by Lynn Lorenz
“What do you mean?” He glanced up as he scraped his bowl for the last of his meal.
“If your father recognizes you as his eldest son, your brother may not be pleased.”
“Hugh is never pleased, that much I remember of him.”
“But might he consider you a threat?”
“He has no worries there. Can you see me as Duke of Baymore? I’m not fit for it,” he laughed.
Although Jackson couldn’t see it, I could. His honor, wits, and compassion would make him a fine duke. Despite his lack of title, there wasn’t a more noble man than he.
He laughed, then grew serious. “Be careful, Drake. Choose wisely who you spend your time with here.”
“I have no plans to spend time with anyone. There is no pleasure in it for me anymore. The first year, I tried losing myself in whores. I found drink works much better at numbing my senses and renders me quite unconscious.”
“There will come a time, Drake, when that will not be the case.”
“Gods, I pray not. I never want to feel that pain again. Never.”
“Never is a hard word.”
“So is pain.” I took my last bite of porridge.
“But, think of the sweetness. Wouldn’t it be worth the pain?” His voice tried to convince me, but I knew better.
“If someone would just kill me in battle, then the pain would be over.” I shrugged.
“Death is a harsh remedy.”
“I fear it is the only one that will cure me.”
“Logan needs you alive, not dead.”
“For his sake, I’ll be careful not to die until you return.” I grinned.
Jackson fell silent, then stood. “Let’s take a look at the armory.”
I followed him outside, past the barracks to a small building with no windows and only one door. Two guards were posted, and they snapped to attention as Jackson and I approached.
Once inside, we went over the weapons, armor, and light arms. The castle was well stocked with swords, lances, and crossbows. There were more pieces of armor than men to wear them, but we hoped that would change soon.
After our inspection, we went our separate ways, I to my room to study the maps, Jackson to pack for his journey. I would miss him, and felt the excitement of having the command of the castle passed to me.
I would give my oath to Logan to serve him and his lands in front of all the men as Jackson handed over his master-of-arms dagger to me. Even from what little I’d seen of Logan, I had no doubt about giving him my oath, but I was puzzled as to why he trusted me so readily. It had to have been the respect that he held for Jackson and his hearty recommendation of me. No matter what, I was glad of it.
I had needed steady work to keep my mind occupied, something to stay sober for. Marden seemed as good a cause to fight for as any. And the food had proved good, the ale excellent, and the pay was steady.
I’d failed many in the past, including the man I’d loved. Now, would I fail Jackson, Logan, and all of Marden?
Tonight I would swear to die before letting that happen.
Chapter Eleven
The torches had been lit in the great hall and candles covered the tables. I had no idea the ceremony would be so grand.
Joss had brought me a new blue and gray tabard to wear with the Marden coat of arms embroidered on it in fine silk, and had shined my boots so well he’d almost taken the black off them. He’d worked hard to make me as presentable as possible, but I had to stop him when he tried to polish my sword and scabbard with soap and water.
We had a lesson on the care of steel and leather, then I dressed. Joss disappeared for a time, then met me in the corridor in a fine new tunic of blue and gray that matched mine. A prouder boy there couldn’t have been. His face looked freshly scrubbed and his hair had been combed by someone, perhaps his mother.
He trailed behind me, his spine stiff and head high. If he was proud to serve me, then I would be proud to have him as my page. He’d proved a good boy, eager to please and a quick learner.
Jackson met us. He wore his tabard also, and his wild dark red hair was as tamed as I’d ever seen it. At his belt hung the dagger of his office, soon to be mine.
“We’re a right fine pair.” He laughed as he held out his arms to show off his fine clothing.
“I’ve never seen you so clean.” I sniffed the air. “Or smelling so sweet.”
He grinned. “Ready? It’s time.” He led the way to the stairs and then down to the hall.
“Anxious, are you?”
“To be on my way, aye. To leave Marden, no.”
I knew he was torn between the recognition of his father and his love for this land. I hadn’t been attached to any particular land for a long time, having given up what claims I once had, but I still understood his feelings.
The tables and benches were filled with men. There were only a few women present, wives of some of the captains. The table where Logan sat held his inner circle, his advisers, and masters of the castle. By this time, I’d met most of them.
Jackson introduced me to Isaac, the master of horses, a man of fifty, with graying beard and hair, dark black eyes, and bowed legs. Then he introduced me to Logan’s land steward, Elrod. A man of about my age, he was short with a round stomach that told of too frequent visits to the kitchens.
His warder, Harold, was an old man, bent-shouldered, but his hands and eyes were steady. He’d probably held the position under Logan’s father.
Logan had dressed in his finest, too. He wore a blue and gray long vest over a finely woven white linen shirt with blue embroidery on the cuffs and collar, black breeches, and boots. His long blond hair had been pulled back into a thick braid that hung halfway down his back and was tied with a blue ribbon, showing off his green eyes and full lips.
I didn’t see his good wife at the table, but Tomas sat on his left, dressed in his finery, his eyes bright with excitement. I thought to ask Jackson why our duke’s wife was absent, but I became engaged with Harold when he asked about the cost of building the outposts. Seems he’d been informed of it by Logan, and wanted some specifics.
The feast began. Platters of fowl and mutton were delivered to each table, as were bowls of roasted potatoes, beans, cabbage, and loaves of thick bread. Servants moved among us, pouring ale and wine. All the food was delicious, and Jackson had been right; the wine was truly exceptional. Trying not to drink too much, I cut my wine with water.
We drank, talked, and ate until at last, Logan stood. He had no need to pound the table with his tankard, no need to call out to quiet the men; all eyes turned to him, and everyone fell silent. I sensed that these men would have followed him anywhere, so strong was his personality and the sense of honor he exuded, as if from the spout of a cistern.
“We are here tonight to say farewell to an old friend and to greet a new friend,” he began. His voice was rich and mellow, and didn’t strain to fill the hall. “Jackson leaves us on a personal mission. You will be missed, my friend. The gods’ speed to you on your journey tomorrow, and I pray your path leads you to what the gods have planned for you.” He raised his ale to Jackson, and drank to him. Everyone followed his lead; even Tomas picked up his cup and drank.
“Tonight we greet Drake. He will take Jackson’s place as master of arms, with my full confidence and Peter’s, his second-in-command.” He nodded to Peter, who sat several seats down from us, and Peter gave a curt nod in reply. “Drake’s abilities and skills are renowned, and we are fortunate he was willing to serve us.” He gave me such a brilliant smile that for a moment I was blinded. Then, Jackson and I stood.
Logan moved to a raised platform and stepped up on it. I followed, Jackson behind me, as I stood in front of Logan. He pulled his sword from the scabbard at his side and raised it high, holding it point down by the hilt.
I dropped to my knee and bowed my head. He drove the sword into the boards in front of me, and the air hummed with the sword’s vibrations.
“Drake, do you take oath to Marden, to serve t
hese lands and her people with your body, blood, and life?”
I raised my head, placed my hand on the hilt of the sword, and looked into his eyes. “I do so swear to serve with my body, blood, and life.”
His eyes held mine. “I accept your oath, Drake, and name you master of arms at Marden Castle and leader of my troops.”
He held out his hand for me to kiss the large crest ring he wore on his forefinger, a symbol of his title. “Will you swear allegiance to the Duke of Marden?” He’d asked me not to serve Logan, the man, but Logan, the Duke of Marden.
“I will, Your Grace.” I took his hand in mine and brought it to my lips. His fingers curled around mine as my lips brushed the back of his hand instead of the ring. If he was surprised by the move, he didn’t show it. Instead, I felt his thumb stroke the knuckles of my hand. A shiver ran down my spine to lodge in my loins.
I had to remember to breathe and to let go of his hand. I’d held it for too long, I feared, but no one seemed to take note of it. Perhaps they thought I had been too nervous to remember to let go.
I would remember that touch long after this night.
“I accept your oath, Drake.”
Jackson unbuckled the belt that held the dagger and passed it to me. I strapped it on over my sword’s belt. The blade had a carved silver hilt, with an elk’s head and antlers curling around it, and the leather scabbard was finely tooled.
Logan stepped off the platform and returned to the table as Jackson and I trailed him. Now, I took the seat of honor at Logan’s right and Jackson took my seat.
“Are you all right, Drake?” Jackson asked as he sat. I must have looked pale.
“Fine. All this responsibility has come home to roost, I fear.”
“I understand.” He glanced at Logan, then back at me. Just what he understood, I didn’t want to know.
“Drake, I must tell you that I rest easier now that you’re here,” Logan told me.
“I’m glad, Your Grace.” I tilted my head to him.
“It’s Logan, remember.” His eyes crinkled at me.
“Logan it is.” I smiled back. On my rough and scarred face, it must have looked fearsome, but he didn’t flinch.
Did he have any idea what he did to me? I both hated the feeling and reveled in it. I’d sworn to Jackson I never wanted to have those feelings again, and now at the first fluttering of desire for a man that tickled my belly in two years, I was torn, determined to run away from them, yet drawn to them as a moth is drawn to a candle. I didn’t forget that moths often burned in the flames.
Logan excused himself to take Tomas up to bed and did not return to the hall. The evening wore on, the fires in the hearth burned low, and despite the water in my wine, I’d had more than my share of drink. Jackson’s arm on my elbow guided me up the stairs to my room.
“Drake, come inside.” Jackson held the door to his room open.
“Of course. Have you more wine?” I grinned at him and followed him in.
He closed the door and turned to me. “It will be a long time before we meet again, Drake, if ever. I leave on the morrow.” He stood looking at me, his head cocked to one side.
“And I mean to see you off, old friend.” I swayed on my feet.
“You’re drunk, Drake.” He took a step forward and caught me. Strong hands on my arms held me steady.
“I am, indeed.” His eyes held mine, and I felt a familiar stirring. “And, it seems, at your mercy.”
“Drake, I have always felt deep affection for you.” He pulled me closer, and my feet followed.
“And I for you. You were my friend when I needed you most.” I tilted my head and closed my eyes just as his lips pressed against mine. My surprise lasted only a moment before I melted into the kiss. His kiss was comforting, slow, soft, and gentle, and I was just drunk enough to part my lips and deepen it.
Jackson’s tongue probed my mouth as his gentle hand held me behind the neck.
We kissed, nothing more. I don’t think he or I wanted more; our hands didn’t search our bodies, and neither of us pressed fully against the other. We dwelt in that long, slow kiss, parting, then reseating, the light touch of lips changing into deeper touch and back again, each of us enjoying the taste and the feel of the other. We were friends who cared deeply, but both of us knew it wasn’t love that had run between us all these years.
My brain was fuzzy from the wine. I enjoyed the kiss, his hand at my neck, his taste, his strength. At last, our lips parted and we drew away.
“I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time, Drake.” His voice was a quiet sigh.
“How long?”
“Since the first time I met you, a young man of ten and eight.”
“All this time and you never said anything.” Saddened by what we might have missed, I became overwhelmed by a feeling of melancholy, of a time and a past lost to us.
Damn, I was drunk.
“Our friendship was far more important to me than some brief taking. It would have never been the same between us, if we had,” he said. “We were meant for others, Drake.” I saw regret in his eyes.
“You have been my dearest friend. That I have never regretted.” I touched his face with my hand.
“For what it’s worth, I wish you happiness, Drake. I think you may find it here.”
“I wish the same for you, no matter where your road takes you, Jackson.”
We walked to the door. I turned, and he kissed me again, then released me.
“In the morn, old friend,” he said. He didn’t ask me to stay and I didn’t offer.
“In the morn, old friend,” I replied and slipped out the door to my own room.
Brute lay on the floor by my bed. He looked up as I came in. Joss lay sleeping on the pallet I had ordered for him, a blanket of his own wrapped around him.
I undressed and lay down, and before I could think about what had just happened, I fell asleep.
•●•
Jackson left in the morning, taking nothing more than the clothes on his back and two saddlebags. We said little; our parting had been done in his room, and it was enough for both of us. Logan and I stood side by side and waved him farewell.
With a last salute, Jackson turned his horse down the road, heading to his long-waited for summoning. I would miss him and hoped he’d write to tell if he had been recognized.
“So, Drake, you are in charge now. How does it feel?”
“Frightening, Logan. There is much to do.”
“Best get to it, then.” With that, he walked away. I watched him until he’d entered the keep, then I turned to the barracks. There was training to be done.
•●•
I drilled the men over the next few weeks, working them hard on the basics of sword work, accuracy with the crossbow, and the essentials of soldiering. Most showed great improvement. Some I judged would never be ready, but could serve other purposes. It took many men to make an army run smoothly, such as armory workers, men to cook the camp’s food, and those who could tend the wounded. I also looked for the men to send to our planned outposts, and to ride as messengers.
On a cool autumn morning, I brought Joss with me to the town of Marden. He had followed me everywhere at the castle and, along with Brute, had become my second shadow, so there was no leaving him or the dog behind.
Our unlikely trio wandered up and down the high street, looking at shops and stalls, at everything from ribbons for ladies’ hair to newly forged blades. Joss’s eyes lit up as he gazed at the swords, and I knew in a few more years he’d be old enough to carry one. The lad took in all he saw and seemed to lock it away. I’d come to know he was sharp as a wench’s tongue. Once shown something, he rarely needed to be shown again.
His attention became locked on a small wooden figure of a horse, carved by some local fellow. To me its cost would be a trifle, but to him, who had no coin, it was dear. In these last weeks, I’d never seen the lad play or frolic, only do his work and follow me.
“Here, give me that.
It looks a fine toy for a lad.” I pointed to the little horse on the cart. Joss’s eyes watched as the man picked it up and told me the price.
“What do you think, Joss?” I gave the carver the coin and held up the figure.
His sighed, and his shoulders hunched. “I think the duke’s son will like it very much,” he whispered.
I looked at him. Did he think the only boy I’d buy a toy for was Tomas? That he was of so little merit to me? I dropped to my knee and looked into his eyes, my heart aching.
“Joss, I bought it for you, not Tomas.” I handed it to him.
By the look on his face, sheer surprise mixed with bewilderment, I knew he’d never been given anything in his short life. There was so much I didn’t know about the child I had governance over, and I’d done little to learn it.
“Me?” He shook his head, refusing to believe it, I supposed. “Mine?”
“Aye, boy. Yours.”
He stared at it, turning it over in his hand, stroking the smooth wood, as if he would memorize it before it disappeared or was snatched from him.
“Thank you, m’lord.” He gave me a quick bow and a nod, then placed it gently under his shirt for safekeeping.
I stood and moved on, still searching for my purchase, with Joss and Brute following me through the crowds.
I found what I had been looking for in a bookseller’s shop. It was a leather-bound journal, with blank pages meant to keep accounts in. I paid for it, and a quill and inkpot. Joss proudly carried them for me back to the keep.
I laid the things on the desk in my room. They sat there untouched for days. I had decided that I might be able to exorcise my ghost by telling his story. Each time I sat down to write, I found some excuse not to start. I think I feared if I started, it would end, and I was afraid I’d put Ansel away with the book. He’d become familiar to me, the only thing I had left of him, besides the dog, his sword, and my regrets.
I thought perhaps a change of place would help, so late in the evenings I took my book and ink down to the great hall, sat at a table by the fire, and began to write his story. I must have been a strange sight, sitting hunched over my book, night after night, scratching on the paper with my quill. There were few who knew how to write, and that a man such as I had been taught must have seemed odd.
