy.”
A soft whistle floated on the wind. Gareth raised his arm and signaled.
Miles glanced at Gareth’s sons. “They take care of you, although from the looks of things you can take care of yourself. Do you still play the knight?
“I do, to Lord Reynolds. I’m his constable. It’s a long story. One I will gladly tell you. I want to hear your tales as well.”
“How different the circumstances were when we were young. Thomas and I were a pair. As boys, we did everything together. Raided the kitchen for sweets, the barn to pester the horses, and when we were older, the cellar for a tankard of beer.” Miles, his thoughts somewhere else, chuckled to himself. “But as we grew older, we grew apart. He trained to be the next earl. And I, well, I trained to be everyone’s pain in the arse. I was successful at that.
“A runner brought me a message from Thomas. He wanted me to meet him here. I was to come right away. It was urgent. He hadn’t needed me or wanted to speak to me in…” He hadn’t spoken to Thomas in six months. They had never gone that long. “A long time. I thought I might be able to bargain with him for a place to live and not take anything from Sarah.
“I trudged across the meadow from the tavern. I practiced what I would say to him, how contrite and sorry I was. And I meant it. I made my way through the bushes and saw Will and Jamie first. I hurried to them, but there was nothing I could do for them or Richard.” The picture of Richard’s damaged face made him pause. “Thomas called to me.”
“Father was still alive?” Gareth grabbed Miles’ arm.
“He was dying. I made him as comfortable as I could. I asked him over and over who attacked them. All he said was to get you away, out of England. I had so much I wanted to say to him. Instead I held his hand and told him I would do anything to protect you.”
“I’m glad he wasn’t alone,” Gareth said, his voice a whisper.
They sat quietly, each deep in their own thoughts.
“After all these years it’s a shock and a relief to see you alive after believing you were dead,” Miles said.
“We have that in common. I thought I killed you,” Gareth said. He put his hand on Miles’ shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. “It’s a relief for me as well. We have much to discuss.”
“Yes, we do.” Miles tilted his head and glanced at Gareth. “This is a start.”
Gareth pounded Miles’ back. “Yes, a start.”
Behind them, Graham and Donald shook the bushes. Gareth glanced as they tugged something free. He turned back and stared at the graves.
“The flowers on the graves are wilted,” Gareth said.
“My daughter, Charlotte, refreshes them every week. She likes to come in the afternoon and sit here.”
“She’s a lovely woman and an excellent archer.”
Miles swung around, a stunned expression on his face.
“I have three sons. You’ve met Donald and Graham. My oldest is Hugh, Hugh Talbot.”
“The financier?” Miles’ shocked reaction relieved him.
“Hugh has father’s ability with numbers and trade,” Gareth said.
How he hated his uncle all those years ago. Miles was right. He never would have listened to him or agreed to anything he proposed. Revenge was paramount in his mind.
Revenge wasn’t as sweet as he imagined. It left him with nothing.
“You didn’t plan for the two to meet, Hugh and Charlotte?” Gareth knew the answer.
Miles shook his head.
“I wasn’t sure. You may not have planned it, but I don’t think their meeting was a coincidence. But I do believe she and Hugh love each other.”
Miles stood. “I have yet to meet your son. When I returned, I found Charlotte here rather than in London. She had a disagreement with Hugh and was not happy. When I got a message to speak to him at the White Hart, I couldn’t imagine why he wanted to speak to me and not her.”
Gareth sprung from the boulder. “I received a message from Charlotte to meet her at the White Hart.”
“Donald, Graham.” They came quickly.
“We found this caught in the bushes. It’s too clean to have been here long.” Donald handed Gareth a shawl.
“That’s Charlotte’s.” Miles took the shawl from them.
“It seems Miles and I have both been summoned to the White Hart, by different people.”
Without another word, the four men hurried toward the tavern.
Chapter Eight
The drumming of hoofbeats in the distance brought Charlotte to the window. Please, let it be Hugh. She’d been waiting for weeks after refusing to see him. She was sure he would return. When he didn’t come to her and she could no longer stand it, she quit London and came to Sagamore.
Her new home was beautiful. She spent time exploring the rooms, looking at the gallery of pictures, and exploring the grounds. She found a shorter route over the hill to the local village that was past a small closed tavern. That was when she found the graves. Uncared for, she cleaned them up and each week, brought flowers.
The rider drew closer. Her heart beat faster. Hugh? She leaned closer to the window for a better view. Her lips pulled back into a smile. She would know those shoulders, straight back, easy presence anywhere.
She hurried down the stairs and beat the footman to the front door. After smoothing her skirts and taking a breath or two to center herself, she swung open the door.
“Hugh?” He stepped inside.
Her hands went to her face. She reached out and stroked his cheek. “What have you done?”
His skin was soft. She quickly drew her hand away.
“Good day, Hugh.” His gaze was a mystery where before there had been openness. Not a good omen. He had his business expression on. She had seen it before, but never directed at her. This was indifference. She had hoped with their separation he would come to his senses, fight for them. No. That’s over.
“You are handsome without your beard, a younger version of your father.”
“I thought it was time to come out of hiding. Is your father here?”
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from speaking. Charlotte closed the door behind him. He hadn’t come to speak to her, to make things right. She turned and faced him.
“No. He’s gone to the White Hart. Would you like to wait?”
“I thought I could catch him before he left.”
“Oh, you knew Father was going to the tavern?”
“I received a message to meet him. I thought he might still be here. I’m glad he’s not. I want to talk to you.”
His voice was omin
ous, which didn’t bode well. This wasn’t how she imagined their meeting to be. She led him to the window in the salon, a cozy sitting area with two single chairs and a bench with the soft pillow for two. Hugh took the single chair. Her heart cried a little. Stupid girl. There was no hope. She sat across from him on the bench.
During the last few weeks, she went over everything that had happened since the tournament. She examined each encounter and arrived at the conclusion that she would have done nothing different.
Charlotte studied his clean-shaven face. Handsome. Strong. Why was she torturing herself like this? Best he get to the point and leave.
“You wanted to tell me something.” He would have to say the words that their relationship was over. She had no intention of making it easy for him.
She couldn’t stay in England. She would search for him wherever she went. France. Yes, reopen the chateau, no matter what her father said. She, along with Jeanne Marie and Isabella, would make a nice group of three like-minded women without any shadows of Hugh lurking about. He would be completely out of her life. That thought stabbed her heart.
He lifted his face from staring at the floor and smiled. He got out of the chair and joined her on the bench.
Charlotte stared at his face and for a moment, she saw a different man, one she didn’t know.
“If you think you’re confused, you should be inside my head. It’s been difficult these last few weeks.”
She said nothing.
“What do you know of your family background, on your father’s side?”
“He told me stories about living here at Sagamore Hall and growing up in England.”
“Anything about the family?”
“When I asked Father, he told me a little… the death of his brother and nephews. It was obvious the topic was painful for him. I stopped asking.” She turned to Hugh. “Is that the problem? My family? Am I not—”
“Your father is the only one who can sort this out.”
“Sort what out? You keep speaking in riddles.”
Hugh stood, raked his hand through his hair and paced the room. Finally, he stopped in front of her.
“There are questions about your grandfather’s death. They need to be settled. I believe your father has the answers.”
“Give me a moment, and I’ll go with you.” She took her shawl.
He took her shawl out of her hand and put it on the sideboard. “Your father requested I meet him. It’s best I go alone.”
He left the room and didn’t look back. Moments later, she heard the door close.
He gave her such little hope. He didn’t care about their relationship. She didn’t go to the window; he wouldn’t turn around this time. She let out a hot breath as she unsuccessfully tried to stop the tears.
“Focus. Find something. Anything.” She stood by the table, moved things for no reason. Desperate to do something, she found a parchment scroll on the sideboard. Her father was ever leaving things unattended. She brought it into the library and placed it on the middle of her father’s desk.
The seal, a boar’s head atop a crown drew her attention. She knew that seal. Her father had received many documents from this correspondent. The message was the precursor to him traveling. Where was he going now? Could she go with him? She opened the document. First, she read the accompanying note.
A gift to you from Forest. He tried to sell this to me, something he now dearly regrets. Make things right. You know what you must do. The ghosts here give you all the answers you need. The gem was an added surprise.
MacAlpin
Ghosts? The other document made a slight rustling sound when she picked it up. The parchment was velvet to the touch. The deep-white color with a hint of yellow attested to its quality.
She brought the document to the window where the light was better. While some of the writing had faded over the years, the document was still readable.
By the King,
A Proclamation,
For Apprehending Miles Eden
Henry W
Whereas, Miles Eden, has been accused by Neville Fawcett, the Sheriff of North Yorkshire, of the murder of Thomas Eden and his sons, William, James, and Richard, and based on his being seen committing the act of murder at the river by the White Hart Inn, as aforesaid it appears that he has entered into a most horrid conspiracy, not only for the demise of our most honorable subject and his sons, but for his own profit. And whereas the said Miles Eden has made his escape and has fled from justice, we therefore have thought, by the advice of our Privy-council, to issue this, Our Royal Proclamation, hereby Requiring and Commanding all our loving subjects to secure and apprehend said Miles Eden, then to therefore give speedy notice unto our Privy-council so he may be dealt with according to the law.
Given at our court at Westminster, the xxx of xxx 1263, in the forty-seventh year of Our Reign.
God Save the King
On close examination, the writing hadn’t faded. The parchment had been reused, much of the original lettering appeared as a ghost beneath the message.
Ghost?
She lowered the document. Was the answer to MacAlpin’s riddle simply to read beneath the lines?
Charlotte hurried back to the desk and lit the taper. Carefully she held the thin parchment note in front of the light to see the original words. Whoever cleaned the skin had carelessly scraped off the letters and not taken the time to wash it. Finding parchment and ink, she began to transcribe the ghost writing as best she could.
Falin,
I pinched this parchment from the Court Secretary. Write an arrest warrant for Lord Miles for the murder of his brother and nephews. He’s ripe with guilt. It won’t take much to pick his pockets. Threatening him with a warrant was a brilliant idea. He’ll be too busy watching his back to notice what we’re doing. Let me know when you’re finished. I’ll tell him I got this from the dispatcher. It won’t be the first time an order has gone astray.
Have you figured a way to get rid of the last son? Perhaps we can blame Miles for Gareth’s death as well. So much for the high and mighty earl.
Forest
Charlotte sat back. Murder? She read her transcription again. Pieces of the riddle fell into place. Gareth’s resemblance to her father had struck her when she met him. He had asked her questions about her father and family when he escorted her to Alnwick. Now she understood why. Gareth was the surviving son.
She didn’t know who Forest was, and the only Falins she knew were Martha’s family.
How dare someone make demands on her father holding this false document over his head! Is that why he left England? To hide in France? Surely, her father had read the words hidden under the warrant. A shiver went down her spine. Why did he want to meet with Hugh and not Gareth? Why at the abandoned tavern and not here?
What if her father didn’t know what was beneath the text? Out of hiding, that’s what Hugh said. Did he come here first to give her father an opportunity to confess? Would Hugh have the sheriff waiting for him?
The note for the meeting, did it contain any information? She went back to the desk and pulled out the small basket of notes and odd things – pins, rings, coins – until she found the note she wanted.
Meet me at the White Hart Inn.
Hugh Talbot
A gasp escaped her lips as her confusion turned to anger, then into a scalding fury. She took out the arrest warrant and laid the note on top of it. The writing was the same. Hugh didn’t ask for the meeting.
Forest did.
She ran through the garden, heading for the gate and the short route to the White Hart beyond. Her breath came in small spurts. Charlotte ran as if the devil himself chased her. She went through the tangle of trees and bushes that pulled at her shawl until it pulled free. She didn’t bother to retrieve it, but kept going.
Please, let Hugh and her father be safe. Her heartbeat mirrored her footfalls, the more she took, the more footprints she left behind as she pushed on and moved faster. She came to the end
of the forest and rushed across the meadow to the tavern beyond.
The door to the White Hart opened before she could grab the latch.
“Come in, Lady Charlotte. You’re a welcome surprise.”
She stared at Hugh who sat in the light from the open door. The expression on his face gave nothing away. Another man stood behind him.
“You appear winded. Forest, show Lady Charlotte to her seat.”
She knew the voice before she turned. Falin closed the door behind her.
“Forgive me. I raced here and I’m a bit out of breath.”
She took a seat across the room from Hugh. She took a quick accounting of the room looking for any advantage. The room was littered with debris that must have found its way in through the single window on the back wall. The tips of her skirt brushed against the floor sweeping the dust along. The room was empty except for a few benches and barrels.
“We’re going to take a refreshing walk to the river. It’s a very nice reflective area.” Falin hauled Hugh to his feet. That was when she noticed his hands were bound. She prepared for them to bind her as well, but it would be on her terms.
Forest pulled her to her feet.
“Careful, Forest. That’s no way to handle a lady,” Falin said.
She crossed her hands in front of her and presented them to him.
“Now there’s a good girl. Keep this up and things will be fine.” She glanced at Hugh as Falin bound her hands. “We’re going outside, by the river, while Falin welcomes our other guests.”
Her father would be here soon. Who else have they tricked into coming? She glanced at Hugh and her heart dropped. Gareth.
Falin and Forest pushed them along through the high grass and brought them the short distance to the river. The current had cut a steep bank, and the water rushed by.
Chapter Nine
Miles crept with Gareth and his sons around the tavern’s high outer wall.
Hugh: Pirates of Britannia Connected World (Sons of Sagamore Book 1) Page 9