“Aye, I know, but none are to be trusted save the man’s father! As for me, I shall keep watch as he sleeps—have thy sister see to his food, tell her to only bring that which the men themselves are served and tell her to speak these words to no one! For until we are sure who has done this thing, we shall take no chances!”
Thomas frowned at his words. “Aye, and I shall go and see what I can find in the village and with the men. I only hope that ye are wrong.”
“As do I…” He clasp the man’s hand in an oath before he went back to the bench by the door, his eyes following Thomas as he headed down the long dim hall before they went to the guards who had paused to watch them speak. He cringed at the thought that one of their own might have done this terrible thing and prayed that it wasn’t true…
William awoke only a few times, though not for long in the days that followed; yet each time gave them hope that soon he might be well again. And to his word, Phillip never left him alone. When his father was not with him himself, Phillip and Thomas were never far away. And as the days turned into weeks, though William had slowly began to recover, yet they worried on for neither of them had been able find any proof that would point to whoever had done this evil thing. It could have been anyone—and they worried that whoever it might have been would find a way to finish the deed!
Thomas had gone to the village, but had not heard a whisper of any who had armor and could fight, nor had any man that had ridden with them not returned—save James’ men, who had gone with him to Kent and until they returned he could not know for sure. But even that did not make sense to him, for James’ men had no reason to do such a thing to William! He had no claim on the title, nor the lands! And even James’ men were treated with respect by William. No, it made no sense at all—and yet someone truly had tried to kill him…!
The afternoon sun hung heavy in the sky as William awoke again and tried to sit up unsteadily, touching his head as he did so. He glanced at his friend who was now standing aside him with a grim look on his young face. “I am fine, Phillip, ye need not worry so.” He glanced around blinking as he straightened. “Tell me I have not lost the entire day yet again?”
“Aye, ’tis nigh eventide, but the rest has done ye good, for each day ye look better.”
William sighed heavily and sank back against the pillows again knowing what the mirror had told him of the swelling and blackened eyes that had yet remained on his thin pale face. “I fear I shall not recover speedily...” He paused and his face grew grim knowing that the longer he stayed, the greater the opportunity that his own brother might yet try to take his life—though he spoke his concerns to no one. “Has there been any news...?”
“Nay, William, all is well. We shall not let anything happen to thee, I promise.”
He nodded and looked towards the window, his thoughts distant and troubled. Phillip watched him knowing what he was thinking of again; the same troubling thoughts that had haunted them all. Though he was thankful that the wound had healed and that William’s wits had also grown stronger, yet he still worried for his health and his safety. William hardly spoke of the attack now, but yet they all knew it was ever on his mind. He slowly sat up again, pulling himself towards the end of the bed. “Then… I would like to take my meal in the great hall tonight with my father and his men.”
Phillips jumped up, worry written on his face as William stood unsteadily. “Nay, William, ‘tis too soon!”
But he merely smiled. “I shall manage, Phillip. Come now, do not look so worried. ‘Tis time I showed my face at my father’s table. Perhaps, it would convince those watching that they have nothing to fear from me.”
The Phillip scowled at his words, but yet agreed. He knew that William would somehow make it down the stairs to the great hall even if they had to carry him. And he also knew that he was right, it was time…
Somehow, William did manage and sat at his father’s high table with Phillip and Thomas on either side of him. His father’s knights were already seated along the sides waiting for the meal to begin and when they saw him being helped towards the great curved stairs, all stood and a cheer went up at the sight of him as he came down to join them. His father stood also and hurried to his side, hugging him hardily before he helped him to the table. “Are ye well enough to attempt such a thing, William?”
He smiled warmly. “Aye, father, I am.”
His father’s smile matched his own. “Alas, it does my heart good to see thee up and at my table again. Come sit, William!”
He sat down unsteadily and smiled at those who wished him well. Phillip and Thomas sat down too, glancing at their friend with worried eyes as they ate, knowing that William didn’t have to do much to convince those seated there that he was not well, for his ashen color and unsteady hands told more than words ever could.
He glanced around the table unable to ignore his brother’s vacant seat and scolded himself for thinking dark thoughts right then, and yet the thoughts would not leave him… He knew there was no love lost between them. And though it was a hard thought, it was the only thing that made sense—that for mere hatred James had wished him dead; and yet he could not bring himself to speak it.
It was a slow journey back, nigh three months, and the whole while James had yet to show his face at Whittington with the excuse of the grainery they built, saying it took longer than they expected. It was no surprise that none of his messages inquired as to his brother’s health. What was sent only gave them a timeline for his returned and one that William took seriously! But yet, his brother’s absence gave him the opportunity to mend and that’s all he needed, just a little more time... He took his meals in the great hall and rode with Thomas and Phillip near the castle, each time venturing out a little farther, and each time growing a little stronger... But in truth, it wasn’t until he took his sword in hand as they practiced that he felt that all would be well once again—and that finally he was ready to go on.
Three weeks later he finally went down to his father’s solar to bid him farewell, knowing all the while that his father had no idea of the words he would soon speak to him. James had not yet returned—but from all reports the mill was nigh completed; and he had sent word back to Whittington saying to expect him at any time. For William, it was taken as a threat even if the rest of Whittington talked happily about his brother’s return… But he himself could not help but worry—though he had no proof that his brother was involved, yet in his heart he knew it to be true...
The headaches remained, though they were fewer and farther between, and it gave him hope that soon he would be well again. But though he wasn’t fully recovered he knew it was just as risky to leave, as to stay here—and yet, what choice did he have? The amour and the skilled swordsman all pointed to one of their own men, and only James’ men had not been accounted for. And he knew his brother wished him harm, for had he not spoken such a thousand times over in their youth, and even the very day they had ridden out in battle…?
He went to his father’s solar and knocked softly before he was bid to enter; then opened the door and came forward not being able to meet his father’s tender gaze for guilt of the sorrow he was soon to bestow on him. He sat down on the chair to his right without a smile as the older man set aside the missive he had been looking at, then took up his cup of wine leaning back in his chair as he spoke gently to his son, “Ah, and to what do I owe the pleasure of thy company?”
William purposefully looked down at his thinned hands that were clasped together in front of him, not willing to see the hurt he would soon cause in his father’s blue eyes. “…I am afraid ye shall not be pleased, father, for I have not come with good news for thee this day.”
His father frowned at the strange words his son spoke. “What is this about, William?”
He drew a deep breath. “Father, I am leaving…”
His father leaned forward and grasped his wrist. “Nay! I forbid it! William—be reasonable ye are not yet well! Why must ye do this thing now?! And wher
e would ye go?!”
William leaned back with a sad sigh and looked into the man’s concerned eyes, knowing all the while he could never tell him the real reason why he must leave... “I know ye do not understand, and even now I’m not sure I can help ye to do so; but I have given it much thought and I have decided to go back to Glenton Moor.”
The breath whooshed from his father’s lungs in a sad heavy sigh at the name he had yet to forget. “… I see… Glenton Moor… Is that what this is all about? And what do ye intend to do there? All are gone...”
“Nay, some escaped into the darkness that night... The village belongs to them and I shall do my best to rebuild it…”
His father took his cup and lifted it to his lips without looking at him. “Ye would leave me for what was done in the heat of battle? I was already made to regret my words that night when I almost lost thee, do not punish me further, William...”
He looked at his father with sincere eyes. “I do not wish to punish thee, I only go to repay my vow… Father, please… I am merely a second son; the only thing that binds me to this place is thee. This castle and all that belongs to Whittington are James’, destiny has made it so—I cannot stay... My brother must be given the right to rule what is his, and I must go and live the life I have been bestowed. I only hope that I may leave here with thy blessing.”
“But, William—James surely would want ye to…” But even as he said it, he knew that his eldest son would be more than glad he was leaving.
William lifted a hand and stopped him. “Nay, father, ‘tis best.”
His father bit back the emotion in his voice as he lifted his eyes to his son once more. “…When—when shall ye leave me?”
“…I go now.”
“Now?! Nay, William… Please…” He paused looking at his son who could no longer meet his eyes. “…Very well—but tell me when ye shall return so that I can make arrangements for thee and thy men?”
William stood slowly and looked at his father with troubled eyes. “Father… I—I shall not return…” He knew there was nothing he could say that would help his father to understand why he must go, nor did he try...
His father stood and whispered his name, then drew his son into his tight embrace as he wept. “My son…”
William clenched his teeth against the emotion that gripped him then. “…All shall be well, father. I—I only ask that ye would grant me thy blessing to live in peace in Glenton Moor, and then bid me farewell…”
The old man released him slowly with a kiss and nodded. “…Glenton Moor is thine. No one shall take it from thee, it is my promise to thee…”
William kissed his father’s cheek and thanked him, then turned slowly and walked to the door. He paused there knowing all the while he couldn’t look back and see the hurt that he himself had put in his father’s eyes as he softly said, “…Father… I love thee…”
He heard the tears in the older man’s voice though he did not turn to see them. “I—I love thee too, William…”
Phillip and Thomas waited for him without the castle walls, a cart with provisions and three horses were all he took with him. They glanced at one another, but neither spoke.
William walked out of the castle silent and somber, the men he passed nodded respectfully as he neared and greeted him, but William only nodded to each silently—hoping that leaving his home would be enough to save his life… For now the home he had known since birth was now no more... He walked through the gates without a word to those who looked on curiously, knowing that none yet realized what he doing or the fact that he would never return here again… For now he was no longer Lord William Sheridan or Sir William, the second son of the Earl of Whittington, but now merely a simple man, William of Glenton Moor and somehow that more than anything brought him peace.
Beyond the gates he met Thomas and Phillip, worry written on their tense faces as they looked at him. None spoke as he mounted his horse and slowly rode away from the only home he had ever known—knowing all the while that the sad eyes of his father followed him from the windows above...
His men glanced at one another, but neither of them said a word as they rode on wondering what the future would now hold for them now…
Chapter Three
The evening fog was rolling in as they neared the site where the siege had taken place only a few months before… A damp mist hung over the charred ruins of huts and scorched rocks that once made their foundations; while lush tall grass and old crooked trees heavy with leaves grew beside them mixing hope with despair. The bodies had long since been buried by those who had fled, and yet even now he could still see where they had fallen in his mind, and almost smell the coppery scent of blood mixed with smoke in the damp night air.
He felt a shiver run down his spine as his horse walked the same road it had taken that night trying to stop his father’s men from murdering those who yet remained—the memory only making him feel more alone than he had ever felt before. The thud of their horse’s hooves upon the packed dirt sounded empty, almost final. It was fitting that this place to be shrouded by a disheartened damp fog; he thought as stared unblinking into the shadowing mist before him. And when he finally spoke, it was with a voice that was as distant from them as he had become, “…God help us for what ‘twas done in this place…”
His men who had been guarded, their hands still on the hilts of their swords only glanced at one another but could find nothing to say in reply.
There wasn’t much left of the village itself, mere stones and charred rubble; yet around the outlying area there were still several farms that yet remained intact—though the inhabitants had long since been driven away or killed. They rode on, just around the bend and stopped; William sat there staring at the long roughened log house with weary eyes before he rode closer in silence and dismounted. He looked around at the still quiet ruins before he turned to his men. “This shall do.”
They dismounted slowly, glancing around them warily and came to stand beside him, each man feeling the empty quiet that was left in the wake of the battle, a quiet that hung even now in the still night air. The farm house itself overlooked a lush meadow. It was a place that would now be home to the three, although for now it felt nothing like a home at all. “William, it would be good to do what ye have planned and then leave this place...”
He didn’t bother to look at Thomas as he answered, “No place shall be safe for me until the truth is known, but at least here I can regain my strength until it is.”
It wasn’t what either of the men had hoped to hear—though, at first they had only hoped that this place would offer him the rest he needed and that soon they could convince him to go back to Whittington. But for now, they knew there was no changing his mind…
In no time golden flames danced in the rugged hearth sending glowing ember up the old stone chimney. Meat roasted just above it filling the room with its savory aroma. Thomas, a man just as tall as William with a large barrel chest, ruddy complexion and dark curly hair, knelt aside the door setting it right again. While Phillip, who was younger and smaller than his companions, with reddish hair and deep blue eyes, turned meat from a few rabbits they had shot on the spit just above the flames. William himself had been busy with clearing a space on the floor for them to sit; and was now reclined near the hearth wearily. “…On the morrow, we shall begin repairs.”
His two weary companions just looked at each other. William had not told them much of what he had been thinking, nor had they asked; but then it mattered not to them, for they knew they would not leave his side no matter what! They had long since swore such to him many years before and would gladly do so again!
Soon the three sat on the roughened wood floor, bare scraps of the meal they had just consumed already thrown in the fire. William reclined back and rested on an elbow, the pounding in his head making it difficult to think—though he said nothing to his men as he rubbed the side of his head gently. “We shall rebuild the settlement... If my brother wants a tri
bute from us when he is the Earl of Whittington; then he shall have it. I—I can do no more than that…” His voice held a note of bitterness as he continued staring at the fire before him. “…And yet I cannot help but wonder if there shall ever be peace in all of Whittington when James is finally lord here…?”
Though they answered not, yet both had been thinking the same things themselves.
When he finally had lain back, he closed his eyes without a word, clenching his teeth against the pounding that continued in his skull. It wasn’t long after, that the other two men settled down on their blankets for the night, their weapons within reach; not realizing the pain their friend was in. He waited in the dim fire light for sleep to carry him away from the pain like it always did, but sleep was slow in coming this night as he laid there barely able to think past the very breathe he took…
How was it that he had never noticed her? His eyes narrowed as they followed the lass across the meadow of their village. Oh, he had noticed her, everyone in the village had; Miranda Blair was a bright eyed child with reddish golden hair that hung in curls down to her waist, deep blue eyes, and a soft pink mouth that graced her lovely face. She was thin and small, a lovely child or at least she was, until today—today she looked more like—like a woman… so much so that he paused at his thoughts.
He stepped back as if not to be noticed and watched her carry her basket of eggs into the village as she had always done to trade old Glenna for goat’s milk. How old was the girl now? He wasn’t sure, but she had grown into a woman; and the woman had caught his eye. She was young, he knew that, but it wasn’t unusual for a girl to marry as young as twelve summers in their village; for it was up to the father once the suitor had been found. Which for him would pose a problem, he was sure; for he and Alden Blair had not always seen eye to eye.
Debra Kay Leland Page 2
