by Aston, Alexa
The steward, his gray hair now totally white, looked pleased that Michael had asked. “I’m well, my lord.” A shadow crossed his face. “But I cannot say the same for your father.”
“Has he much time left?”
Houdart shook his head. “Nay. But come. I’ll take you to him. He’s been informed of your arrival.”
Michael followed Houdart up the stairs. They passed his former bedchamber and then the rooms his mother had once occupied. A fresh stab of emotional pain ground into him. He stiffened his spine, determined to stay strong. Finally, they reached the solar at the end of the corridor.
Houdart came to a halt at the door. “His joints have hurt him for years and he’s had a cough which won’t go away. But his greatest ailment is apoplexy. He’s now totally bedridden. His right side is frozen. He has no use of either limb on that side of his body. And his speech can be hard to understand at times because the right side of his mouth droops. Sometimes, he tries to say something and is quick to anger if no one understands him.”
“Thank you for warning me, Houdart. I’m better prepared to see him now.”
“Should I let you visit in private?” the steward asked.
Michael saw the hope in Houdart’s eyes and supposed the man had borne the brunt of the earl’s wrath.
“I think that would be best.”
Houdart sighed in relief. “I’ll wait for you outside the bedchamber.”
They entered the solar. Though early afternoon, it remained dark except for a lone candle burning on the table. Michael had rarely been granted permission to enter the place. Even now, he felt like a trespasser as he stood inside. He wondered at how different it would be in future days when he walked in. Elysande might be sitting in the chair, sewing or reading. Mayhap she’d nurse a babe at her breast. Michael would pull a chair close and tell her about his day out on the estate. Recount an amusing story of something that had occurred. She might have wine and cheese resting on the table, waiting to share it with him as they spoke of things to be done the next day.
It was important to him that she redecorate the entire solar with new tapestries and furniture. They would make it their special retreat, away from the worries of the world. It would be here that his family would gather after time spent in the great hall with others. The solar would become a refuge. Michael would make sure that nothing from today lingered to remind him of his miserable childhood.
His eyes fell upon the door to the bedchamber, which he’d never entered. That room was off limits to him as a child. He supposed, at one time, his mother had shared the space with her husband. Now, Michael only remembered servants sneaking from the solar. Young, pretty ones he would encounter in the corridor. It didn’t take him long to realize they’d come to pleasure the earl. The thought disgusted him. Michael planned to take his marriage vows seriously. He would never stray from Elysande’s bed nor allow her to stray from his heart. They would love one another from the first day they wed until he took his last breath. His decision to be nothing like his father would be the guiding light of his life.
Michael noticed Houdart had taken a seat. The steward gave him an encouraging nod, so Michael crossed to the bedchamber and lifted a hand to knock. Houdart cleared his throat. He looked over to the steward.
“His voice is weak now, my lord. His hearing is also poor. Even if he heard your knock, he wouldn’t be able to call out for you to enter.”
“I see.”
Michael steeled himself for what he would find and turned the knob. He pushed open the door and closed it after entering the room. Pausing a moment, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim setting. Dirt clouded the single window pane. Another of many things that he would change.
A candle rested on a table next to the door. He picked it up and used it to guide his way across the large room. As he reached the bed, he immediately masked his features and harnessed his reaction.
The current Earl of Sandbourne lay shriveled among the bedclothes. Even in the faint light, Michael could see how sallow his father’s skin was. Always a trim man, he’d grown painfully thin, as if someone slowly starved him to death. His hair had grown sparse, and what little remained shot out wildly from his head in every direction.
The right side of the earl’s face didn’t match the left. His eye drooped noticeably. That side of his mouth turned down, giving him an odd, perplexed look. Michael noticed how still the entire side seemed, compared to the twitching on his father’s left side and the drumming of the fingers of his left hand along the mattress.
“So. You came.”
Michael understood the words. “Aye. Houdart told me ’twas time to return.”
“Because I’ll be dead soon,” his father complained, bitterness coating the words.
He remained silent since he couldn’t think of a gracious reply.
“I wondered if you’d come home and do your duty.”
“I would never neglect my duty to Sandbourne or the king.”
An unpleasant look crossed the earl’s face. “Wasn’t it your duty to return home once you finished fostering with Lovel?”
Michael shrugged. “Being out in the world gave me time to grow to manhood and mature. I’ll be a better lord and master to Sandbourne because of the time I’ve spent away from it. And it probably kept me from killing you outright,” he added.
His father wheezed, an eerie sound that lingered. The wheeze turned into a cough that racked his body and shook the bed for some minutes.
When it subsided, Michael asked, “Would you like some wine?”
“Nay. I can’t keep anything down these days, be it wine or food.”
Silence blanketed the room. The time stretched on. Michael took a seat, but every muscle in his body remained tense.
Finally, his father spoke again. “You want to kill me.”
“I wanted to when I was eight,” he admitted. “Actually, before that. I wanted to kill you every time you beat Mother.”
“That whore.”
Michael stood. “I won’t have you speak of her in that manner. She was a good woman who always remained faithful to you, no matter what you thought.”
Another coughing spell erupted. Michael relaxed his fisted hands and sat again, waiting it out.
“I have much to tell you,” the earl said, weariness lacing his voice.
“Save it. If it has to do with how to run Sandbourne, I’ll do it my own way in my own time.”
His father studied him with interest. “You’re more like me than you realize, boy.”
Michael kept his voice even. “I haven’t been a boy in a very long time—and I am nothing like you.”
“You’re right. You will run Sandbourne as you wish.”
“Aye.”
The minutes ticked by. Michael thought his father had fallen asleep since his eyes remained closed for so long a time. Just as he readied himself to stand, he found the earl staring at him again.
“You’ll be a better earl than most.”
“I intend to be a better one than you.”
“Always such a quick reply. But you’re not as smart as you’d have me think.”
“I haven’t cared what you thought for many years now. In fact, I don’t think I ever cared what you thought.”
A crooked smile crossed the earl’s thin lips. “You might believe that, but I still remember the fat, terrified boy you were. The one afraid of me and his own shadow. The one too scared to stand up to me and protect his mother. The one who secretly wished to please me.”
Michael winced inwardly but knew his father provoked him. He wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.
“As I said, I’m my own man now. Nothing you say can cause me fear. I’m here merely to witness you come to the end of your wretched days. Then I shall marry and fill Sandbourne with many children.”
He leaned close to his father. The fetid smell of impending death filled his nostrils, almost causing him to gag. “My children will be loved. Adored. Worshippe
d by me and my wife. And they’ll never hear a word about you.”
Michael stared into his father’s eyes. “For you are nothing to me.”
Michael sat back in the chair, wanting to suck in deep breaths of clean air. He couldn’t wait to leave this chamber of death.
His father used his left hand to push himself up in the bed. “I’ve sent for your bride. She arrives tomorrow. You’ll wed the day after that. I plan to live at least long enough to witness your marriage. Then you both can dance atop my grave, for all that I care.”
Confused, Michael asked, “Elysande arrives here tomorrow? How do you even know of her?”
The earl’s lips curled into a sneer. “I know of no Elysande.” His eyes lit with malevolent interest. “But I told Lord Lambdin that you’d be here to live up to your responsibilities. He and his eldest daughter, Albreda, should reach Sandbourne by this time tomorrow.”
His father’s words had begun to slur heavily. Surely, Michael had heard things wrong. “Who is Lord Lambdin? And this Albreda you speak of?” Michael demanded as panic surged through him.
“Why, ’tis your new father-in-law and betrothed, my boy.”
Chapter Seventeen
The earl’s cackle ended as another coughing spell began. Michael stumbled from the bedchamber, slamming the door behind him. He wanted to lock away any sight and sound of his father.
Houdart rose to his feet. “Are you all right, my lord?”
“He said . . . he said . . . that my betrothed and her father arrive tomorrow. That I’m to be married in two days’ time.”
The steward nodded. “Aye, my lord. You father wished for you to be married as soon as possible.”
“But . . . I didn’t know I was betrothed. ’Tis the first I’ve heard of it.”
Houdart went to the sideboard. The steward poured a full of cup of wine and pressed it into Michael’s hands. He downed it in a single swallow and thrust the empty cup out for more. A second glass was poured. He drank it greedily and then fell into a chair.
He was betrothed.
Michael’s head fell into his hands. He reached into his hazy memory for when the event might have occurred.
*
The servant had almost finished packing the small trunk that Michael would take with him to Sir Lovel’s. He was excited to foster with the knight. He’d met Sir Lovel once before and remembered how tall the nobleman was. He’d had a ready smile for everyone and a pleasant manner. Michael was sure that boys under his care would be the same. He longed to make friends since he had none. He wanted a new life in a different place.
Anything had to be better than continuing his existence at Sandbourne. Every day, it seemed his father found a new way to mock him. He was too fat. Too slow. A stupid, empty-headed boy who’d never amount to anything. Michael avoided the earl whenever possible, lurking in the shadows when his father passed, remaining in his room much of the day, left alone to his own devices.
The door opened and his mother entered the bedchamber. She looked so fragile and lovely. Michael experienced a small wave of regret at having to leave her behind.
She held up a cotehardie and gypon for his approval. “I’ve made you something new to wear for your final night at Sandbourne. It’s also something for your first day once you reach Sir Lovel’s.” Her eyes glowed with love.
He took the clothing, which was soft to the touch. Both were in shades of brown, the gypon a light tan and the cotehardie as dark as the bark of a tree.
“Thank you, Mother. I’ll think of you every time I wear these.”
She gave him a long hug. “That pleases me.” Looking at the servant, his mother waved her from the room. Once they had privacy, she said, “Don’t be reluctant to leave Sandbourne, my son. Sir Lovel is a fine man and you’ll learn much from him.”
“I’ll miss you, Mother.”
“And I will most certainly miss you. Seeing you is the brightest part of my day.” She embraced him again and Michael felt safe in her arms.
“Tonight we’ll have a large feast,” she informed him.
Her words caught him off guard. “For my last night?”
She hesitated. “In part. And also because we have guests.”
Michael should have known nothing special would be done to commemorate his final night at Sandbourne.
“Come. Change your clothes and let’s go downstairs. I want you to meet Lord Lambdin and his daughter.”
They went to the great hall. Michael saw his father in deep conversation with another man as they stood near the fire. A girl a few years younger than he was clung to her father’s leg. His mother had them go over and his father introduced him. The nobleman shook his hand, but the girl was so shy that she never even looked up.
Michael thought it a shame. He would’ve liked to practice making a new friend before he left to foster with Sir Lovel.
The lavish meal went on for several hours, as if it were Christmas time. Michael ate till he was stuffed, then regretted that he’d done so. It made him dread getting on a horse tomorrow morning, feeling fat and bloated as they journeyed for several days to Sir Lovel’s estate.
His mother touched his shoulder and indicated for him to follow her. Michael did so, leaving the noise of the great hall and going to a small room that served as the space where Houdart kept the estate’s records.
As they went inside, Michael saw his father and the visiting lord leaning over a table, concentrating on pages before them. Michael and his mother stood quietly, as did the lord’s daughter, who sat at his feet under the table.
Then the Sandbourne priest entered the room. His father nodded, and the priest watched both men sign the paper on the table.
The earl called Michael over and told him to repeat what the priest said. He did so, not understanding why he had to. The girl also had to say a few words but, again, she kept her eyes to the ground, her voice barely above a whisper.
Still, his father seemed satisfied. He’d touched cups with their guest and both men drank. Michael was told he could leave. He did so, skirting by his mother and retreating to his bedchamber. He was eager for tomorrow to come.
He couldn’t wait to leave Sandbourne—and his father—behind.
*
Michael now understood that the two men had pored over betrothal contracts. That they’d decided upon the bridal price and exchange of monies and lands. That whatever words he had repeated after the priest, which he hadn’t understood, were the ones that now bound him to a stranger. His duty, by law, would be to marry this woman in a ceremony once she arrived at Sandbourne, her new home.
Fleeing the solar in despair, Michael returned to the bedchamber he’d used as a child. He would give up the title. The lands. Everything associated with being the earl.
If it meant he could be with Elysande.
Yet he knew that to be impossible. The king wouldn’t allow him to break the betrothal contract simply because he’d fallen in love with another woman. Michael must be a man of his word and marry the woman who would show up tomorrow.
He paced the room for hours, refusing the food that arrived. When he tired, he fell upon the bed but lay awake all night, too restless to sleep. He’d been so eager to come home and begin a new life.
Now that life would be one of misery—bound to a stranger.
Of course, he knew of some marriages where the couple came to love one another—or at least learned to respect their mates. Mayhap he and Lady Albreda could share a mutual respect after a time. It was the best he could hope for. For in his heart, he knew he’d never love anyone except Elysande.
Michael determined he’d never mistreat his wife as his father had. He would be courteous toward her. Honor her position as the countess of Sandbourne and the mother of his babes.
More importantly, he decided he must hide the hurt in his heart. This wife of his must never know of his deep feelings for another woman. He wouldn’t hurt her physically or emotionally by letting her know that, while married to him, his heart would
forever lay with another.
It struck him that he should call for parchment and ink to write to Elysande. He needed to let her know of the unforeseen circumstances that had occurred. Michael would rather see her in person to do so, yet how could he ride away without explanation from a new bride and a dying father?
He thought how Elysande would take the awful news if he did stand before her. How he wouldn’t be able to wrap her within his arms and comfort her with his kiss. Being married to another woman would prevent that. And if he did succumb to his feelings for her, he’d only fall into a web of deceit and break his code of honor as a knight and the vows he would have barely uttered to his new wife.
No, he couldn’t risk seeing Elysande in person. One look and he would be under her spell. And even one kiss between them would be wrong.
Michael hesitated, unsure of what he should do. He finally decided that he would write to Lord Geoffrey and enclose a letter to Elysande that explained the situation. He would beg Geoffrey and Merryn to decide if they should break the news to Elysande or give her his letter and then comfort her afterward.
Michael opened the door and caught the attention of a passing servant. He instructed her to bring parchment and ink at once, knowing he must write quickly before he lost his courage.
As he sat forming the words in his mind and then recording them on the page, he knew this was the hardest task he’d ever undertaken. With each word committed to paper, another piece of him withered and died. He completed his task and pushed the letters aside, his heart broken in two. Tears spilled down his cheeks. He hadn’t cried for fifteen years—since the day he’d fled Sandbourne.
Angrily, he stood and wiped them away. He was a grown man, not some weeping woman. He would soldier on as he’d been taught to do. Going to the basin, he splashed water onto his face and dried it with his sleeves.
Then he sat in a chair, his thoughts blank. No spark of life showed.
Finally, he stood. He couldn’t put things off. The sooner Elysande knew, the better. He would go downstairs and use the earl’s seal to close the missive before he found a messenger to ride to Kinwick and deliver the bad news.
