“In Hastings, I booked passage on a ship, The Eastern Moon. I don’t remember where it was bound. The ship left port on the evening tide and sailed into a storm. In the middle of the night, without warning, clouds blotted out the moonlight and stars. The wind rose. The already choppy water turned into mountains of angry waves. I helped the sailors as they struggled to trim and tie down the sails. The rain hit our faces like tiny stones.
“We were at the mercy of the wind and water. The ship rode up the high waves, then crashed down, sending us all scrambling. I held onto the mast, onto anything, until I lost my grip and was thrown into the sea. Down I went. Struggling with all my might, I kicked my feet and swam for my life.
“Finally, I broke through the surface gasping for air. I looked toward the ship and watched as it slipped beneath the waves.
“The storm was still surging. I found a piece of wood and hung on for dear life. At daybreak, I floated on a plank amid debris and dead bodies. No shouts for help or rescue. It was eerily silent except for the lapping of the water. By nightfall, I realized two things: I was the only survivor and I didn’t want to die.
“Five days later, I saw a merchant ship in the distance. The Rogue fished me out of the sea. I told the captain my story. I asked about other survivors, but I already knew the answer. There were none. To the world, Gareth Eden, Earl of Sagamore, was dead.
“The captain saw to my recovery, body and soul. He gave me purpose when I had none. I decided to let Gareth Eden remain dead, took my mother’s name, and became Gareth Talbot. The captain and I became lifelong friends.”
“Who was the captain?” Graham asked.
“Lord Wesley Reynolds.”
Hugh blanched. He listened to his father’s story as if it were told by a stranger. With each new piece of the puzzle, Hugh’s heart ached for his father. The devastation of losing his family, the anger of revenge, and the fear of death. How had he endured? A lesser man would never survive.
“Could Miles be alive?” his mother asked.
“I was so sure Miles was dead.” Gareth chuckled under his breath. “Life has a way of catching up with you. Wesley is right. I can’t hide from my past any longer. Now is the time to face who I am and set things right. Miles Eden is in for a big surprise.”
“So is his daughter,” Hugh said his voice hollow. His mind raced, trying to think of how she was involved. “You could be right, Mother. If he is the real Miles Eden, does he know we exist? Is his intention to complete his plan and eliminate us all? Is Charlotte part of his plan?”
“It’s been thirty years. If this is an impostor, why didn’t he come forward sooner? Why now?” Graham asked.
Gareth shook his head. “Whether the man is an impostor or my Uncle Miles, he believes I’m dead, lost at sea. He has no idea we exist. We mustn’t let him find out. At least not right away. That’s our advantage.”
“His daughter doesn’t know, either. I dinna get the feeling she was lying. I think she believes her father is the earl.” His mother faced him. “Hugh, dinna come to a decision until ye know all the facts.”
“What more facts do we need? A man claims to be Miles Eden, Earl of Sagamore. When he finds out who we are and that we’re very much alive, he will need to act. In order to go forward with his plan he needs us, all of us, out of the way. Permanently.”
His father’s face blanched as if he’d seen a ghost.
“It’s the same as…”
“It may not be.” Moira said, her voice calm and soothing.
“This is a deadly game.” Hugh had to think fast. “We can’t wait. All of our lives are in danger as soon as your identity is known.”
“Yer father must make a choice.” Moira turned to Gareth. “Do ye denounce yer family, let Miles have Sagamore and all it means, or do ye fight for what is yers.”
“Mother, those are harsh words,” Graham said.
“But it’s the truth,” she said. “It is not often that we get a chance to correct things from our past. I was brought up to face my obligations. Yer father reminded me of that when Gilmar was destroyed. For me, Moira, Chieftain of Clan Gilmar, I saw my path. My people. It doesn’t mean I love my husband and sons any less.”
“I will claim what is ours, but you knew my choice all along,” Gareth said to Moira as he stood.
“I knew ye would do the right thing.” She smiled at him.
“Father, we are with you, whatever you decide,” Donald said. Graham and Hugh nodded with him.
Hugh would follow his father to the ends of the world. His mother was right: there was a chance to correct past injustices, even if that included revenge against Miles and Charlotte.
Charlotte. Was their first meeting contrived like those of so many other women? Were there any signs? Was there something said that was missed? Was it odd the way she stared at his father? Asking him about his business, too. Was she calculating? Planning?
She was a convincing player. His stomach knotted as his resentment built. Pretending to love him when all she wanted was information. He loathed himself for not seeing the truth and blindly falling in love with her. He should have listened to John. Now it didn’t matter. The truth was in plain sight.
By God’s Toes, she wasn’t going to ruin his family. He would destroy her first.
Chapter Five
The warm breeze sweeping across the village green kept the heat of the day at bay. Villagers made their way to the meadow to cheer their favorites in the archery tournament. Several challenges were prepared at different distances. The wand and target competitions were the two the villagers liked the most.
They cheered archers who split the wand, a narrow piece of wood six feet tall that was set back one hundred yards against a grass-covered mound.
However, the majority of spectators spent their time near the three round targets each with five colored rings of different diameters with a common center. They were set at a variety of distances: one hundred and sixty, two hundred and thirty, and three hundred yards.
Would-be archers tried their hand at the exhibition. The men organized amongst themselves at the longer distance targets. The women at the shorter ones.
Others simply watched, cheered, and enjoyed fresh baked bread, hand pies, and beer. Throughout the morning a captain shouted commands: ready your bows, nock, mark, draw, loose. The sound of vibrating bow strings, followed by the thud of the arrows hitting their targets, and moans or squeals of delight filled the air.
“The tournament is the highlight at the end of the weekend,” Jane said to Charlotte on their way to the butts. “The prize is two kegs of Reynolds’ ale. Even the women participate.”
“What do the children get?” Charlotte asked.
“Those that do well receive a special quiver of arrows from Lady Darla. Graham’s already getting the children prepared.” Jane motioned to the swarm of children that circled Graham on the far side of the shooting lanes.
“Lady Charlotte,” Graham called to her.
“You are summoned,” Jane said as they made their way to him. “Enjoy the training. I will see you later. If you still have your strength.”
Jane left before she could say anything.
Charlotte began to take her bow out of its leather wrap.
“You may want to leave it concealed. It’s difficult keeping the children from touching it.”
“Thank you for the warning.” She returned the bow to its casing.
“Once again, you have my thanks. Father and I usually work with the children, but with Lord Reynolds away, he has other duties. Your help is greatly appreciated.” He bent down and whispered in her ear. “They swarm me like bees.”
“I think you enjoy the attention,” she said.
“You found me out. I do like this event. The children come back each year eager to show me how they’ve improved. I’m everyone’s uncle. But I don’t mind. Let me get them organized.”
He let loose a whistle. All activity came to a halt.
“Now that I have
your attention, a few things. Lady Charlotte will be with us today.”
She waved at the group.
“You have your lane assignments, please go to them now.”
As the children took their places, he walked her to the lane she was to supervise.
“Keep a look out for young archers you may want on your team. We always include a youngster in the competitions. I will see you after, if you still have your strength.”
“That’s what Jane said.”
“Then it must be true. Enjoy yourself. They are really good.” He stepped to the next lane.
Caught up in the excitement of the festival, she was happy to assist, to be more than a competitor, but part of the event.
She stood by the side and watched five boys take their shots, then clap each other on their backs. When their quivers were empty, they went on. One girl who had been watching waited until everyone was gone, then took up her bow.
“Lady Teresa is the nervous type, all thumbs when she picks up a bow. I can’t blame her. Those five boys are her brothers,” Graham leaned over and told her quietly. “Her father, Lord Ryder, was a warrior who served King Henry III, may God rest his soul. She gets nervous with me. She may do better with you.”
Charlotte maneuvered near Teresa and watched as she began.
“Pull your arm back in a smooth motion,” Charlotte said, her voice low.
The girl gave a nod. With the bow in her left hand, she nocked the arrow, brought the bow up then pulled the string back as smooth as she could, let the arrow loose, and brought the bow down. They both watched her arrow fall short of the target.
“There’s a secret to pulling the bow,” Charlotte said. “It takes two actions, pushing the bow forward with one arm and pulling the string back with the other.”
“Can you show me?” The girl handed Charlotte her bow.
Without an arrow, Charlotte drew the bow. “You push and pull at the same time.” She relaxed the string and handed the bow back to the girl. “Your turn.”
Teresa mimicked the action then took her stance, nocked her arrow. Raising her bow, she straightened her arm while drawing back the string at the same time.
“When you let the arrow loose, keep your fingers at your cheek and don’t lower your bow. Keep it up.”
Teresa gave a curt nod, then let the string go, her fingers empty at her cheek, her bow still in position.
The arrow flew straight and slammed into the target.
“Did you see that? I hit the target.” Teresa stared at the arrow. Her face was bright and covered with a broad smile.
“Well done. Now shoot the others.” Teresa’s enthusiasm was catching. Charlotte stood by as Teresa went through her quiver of arrows. By the time the girl was done, two of her brothers were at the sidelines, shouting their encouragement.
“She could hardly hold a bow when Father or I helped her,” one of her brothers said.
“I remember feeling much the same way when I was learning. My grand-père was a good archer. I didn’t want to disappoint him. All Teresa needed was encouragement, a bit of instruction, and confidence.”
“Charlotte, you’d best go on or you’ll be late for the exhibition.” Graham said as he stopped to speak to her. “I’m off to inspect the horses before the race.”
“I will.” She turned back to Teresa.
“Remember what I told you. And practice.”
“Come on, Teresa. we’ll shoot with you.” Teresa’s brothers took their position at the line, ready for their turns.
Charlotte headed toward the exhibition field. To her right, she saw Graham in the distance entering the barn. She crossed the field. The gentle breeze cooled her down from the early August heat. The butts where the archery tournament was to be held were set up along one side of the field. Trees bordered this area and provided dappled shade, relief from the midday sun.
“There you are,” Donald called to her.
She waved to him as she approached. He sat behind the registration table, giving the competitors a parchment noting the lanes in which they competed.
“I thought you may have changed your mind. Where’s Graham? I thought I saw him with you.” He stretched his neck to see around her.
“He’s at the barn,” she said. A shiver raced across her shoulders, alerting her. Every instinct in her body warned her someone watched her. She turned and stared into Hugh’s eyes. He walked toward her with Jane on his arm.
“We’ll meet Graham later when we celebrate,” Hugh said. “Look who I found wandering near the beer.”
“Were you looking for a consolation prize for Charlotte?” Donald asked. He handed Charlotte her lane number, the last one in his hand. With all the entrants accounted for, he got up from the table.
“I’d be careful if I were you. Charlotte is an excellent archer,” Jane said.
Donald moved along.
Hugh maneuvered with Jane around Charlotte, leaving her at the table quite alone.
Even Jane looked at her over her shoulder, confused.
Charlotte held her bow tight and went along with the group to the lanes, refusing to let anyone see her disappointment.
“As good as the archer in the story, ‘The Boy and The Duke’?” Donald asked. “Surely, you don’t mind me telling the story. I thought not.”
An empty courtesy. Why didn’t that surprise her. They came up to the tournament lane.
“A duke was hunting in the forest with his men, when he came across a stand of trees with archery targets painted on them. In the center of each target was an arrow. ‘Who is this incredibly fine archer?’ the duke asked.”
Donald put his hand on her shoulder. Was the gesture made to include her as a willing participant in his story? Or to keep her from talking?
Charlotte didn’t know whether to smile or be insulted. The riddle was well-known.
“The duke continued through the forest for a few miles and came across a boy carrying a bow and arrow. The boy admitted he shot the arrows in the center of all the targets.”
“‘Did you walk up to the targets and hammer the arrows into the middle?’ the duke asked.”
Donald stepped closer, crowding her space. She stood her ground.
“‘No, my lord. I shot them from a hundred paces.’
“‘That is astonishing,’ said the duke. ‘You must come into my service.’”
“The boy thanked him. ‘Now I must ask one favor in return,’ the duke said. ‘Tell me how you came to be such an outstanding shot.’ Do you have any idea, m’lady?”
Every one of Donald’s meaningless gestures maddened her. His smug words buzzed around her like a fly she wanted to swat but was out of reach. His question was playful, but its underlying insult grated on her nerves.
“The boy told the duke he shot the arrow, then painted the targets on the tree,” Charlotte said.
Donald nocked an arrow, let it fly, then did a second in quick session. One split a wood target, and the other hit the top of the center circle of the second target.
“I have no need to paint the target after sending my bolts,” Donald said.
She gestured for his bow.
“The drawing weight is too much for you.”
Her palm up, she flexed her fingers, signaling he hand her the bow.
“I warned you.” Donald shook his head and passed her the bow.
Charlotte took off her shoes and put them behind her.
Donald, his arms crossed over his chest, covered his mouth and tried not to laugh.
She grabbed the soft grass with her toes and glanced at Hugh. His usual encouraging smile was missing. Her breath hitched when she realized his smile had been replaced with indifference. Perhaps he found a stumbling block in his negotiations with DeGraw. Yes, that must be the problem.
“I’ll set the target for you,” Jane said, as she smiled at Teresa and the other onlookers and took off two gem-encrusted bracelets, one smaller than the other. She pinned the larger bracelet to the target, then stood back
.
Charlotte’s grand-père had her train lifting buckets filled with water, then with stones. The day he handed her his bow to shoot was humbling and exciting.
Now, she drew the bow in a fluid motion, aimed, and released the arrow.
It flew straight and swift and hit the target in the center of the bracelet.
Jane removed the arrow and replaced the bracelet with a smaller one.
“Can she make that shot?” someone in the crowd asked.
Charlotte nocked the arrow and took aim. A breeze picked up. She lowered the bow and changed her position, then waited for the wind to calm. Again, she raised her bow, took aim and let the arrow loose. The bolt shot from the bow, her fingers still at her cheek. She didn’t move. The arrow hit the target to a loud cheer.
“The arrow is in the middle,” Teresa said. “I can’t believe it.”
“Regarding your riddle, Donald. The boy told the duke he shot first and painted on the targets afterwards.” Charlotte tried to disguise her annoyance from the others and spoke with as calm a voice as she could. “Some men don’t like when they are beaten. They would rather think the win was unjustified, a fake. They are too busy stroking their own egos.”
A few heartbeats passed before Donald laughed.
She glanced at Hugh. He had his back to them and was speaking to Lord DeGraw. Charlotte fussed putting Donald’s bow away. Hugh always supported her. She took a deep breath. He had told her over and over the contract with DeGraw was important. Selfish, that’s what she was.
She paused.
Then why did she feel abandoned?
“You give as good as you get,” Donald said. “That works well with us. Who would have thought a slip of a thing like you could pull that bow, let alone make those shots? Now we’ll see if you’re as good holding your beer.”
It was late afternoon. Graham and Donald spoke to her more than Hugh. He was at her side, but his mind wasn’t with them.
After playing games most of the day, tables were arranged outside and overflowed with food. The air was filled with the aroma of roasting pig and venison. Charlotte’s mouth watered imagining the rich, earthy taste of the meat with hints of acorns, sage, herbs, and musk.
Hugh: Pirates of Britannia Connected World (Sons of Sagamore Book 1) Page 5
