by Stone, Lyn
Imagine, the scamp making such a to-do about his own father’s boasting about him! How was a man to know his son would forget everything learned at the knee of his sire? Damn old Angus for neglecting the lad’s lessons.
Damn the rogue, too, for discarding all the letters Adam had sent to his son, and for replying that the angry young Alan wanted no more to do with his parents. Adam blamed himself as well. Instead of respecting the stripling’s wishes, he should have risked a trip to the Highlands to see what was what. The poor lad must have felt himself deserted after months with no word from home. Then years.
Adam shook off his anger at Angus and his own bullheaded pride. He must put all that aside for now until he had solved this problem with Hume.
Alan said the priest was teaching him what he needed to know. Still, there were other things than reading, writing and French to be taught. Like prudence, for instance.
No one could have expected Angus to teach Alan that, of course. The fool didn’t know the meaning of the word, let alone understand the concept. Alan was likely to lop off Hume’s head on a whim. That’s certainly what old Angus would have done.
He opened the topic carefully. “Alan, you have not said what you intend to do with your father by marriage.”
“Nay, I’ve not. Still undecided.” Alan munched on a slab of bread, his elbows resting on the table.
Adam thought the boy had gotten over his fit of pique now. At least he had stopped snapping out his words. “Why not talk to the man again? See what he intends if you set him free. No doubt his solitude has softened him a bit, eh?” Adam suggested.
“Oh, I know verra well what he’ll do. Head straight home and round up another contingent to add to the one we sent packing. Likely drag his friend, that comte, into it as well. We’d suffer a muckle army at the gates—if not through the tunnel—inside a month. Ye’re not proposing I release him, are ye?”
“No, but perhaps you could make peace, somehow reason with him to let your marriage stand and explain the matter to the comte de Trouville.”
Alan snorted and threw down the crust of bread. “You reason with him! I would probably throttle the wretch.” He leaned back in his chair as they watched Honor leave the solar, carrying her child to the Frenchwoman seated by the fire. “Honor wants me to kill him.”
“Still?”
“Well, she’s not mentioned it again, but her wishes were clear enough when we first took Hume,” Alan said. “I mislike the idea, Da.”
“As well you might, thank God! Bruce would have your head for it.”
Alan laughed. “Aye, I know that. I’ll wait at least until Hume reports to him what is happening at the French court. Then we’ll see.”
“Look, son,” Adam said tentatively, “Hume’s only done as he was taught to do, you know.”
“To hurt his child? Sell her into marriage?” Alan scoffed.
Adam shook his head sadly. “Every man is taught by his father’s example, Alan. Thanks be to God I have no daughters of my own, nor did my own sire. Though I escaped that lesson by chance, I’ve seen enough of this happen all around me to know it is the usual way of things. Fathers arrange matches for the children and enforce them however they may. ’Tis only that you were so far removed from regular family, you do not realize—”
“And whose fault is that, Da?” Alan snapped.
“I have apologized, son. How was I to know Angus would abuse the honor of fostering you? Your mother thought—”
“My mother left me. Knowing what her brother was, she left me there, Da. As did you.”
“I know.” Adam brushed a hand over his beard and then reached for his ale. “I wish I could make it up to you, all that you suffered. It is my fault. And hers. War was imminent, border skirmishes constant. She knew you would be safe that far north, but feared I would be killed.”
Alan shook his head and blew out a breath between his teeth. “She loved her husband best. I suppose I cannot fault her for it.”
“No, you should not. I know you love Honor’s child as your own. Would you not put Christiana somewhere out of harm’s way and rush to join your wife were she in danger of death?”
“Aye, I would.” Alan replied in a clipped voice.
“And we would not have left you so long had Angus not told us you wished it. He wrote that you were well content there and so set against us, you’d not answer our letters.”
“So, if I say I forgive ye both, may we let this subject lie? I weary of it.”
“You will pardon me if I do not feel absolved,” Adam said sarcastically, “But, yes, let’s not dwell on it. I would speak more of Hume and his fate. Shall I talk with him?”
“As ye like,” Alan said, rising from the table, “Just see he is well guarded when ye do. He’s not to have run of the place, and keep his hands bound if ye bring him out of the storeroom.”
Alan walked away a few steps and then turned. “And he is not to see or speak with Honor under any circumstance. I’ll not have her disturbed by the old rogue.”
Adam nodded. He thought long and hard about what he would say to Hume. How did one go about changing an ingrained attitude toward women? Especially one that most men adhered to with little thought. Best to see first just how tame the imprisonment had rendered the fellow.
Honor saw Alan quit the hall. The men lounging around the tables followed him out, groaning to each other goodnaturedly. Time for weapons practice, she thought, thankful that Alan had not chosen to exercise himself in another way.
She marked well how he had laid that cedar rod close to hand in the solar last evening. Strange that he had not used it on her, given her behavior. She had pushed him further than anyone with right mind ought to have done.
Honor saw her father-in-law descend the stairs to the kitchens. Now what was he about? Moments later, the guard who usually minded her father’s makeshift cell came up, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. Surely Alan had not set his own sire to guard duty. The man was a guest, for heaven’s sake. Honor went down to apologize until Alan could set things right and assign someone else.
No one lingered in the open area around the huge fire hole or anywhere else in the kitchens, for that matter. Honor recalled that most of the folk were busy setting up the fires outside for candle making. There would be naught this day but cold meats for the midday meal.
Just then she noticed that the door to her father’s cell stood open. Had Alan’s father released him? Surely not. As Honor approached cautiously, she heard voices and stopped just out of sight. What was Lord Adam up to?
“No, I cannot grant you run of the place, Hume. My son forbids it,” Adam said.
“Forbids it,” her father mimicked, and then snorted inelegantly. “And you mind your whelp, do you?”
“’Tis his keep, after all. And you are his prisoner.”
“And you have no say over your own get! Pathetic!”
Adam laughed. “Neither do you, it seems.”
Her father’s voice sounded deadly when he replied, “Nay, but I shall. She will pay for this travesty, you mark my words!”
Honor sank down onto the stool where the guard usually sat and buried her face in her hands. She should not listen to this, but could not bring herself to leave.
“Plan to beat her again, do you?” Adam asked as he might have inquired how Hume meant to spend the day.
“I should! The little wretch has given me naught but headaches since she sprouted! Out of the goodness of a father’s heart, I did not force her to a match until she ran years past the age to marry! Then you’d have thought I’d consigned her to the gallows! Since she was but twelve, I had tried to deal with that stubbornness of hers, to make her tame.”
Honor heard Adam grunt. She could not tell whether he agreed with her father or not. “Ah, but then you arranged a very profitable union for her, did you not?”
“Aye,” her father said, sounding wounded. “The man’s friend to the king, a distant cousin, in fact. Widowed, wealthy and right smitten with Hon
or, too. ’Twould have been a good union. Seeing as how he is a royal favorite, I could not have denied his suit in any case. But would she have him? Nay, thief that she is, she took the very documents binding her, likely bribed my priest to follow, and stole off into the night. Took me a good year to find her!”
“Hmm, resourceful child!” Adam exclaimed.
“Naught to take pride in, I can tell you! Not for a daughter,” her father replied. “Spiteful wench!”
Adam chuckled. “Ah, but how many women do you know with such courage, Hume? Tell me, is her mum such a one?”
“Her mum is a dutiful wife, a good woman who knows her place. Shocked by it all, she was, poor Therese. Clung to me like a limpet these past months. Had she not needed me near for comfort, I’d have found our wicked offspring sooner than I did.”
Honor smiled into her palm. She knew well the purpose of her mother’s clinging. No one could feign helplessness better than Lady Therese.
For years, Honor had hated her mother’s subservient attitude, the toadying, the teary eyes and trembling smile. Even more than that, Honor had hated the fact that her mam received everything she ever asked for and suffered not so much as a slap.
Then, not long before her leaving, truth had dawned and Honor understood why. Her mother used her wiles to sway the man. Unfortunately, that awakening had come too late to help Honor. No matter how she wheedled and pled, or how prettily she wept, her father’s mind remained set on her marriage to Trouville.
“She got it from you, then!” Adam of Strode declared.
“What?” her father asked, obviously still dwelling on her mother’s docile nature.
“Her pluck, of course! That daring fortitude!” Adam said. “Why, I cannot begin to tell you, Hume, how fortunate I feel that we share such a daughter. God’s word, what a backbone that lass has, eh? Make fine grandsons, will that one!”
Her father mumbled something Honor could not make out.
“Now, now, ’tis only your pride she pricked, man,” Adam soothed. “That Frenchman’s seed might have weakened your line had Honor settled for that. Don’t you see it, Hume? Fate took a hand in this! Sent Honor here to my son. Why, together they will make a whole keep full of braw lads and bonny maids!”
“No chance of it! The comte de Trouville will come for her now, I promise you that much. He’ll not be pleased that Honor has flung his offer to the winds. I sought to save her his wrath by reaching her first. I wager he’ll not be long in coming once he knows where I am and why,” Hume said. “I don’t like to think what he might do if retribution is left to him. He’s not known for his leniency.”
“And you are?” Adam asked calmly.
A long silence, then, “Once I was. ’Twas a disservice I did her then, Strode. A huge error in judgement. As a child, Honor had her way, and I let her. She grew into a willful woman, one who needs a firm hand. Honor has defied me in this matter of her marriage and that must not go unpunished.”
“Right, then. I shall tell my son. He’s her husband and should be the one to chasten her. You may witness the beating.”
“Nay!” her father exclaimed. “He cannot strike her! I’ll not allow it!”
“And why not?” Adam asked conversationally. “You’d rather have the pleasure yourself?”
“Pleasure? ’Tis no pleasure to lay rod to one’s own child! Surely to God you know that!”
“Nay, I never beat mine,” Adam said.
Her father laughed bitterly. “That’s why he’s such an unholy terror, that son of yours. Ill-mannered as a bothybred peasant. Sounds like one, too!”
Adam growled. “I bid you good day then, if you’re to sit there and insult my son!”
Honor heard the rustle of rushes.
“Strode, wait!” her father ordered Adam. “Could... could I see the babe?” When Adam said nothing, her father added, “Just the once?”
Still no audible answer, but there must have been a shake of the head for her father sounded infinitely sad when he spoke again. “Does she have the look of my Honor? Is she beautiful?”
“Oh, aye, a faery babe,” Adam declared with a smile in his voice. “She will turn a few heads, that one!”
“Her name?” Hume whispered.
“Christiana,” Adam said. “Alan calls her Wee Kit.”
Honor heard a sniff. After a small silence, her father demanded, “He is kind to her, this Alan of yours?”
“In his heart, she is his daughter.”
“That does not answer my question!” her father declared.
“He is kinder by far than you ever were to yours,” Adam said. “Think on that, Hume.”
“A moment more?” her father asked, a reluctant plea. “When the comte comes...?
“Aye?”
“Hide Honor. And hide the child.” Hume cleared his throat. “Perhaps tell him they are dead?”
“He poses that much of a threat?” Adam asked, his voice sounding worried.
“He is a vindictive bastard who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. Unless she bends to his will—which she will surely not—I fear he will kill her. Or else what she holds dearest.”
Strode scoffed. “And you would have married your only child to such a man, Hume? How the devil could you even consider such a thing?”
“No choice,” her father almost whispered the words. “If I could not have made her willing, she would have gone to him unwilling. That might have meant her death.”
“Yet you would return her to him even now if you could, unwilling and in danger of losing her life?”
“No, of course not. I know a convent where he would never have found her. I meant to put her there once I got her home and tell the man she had died.”
“Not that it would have changed the outcome, but why did you not say as much when you came?” Sir Adam asked.
“Because one of my men might later have carried the tale of my plans to Trouville. Look, I am only a Scot, with no power in France save my wits and wealth. He has the King’s trust and kinship. You tell that son of yours, beware this man, for he will come for her with everything he has.”
“Consider us warned,” Adam said succinctly.
Honor rose and quickly ducked into the recess of another storeroom as Adam exited her father’s cell, locked the door and shouted up the stair for the guard to return.
Memories of her growing years marched through her mind. She had adored her father once. Perhaps if she had never loved him and trusted him the way she had, the punishment he dealt her later would not have seemed so great a betrayal.
Now she knew why he had turned into such an ogre, demanding her compliance of a sudden when he had been so lax before. The very things he once admired in her abruptly engendered his fear for her—and thus his fury—once she reached womanhood.
Even then she admitted to herself that he had not unleashed his full power on her. Had he done so, she might have been crippled by his blows. She had supposed at the time he did not want her too damaged to sell in marriage.
Many times when she had railed against him, he did not beat her, but simply locked her in, much as Alan had done to him now. Only in a smaller, more uncomfortable place. And without food. Cruel man, even if he did believe he had reason to be. Even if he thought treating her so might save her in the end.
Her father’s words to Adam explained his behavior, but Honor could not forgive him yet for all she had suffered at his hand. To think he would have given her to the comte had she not run away. Had he been a braver man, a better parent, he would have rushed her off to Scotland himself to save her. His scheme to save her had come too late to count for anything.
Pray God, Alan would treat Christiana more gently once she became a woman. She believed he would. But it would not hurt to teach Christiana how to placate a man, rather than stoke his temper. She smirked at her thoughts. How could she teach that when she had never properly learned herself?
If only her own mother had not depended solely on example for Honor’s lesso
ns, things might have worked out for the better all around.
Tell a man what he wanted to hear, that was the way. Praise and exalt, flatter and applaud. Though she could never use those tricks on Alan now. She knew that much. Nothing but absolute honesty of word and deed would serve for that husband of hers. So be it, for she had promised.
She noticed that he had left off his former efforts to please her. He had given up his careful pronunciation in favor of his natural way of speaking. He dressed as he pleased now, usually favoring the highland garb. No longer did he toss her pretty compliments at table. Did he believe for a moment that she liked that proper, courtly fellow better? The thought made Honor shake her head.
Though his attempts to change himself had flattered her, Honor did not wish him changed at all. However, even though Alan abandoned the affectations, he was still not himself.
More than anything, Honor wanted him to be as he had first appeared to her. She missed the warm smiles and ready laughter, his tenderness and his boisterous sense of fun. Had she turned him into this dour knight he was now? And if so, could she mend the mistake?
A week later, Alan wished to heaven he had never belabored so the subject of honesty with Honor. Though relieved that she felt safe enough with him to attempt a gentle teasing, he did not want her making light of something so serious. “Enough is enough,” he warned, struggling hard to sound gruff.
“But I am making amends,” she said, wearing the face of innocence.
As though he did not ken what she was about, making such fun of him. She beat him about the head with every silly fact she could put to words, the more ridiculous, the better. The dark scowls he assumed did nothing to deter her. Nothing.
“Well, you do have ugly feet, Alan. I felt obliged to tell you that, because in all truth, you are a man vain about his looks. Did you not ask me if you appeared aright before we came to table?”
“Ye canna even see my feet now, Honor. I’m wearing my boots.”
“Just as well,” she declared with a knowing nod. “They put people off, those feet of yours.”
“Hist! Close yer mouth and eat yer supper!” Alan fought the laughter that threatened to ruin his reprimand. Sly minx. She must know very well he had forgiven her everything. Otherwise, she would not be doing this.
