by Aston, Alexa
“Are you leaving today for Sandbourne?”
“Aye, my lord. The earl is very ill. The healer says he doesn’t have much time left.”
“I know you’ve been estranged from him, Michael, but it’s fortunate you’ve received this final gift of time to be with him as he comes to the end of his life.”
Michael frowned. “How so, my lord?”
“People can change. Mayhap, your father has. If so, he may ask for your forgiveness—and you should give it to him. Don’t let any ill will stand between you as he goes to meet his Maker.”
Michael didn’t know if he could ever forgive the many transgressions of the Earl of Sandbourne, but he nodded sagely as if he would consider it.
“I don’t want you to worry about Elysande while you’re gone,” Geoffrey continued. “I’ll see that she always has a guard with her if she leaves the castle grounds. In these last few weeks, Lord Ingram has made no further attempts to spirit her away. I’m certain he’s given up on such a foolish scheme and returned to his lands in the north.”
“I won’t worry about her safety, my lord. I know you love your niece dearly and would protect her from any harm.” He shrugged. “I only fear I may go mad being parted from her for an unknown amount of time.”
Geoffrey chuckled. “When I hear from the king, I’ll send the news along to you. I am confident it will be as we expect. Though it sounds as if you’ll likely bury your father soon, your burden should be eased by your upcoming wedding.”
Michael broke out in a huge grin. “I hope so, my lord.”
Geoffrey accompanied him to the inner bailey, where Hammond had Tempest saddled and ready for Michael to ride.
Merryn descended the steps and handed Michael a heavy sack. “I have food from Cook. Geoffrey said you’ll most likely reach Sandbourne by the noon meal tomorrow, but I wanted you to have something for the road.”
Alys skipped up and threw her arms about his waist. Hal trailed behind her, babbling nonsense as he held his arms out. Michael scooped up Hal in one arm and gathered Alys in his other.
“I’ll miss both of you more than I should admit,” he told them. He kissed the tip of Alys’ nose and the soft fuzz of Hal’s head before he put them back on the ground. As he did, Michael saw Elysande had come down the stairs with Geoffrey’s mother. Both women had joined Merryn.
Michael stepped over to the trio. He took Lady Elia’s hand and kissed it. “I thank you for your hospitality, my lady. And for letting me enjoy playing with your grandchildren.”
The old woman blushed. “I thank you for your courtly ways, Sir Michael. You’ll be missed at Kinwick.”
He then turned to Elysande and took her hand in his. He bent and pressed his lips to her knuckles far longer than he should have.
“I will miss your delightful company, my lady,” he told her.
“And I will miss yours, Sir Michael,” she said sincerely, though her eyes twinkled merrily.
Geoffrey spoke up. “You have much to learn about women, Michael.”
“My lord?”
Geoffrey shook his head. “If I were leaving Kinwick, do you think Merryn would be happy with a kiss to her hand or a peck on the cheek? Nay, she’s a greedy little thing and would want much, much more.”
His hand snaked out and latched on to his wife’s arm. Geoffrey pulled her to him in a tight embrace.
Glancing at Michael, he said, “This is what a woman wants.” He proceeded to give Merryn a lingering kiss.
“Not again,” Alys muttered. She looked up at Michael. “You might as well do as Father says or poor Cousin Elysande will feel left out.”
Michael looked at the couple and laughed as their kiss continued. He shrugged and moved to Elysande, capturing her waist in his hands.
“I can’t ignore my liege lord’s advice,” he told her before his lips met hers in a searing kiss.
Finally, Michael broke the kiss. “I love you,” he whispered before turning and mounting Tempest. He nudged the horse and took off with a wave of his hand.
As he reached the gates, Michael thought about the next time he returned to Kinwick. He would ride through its gates as the Earl of Sandbourne.
And come to claim his bride.
*
Elysande continued to crush the gray-green leaves before her as Alys had instructed. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, thanks to the strong smell that wafted up from the table.
“And what is mugwort used for again?” she asked her young cousin.
Alys gave her a patient look. “I often use it in foot ointments.”
“I can’t imagine that,” Elysande admitted. “Sweating feet smell bad enough as it is. Adding mugwort to them would only seem to add to the problem to me.”
Merryn laughed. “Let me finish with the mugwort. Here, come spend time with the rosemary. Rinse your hands in that bowl and dry them carefully before you touch the new herb.”
Elysande did as she was told, happy to trade places with Merryn. She bent and smelled the savory rosemary. “Now this is much more to my liking.”
“I like a bit of rosemary floating in a cup of hot water. It soothes my stomach,” Merryn shared.
She looked at her aunt, whose small bump seemed more visible today. “Are you feeling better?”
“I am. I haven’t been ill in two days now. Hopefully, the worst is behind me.”
“I remember how large you got with Hal,” Alys said. “Every day for months I would ask you when the new babe would come out.”
Merryn laughed. “’Twas nothing compared to my girth when I carried you and Ancel. Two of you inside me seemed to swallow me up.”
Alys frowned. “I don’t know if I want any babes. Although I love Hal, he’s so much trouble.”
“When you find a man you love, you’ll want to bear his babes,” Elysande assured her.
“Are you and Michael going to have many children?”
She felt herself pinken immediately and didn’t know how to answer.
“Alys! It’s not your place to ask such a personal thing,” her mother scolded. “Only God knows what He has planned for a couple.”
The girl shrugged. “I was only curious, Mother.”
Merryn told Elysande to tie small bunches of the rosemary with pieces of twine that lay on the table.
“What will you do with this rosemary?” she asked.
“You may place a few springs under your pillow at night. It will ward off any nightmares that might occur.”
Merryn looked up as Tilda came into the room. “My lady? You asked for me to give you fair warning. The noon meal will begin shortly.”
“Thank you, Tilda. All right, let’s finish with the herbs we have. We can continue later this afternoon.”
Once they arrived at the great hall, Elysande picked at the large meal. All she could think about was that Michael should be reaching Sandbourne soon. She wondered at the greeting he would receive and the condition he would find his father in. Surely, if the steward had sent word for him to make haste, then the end must be at hand. She hoped, despite the bitterness that lay between Michael and his father, that they would have a chance to make peace between them before the earl passed.
And once his father was gone, Michael would become the new Earl of Sandbourne. She assumed her uncle had mentioned that in his letter to King Edward. She hoped the king would be amenable to Geoffrey’s request to see a marriage between his niece and the knight who would soon become one of the highest peers in the realm.
Elysande noticed Tilda striding across the great hall with purpose. The servant headed toward the dais, something in her hand. As she reached them, Elysande saw the scroll Tilda carried.
“My lord? A rider from the king has arrived with his.” She presented the parchment to Geoffrey. “I’ve given him provisions and asked him to wait in case you need to issue a reply.”
“My thanks, Tilda.”
The servant scurried off. Elysande looked eagerly to her uncle.
“Why don’t we adj
ourn to the solar and learn what the king has to say?” he asked.
She leapt to her feet. Merryn rose more slowly, aided by her husband. They made their way upstairs. With every step, Elysande’s heart beat more swiftly.
They entered the solar. Geoffrey closed the door and they seated themselves at the table. He broke the seal and smoothed the rolled parchment out upon the table—and started laughing.
Elysande sat forward, wondering why he would do so.
“And how has he addressed this missive?” Geoffrey inquired of his wife, his eyes dancing. “To my dearest Lady Merryn . . . and that troublesome husband of yours.”
Elysande was taken aback. This didn’t sound good at all.
Merryn looked at her. “Oh, don’t worry, Elysande. The king likes to tease us.”
Geoffrey said, “Our king is very fond of Merryn. He looks upon her as he would a youngest daughter. And I’ll tell you now—fathers are never quite satisfied with the men who take their daughters to wife. King Edward likes to poke at me some, but it’s all in jest.”
“Oh.” Elysande tried to relax, hoping the rest of the missive proved to be kinder than its opening.
Geoffrey looked back to the parchment and read aloud.
I am glad to have received your missive, Lord Geoffrey. I know it can be hard to locate me when the royal court is on its summer progress. The queen and I are having a grand time, but I’ll warn you both now—I intend to make Kinwick my first stop on next summer’s tour. No one’s tarts in all of England have ever measured up to those that your cook bakes. You think I come to see the two of you and your offspring upon occasion because I enjoy your company, but I secretly only visit to sample your cook’s wares.
“See?” Geoffrey said. “The king is definitely one for a joke.”
Elysande nodded, finding it hard to believe their king would speak in such a friendly manner. She’d always thought of him as a lofty figure sitting on his throne, making serious decisions regarding his kingdom and its people. She supposed he was, after all, only a man who liked to eat and drink and enjoy life as much as the next man did, even if royal blood did run through his veins.
I’m afraid to tell you I was neither surprised to hear of Lord Holger’s death nor sorry it occurred. The man irritated me in an odd way. I’d hoped Lady Mary would be able to straighten him out somewhat. Mayhap ’tis a blessing in disguise that he has moved on. I plan to leave Lady Mary in charge of Hopeston for now. Under her guidance, I pray that the estate flourishes. I will not offer her in marriage at the moment, but leave the land to her auspices.
As for her daughters, your nieces? The queen and I discussed this matter and would have them come to court. We so enjoy having Lady Alys in our company, and this would give her a chance to get to know her cousins. I’ve been told that Lady Avelyn has no betrothal in place, so the queen will look to find her a suitable husband. With Lady Elysande’s betrothed dying before their wedding, I know she must be traumatized, so it was good of you to take her under your wing for now. We shall give her some time in which to heal. I will refuse Lord Ingram’s request that he take his son’s place and make her his wife.
Elysande nervously twisted her hands in her lap. Why would the king want her at court? Why would he not want her and Michael to marry?
You’d advised me that one of your most trusted knights—Sir Michael Devereux, son to the Earl of Sandbourne—wishes to make Lady Elysande his bride. Alas, my court advisers who keep up with such affairs tell me that would be impossible. Sir Michael was betrothed to Lady Albreda, eldest daughter of Lord Lambdin, many years ago when he came of age. I know the two have been estranged for years. ’Tis most likely that he does not even remember the brief ceremony since he would have been but a small boy. But with Sandbourne at death’s doorstep now (or so I’m told), Sir Michael must meet his family obligations and wed Lady Albreda—the sooner, the better. If not for that, I would have given my blessing for Devereux to wed your niece.
I look forward to seeing you when we return to London soon. Mayhap when you bring Lady Alys back to court, you can also escort your nieces at the same time. Lady Merryn and Lady Mary are also most welcomed to come and see their daughters off and into the queen’s care.
Elysande heard voices, but the swirling in her head left her disoriented.
Michael was . . . betrothed?
He would marry another woman. And she would never see him again.
“I’m going to be sick,” she cried out. She reached for the pail under Merryn’s chair and quickly lost every bite of her noon meal.
And lost all hope of a happy life together with Michael.
Chapter Sixteen
Michael sat in the woods by the road that would lead him to his final destination. He cut another slice from the small round of cheese and placed it in his mouth. He pulled another piece of the bread off and ate it, as well, before washing it down with a taste of wine. He set the food aside and returned his dagger back into his boot.
He wasn’t hungry. Nor thirsty. But he was nervous. He could have arrived at Sandbourne in time to dine at noon. Instead, he’d dawdled and stopped to eat alone, with nothing but the trees swaying in the breeze as his companions. He admitted to himself that he was worried to set foot inside Sandbourne again. Though its earl lay dying, Michael didn’t want to see him again. Michael remembered being the helpless young boy whom the nobleman continually berated—when the earl wasn’t ignoring his only son.
And Michael had been grateful for that small piece of good fortune. It was easier to suffer neglect than to have his father’s sharp tongue make fun of him.
Standing, he brushed aside the feelings from the past. He was a respected knight now. He’d grown up straight and strong and lived by a code of honor. Michael had nothing to fear from a man who never meant anything to him. It was foolish for him to waste time in the forest when he could be home at Sandbourne.
Home.
That’s what Sandbourne would become after all these years adrift. It had never been that before. Michael was determined to be a good father to whatever children he and Elysande would have. They would be showered with love. He would take them to the far corners of the estate until they knew every inch of the land. His sons and daughters would grow up confident. Knowing affection. Receiving attention. Praised for their good traits and efforts.
Determination filled him. He was master of the rest of his life and needed to get on with it. That meant returning to Sandbourne with his head held high.
Michael climbed into the saddle and nudged Tempest onward. Some minutes later, he entered Sandbourne lands. No one greeted him as he passed. The workers in the fields gave him a cursory glance, but none stopped to call out to him.
He arrived at the gate and waved to its keeper. “’Tis Sir Michael Devereux. I am here to see the earl.”
The gates opened to him without a word spoken from the gatekeeper. Michael rode through the outer bailey and turned Tempest toward the stables. He dismounted when he reached the structure.
A groom stepped out. “I can take your horse, my lord.”
“Nay. I’ll care for him. You may bring him a good measure of oats once I’ve rubbed him down.”
He led the horse into the stables, looking for an empty stall. As he rounded the corner, he spied a place for Tempest. Then he froze in his tracks.
Michael realized he stood before the very stall that he’d first seen Tempest in. The one where his mother and Sir Thirkell had stood, brushing the horse till his coat gleamed like midnight. Though his memory of his mother had grown fuzzy over the years, in an instant, he saw her, laughing and pretty. He remembered Sir Thirkell with fondness, thinking about the stories of the Knights of the Round Table that he’d shared with Michael.
Bile rose in his throat as his father’s accusations toward the couple rang in his ears. Michael could picture his father lashing out at his mother. Her crumpled, trembling body on the ground. How the earl angrily struck Thirkell down. The blood that ran dark again
st the golden hay of the stall. Michael saw it all as if it had happened only moments ago.
Anger rose within him, a rage that threatened to boil over. He fought to keep his head and worked to control his breathing, forcing himself to inhale and exhale slowly until he felt more in charge of his emotions. No matter how ill the Earl of Sandbourne might be, the nobleman would pick up on any weakness and expose it. Michael needed to bury the past. He would enter the keep with a blank face and a hardened heart. He pushed the vivid memories aside and slammed the door on them.
His priority was to care for Tempest and make sure the groom provided ample oats to the horse. Once his mount began to eat, Michael left and crossed the inner bailey. Again, not a single person spoke to him. He remembered a few of them and almost spoke to the smithy, but the man never even looked his way. The people all worked industriously, but no joy filled their faces, as it did those who toiled at Kinwick. Michael determined things would be different when he became the earl. His goal was to have a thriving estate and happy workers who enjoyed what they did and where they lived.
A long staircase led up to the keep. As he started up it, he finally heard the first voice that spoke his name.
“Master Michael?”
He turned and saw an older knight making his way toward him.
“Sir Charles?” Michael recognized the man who’d been good friends with Sir Thirkell and had shared in storytelling duties when Thirkell spoke to Michael of King Arthur’s men.
“Aye, ’tis Charles. I knew you’d come. We all did. We all have hope that you’ll stay.” The knight looked at him with faded, watery eyes. “And that you will make the changes needed.”
“I intend to do that very thing, Sir Charles,” Michael promised.
A satisfied look crossed the soldier’s face. “Good.”
Michael entered the keep and was met by Houdart, who came hurrying down the stairs.
“Greetings, Sir Michael. Did you have a pleasant journey from Kinwick?”
He nodded. “It’s not a long ride and the weather was fine. How are you, Houdart? We haven’t seen one another in many years.”
