Guns & Flame: The Sara Featherwood Adventures ~ Volume Three

by Guy Antibes

  Ivytree took another look at the wound. “Perhaps I misjudged her.” He pulled out some salve and dabbed it on the stitches. “Just a light bandage from here on out. Nothing tight. At this point the wound needs to breathe. I don’t see any festering now, none at all. Let me show you how you can dress it. Still don’t get it wet—not until I take the stitches out in a few days. Is that acceptable?”

  “It is.” Sara wanted to get Nona to visit Stonebridge again. Perhaps women healers could become more accepted now that Ivytree admired her work.

  He nodded and pulled out a thick roll of bleached muslin and gave his instructions to both Willa and Sara.

  ~

  The Grand Duke’s Palace wasn’t as intimidating as before on her two previous visits. If the Goldfields townhouse compared rather favorably to the Grand Duke’s public rooms, what would Goldfields manor be like? Banna and Hedge were dressed rather well. Sara found the Tollson gown in one of her trunks. No one would know or even care but Willa, but they understood the irony of the rural girl from Belting Hollow returning to the Grand Duke’s palace wearing a Tollson gown.

  “Come this way to meet the Grand Duke Brownhill,” a servant said as he led them to a section of the palace she’d never seen before. “These are private quarters.”

  Klark, the Grand Duke? It couldn’t be. Sara rejected the notion but who else would it be? She felt nervous and unprepared for this encounter. She wanted to run scenarios in her mind, but found she had lost her concentration.

  “Banna and Doctor Hedge, Willa Waters and Sara, the Duchess of Goldfields.” The servant announced them and left, closing the door. They walked into a pleasant dining room. It wasn’t too large, by palace standards.

  Klark had his back to them, poking the fire. He turned around, beaming. “Sara!”

  “Grand Duke.” She made a curtsey.

  A man coughed who had been looking out the window. “I am the Grand Duke.” He was Klark’s father.

  “I’m so sorry, I thought…”

  “Don’t be,” Brownhill said. “It’s hard enough for any of us to get used to this. The King wanted an administrator to bring sanity back to Shattuk Downs so he elevated me.”

  “That means that…”

  Klark took her hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll never be the Grand Duke. Two brothers ahead of me.” He shrugged. “It’s incredible to see you again.”

  “I agree.” She couldn’t stop smiling.

  “You’re happy to see yourself?” Klark laughed. “My father and I want to say how sad we are about the events in Belting Hollow. Our report was rather sketchy. Perhaps you can tell us what happened. State business.” He gave her an encouraging smile.

  Sara beamed. Klark’s little joke warmed her heart. She had expected to be met with a scowl.

  “That wonderful, eh?”

  “No.” Sara gave her head a little shake. “It’s just that I’m glad to be here. No politics, no intrigue. I’m not going to be shipped off to my doom. I can just get on with living my life, finally!”

  “Let’s hear your story over dinner.”

  “There’s more than one, Grand Duke.”

  “Call me Brownhill. All of my friends do. And I can call you Sara, like I did before?”

  “Certainly, but we’re waiting for three more before you begin.”

  The door opened. “Willium and Mrs. Evertrue and their daughter Miss Lily Evertrue.”

  Lily looked so much better. The circles were gone and she had filled out to being just thin again. She even smiled.

  “Lily, you look so much better.”

  “I feel better. It’s so good to be back home. A little good Shattuk Downs food and some distance from my troubles in Belonnia have made a new woman of me.”

  Her father grunted. “A trunkful of new clothes have made a new woman out of her and a pauper out of me.”

  They all laughed as sat down at dinner.

  Sara kept feasting on Klark, but the tale was hers to tell with Lily and Willa’s comments thrown in from time to time.

  The events in Belting Hollow were too close still and Sara had a hard time describing the horrible incident with her father, so Willa finished that part of the story.

  Dinner had ended. Klark asked Sara out on the balcony. “It’s a bit chilly, but it won’t be as cold as our last meeting, I hope,” he said.

  They stood alone, looking out at the purple outlines of Stonebridge under the moonlight.

  “Have you changed your mind?” Klark said looking at her. He didn’t waste any time.

  “About what?” Sara decided to be a bit coy and re-establish their battle lines.

  “I still want to marry you.”

  “I’m a wealthy Duchess. Who wouldn’t?”

  “I’m now son of the Grand Duke. Obed couldn’t even object.”

  “Third son,” Sara said. “And it’s not Obed Handy that you’re talking to.”

  Klark turned his head and looked out at the city. “You’re right. I’m not good enough for you.”

  Did she detect a pout? With Klark, such a technique would be intentional. “I didn’t say that. Let’s not talk about me marrying you. It seems too much of a Klark-centered thing. Let’s talk about me. How old am I?” Sara wanted to ask questions to keep Klark off his feet.

  “Nineteen, twenty in six months.”

  “Very good. You remembered. Now what did I say to you when we last talked?”

  “You weren’t ready. But you’re a Duchess now. How could you not be ready?”

  Sara thought about the answer. “Your father is the Grand Duke, right?”

  Klark nodded.

  “Is he right now, at this very instant, competent in his role?”

  “No, not at all. The King doesn’t expect him to be. He told my father he could grow into the title.”

  “I helped him get that title, in my own way.”

  “That you did, Sara. That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I want to be competent as a person. Think about it. When you understand my point of view, come see me.” Sara didn’t want to end their conversation this way, but she saw their positions hardening. She could feel her anger begin to rise and that’s not what she wanted. “I still feel for you as I always have.” She clutched his hand. I’ll leave you with that.”

  Sara walked back inside and thanked the Grand Duke for the dinner. Brownhill looked out the window to see Klark still standing on the open balcony and frowned, but he let her depart for the evening.

  ~

  A week rolled by. Willa had gone out to Goldfields, which was less than a day away. In the morning, her wound had been proclaimed healed by Ivytree. Sara sat in a drawing room working on her mother’s journal with a magnifying glass. The ink faded in and out. She came to a passage:

  Ben is a nice man, but I now find he is so limited. Why did the Passcolds have to leave for Parth? My baby is growing inside of me and I wonder if Ben will be a proper father to the child? I feel so stupid. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have such a strong dose of Goldagle pride.

  The rest of the line faded, but the young Sythea continued, ”…now I’ll never be able to tell...” She couldn’t read any more on the page. Her heart beat faster. This was what she sought!

  Sara called Banna. “Do you know how to restore faded lettering?”

  “What do you have there?”

  “I found this journal in Brightlings. My mother hid it in one of the filing cabinets. I found it in the basement.”

  “I do. Sometimes a mixture of some things in the kitchen will do the trick.” Banna left and returned with a jar and a small brush.

  “Sythy’s journal? I never knew she kept one.”

  Sara hesitated telling Banna, but she’d find out anyway. “She began it at Brightlings. It might have my real father’s name.”

  “But your father is Renall Passcold. We both know that.”

  “I want to make absolutely sure. Both brothers loved my mother. Remember the little shrine to my mother in Duke North
cross’ house? They both wanted it there. Renall and Terrant Passcold. I’m sure they both loved my mother.” Sara wanted to know and at this point she wouldn’t rest until she knew for sure.

  “All right. I’ll brush this mixture on. The paper will rise slightly around where the ink was. If you look at the parchment at an angle you should see the writing. It’s rather tedious if you’re working on an entire book.”

  Banna brushed the line, being careful that she didn’t touch the readable ink. In a minute, Sara raised the book at eye level and used the bright morning light. She could see the paper rising, but still couldn’t make out the letters.

  “Who is it?” Banna said breathing down Sara’s neck.

  Sara took the magnifying glass and shivered as she made out the rest of the sentence… Terrant. The King was her father! She could hardly get the words out of her mouth as her emotions overcame her. ‘It’s the King!” Sara sat back in the chair holding the journal in her lap. She wiped away tears of joy. It just didn’t make sense that Renall would toss his own daughter to the Belonnians. “Then why would the Duke claim to be the father?” Sara said.

  “Protection. If the king accepts paternity, you are currently the first in line to the Passcold throne. Renall does all he can to protect the King. He likely sent you away to rid himself of a complication. Knowing Millis Shields, he might have thought that with her putting you in Belonnia, she wouldn’t be able to touch you.”

  “If Millis knew, or even suspected, then she certainly would want me killed. One less impediment in the way of one of their offspring inheriting the throne?”

  “She sent the soldiers in the middle of the night at the pass?”

  Sara nodded. “What a misguided man to think that a fate worse than death equated to preserving my life.” Sara shook her head in dismay. The Duke probably did have her best interests in his mind, but what a twisted mind to think that putting her aside in a hostile country would protect her. She would have to give him more credit than she did, but what a mistake. How many times had the poor man’s lack of heart led to such wrong-headed decisions. Perhaps the King recognized that—her very existence in the Goldagle townhouse confirmed that he did.

  “Perhaps. I’d send that journal to Obed Handy as soon as I could, if I were you,” Banna said.

  “I’ll read the rest first. There might be more family secrets.”

  “Nothing compares to the one you just found,” Banna patted her on the shoulder.

  “My mother wrote about her pride. Would she protect the King as well? I thought she told you that Renall was my father. Could she have done a similar thing?”

  Banna shrugged. “Those events happened so long ago. I think it’s very possible. Sythy was quite upset with the whole thing.”

  “My world has turned upside down. You’re right. I’ll not rest until this sits in Obed’s archives,” Sara said.

  She read the rest of the journal. Sythea Featherwood soon learned that her rushed match had not been a good one at all. She had felt trapped soon after Sara’s birth. Her last entries were just after she learned about Featherwood’s mistress being pregnant with Seb. She stopped writing in her journal and began to confide in Banna. It was the last straw. She took in the baby after a time of contrived confinement. The mistress had died giving birth to her youngest step-brother.

  How convenient,Sythea wrote with biting sarcasm. Ben ruined her mother’s life. Sara could see Sythea’s iron reserve break down and the bitterness that Sara knew all too well, creep in to her writing

  She closed the book and looked out at the yellow-gold light of the waning day. Obed told her last year that he didn’t know which Passcold had fathered her. Now she knew and it would be a secret she would keep as long as she possibly could. She had no desire to be a princess, just as she didn’t care to be married to Klark. She valued her independence and either recognition or marriage would erode her ability to make choices.

  How much did King Terrant know? Perhaps he knew it all. They did share the ability to create a flame. Sara didn’t know enough about her little dose of magic if the types of talents were hereditary. She would include that in her letter to Obed. Terrant’s visit at Grianna’s made much more sense if he felt he had to atone. The King had certainly made a good start. She would wait to see if he ever did more. Obed would know and Sara could see him jumping up and down for joy. A mystery solved!

  Klark would have to know and understand. The knowledge made her decision final. She felt relieved that Renall Passcold was her uncle and not her father.

  She spent the rest of the evening composing a letter to Obed and hired a messenger to take the journal to Parth and return with a reply from the Royal Genealogist.

  ~~~

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Welcome to Goldfields

  The day was a little cool, but Sara felt invigorated by the bracing air. On horseback, it took four hours to reach Goldfields. Sara paused on a knoll overlooking the palatial estate. The house rose up four stories and seemed larger than the Grand Duke’s palace.

  Although Goldfields seemed like a jewel amidst the expansive grass park in her eyes, it still operated as a working manor. She expected to see a horde of people about their business on the grounds—her grounds—but few seemed to be around.

  Sara reached the house and entered without ringing the imposing bell pull at the front doors.

  “Hello!” She called and an old man soon showed up. He wore tan pants and a tattered dark gray vest over a shirt with balloon sleeves and over the sleeves on his forearms he had slipped on black protectors. “Is Willa Waters in the house?”

  “And whom may I say has come to call?”

  “Tell her Sara Goldagle is here.” She now knew she would never call herself a Featherwood again.

  “Duchess! Do me the honor of following me. I’ve never seen you before so you must excuse my impertinence.”

  “You are forgiven,” Sara said, laughing softly. “I didn’t mean to barge in.”

  “You may ‘barge in’ at any time. I am Grooms, the butler. I didn’t expect you, so my attire is a little informal.”

  “I find that you are forgiven, yet again, Grooms.”

  He took her through the rooms and into the kitchen. Willa sat at one of four large kitchen tables, with papers spread all over.

  “Are you going to cook me a paper pie for lunch?” Sara said.

  Willa shot into the air. “Sara! What a mess you’ve gotten me into.”

  “Are we poor?”

  Willa dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand.

  “No. But with the old Duke gone, most have the staff have drifted off. Grooms, the cook and a few hands are the only ones left out of over one hundred people. Most of the many tenants are all working on their lands, so there’ll be no problem with the rents. However, the manor’s grounds are beginning to revert to the wild and the house is dusty and dirty.” She shook her head. “You’ll have to stay at the townhouse for weeks before we can get this straightened out.”

  “Not weeks. Days. I want to move out here as soon as possible. I was hoping I could stay the night.”

  “You can, but you’ll have to make your own bed.”

  Sara laughed. “Willa, we traveled here sleeping in mud.”

  “I suppose so. Grooms can hire back maybe half of the staff. We wanted your permission.”

  “You have it. Do we have any food?”

  “Plenty, but we’ll need to supplement the larder from Stonebridge. It is spring you know and—”

  “I used to live on a working manor,” Sara said, wandering about the cavernous kitchen. “This is nearly as big as ballroom at Brightlings!”

  “Probably bigger.” Willa stood up and put her fists on her hips. “I’m sorry, Sara. I’m so flustered. This isn’t me.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Willa pulled out a letter. “Plant has given the shop to his brother-in-law and nephew and is due to arrive in a few days.”

  “And you wanted this
place put to rights before he came?”

  Sara got a Willa squint.

  “Is there a place he can stay here? We can put him to work fixing up the place on a temporary assignment until we get things ready for Perry Hedge. Let’s go for a walk,” Sara said.

  The two women took a tour of the properties. The manor had three barns in addition to dedicated horse stables. They passed an exceptionally large carriage house.

  “The old housekeeper used to live above the carriages with her husband. He was an injured soldier. I was wondering…”

  ‘It’s yours and Plant’s. Separate bedrooms of course.”

  Willa squinted, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She smiled.

  “What are those buildings over there?” Sara pointed to a group of buildings built in front of a hill.

  “It’s a winery. Grooms told me that a blight had killed all of the vines while Hardwell was duke. He never replanted. It hasn’t been used for years.”

  They walked over to the buildings and Sara pushed the warped door in and looked around. The windows hadn’t broken and if one ignored the smell of stale wine, it had potential. She walked into a room that looked just like a laboratory. A pump had been installed on the sink. She pushed it for twenty or thirty times and rusty water began to flow.

  “Hedge’s lab.” She walked outside and inspected the two other buildings close to the site. One led down to a dug out storage room. “A vault to age wine. Perfect. Your man Plant will begin on these three buildings. Every surface needs to be cleaned. He’ll have his own workshop with a forge in one building and Hedge will have a place for his more dramatic experiments in the aging room.”

  Sara saw potential everywhere she trod. “A little painting, some gardening and we’ll be just fine.

  After they returned to the main house, Sara went over the plans Willa had made and approved of them with a few changes, and then she went up to a bedroom with clean sheets in her hands. It made her think of her mother.

  Sythea, the girl, had run through these very halls. Did the difference between Brightlings and Goldfields affect her life? She didn’t read a single entry in her journal that gave any evidence to that idea. She went to sleep that night hoping for a ghost to tell her tales of the big house.