If He's Daring

by Hannah Howell

  Giles sat up a little straighter, cocked his head as if listening for something, and then sneaked a glance over his shoulder. Orion raised his tankard in a silent salute. As a result of his hard years living on the streets of London, Giles was far more keenly alert to his surroundings than most children. He was surprised that the boy had not noticed him sooner. He welcomed the disruption of his thoughts, however, as he walked toward Giles and Catryn, for they had begun to make him think on all the promising marriages that had recently occurred amongst the Wherlockes. That was certainly a dangerous path for a confirmed bachelor to meander down.

  Catryn hastily sat up straighter, a little disturbed at being found scrambling about in the grass like a child. It was not just the tankard of ale that told her Sir Orion had stopped in the inn for a while before he had come looking for them. He was far too clean and tidy for a man who had spent most of the day hunting someone. He also appeared to have suffered no wounds, and the tight ball of worry she had carried in her stomach all day loosened.

  “You are well?” she asked.

  “I am, and I found out a great deal about Morris the kidnapper,” he replied.

  She scrambled to her feet. “Did you get any news of how Alwyn fares?”

  “Alwyn is still alive, but we can talk about all I learned over the meal I have ordered. It is ready in the parlor by now.” He moved to help her pick up the toy soldiers. “Some of these are wooden.” He studied the fine detail on the Roundhead soldier he held. “The carving is exquisite.”

  “My da does them for Alwyn. He makes the leaders and the horses, the cannons, and a few other items but buys the rest. He said if he tried to make the whole army, Alwyn would be a grandfather himself before it was done. I thought they would help comfort Alwyn after his ordeal.”

  He looked at the box she held open for him to put the soldier in, studying the dragons carved on the sides as he carefully placed the figurine in with the others. It did not surprise him to see a griffin carved on the lid when she closed the box. The work was some of the best he had ever seen.

  “An unusual skill for a baron,” he murmured, taking her by the arm and starting to walk back to the inn.

  “Da says it calms him and helps him think things out. He started as a boy, soon outpacing the man who taught him.” She smiled. “There are a lot of his works at our country house. There are a few at the house where I lived with my husband, as well.”

  Orion coaxed her to speak more of her father as they made their way to the small private parlor where the maid was just finishing setting out a hearty meal. He could hear the love she had for the man in every word. What he did not hear was any hint that her father had any special gift aside from the one he had for carving.

  The meal was cleared away and the sweet placed out before he gained the courage to talk about the possibility that her family had crossed with his sometime in the past.

  “So your father does not know when danger approaches nor speaks to people no one else can see?” he finally asked, deciding the blunt approach was needed.

  “No. Why should he?” she asked.

  “Because both you and Alwyn have a rather special gift. It is not strange to think that your sire might have one, too.”

  “Gift? You call such things gifts? One does not have to hide a gift, sir.”

  “Oh, but you do. You most certainly do,” said Giles before stuffing his mouth full of stewed apple and clotted cream.

  Catryn stared at Orion. “Do you have one of these gifts? Does Giles?”

  “Giles is too young for his gift to be evident, although I begin to think I know what his gift is, and that it is very strong. It appears he knows what a person is feeling. I can find anyone and anything, as I have said. I even know a plot’s twists and turns with but a tiny fragment of a clue. Few will gamble with me, as I can tell what their next move will be and what the next card will be. I can draw a loud groan from my relatives if I even suggest a game of chess. All the Wherlockes and Vaughns have gifts, some strong and some weak. It is why I am so curious about the ones you and Alwyn appear to have, because the name Gryffin is unknown to me.”

  For a moment she stared at him and wondered what he was trying to tell her. All of this talk about gifts was confusing. Then her eyes widened so much they stung as her mind filled with scraps of knowledge, whispered tales, and gossip about his family that had been buried beneath her fears for Alwyn.

  “Oh. Oh dear. You are one of those Wherlockes. I have heard of you.”

  “By the look upon your face I must conclude that you have heard very little that was complimentary,” he drawled.

  The hot sting of a blush swept over her cheeks as she realized how rude she had been. “What I heard was that your family is large, distressingly handsome or beautiful, and rather odd. Also that it appears to be very good at producing sons even though there appeared to be only a rather angry envy of that as if the blessing was wasted on you. A few spoke of darker things, but I refused to listen to such tales. That might be why it took me so long to recall any of them. Then, too, I have ne’er believed it right to mark someone evil or wrong for being different in some way.” She smiled a little. “Or an entire family, and one that rarely appears in the society that so many of their number were born into.”

  He returned her smile. “We visit with that horde when it pleases us.”

  “How politely condescending.” She was not surprised when he laughed, for there had been no bite to her words. “Yet none of you make any attempt to silence the whispers?”

  “People have been whispering about us from the moment the first of my ancestors revealed that he was different in a way people did not understand or trust. Mayhap now we simply do not care what society thinks for they are no longer allowed by law to condemn us, jail us, or murder us for our differences. And mayhap we are too aware of how many of our ancestors died at the hands of persecutors like them. I can, in a small way, excuse the peasantry for their actions, for most are uneducated, but those of my class should have had more sense.”

  Catryn thought that over for a moment and then nodded. “I believe I would feel the same.”

  “Do you know if any one of your own ancestors was killed or jailed for being different?”

  “Killed or jailed? That would be some clue, would it?”

  “Yes. In the past it happened quite often. It is why our family became such a reclusive one and has only recently fully come out into society.” He smiled faintly. “Well, what we consider fully. It is why we even pick our servants with the utmost care, the majority of them coming from the Pugh or Jones families.”

  “But would you not know your own family lines and history? Would you not know if the name Gryffin appeared somewhere along the way?”

  “Oh, we have our histories and our inheritance charts and family lines, but they are not always complete. In the old days when there were bad times, when the witch cry grew loud and people were either dragged to a stake or hanged, some of our ancestors hid or even burned their family ledgers to prevent other family members from being identified. We all learn the story of the entire family that was slaughtered for being decried as witches, the parents and eldest daughter burned at the stake, and the young children tossed into the flames to join them.” He nodded when she paled and placed a hand over her mouth. “Ancestors of the Duke of Elder wood. If there had not been one brother who was out to sea at the time, that line would have been completely wiped out that night. He stayed away for a long time, too, and raised his family elsewhere until that period of turmoil passed. What better way to ensure that all of your family does not get slaughtered than to rid yourself of all the writings and histories detailing marriages and births and all of that?”

  “It was that bad?”

  “It could be from time to time. It eased some after the Church of England was founded, but then when Bloody Mary sat on the throne there were the witch-hunters for a while. Even now, though the law allowing people to torture and kill a proven or confessed
witch has been repealed, it is not wise to be too open about one’s differences. We learned to keep few records and hide them well.”

  “Which leaves you with a lot of, well, holes.”

  “Exactly. Several of my family have made it their business to hunt down as much information as they can, try to find records that were hidden away, but many records are lost forever.”

  Catryn frowned. “So you truly think the Gryffins may have joined with your family for a while?”

  “We are all Welsh originally. It would hardly be a surprise if they had.”

  “There is that to consider. Yet, why would my father not tell me?”

  “He may not know. Your lines may have a few unexplained breaks and lost information as well.”

  “Why would you believe Alwyn has a gift?” she asked, even though she was frightened to hear his answer. “He is just a little boy who speaks to people of his own creation.”

  “I think you know it is more than that,” Orion said, recognizing the fear in her eyes, the deep desire to utterly and firmly deny what he was about to say. “He speaks with the spirits of the dead, Catryn.”

  She slowly shook her head. “No. No, he does not. He is just a little boy, only just turned five years of age. He does not even truly understand what dead is.”

  “He might not, especially if the loss of someone has not yet darkened his world.”

  “His father died.”

  “You said they were not close.”

  “That is true, but Alwyn was there in the house when he died, and he attended all the services.”

  “With his friend?”

  “How could you possibly know my son speaks to the dead? You cannot see his friends any more than I can.”

  He reached across the table and placed his hands over hers, stilling their agitated movement. “Answer me this: Would your son know how to threaten someone? Know enough to tell a man that he was going to rip out his innards and tie them around his neck in a bow?” He nodded when she paled. “Does he know the sorts of words that would have him saying he was going to stick his sword up a man’s arse? He has said these things and more, and one man said he pauses as if he is thinking hard before saying it. Just as if he is listening, then repeating someone else’s words. Another man, who paused near Alwyn when he was in the carriage, swears he saw a light behind the boy, even though Morris was blocking any light that might have come in through the carriage window. And, as your son walked away from a very angry Morris, a strange wind swept across the road at just that point and knocked Morris down.”

  Although her hands had stilled beneath his, she was rocking slightly, back and forth, in her seat. Orion feared he had given her far too much to deal with. She dearly loved her child and she was smart enough to understand what this particular gift could mean for his future.

  “I shall write to my father and demand he find out if there are Wherlockes or Vaughns in my family. You shall see there are none, and that means Alwyn is just a boy so in need of friends he makes them up in his mind.” She leapt to her feet and hurried out of the room.

  Orion cursed, took a deep drink of wine, and slumped in his chair. “That did not go well.”

  “She loves her boy,” said Giles, “and she is afraid, very afraid, that he really is different. It is not a fear for herself or anything like that, but fear for him. Why would she fear for him?”

  “Because this is going to make his life difficult. Perhaps not as difficult as she fears, but it will not be easy for him.”

  “Oh. That is true enough. I am thinking it is not easy for any of us, is it?”

  “Not really, no. Some have it far worse than others.”

  “Such as the young duke who has to hide in his castle?”

  Orion looked at his son and frowned. “I did not think I had told you about him yet.”

  “No, Cody did. I think he thought I knew.” Giles stared down at the apple core he tossed back and forth in his hands. “That is what you think will happen to me, aye?”

  “Not completely, but it is certainly not going to be easy for you. We will wait, and if your gift is what I think it is and grows stronger, I will send you to train with Modred. Our aunt Dob is the one who helps him, and he can rejoin the world a little more every day. She has a true skill at helping a person build walls in his mind to keep out all the noise.”

  “It helps to know that. Maybe Lady Catryn needs to meet someone who has grown up with the ability to see and speak to spirits. Penelope could help her understand that her son will do well, that he just needs to learn a few things and how to keep it all a secret.”

  Orion clapped his son on the back. “A very good idea. Penelope could help Catryn. Once we have her son, we will go to Radmoor. We will stay a little while and, if we have not yet ended Morris’s games, we will leave you and the boy there and go hunt the fool down. While we do so, young Alwyn can meet others like him and learn from them.”

  Walking to the window that overlooked the attractive little garden at the side of the inn, Orion sipped his wine and wondered if he should go and try to comfort Catryn. She sat on a bench and stared out over the small garden that the light of the moon cast in shadows. He had grown up with the knowledge of the things he had just told her, accepted them from the time he could first understand what was being said around him. He had also had to accept at a very early age that many people, even ones who should love you, saw what his family doggedly called gifts as a curse, something evil and frightful. Catryn accepted but obviously would much rather her child was not so gifted, and he could not blame her for that.

  It did not help that the boy had the gift of speaking to the dead, which even members of his own family could find discomforting. The dead were supposed to stay dead and silent. He was glad he had not been given such a gift, or the one that he feared Giles had been given.

  Shaking his head, he set down his tankard and decided to go and see if she was willing to hear any more. Orion discovered that he could not abide her being sad or upset. He felt a deep need to try and make her smile again. He paused by the table to look at his son.

  “Do you think she is ready to hear any more?” Giles asked, and briefly frowned toward the window.

  “I have no idea, but I cannot leave her out there, afraid for her son and sad.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “And just what does that mean?”

  “’Tis hard to care at times,” he said and returned to cutting and coring another apple.

  Orion decided to ignore that, and headed out to the garden, taking her shawl with him. Now that the sun had set, it was growing cool. Glancing up at the full moon as he approached her, he grimaced. A nice romantic night and he had to talk about gifts and ghosts and calm her fears.

  “Have you come to give me more bad news?” she asked as she took the shawl he held out to her and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  Orion sat on the bench next to her and bit back a smile. She sounded more cross than sad. Even a little sulky. That he could deal with. It was the possibility of tears, heartbreak, and sorrow he had not wished to confront.

  “That was all of it, I believe,” he said.

  “Can people really speak with the dead?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “They can. My cousin Penelope does. She can also tell you where the bodies are buried, even if their spirit has already gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “The question of the ages. She is not sure. None come back to tell her. She says the good just go away; sometimes there is a light and sometimes they just smile and fade away. The bad are the worst, she said. They looked terrified for a moment and then are pulled down into the dark.”

  “And she sees this?”

  “She does. Fortunately, the few bad she has seen were so bad she was little troubled by what happened to them. The spirit with your son,” he said, ignoring the way she tensed, “is a little different from what Penelope has spoken of. It is apparent that he can converse with the spirit. She says that
is not usually the way of it, that spirits usually just say cryptic things and ‘beware.’”

  Catryn could not help it. The way he said the word beware, with deep, dramatic tones, made her smile. It was a short-lived smile, however. The mere thought that her sweet little boy was conversing with dead people was enough to banish it.

  She stared up at the moon and wondered how Alwyn was doing right now. Her heart ached to hold him. She knew he trusted her to find him, but it was taking a lot longer than she had anticipated. Now she had the added concern that he was conversing with a foul-mouthed spirit. At least he has one of his friends with him to comfort him, she thought, and then shook her head. This matter of gifts and talk of ghosts was obviously disordering her mind.

  Coming out into the garden had been intended to calm her enough to compose a sensible letter to her father. It was not working as well as she had hoped. All she could do was try—and fail—to deny what Orion said, and worry about her little boy.

  “He will be fine, Catryn,” Orion said and slowly put his arm around her slim shoulders. “He is young, and the young accept so many things better than adults do. From what you say, he has always been able to see and speak to the dead, so it must seem quite normal and ordinary to him.”

  That was true, she thought. Alwyn did not understand that he was doing anything unusual. Probably thought all children had friends no one else could see or hear. He might even understand that the friends he spoke to were dead, for he had never asked that they go and find one or put out food for them. Yet, to think of such a young child being so close to, so familiar with the dead, was a little chilling.

  Suddenly she was aware that she was seated very close to Orion and he had his arm around her. It was nice, the warmth of his body keeping away the encroaching chill of the night. It was also highly improper, but then she was already doing a lot that was improper, such as riding around the countryside with an unmarried man who was not related to her. She looked up at him to find him looking down at her.