Rose Victory - Eagle Series (3 page)

“The way you have been acting, it’s a wonder the poor man can even speak to you.  You frighten him to death.” Stefan interrupted before the earl lost his temper, again. 

“The way
I
have been acting?” Roydon looked incredulously at his friend.  “I come home after twelve years, just in time to bury my father and find that the Holding, my heritage, has been deliberately destroyed by said loving father and it is
I
that am behaving strangely?”

Stefan grin
ned ruefully at the earl as he tried to diffuse his friend’s anger.  “When you put it like that…but still it’s no excuse to terrorize your steward.  Knightly vows and so on.”

Royd
on shook his head at his friend as he picked up the first document.  Nevertheless he knew that Stefan’s intervention had achieved what he had set out to do.  The anger still simmered, but now under control. 

Not for long.
The moment Roydon realized what he was reading the anger burst forth again, with a vengeance.  “The stubborn, obstinate, persistent fool!  How could he do this to me?  It’s insane!”  The earl crushed the document down on the table, his face livid with rage and incomprehension. “He has done all this on purpose, to spite me, to get his own way.”  

The people by the fireplace had obviously given up on finding rest any time soon.  They huddled back against each other as if the force of their
lord’s anger beat against them.

Brecov
stood and faced the earl, even leaning towards him across the table.  “Surely not to spite you, my lord,” he said in a trembling voice, unsure how he found the courage to contradict his lord.  “He only wanted to see you settled.  He wanted grandchildren,” the steward finished sadly for what could now never be.  Slowly he sunk back onto the bench.

The reminder felt like a dousing of cold water.  Roydon fell back in his seat, the anger draining out of him as realisation hit.  His father would never
know his grandchildren.  He thought back to the arguments they had had over the years, always about the same subject.  Ever since his twentieth year his father had been urging him to marry, to secure the earldom. He argued back that there would be plenty of time once he left the king’s service; when he came home to Eagle Rock.  His father had only been two score and twelve; there should have been plenty of time for him to enjoy his grandchildren.

“A betrothal contract?
”  Stefan’s question brought Roydon out of his thoughts.  “I don’t understand,” he looked up from the document that he had picked up from the table.

“I wrote
my father that I would spend a year settling in, enjoying all this,” Roydon waved his hand around, encompassing not only the castle but the land and the mountain, “before I went looking for a bride.  He decided otherwise.”  Sadness and regret overshadowed the earl’s anger now. 

“You mean he actually impoverished the estate so that you had to get married immediately?”  Stefan’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

“Not impoverish.  He made long term investments and he hid the jewels.  We will probably never find them now,” Roydon added as an afterthought.  “Then he arranged my betrothal, the only thing that could save Eagle Rock.  It would have left me no choice.  The bride’s dowry must be considerable.”

Stefan drew the other document towards him, a low whistle preceded his words.  “The settlement is more than generous.
It will certainly solve all your problems.”

“Yes, and after all his planning, father will not be here to witness the results of his machinations.”

“What are you going to do, Roy?”

“I honestly do not know.”  Roydon shook his head.  “I do not seem to have much choice.  I will make a decision tomorrow,” he turned to the steward.  “That will be all, Brecov.”  A degree of coldness imbued the earl’s tone as he dismissed the man.  He had not forgotten the steward’s failure to tell him of the betrothal contract sooner.  “I will speak to you in the morning.”

Brecov rose slowly from the bench, gathering his robes around him, his eyes downcast.  He felt the earl’s displeasure acutely.  “As you wish, my lord,” he said quietly before he shuffled away.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Roy.  He must have been
…concerned at how you would take the news,” Stefan paused.  “You have been rather volatile lately.”

“Do you blame me?”

“No, not really, but you do realise that you have another problem now, depending on what you do?”

“Another problem?”  The earl looked at his friend blankly.  “I’m afraid I am not at my best right now.  But by all means enlighten me.  What is one more problem?”

Stefan smiled grimly.  “Lord Reinhart the earl of the Northern Provinces, your betrothed’s father, is a very powerful man.  Breaking the contract and rejecting his daughter would not be very advisable.”

Ro
ydon sighed as he unconsciously raked a hand through his hair again; something he did when worried or angry.  “To put it mildly, my father aimed high.”

“You are not a bad catch yourself, Roy.  Under normal circumstances it would be a great alliance.  It could still be
. You are his equal in rank and property.”

“But not in wealth
. Not anymore.”

Stefan waved his hand.  “A question of time only
. Until the investments give fruit, no one need know.  You know you are the most sought after bachelor at court.”

“Yes, for my title and my lands; a
mbitious, power seeking parents.  I wanted something different, something more.”  Roydon finished off the wine in his cup.

“I always knew you were a romantic at heart,
Roy, but very few nobles marry for love.  We marry for power and alliances, for wealth and advancement, you know this.”

“Love?  No, that is a concept for women
and jougleurs,” the earl said softly.  “I would have settled for affection and caring.  A simple undemanding girl to make me forget all the death and destruction of war.”  Roydon smiled ruefully at his friend.  “I think the wine is making me speak nonsense.  I had best retire before I become maudlin and you decide to leave this pile of rocks for better company.”

“You might still get
the girl you wish for.”

“Do you really believe that?”  The earl rose to his feet.  “An earl’s daughter?  My countess will be a proud, spoiled, grasping, demanding, arrogant
…”

“Enough,” Stefan interrupted his friend, his hands raised as if seeking protection.  He could not help the slight twitching of his lips as he sought to control his smile.  “You are running out of adjectives.  No woman could be that bad!”

The earl glowered down at his friend.  “You have been to court, have you not?  I could add a few more
adjectives
to describe the noble ladies there.  Wanton, self-gratifying women who think nothing of betraying and cheating on their husbands.  Do not deny it; we have both taken advantage of it.”

“We took what they offered.  Most of the husbands there did not know or didn’t care, they already had their heirs.  Besides these are older, married women or widows we are talking about,” finished Stefan, serious once again.  “There is no comparison.”

“How do you know that my betrothed is not old, it says nothing in the contract.  All we know is that her name is Emma.”

“Your father would not do that to you…”

“He has done far worse,” Roydon interrupted quietly
, hurt and regret in his voice.  He stood behind the high-backed chair he had just vacated, his big callused hands sliding, almost caressing the polished wood.  This had been his father’s chair, the Lord of Eagle Rock’s chair; his chair now.

“True,” admitted Stefan, “but his intensions were good.  There was no malice in his actions and remember that he wanted grandchildren.  She cannot be too old and even if all the rest that you say is true, you will still be her lord and husband.  Your word will be law.”

“As I said before, no peace.  I will not be a cuckold.  What is mine I keep,” the earl stated forcefully.

“Good God, Roy!”  Stefan exclaimed.  “You are not married, haven’t even met the girl yet and already you imagine her betraying you.”  He rose from his seat, a smile again teasing the corners of his mouth.  “If you cannot con
trol your lady, be sure that I, as your friend and commander of your forces, will do my utmost to defend and protect your honour.”

Stefan pounded the earl on his back.  “You now have a solution to save your holdings.  The alternative is to sell part of the estate, sell the lands that maintain it.”  Having brought up what Roydon had been loath to even think about all day, the knight walked away.

Sell his land!  Unthinkable.  It would be like parting with one of his limbs, a part of himself.  Besides, it would not be practicable.  As Stefan had said, it was the crops, the fruits of the rich land, which maintained the castle, fed the serfs and provided the soldiers to protect it all.  Without the land there would be no Eagle Rock.

Slowly the
earl released the punishing grip on the chair that the mere thought provoked.  The mark of his nails on the wood a testimony to his strong emotion.  He would not sell or decimate his home, his heritage, his mountain.  Anything was better than that.  The moment he had learnt of the betrothal he had known what he must do.  He had no choice.

His father had planned well, his strategy impeccable.  He had known his son and his love for the land.  Roydon smiled sadly.  If the old earl had been alive, they would have had a monumental argument, but in the end Roydon would have conceded.  His love for his father and Eagle Rock would not have allowed him to do else.  He would not dishonour his father by breaking his given word.

His father had won; he would marry as soon as possible.  In spite of everything he could not begrudge his sire the victory.  The old earl of Eagle Rock would not be there to witness the marriage.  Roydon’s eyesight blurred and he brushed the sudden wetness from his cheeks.  His father would not be there to hold his grandchildren.

“Will you break your fast, my lord?”

“Ale, bread and cheese,” the earl replied shortly, barely looking at the servant as he took his seat at the vacant High Table.  Never at his best in the morning, today he admitted to himself, his mood resembled that of a cornered boar.

Already he had snapped and growled at his squire until the boy had given up trying to please him and retreated behind a wall of silence.  When that had irritated him too, he had sent Ivan away.  Roydon knew his behavio
ur to be unreasonable and petty.  A little devil seemed to be driving him; he could not seem to help himself.  He hadn’t slept at all last night, only falling into a fitful doze early this morning, which accounted for his late appearance in the Hall.

He had woken up with what appeared to be the whole weight of his mountain on his shoulders and an inescapable feeling of being trapped, cornered.

Impatiently, the earl drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for his meal to arrive.  The Hall had already been cleared.  Only a few soldiers lingered over their morning meal. Seated on benches near the blazing fire in the hearth, their tired faces proclaimed that they had just finished the night watch.

The moment the earl’s eyes fell on the
men, they jumped to their feet unnerved by their lord’s dark countenance.  Bowing respectfully in his direction, they almost run from the hall.  Perfect, he thought, now he was even scaring his own soldiers.

“Your food, my lord.”  A servant girl set a platter of bread and cheese before him and poured ale into a goblet, her hand unsteady as she glanced nervously up at him.

Good Lord!  His people had no reason to be afraid of him.  Gently Roydon took the flagon from the girl’s hand and set it on the table.  “My thanks,” he said trying to put the servant at ease and nodding his dismissal.  The girl run towards the steps leading down to the kitchens.

“Damn it,” the earl swore in exasperation, as he watched the girl disappear down the stairwell.  He had done nothing to provoke the girl’s fear.  True, his words of gratitude had sounded more of a growl than anything else but it was no reason to run from him and she had
been scared before that.  Wearily he raked his hair back from his face with his hand.  He had not been himself lately, he would be the first to admit it, but with all that had happened since his arrival…

“Frightening all the pretty girls away?”

The earl glared at his friend.  Deep in his thoughts he had not even noticed Stefan’s arrival.  That’s all he needed now, a teasing, jolly conversation before he had even broken his fast.  “I did nothing to scare the girl,” he said, trying for a reasonable tone and failing miserably.

Stefan grinned at him.  “No need for you to do anything.  The expression on your face is enough to scare the mightiest warrior, let alone a servant.”

“I don’t see you running.”  In spite of himself, Roydon’s lips turned up in the beginnings of a smile.

“I am immune to your grouchiness, my lord.”  Stefan’s feigned look of long suffering patience nearly made the earl choke on his ale.  Your squire, on the other hand, is not,” he added sobering.

Roydon tensed, “Ivan went to you carrying tales?” he asked frowning, a piece of bread arrested halfway to his mouth.  Disloyalty he would not tolerate.

“Nay,” Stefan denied the accusation quickly.  “The boy is only t
en years old, Roy.  He carries his heart on his sleeve, he would never betray you.  You are his idol.  T’is why, when he came down for training looking so dejected, that I knew something was wrong.  He is usually a happy and lively boy.”

To the earl, his friend’s words sounded like an accusation and indeed he did feel uncomfortable.  He had snapped and growled at the boy for no good reason and that was unfair.  Misbehaviour merited punishment and Ivan had always accepted it, reluctantly but with grace.  His displeasure with him this morning had been undeserved.

“I will see to the boy, Stefan,” Roydon replied at last, his voice quiet as he rose from his seat.  He had to see to a lot more than just his squire, he thought.  First he had to get back control of his life.  He was a man used to leading, to being in control of the situation.  Recent events had been driving him, giving him a sense of impotence he was unused to, hence his uncharacteristic, foul mood.  That would change as of this moment.

The earl turned to his friend who had been watching him closely, a slight smile on his face.  “Come along, Stefan, the practise field awaits us
.”

“I have just come from there.  In fact I have been there for several hours while you were lazing in you
r bed this morning.”  Stefan had noted his friend’s lighter tone and had responded accordingly.

An amused glint appeared in Roydon’s dark eyes.  “I am not happy with our little skirmish yesterday and now that I am
rested
I want to finish it to my satisfaction.”

Stefan sighed dramatically.  “Not again,
Roy.  My arms still ache from your blows.”

“As do mine, but when has that ever stopped us before?”

“True,” Stefan admitted, glad to see that his friend had relaxed, his expression no longer tense and forbidding.

“Come along commander,” Roydon stood halfway to the door already, a thick eyebrow raised in query.  “Do I have to drag you to the field?”

Stefan grinned, “Eager for your thrashing, my lord?” he asked as he followed the earl out the door.

<><><>

“Give me a few minutes with Ivan, Stef, I will join you in a moment.”  As the commander walked away the earl approached his squire, who sat on a bench at the edge of the training field.

The boy slouched despondently, his eyes downcast
, staring unseeingly at the dusty ground between his boots.

For a moment Roydon found himself remembering when he had last seen the boy like this.  It had been almost a year ago when he had spoken to him just after
the boy’s father’s death.  Ivan had sat just so, outside the small tent that he had shared with his father.

Sir Marcus
Trent had been a landless knight, a mercenary who had joined the king’s army.  He had been a strong and capable man and Roydon had been glad to have him under his command.  He had even offered the man a position as a household knight at Eagle Rock when they left the king’s service.  Sir Marcus had accepted the younger man’s offer gratefully.  He had wanted to provide his motherless son with a permanent home.

A skirmish against a rebel baron had ended with the knight’s death, leaving his son orphaned and alone.
  Roydon had felt responsible for the boy, even though Sir Marcus still did not serve his family.

“You have heard that your father has fallen?” he had asked.

“Yes, sir,” Ivan had scrambled to his feet but his head remained bowed, his eyes on the ground.

“Do you have somewhere to go?
  Is there someone you can go to?”

“I can take care of myself, sir.”  The
slight tremble in the boy’s voice did not stop him from straightening his shoulders and looking up directly at Roydon.

He saw
pain and despair in Ivan’s eyes, but also pride and determination awash in tears that he refused to shed.  He could see Sir Marcus’ strength of character and purpose in the boy, and his pride Roydon knew, would not allow him to accept charity.

“I have a problem,” he stated in a neutral voice.  “Your father had agreed to accompany me to Eagle Rock as a household knight to my father.”

The boy nodded, biting his lip in an attempt to stop the tears.  “We…we were looking forward to it, Sir Roydon.”

Roydon
turned a blind eye to the boy’s struggle, his voice brisk and impatient he continued.  “I have already made arrangements and now I find myself a man short.”

Ivan bowed his head again.  “I am sorry,
sir,” his voice a mere whisper, he apologised for what he could never have prevented.

The knight
smiled at the boy’s bowed head.  “But if you are prepared to honour your father’s word.  I would be willing to wait a few years until you are knighted.”  Quickly he wiped the smile from his face before Ivan looked up at him.

“Sir?”  For a moment a tenta
tive ray of hope sparkled in Ivan’s eyes as he looked up at his father’s commander; at the leader of the king’s army.   Then it disappeared, “I have no sponsor, sir.  No one to teach me, now that my father is…gone.”

“Hmm
… You have a point there, but maybe we could help each other out.  My servant is overworked because I do not have a squire,” he improvised on the spur of the moment.  “If you were to fill the position you would be helping me out.”

The boy’s face under
went a transformation, from abject despair to hopeful joy.  But before he could say anything, Roydon held up his hand the expression on his face now completely serious.  “Think and be sure before you commit yourself.  Training for knighthood is not easy and I am a hard task master.  I will demand all you can give and then I will ask for more.  I will accept nothing less than complete obedience and unstinting loyalty.”

Ivan looked him in the eye then, his expression equally serious and sober, especially for a
nine year old.  “My father trusted you, sir.  I can do no less,” he said in a surprisingly grownup voice and there in the middle of the noisy camp the boy knelt.  “I offer you my service, Sir Roydon.”

Roydon did not think he would ever forget the look of complete trust
and gratitude he had seen in Ivan’s eyes that day.

And this morning he had abused that trust.  Ivan had lived up to his word.  No task had ever been too hard or too menial, he always tried his best.  Looking at the dark haired boy now, Roydon felt a spurt of affection as he acknowledged that
the young scamp had wormed his way into his heart.  This was not to say that the boy did not need to grow a thicker skin and learn to take his moods and temper in stride.  “Ivan!” he called sharply.

The boy jumped up startled, the dull practice sword that had been resting on his lap, fell to the ground at his feet.  “Your pardon, my lord!  I did not see you.”  Nervously he glanced up
at Roydon’s face, uncertain of his mood and then lowered his eyes to the ground.  “Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

“Look at me for a start; I did not take you for a coward.”

“I am no coward, my lord!”  Ivan’s cobalt blue eyes fairly bristled with anger as he stared at Roydon.

“So I see,” the earl nodded
.  “So why the doldrums?” he asked pointing at the bench.

“I have displeased you, my lord.”  The boy spoke softly but he did not glance away.  “And I don’t know how or why.”

“You have not displeased me, Ivan, far from it.”  Roydon leaned down and ruffled the boy’s hair.  “I was in a bad mood this morning, nothing to do with you.”

“You are pleased with me, truly?  I thought you tired of me, that you would send me away.”  The admiration and hero worship in the boy’s gaze humbled the earl.

“You will not get off that easily.  I accepted your service and what is mine I keep,” Roydon paused, unsure how to continue, how to reassure the boy.  “But you will also have to learn to take my moods in stride.   Like a man, like a knight,” he finished sternly.

The squire’s face had turned a bright red with pleasure, all his previous gloom forgotten in the knowledge that
his lord found favour with him and would not send him away.

“I have never had a squire before and apparently I have been remiss in not giving you due praise when merited. 
However, I will also let you know when I am displeased with you.  Do you understand me, Ivan?”

The boy nodded vigorously, “I do, my lord.”  The huge smile on Ivan’s face threatened to split it in two.

A slight tilting of his lips softened the hard contours of the earl’s face; a sense of shared conspiracy and warmth making him forget his troubles for the moment.  Then his face lost its smile and settled into a stern expression.  “I most certainly do not approve of that.”  Roydon pointed at the sword lying on the ground.  “No knight ever drops his sword!”

The squire bent swiftly to retrieve it.  “I am sorry, sir. You startled me and…”

“No excuse,” Roydon said in a hard voice.

“No excuse, my lord,”
Ivan agreed ruefully.

The earl nodded satisfied.  “Now come and I will show you why.”

A few minutes later the young squire could hardly hold up his sword.  His arms ached unbearably and sweat poured down his body.  His breath came in irregular gasps but in spite of all this a half grin lingered on his face.

“The boy seems to like being battered by your sword, my lord.”  Stefan had come up to where Roydon instructed his squire, noting Ivan’s exhausted but contented expression.

“Unlike someone I could mention,” the earl stepped back and lowered his weapon.  “I was demonstrating why he should never drop his sword.”

“Bad idea that.  Dropping your sword will get you killed every time,” concurred Stefan seriously.