Hugh: Pirates of Britannia Connected World (Sons of Sagamore Book 1)

by Ruth A. Casie

  “Where is she? I’ll speak to her.”

  “She is safely on a boat. Halfway to London. We talked on our way to Alnwick. I can see why you’re attracted to her. She’s not only beautiful and good with a bow and arrow. She is a bright woman, and loyal.” He paused and stared hard at Hugh. “Your outburst surprised me. I taught you to be better than that. Don’t ever take your anger out on someone. That’s the coward’s way. Your issue was with me. No one else. Only you and I can resolve it.”

  Coward? He cringed at the implication. Once again, he stared at the ground, unable to look his father in the eye.

  “Give things time to settle, then see her. Whether you mend things between you or not is up to the two of you.”

  “Do you think she’ll speak to me?” His chest heaved thinking he might never speak to her again.

  “I don’t know. Words are worse than swords. They wound deeply and those wounds heal slowly. When you think they are all scabbed over and forgotten, they open up and the wounds can be just as deep as when they were first made.”

  Hugh stood. They headed back to the banquet.

  “Wesley mentioned he had barrels of beer to deliver to France. Think about delivering them yourself. The trip may do you good.”

  “Yes, I helped Lord Reynolds get a good price for his wool, a better price for his silver. A two-year agreement with DuClare and Rodigio. I planned to send John with the signed document and the beer to meet them at the Champagne Fair. I could go myself. The fair is in Lagny. It isn’t far from Châlons. Once I complete my business, I could go to the Cantrelle estate,” Hugh said.

  “A trip to her home would be helpful. Let’s be sure we understand who she and her father are. John could search for information here while you’re gone.”

  The ache in his heart from hurting Charlotte was deep and raw.

  His father had his hand on the latch to the hall. “Father,” Gareth paused and waited. “I love her.”

  “I know, Son.” Gareth offered his son a forgiving smile. “Loving Charlotte doesn’t make you a traitor to me or the family.”

  Gareth opened the door. They both entered.

  Chapter Six

  English Channel

  September 1288

  Hugh stowed four barrels of Reynolds’ beer on the ship and spent the six-hour journey at the ship’s rail unable to reconcile his father plunging a sword into his uncle’s chest. Impossible. His fair-minded father used a sword when he had to, but largely fought with words. He was not a cold-blooded murderer.

  And Charlotte. He raked his hand through his hair, already tousled in the wind. Against his father’s suggestion, he tried to speak to her as soon as he returned to London. But he was told she was not at home.

  She didn’t try to hide from him. When he glanced over his shoulder, she stood at the window and turned her back. It was clear she didn’t want to see him. Time. With any luck, all was not lost.

  Now, he breathed in the salt air and watched the clouds scamper across the sky as the boat approached Calais.

  Hugh stepped onto the dock and hired a horse and wagon.

  A week later, he was settled in Lagny-sur-Marne, one of the cities along the Marne River that hosted the Champagne Fair.

  “Hugh.” He glanced to his left and found a friendly face at a nearby table.

  “DuClare. Where is Rodigio?” Hugh glanced around the room as he walked to be with his friend.

  “It was his turn to buy the wine. You still have that beard. Doesn’t it bother you in the summer? I’m sure the ladies would prefer you clean shaven.”

  “I haven’t had any complaints.”

  “No, I’m sure you haven’t. Sit.” DuClare laughed as he waved to Rodigio. “Join us. I hope you bring us good news.”

  Five years ago, Hugh put a trade agreement together for DuClare that needed another interested party. He knew Rodigio and thought the two men would work well together. Both men were more than happy with the arrangement. Their business did well for them and for Hugh. Everyone’s coffers increased significantly over the years.

  “I have the agreement from Lord Reynolds. I’ll bring it to you in the morning for your signature,” Hugh said.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any of Lord Reynolds’ beer?” Rodigio asked, as he brought wine.

  Hugh took a cup from him. “He sent several barrels for you to drink to his health. I’ll have them delivered to your office.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” DuClare said. “Not just for Wesley’s beer.”

  “We were approached to combine funds with others for Holy Land relics. The fellow was short on the details,” Rodigio said.

  “He expected us to give him money without much information and because he was a gentleman with a title. Did he speak to you?”

  “No. You’re not the first to mention this to me. Several of my clients were approached. I assume he needs money to transport the goods,” Hugh said.

  “Too much risk is involved, the boat could sink, the relics could be stolen or lost, and what are you left with? An empty pocket,” Rodigio said. “Enough about relics and risky deals. Will you be here for the week?”

  “No. I’m here to deliver Wesley’s signature… and beer, then I’m off.”

  “We’re glad to have both. To Lord Reynolds,” Rodigio said.

  The three raised their cups and drained them dry.

  “Another?” DuClare asked.

  “No. Not tonight. Too many hours in the saddle. It will be an early night for me. After we sign the documents, I’m off to Châlons.” Hugh got up to leave then sat down again. “Perhaps one more. You think I should remove my beard?”

  “Come, my friend. I know just the person who can give you a clean shave. You’ll feel and look like a new man.”

  In the morning, Hugh stroked his face as he boarded the boat to go upriver. The breeze was strange against his skin. With the signed documents tucked in his pouch and Wesley’s barrels delivered, the first half of his trip was complete.

  The Marne wove its way through the French countryside. Before leaving England, John spoke to him about how to approach the situation. He planned to go to the chateau and present himself to the earl. If the earl wasn’t home, his next stop would be the trade guild to introduce himself and try to get information. There were few business interests here, but a fact-finding mission would be in keeping with someone who wanted to extend their influence.

  Confident the plan was a good one, he sat back, emptied his mind, and enjoyed the three-hour sail.

  “Monsieur. Châlons,” the captain said as the boat approached the dock.

  Hugh waited patiently as the plank was lowered. From his vantage point, the river town appeared peaceful. Across from the boat was his landmark, the ruins of the Châlons Cathedral. Hugh walked along the river through the gardens headed for Rue du Labatrelle. His search for the Cantrelle home was an easy one. It was the only chateau on the street.

  It was a sizeable sandstone building surrounded by a stone wall. He tried the front gate, locked. He peered through the ironwork. The windows were shuttered, and the once manicured lawn was overgrown and needed attention. He stepped back and looked along the perimeter and found a side entrance. He walked along the wall and tried the door. That too was locked tight.

  Hugh went on a bit further, and came to the back of the house. The expanse before him was vast. A deep sense of serenity overcame him as he stared at the lush green vineyard and blue river that lay beyond. Leaning against the wall, he gazed out on the river.

  This was a fool’s mission. He had hoped to find her father at home, eager to meet him, and just as eager to provide answers to his questions.

  He peeked at the chateau. This was where she lived. It was as peaceful as Glen Kirk. The good sized town was much less chaotic than London. He scanned the area and noticed a small graveyard to his left. In the rear of the cemetery was a tall tree. Something was next to it. He strained to see what it was. He relaxed. Two graves overlooked the river. D
eciding to pay his respects, he pushed off the wall.

  He stepped in front of the markers. They read Maurice Cantrelle and Marie Chenery Cantrelle. He turned to see their view. Charlotte’s grandparents rested under the tree and watched over the vineyard and the river for eternity. The idea made him smile.

  A hiss of a sliding metal bolt made him turn in time to see a door open in the wall. A woman emerged carrying flowers. She dabbed her eyes with a cloth as she came toward the graveyard.

  She raised her head and stuffed the cloth into her sleeve.

  “Pardon, Monsieur.”

  “I should ask your forgiveness. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I came to speak to…” he extended his hand toward the house.

  “Oh, Monsieur. The earl is not in residence. He and his daughter have gone to England.” She grabbed the cloth out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Forgive me. I raised Charlotte since she drew her first breath.”

  “I’m happy to tell you Charlotte is well.”

  The woman’s head snapped up and gave him a cautious glare.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Hugh Talbot, from England. I was in Lagny on business. Since the earl is not in London, I thought he might be here. Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

  “I am Jeanne Marie. You mentioned Charlotte.”

  “I was with her two weeks ago.”

  Jeanne Marie gasped. “Is she well? I worried about her in London. The weather can be so bad.”

  “She is well, I assure you. She beat me at archery, and my brother, too.”

  The woman’s shoulders relaxed. The smile was back on her face. “Yes, her grand-père taught her how to shoot arrows. Come inside. I’ve made a cassoulet for dinner and there’s more than enough for three. You can tell us all about Charlotte.”

  “Three?”

  “Yes, my granddaughter, Isabella, and I live at the chateau.”

  “I would be happy to stay. May I put those on the Cantrelle’s grave?” He gestured to the flowers she held.

  “Oh, no. These are for Juliet. I’ve put fresh flowers on her grave every week since she passed away. Charlotte helped me once she was old enough.”

  He followed Jeanne Marie to the single grave on the far side of the tree. He stepped back and stared at the headstone. Lady Juliet Cantrelle DeMetz Eden. Countess of Sagamore.

  The grave was over twenty-five years old. The significance wasn’t lost on him. Miles assumed the title decades ago. He and Charlotte had been Edens for a long time.

  It had been two weeks since he watched her turn her back on him. He thought of her often, more than often, and concluded she would never forgive him. At night, he laid in bed thinking what he should have said, should have done. In the end, he wished he had kept his mouth closed.

  “How long will you be in Châlons?” Jeanne Marie asked as she led him to the garden door.

  “I leave for England tomorrow.”

  “Then we must hurry. I have so much to tell you and there is so much I want to hear.” Jeanne Marie’s voice sounded younger and more vibrant.

  “Bella, come quickly. We have a guest.” Jeanne Marie brought him through the kitchen.

  “You will forgive me. Only this part of the chateau is open.”

  “That’s all right.”

  They entered the servants’ sitting room with a long trestle table that was set for two. The walls were whitewashed. On one side was a hearth, and on the other were windows that faced the vineyard.

  Jeanne Marie set a third place at the table.

  “Grand-mère?” A young woman walked into the room. A stunned expression crossed her face when she saw him. “Monsieur?”

  “Bella, this is Monsieur Talbot from London, a friend of Charlotte.”

  Bella, her arms crossed in front of her chest, was not happy.

  The women began to speak in French.

  “Grand-mère, que fait-il ici? What is he doing here? How can you let him into the house? You don’t know anything about this man,” Bella said.

  “He’s here to see the earl,” Jeanne Marie said.

  “If he’s from London, then he knows the earl is no longer here. The earl told us not to let anyone in,” Bella said.

  “Excusez-moi,” Hugh said.

  Bella’s head snapped to face him.

  “Although I speak English and French fluently,” he said, in their language, “I prefer English. You do speak English, don’t you?”

  “Of course, we do,” Bella said, in perfect English. She glared at him, while Jeanne Marie tried in vain to hide a grin.

  “Your grand-mère,” he nodded toward Jeanne Marie, “is correct. I came to speak with the earl. He is not in London. Since I was in Lagny, I thought he might be here at the chateau and took a lovely sail down the Marne. Does that answer your questions?”

  “Completely.” Bella stood with her hands clasped tight in front of her. If she didn’t release them soon, her fingers would leave marks. He wasn’t sure if Isabella was angry, defiant, or simply protective. He was willing to bet it was a combination of all three.

  “Please forgive me if I startled you.”

  “I thought you resembled the earl, but now that I’ve had a closer look, I see I was wrong.”

  It was his turn to be caught off-guard. He hadn’t thought about a family resemblance. Charlotte didn’t mention it. She’d never seen him without his beard. He stroked his bare chin. Although, she had stared at his father long and hard. Did she see the similarity to her father?

  “Thank you for your hospitality, but I think I’d better leave. When the earl returns, please let him know that Hugh Talbot came to see him.” He rose and stepped toward the door.

  “Oh, no. Please. You mustn’t leave. You haven’t told me a thing about Charlotte.” Jeanne Marie turned to her granddaughter. “Bella, ask him to stay.”

  “Please, Monsieur. You are most welcome to stay. Grand-mère makes a delicious cassoulet and we have more than enough to share.” Rather than wait for his answer, Bella took the decanter from the table and poured Hugh a glass of wine.

  “Sit here. You can see the vineyard and enjoy the wine. It is our best,” Jeanne Marie said as they took their seats. “Tell me about Charlotte while we wait for dinner.”

  “I met Charlotte at an archery tournament about eight months ago.” He brought the goblet to his nose and breathed deeply. His mouth curved into an unconscious smile before he sipped the wine.

  “She won, of course,” Bella said. She gave him a smug, playful look. “I told you it was our best.”

  “Yes, it is, and yes, she beat me soundly.” Hugh laughed, remembering how shocked he was.

  Bella’s eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “Don’t worry. I quickly learned not to compete with her on the archery field or in telling riddles.”

  Jeanne Marie laughed and clamped her hands over her mouth, then left to bring dinner to the table.

  “Her grand-père had a riddle for every occasion.” Bella bent close to him. “He drove us all mad, but not Charlotte. She laughed the loudest.”

  “I think Charlotte misses him and France. She speaks of him often.”

  “Voilà, Juliet’s favorite.” Jeanne Marie put a cassoulet on the table. The aroma of chicken and bacon with white wine, and a touch of tarragon, filled the room.

  The underlining anxiety that shadowed him on this journey eased. Was it Jeanne Marie and Isabella’s openness, or the wine? At the moment, he didn’t care.

  “You took good care of Charlotte’s mother.” He sipped his wine as Jeanne Marie served dinner with warm crusty bread.

  “She was special to me. Like Charlotte, I was with her since she was born. She met David DeMetz and fell in love. It is a tragic story. He died in Paris. His friend brought Juliet home. He kept her company and they fell in love and married. Not long after, Charlotte was born, but Juliet never recovered. The earl stayed with her when he was home, took her out in the garden even for short walks al
ong the river.”

  This was a different man than the picture his father painted of his uncle.

  “The earl was distraught when she died. It was pitiful. He stood by her as she was buried, as if he wanted to be in the grave with her. It was the earl who started bringing flowers to her grave every week. Charlotte and I took on the task when the earl wasn’t here. Now I continue it.”

  “Did he speak of his family in England?” Hugh asked.

  Jeanne Marie gave the question a lot of thought. “Very little. His family was killed. He never mentioned how, and well, it wasn’t our place to ask.”

  “Of course. I understand.” He watched carefully for any reactions. Bella remained silent, almost as tense as he was.

  The question seemed to make her nervous.

  Jeanne Marie and Bella spent the next hours talking about Charlotte’s childhood. Her grand-père told her about his experiences as a Crusader in the Holy Land. He taught her how to wield a sword and shoot arrows. The earl gave her an education in the skills of an English lady. He made sure she could read and write and do numbers, along with drawing and singing. She hated needlework. By the end of the evening, he had a good picture of the earl and Charlotte.

  “You have more to tell us about Charlotte,” Jeanne Marie said.

  “She’s made many friends in England and has been to court.” He hesitated a heartbeat. “I’ve asked her to marry me.”

  Jeanne Marie clapped her hands with excitement. “Ah, young love. But, I hear a hesitation.”

  He bit the side of his mouth and with his index finger moved the crusty breadcrumbs around the table. Finally, he gave up the information. “We’ve had a disagreement.”

  “Honesty, sincerity, and loyalty are values her father taught her well. Give her time. All is not lost. She will let you know if she still loves you. I would imagine that any man who would travel out of his way, like you, is a man worth keeping.”