“You don’t have to make up your mind right this moment,” his father added. “Your birthday is in a few days, so our thoughts were to arrange a formal event on that night and invite town’s people over to celebrate with us. Perhaps during this affair you’ll come across a suitable bride or at least become acquainted with someone you might find fitting to join you in holy matrimony.”
Coming across a bit aggressive, Deklan raised his voice, “Father, please. I don’t want a bride or a companion or a, whatever you want to call it right now. I have plenty of time to find a sidekick, but now isn’t good.”
“Deklan, please,” his mother stepped in, holding out her hand as if to comfort her agitated child.
Sir Dante rattled, “What do you know about when a good time is? You’re young and we are wiser, and this is the right time.”
Deklan rushed to the libraries exit, turning back with his hand gripping the iron handle. “Do what you must. Order me a princess, but I cannot promise this engagement will be what you plan or expect.” He swung the heavy door open and stormed away.
“That went well,” Dante commented, scratching his head. “We’ll proceed as planned. He’ll come round, I’m sure of it. We know what’s best for him. Don’t we?” He pounded a pointy finger on the table next to him, then looked at his dust coated fingertip. “This place a filthy sty, it needs a good cleaning. Whose job is that?”
With disregard to the conversation Deklan had with his parents, he stomped down the corridor and out to the horse stables. His heart beating to the point his blood had boiled, feeling the pressure building behind his eyes. He hopped on his favorite steed and rode Chadwick into the woods at lightning speed. He needed to get away from what had just taken place. He needed to think on his own.
Deklan felt more alone than he ever had before, and wanted time to his self to figure a way out of the dreadful heartache he was enduring. He rode until he reached an open field overcrowded with cloves. There, he brought Chadwick to a stop and hopped off. The scent of the pungent weeds had relaxed him.
His eyes had become heavy as he quietly lay next to Chadwick on the ground. He dozed while wrestling with his wandering thoughts of marriage to an unknown lady bride he knew for sure he wasn’t going to be compatible with.
How was he going to make it through a marriage to a lady if a connection didn’t feel the least bit natural to him?
Chapter 3
Oakland lay wide awake in bed with the cat licking his scalp, grooming the hair on his head. Licking and purring. Non-stop. Its rough tongue irritating his scalp with every stroke. The smell of soot on his body emanated a stronger odor than it normally had, and to relieve his senses, he decided to outwit his insomnia with a walk outdoors in the fresh air.
Dusk had already made its appearance and the sickle-moon above helped Oakland find his way through the darkness a bit easier than if the large orbiting satellite wasn’t there at all. Its slim crescent sliver cast just enough light to enable him to see a few steps ahead of him. There wasn’t much light, but he managed to find his way along the sparse trail that had felt rain free and dry beneath his feet.
He skimmed the ground in front of him, looking for clovers that would grant him some Irish luck. The field had grown an abundance of clovers, yet never seemed to be flourishing a stem with leaves of four. Good luck be granted not.
Trekking eastward, Oakland identified movement on the ground ahead of him. His startled mind imagined a wild animal with a plan to ravage until blood spilled. He stood frozen, contemplating an escape from the wild beast in the brush.
It moved again.
“Oh God!” He lost his breath.
Standing nearly motionless, Oakland shifted backward, taking the same steps that had brought him to where he was standing.
Oakland had become relieved once he heard a cluck.
“Dirty bird,” he grumbled, immediately trying to corral the chicken with open arms. “Shouldn’t you be in your coop right now preparing to lay a few breakfast eggs?”
“Betty Lu,” he whispered—his raspy tone had come out on the verge of a holler. “You shouldn’t be out here. Now scram.” Oakland waved his arms in front of him, scaring her, hopeful she’d run back home where she belonged. He shifted from side to side, forcing the bird to run in the right direction, his own bare feet stung from stepping on dry weeds and sticks across the ground.
The chicken had taken off running and so had he, surely appearing ridiculous while chasing her down the hill with clapping hands and vocal shrieking.
Behind him up the hill, Oakland heard thundering footfalls, heavy galloping like that of a horse. Its pounding hooves had amplified. He reacted, leaping aside as the horse raced by.
“Betty Lu,” he hollered. “Get out of the way!”
The galloping horse whinnied on meeting the feather flapping bird, stopping sharp as if a wall was in the way. The horse reared up, dumping its rider backward to the ground. Its large image eerily silhouetted by the back drop of the moon. The sight frightening, striking characteristics of All-Hallows night.
Male instincts to protect kicked in and Oakland dove to pull the rider from under the horses stomping hooves. He held the man tightly in a steely lock, arms around him like that of a mothering bear.
Instantly, gravity had taken over and down the hillside they both rolled.
At the same time Deklan and Oakland tumbled, the chicken fled and the horse had too.
When the force of gravity had given out, the tumbling men abruptly stopped. Midway down the hill, they lay face to face, Oakland under the man on top, whose dangling hair concealed his identity in a darkened shadow.
A charge had erected between Oakland’s legs, evidence of firmness pressing against his inner thigh. He lay still for several moments until the man looking down on him shifted, possibly realizing what had just happened.
Oakland noticed the look on the handsome man’s face was somber, indicating he might have been stunned. The silence lingered, and Oakland could feel the man’s warm breath gracing his cheek and ear. Then, the horseman budged ever so slightly before snapping out of his apparent daze. Shuddering as if startled, the horse rider quickly lifted himself off of Oakland, favoring one leg when he stood.
“That… well… Um. Excuse me and my wild horse. I do apologize. Damned chicken should be on a plate next to buttered potatoes and a corn cob,” he stuffily said, flicking clovers from the hair on his chest where his shirt had broken open.
Oakland breathlessly stared.
A mention of moonbeam had fallen just right across the man’s face and Oakland slowly inhaled when he recognized who he was—Deklan from the Manor he worked at. Oakland’s stomach tightened as if feeling sickly. Instantly, he pulled his locked gaze away, forcing himself to stop staring at the majestic man.
While Deklan pounded away the soil clinging to his clothing, he mentioned, “It’s not very wise to be roaming out in these fields all alone so late at night, you know.” His deep crisp voice seemed truly concerned.
Oakland stood, trying not to look Deklan square in the eyes. He replied, “Yes sir.” Even though it wasn’t any of Deklan’s business what Oakland did on his own time, he had still gone into detail why he was out in the field all alone in the first place. “I was chasing my chicken, sir.” He smirked since the phrase had come to sound comical.
Deklan snickered too, covering his mouth with his hand that hid his grin. “Did you see where your chicken ran off to?”
Like a shy child, Oakland tucked his thumbs behind his suspenders, “No sir, but I believe she took off into the woods. She’ll find her way home I’m sure. There’s food for her there.”
Lowering a brow, Deklan said, “Please call me Deklan. Addressing me as sir is too formal and I find it strange to be called that by somebody who might be my own age.”
Oakland nodded and lowered his head further as if Deklan was truly royalty, and duty called to respect his title with a bow. The way Deklan returned his gaze, Oakland sensed he
might not know the Manor employed him.
While Deklan was looking at the moon, Oakland snuck in a glance and could see the man was focused on something other than what he was doing at the moment. Deklan’s blank stare into space had given clue of that.
“Are you okay?” Oakland asked Deklan, concerned he might have been injured from the tumble off the horse.
Deklan looked himself over, shook out his arms and stamped his feet. “I’m good. Thanks for asking.” He smiled. “Are you good?”
“I’m fine.” Oakland smiled back, catching Deklan glancing up and down his bare chest right before looking into his eyes.
“It’s pretty dark out here. You going to find your way home okay?” Deklan kindly asked, once again sounding concerned.
Oakland repeated he was alright and mentioned he was confident the chicken would lead the way.
Deklan laughed. “Okay. Have a good night, then.” He walked over to his grazing horse and mounted it like a champion rider. The horse trotted away, leaving Oakland in the field alone.
On his way back to the carriage house, Oakland mused over how polite Deklan was. It actually surprised as well as delighted him to find the Prince of the Manor was so kind. Since his family was wealthy and established, Oakland had expected a different attitude and tone.
Oakland caught up to Betty Lu, found her hen-pecking the ground in the woods where she’d run off to. When he picked her up to carry her, the silly bird seemed irritated, clucked and squabbled in his arms, possibly out of anger for being off the ground where she felt most comfortable, but after some time, Betty Lu had turned content and allowed Oakland to carrier her home.
Chapter 4
Back at the big house, Sir Wattsworth buttled the Manor, organizing Senior Dante’s celebration requests in Deklan’s honor.
Sir Wattsworth retrieved the Almond business registration stored on a dusty shelf in the Manors library. He started there, identifying the town’s most influential people who would most likely attend if invited, as well as ordered note postings to be placed around the village.
The list of estimable companions Wattsworth put together consisted of many different sorts—from the wealthy to the poorer paupers. All of whom were able to marry Deklan and were within his own age, slightly older as well as younger.
The following morning had come and the demands of the day rested heavily on Wattsworth’s shoulders. Orders had been given to release the invitations to the delivery messengers on standby. Distributions had to be then or never. It was down to the wire.
The chaotic commotion around the messenger wagons outside the Manor had captured Oakland’s attention, motivating him to stop what he was doing. He inquisitively watched. At first he thought it was excess trash being removed from the premises, but wondered why he wasn’t involved with its removal or why it wasn’t being tossed over his head as usual. He stood quietly with the goats and chickens while emptying the kernels of dry corn and weedy wheat stalks into their feeding cribs.
It appeared the place had settled down once the wagons started pulling into the lane, taking the sacks to wherever they had been order to go.
Making the decision to mind his own business, Oakland finished filling the animals’ breakfast before retrieving what the royal family needed for that morning’s meal.
With arms loaded, Oakland stood waiting at the kitchen entrance. He stumbled back a few steps when the big wooden door burst open right before a grasp on his elbow pulled him inside, followed by a shove of a hand between his shoulder blades that thrust him to the back of the kitchen.
To avoid a kick to the britches again, Oakland propelled himself out the doorway only to clumsily catch his toe on the threshold under foot. Without the help from anybody else, he tripped down the steps to the ground. From behind, he heard laughing as he went face first into dirt and spilled slop.
Unlike previous times he’d gone down at the forceful hand of a servant, a parchment note that might have come from a bucket of garbage had found a place against Oakland’s cheek. On standing, the paper piece peeled away and feather floated to the ground, landing with the words clearly within view. He hadn’t planned on reading what wasn’t meant for him, but he couldn’t seem to take his gaze away from those written words.
The letter referred to a birthday event scheduled in the upcoming days, and from what he could tell, the gathering was for Deklan. A specific time hadn’t been mentioned, only that everybody was welcome to begin arriving at dusk.
Oakland was pretty certain he wasn’t invited, as they—the help—never would have been asked. Dates set aside for celebrations were reserved for the servants to work, hired to serve the family and guests, followed by clean up once the event had ended.
Oakland casually picked up the waste that had spilled over the ground, reaching lastly for the small note that had peeled away from his cheek. As he stretched out an arm, a big-footed boot had come in contact with his rear end.
What the heck and why so cruel?
Angst-like hollering had come with the foot as Oakland belly glided forward across the ground a few feet. His arms flung forward to catch his fall. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder, finding a tall thin black man reaching for the letter on the ground.
“This doesn’t belong to you, little bug,” the skinny man resembling a skeleton screeched. “As if there was any chance somebody like you would be invited to a special event like this one. You don’t mix with those people any more than we do, and you never will. Now get back to work before I send the hounds after you.” The man picked the letter up, glanced at it and folded it into his apron pocket before turning away.
Dirty from the fall, Oakland stood and brushed himself off, gathered the garbage from the ground and headed back to the swine shed to feed the pigs—his real friends.
Oakland musically hummed, keeping his mood from turning mad or sad, and at the same time, thought how pleasant it would have been if he was asked to join the birthday party for Prince Deklan. He dismissed the thought since those fancy people probably hadn’t taken the time to get to know his name, or that he lived in the carriage house behind the Manor.
He proceeded to feed the animals, followed by expiring to the river for a morning bath. The water felt more refreshing than it had any other day—maybe because he was covered with hot dirt that time or perhaps because his head was boiling with anger toward the people who had kicked him down every chance they could get.
Oakland wallowed face up in the water a while longer than he usually had, giving in to the rivers tranquil caressing, allowing it to wash away the bottled up anxiety that had brewed like fire inside him. It wasn’t like Oakland to hang out like that, but felt it was the perfect time to take advantage of a good thing, solitude away from those who disliked him for no reason.
While floating, he watched two birds above him twittering from one tree to another. They appeared happy, pairing off as a playful couple. He thought about how he’d been alone for so long, and wondered if he’d find that same friendly company one day.
Oakland found comfort floating in the river alone, so much so that he’d lost track of time.
Following only moments of sweet serenity, there had come an obnoxious vocal blow that snapped him out of his perfect daze. The voice familiar. Screeching in the distance like a brass soprano bugle horn.
Flipping to a stance, arms chopping water, Oakland trudged to the riverbank.
Back on track in his wet dirty clothes, he sprinted to the barnyard, hastily gathering the final crops needed for the entire day’s food menu.
Dashing to the kitchen, barefoot-fast and smelling like morning dew, he squeezed by the fat black woman yelling at him in the doorway. Her enormous stomach grew bigger as she breathed and Oakland bounced off the great big orb, shooting him to the back of the room like a fired cannon ball, chuckling laughter as he ricocheted off her spongy stomach.
On his way out, Oakland paused outside the door, expecting somebody to come after him with additional orders. While
standing, he checked the order basket under the kitchen window. Nothing there. He moved on.
Whistling a made up song, Oakland wandered back to the carriage house to continue with his already scheduled chores—the same ones he’d taken care of day after day.
While he busied himself at getting his work done, he thought about the celebration and imagined being invited by Deklan. It was a long shot for thinking that, but he dreamt it anyway. Looking to the sky, Oakland wished, “Star light, star bright…”
Oakland wasn’t the only one who’d gone into a fantasy trance. Once word had gotten out about Deklan becoming eligible for marriage, young ladies all around turned wickedly giddy. Their radical behavior was a certain sign at how competitive the maidens were at becoming the chosen princess of The Royal Manor, to inherit immediate wealth and luxury living.
Heirloom Jewels had come out and gotten polished. Facial paint had been heavily applied in a manner to disguise the unsightly blemishes that might deflect the decision of being the chosen one. Dusty hairpieces were piled as high as they could go. Curly locks were pulled down over the cheekbones to unveil more slimming facial features.
Chaos had broken out in the town square as the hysterical ladies shopped for the most exquisite merchandise that would highlight their assets to the son of the royal empire. Gold and silver brocades, shimmering silks and other various fabrics of discriminating taste had been purchased like never before. It was outrageous as if they’d all gone mad, escalating to girl on girl brawls in the streets. Arguments between consumers occurred at the merchant’s counters, fighting to the point of mussing hair and tearing silks in two.
All the rivalry had broken loose as if Deklan was planning to choose his prize by appearance alone. A night to remember was certain.
Chapter 5
Deklan’s event was the first major affair Oakland ever had the privilege of preparing for since he’d been employed by the Manor. He was thrilled about having been assigned to such an occasion, however, the day of gathering turned out to be labor intensive since he was the sole person assigned to stock the kitchen for the big bash. It was a hefty chore—tedious and field trip repetitive.
The Prince of Almond Manor Page 2
