Taming the Beast (7 page)

They, as usual, looked very happy. As if they'd not a single care in the world.

The clang of dishes being cleared competed with the music, and was soon cushioned by the oohing of the guests. From the left side of the hall, two strapping young serving boys carried out an impossibly large tray, covered edge to edge in what had to be the biggest cake ever served outside of London. Elizabeth shot to her feet to look down upon the masterpiece as it was set slowly and carefully on a heretofore empty table before the lord's dais. Michaela—striving for an air of maturity—did not stand, although she did lean forward eagerly.

The shallow, wide cake was shaped like a battle shield, covered in swirls of pattern made from crushed nuts, mimicking perfectly the Cherbon crest, and decorated with the tiniest sprigs of late ferns and autumn leaves. Bouquets of dyed feathers and ribbon adorned the corners like fantastic fountains. It looked too beautiful to be a confection meant to be eaten.

When the cake was at last safely deposited on the table, the servant boys stepped away, Alan stood, and the guests broke into applause. Alan let them go on for a few moments, smiling and nodding his head as he looked about the blanket of expectant and curious faces. Then he raised both hands, begging silence.

“Good evening, friends. Thank you all for making the journey to Tornfield this night. It is with a light and joyful heart that I and my family”—he swept an arm to his right, indicating Elizabeth and Michaela, and Michaela's heart skipped—“welcome you to our home, to share in a very happy event.”

Beneath the table, Elizabeth's hand snaked on to Michaela's thigh and seized her hand tightly. Michaela squeezed back.

“Of course I speak for us all in expressing regret that our liege, Lord Roderick Cherbon, was unable to attend tonight due to personal business that demanded his attention. I would have liked very much for him to be with us.”

Surely he must be a saint
, Michaela thought,
to speak such kind words about the Cherbon Devil. My husband is a good, good man.

“But I will extend a hearty welcome to his first man, Sir Hugh Gilbert, also just returned from the Holy Land.” Alan put his hands together and the rest of the guests followed suit as a dark-haired, tall, and slender man stood from the table where Lady Juliette and Michaela's parents also sat.

From Michaela's vantage point on the raised dais, it was clear to see the commotion Sir Hugh Gilbert caused within the female population. Michaela herself was surprised at the man's handsomeness, and his dress was superb—costly and fine. His black hair was trimmed close to his scalp, and he sported a very short beard—little more than heavy shadow, actually. Michaela could see the dark rim of thick lashes around his eyes from her seat. Below her, women companions craned their neck to catch a clearer glimpse of the stranger and then leaned their heads together, twittering excitedly.

And Sir Hugh seemed quite aware of the attention he was garnering, for as he spoke, he let his eyes stray from Alan's figure and rove over the appreciative crowd, as if he was a minstrel, readying to recite dramatic verse for an eager audience.

“My dear Lord Tornfield, Lord Cherbon wishes me to extend his deepest and most heartfelt regrets that he could not personally answer your gracious call to feast with you and your guests. He wishes for me to assure you all that he is ready to fulfill the void left in the demesne by his father's death, and as such, his many responsibilities oft keep him engaged. Rest assured though, that he is at your service should you but ask for his assistance.” This well-spoken and dazzling man bowed slightly in Alan's direction. “Lord Tornfield, you have my own personal thanks for your gracious and warm hospitality.” He sat.

Michaela saw a somewhat bemused smile come over Alan's face. “Sir Hugh, if you would indulge me, Lord Cherbon is not…
ill
, is he?”

Hugh stood once more. “Not at all, Lord Tornfield. The very epitome of health.” He began to sit.

“Forgive me, but I—
we all
—had heard that he was wounded most dire in the Holy Land. I thought mayhap his injuries—”

Hugh stood erect again, slowly, and pinned Alan with what Michaela saw as an overly haughty look.

“I can assure you that any injuries Lord Cherbon sustained do not hinder his abilities to rule in any manner whatsoever. But I will most certainly relay your kind inquiry after his health to him. I'm certain he will be touched by your…concern.” Sir Hugh sat once more.

Michaela could not help but feel slightly piqued—as though in some nearly undetectable manner, this Sir Hugh Gilbert had managed to chastise Alan in his own hall, at his own feast.

Michaela decided she did not like this man, handsome or not, one tiny bit.

Alan cleared his throat. “Very fine. Thank you, Sir Hugh.” He looked back to the crowd. “And now, for the main purpose of our gathering.”

All thoughts of the pompous knight flew from Michaela's head and her stomach clenched. She caught her mother's eye and winked. Agatha sent her a kind, if rather confused, smile.

“As you all know, my daughter and I have been on our own following the tragic and untimely death of my wife. Tornfield Manor has been lacking in a lady's touch, and my daughter lacking for the close bond of a mother. I mean to remedy that this very night.”

At Michaela's side, Elizabeth was nearly bouncing in her seat.

“It is customary to gather all together for the announcement of betrothal, and in that I will not disappoint, save that the period of engagement for myself and my new bride will likely be the shortest on record. Friar Cope?” A robed man Michaela was well-familiar with materialized from the shadows of a perimeter wall and made his way to stand near the magnificent Cherbon cake. The audience gasped.

“Indeed.” Alan smiled proudly. “For on this night not only do I announce my intent to wed, I will have it done before you all as my witnesses.” The proclamation sounded strange to Michaela's ears but she paid it no heed, so consumed with joy and excitement was she.

Michaela wanted to gain her feet in anticipation of Alan's announcement, but restrained her anxiousness until his next words. She drew a deep, steadying breath.

“It is with great pride that I present to you all the next Lady Tornfield, Lady Juliette of Osprey.”

For a moment, Michaela thought she'd misheard Alan because of the thunderous applause that vibrated the stone walls of the hall. But a croaking sound to her left, a sound that was quiet and strangled and should have been unheard in the din, cut through the roar of approval from the guests as well as the screaming in Michaela's own head. She turned her head slowly, slowly, as if in a dream, to see Elizabeth duck under the table and run to stand before her father, tears streaming down her pale face.

“Pa—” she croaked. “Pa-pa, no! You said the…
wrong name
. Michaela said…you were to marry
her!
”

The only sounds following the shocking words were the pounding of Michaela's own heart and the hushed breaths of the guests.

Then Lady Juliette stood from her seat, and smiled at the girl. “Come now, dear—your father would not marry Miss Fortune. You and I will get along brilliantly.”

Alan, however had dropped to his knees before his daughter and grasped her shoulders. Michaela looked at his wide, welling eyes as if she were still caught in some lucid dream that was quickly becoming a nightmare.

“Elizabeth—you spoke! My darling girl, I—”

Elizabeth jerked out of his hands. “Say it's not true, Papa. You love
Michaela
. Say!”

Alan swallowed and his eyes flicked over Elizabeth's shoulder to Michaela, who could not seem to breathe at that moment. “I am marrying Lady Juliette, my love. But Lady Michaela will—”

“No!” Elizabeth shouted and then turned to Michaela, who could do nothing but stare back helplessly.

Then the little girl ran from the hall. Michaela wanted to follow her, but could not command her legs to move. Alan was still looking at her. The hall was deathly silent.

Then the clicking of heels caused both Michaela and Alan to turn. Lady Juliette stood before the table, her brows drawn slightly. “My lord, do you wish to postpone the ceremony?” she asked quietly. “I do not wish for—”

“No,” Alan interrupted, and rose to stand. With one final, strangely pleading glance at Michaela, he joined Juliette and the friar, while Michaela's throat tightened, tightened, and the usually ignored metal link beneath her dress seemed to be burning a hole into her flesh.

And when kind Friar Cope cleared his throat and began to speak, when Alan took Juliette's hand, his back to Michaela, now sitting alone at the lord's table, Michaela's heart shattered into a hundred thousand pieces.

Michaela took to her bed for two days, not rising to eat, to wash, and she made little reply to either of her parents who checked on her frequently.

The fact that she lay in the bed she thought never to cradle her again was enough to sink her into the very dregs of a deep depression. Each time her eyes opened from exhausted sleep, she saw and heard the events of the feast on her last evening at Tornfield Manor like some sort of sick, contrary dream that only occurred while she was awake.

She'd left that very night, returning to the Fortune household with her parents, not even taking time to pack her few belongings or seek out Elizabeth for a good-bye. She felt cowardly and traitorous for that. She had been too hurt, too mortified, too…destroyed.

She never wanted to leave this room again.

A soft rap upon her door caused Michaela to burrow deeper into her pillow and pull the covers up over her head. Perhaps if she feigned sleep, whoever knocked would simply go away.

“Michaela?” It was her father this time, and she heard the creak of the floorboards as he stepped into the room, and then the door scraping to. “Are you awake?”

Michaela did not reply, squeezing her eyes shut beneath the canopy of blanket, praying he would leave her.

But she felt the mattress dip as Walter sat on the side of her bed.

“Your mother is very worried for you, child,” he said quietly. “Would that you at least come take a meal so she does not think you to waste away to nothing.”

“I hope that I do,” Michaela said bitterly, thinking that she had not wanted to speak, but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She knew her tone was childish.

Her father's hand was warm on her calf through the thin blanket. “Oh, Michaela,” he sighed. “I know that you are hurt, and for that I am sorry. But hiding away in your chamber for years and years will not undo what has happened.”

“I know that, Papa,” she said. “But if I stay here, I don't have to face anyone.”

“What have you to be shamed of?” Walter demanded. “You did naught wrong.”

“What have I to be—?” Michaela snapped the covers off her head to look at her father, graying, portly, kind-faced. “I told Elizabeth that her father was going to
marry me
. I told her that we were going to be a family. And she believed me, trusted me. I made a fool out of myself before all the land. ‘Poor Miss Fortune, that she would think a handsome man like Lord Alan would marry
her!
' 'Tis bad enough that everyone talks about us like they do. I'll never be able to show my face after this!”

“Nonsense,” Walter scoffed. “You told no one save Elizabeth your suspicions, and what she said at the feast, everyone likely took as the innocent assumptions of a young, troubled girl.”

“Oh, Papa,” Michaela sighed. “You don't understand.”

Walter gave her a smile. “I understand more than you think I do. I, too, know what it's like, having people say mean-spirited things about you and your family. Things that are untrue. Think you I am deaf, or slow-witted?”

“Of course not,” Michaela said. “But it never seems to bother you, Papa. Me, it—”

“It crushes, I know. But Michaela,” he implored, “the folk did not always hold the opinion of me and your mother that they do now. Granted, I was always looked upon with scorn, but for different reasons. Your mother, now, she was once highly revered and respected in the shire.”

Michaela was intrigued. Her father had never spoken about the past, before Michaela was born. She held no hope that it would help her in her current situation, but she wanted him to keep talking. She sat up. “Tell me.”

Walter nodded once. “I do not relish it, but all right. Perhaps it will allow you to understand a little better our station, and how we came to be here. Perhaps it will help you to bear your burden more easily.

“When your mother and I were married, you may be surprised to know that the only man I owed allegiance to was the king.”

Michaela's eyebrows rose.

“Indeed. I was one of William's most favored lords, and he used me well. Not even to God—especially not to God—did I give a bended knee. I held a vast tract of land in the north of England for my loyalty, but before I could make a home there I was sent to Cherbonshire to help Magnus Cherbon gain control over his demesne for the king.”

Michaela gasped. “You were in league with the Cherbon Devil?”

“I was, although I am not proud to say it aloud. Your mother's parents were vassal to Magnus Cherbon, and the instant I saw her lovely face, heard her speak, I knew I must have her.

“She was a godly woman, but light of spirit, sharp of tongue and wit. And lovely. Oh, my dear, your mother in her youth was dazzling. It was no hard task to convince her father to give her to me, a favored warrior of the king, and a man who was destined for greatness, even if he was rumored to be harsh and bloodthirsty.”

Michaela couldn't help the chirp of laughter. “You, Papa?”

But there was no merriment in Walter's eyes. “Yes, Michaela, me. In assisting Magnus Cherbon, many a man went to his grave by way of the sword that hangs in our hall. I was ruthless in my ambition to become the greatest, most powerful lord outside of the king's court. Greater even than the man I aided, Magnus Cherbon. I remember all too clearly my vow to the king: ‘A man a day by my sword until this land submits to your rule.'”

Walter looked down at his lap as if the memory shamed him. “And I kept my word. No trials. Pleas of innocence and for mercy fell on the ground before blood. And when I had succeeded, when Cherbon at last knew an uneasy and fearful peace, I knew my glory was at hand. I was to bide the winter here, in this house we live in, with your mother until the spring. William had granted me license to build a grand castle on my land in the north country. Your mother was heavy with you, and so after you were born and we saw that you would live, we were to make the long journey to our new home.”

“But we never left.”

“Almost, but no. No, we didn't.” Walter sighed. “When your mother went missing that winter, for the first time in my selfish life I felt fear for another human being. I was mad with worry, and could only think of seeing her again, safe. It took me two days until I realized what I must do, and when I did, you were returned to me. I had made a promise, and one that I would keep.”

Michaela knew a bit of this part of the tale, when Walter had knelt in the village chapel and begged God to bring his wife back to him. But she still didn't understand how this had anything to do with her own problem.

“My time in Cherbon was done, and when the spring came, we set out—the three of us, and my most trusted men. On our second day of travel, I was summoned to the king's court. He wanted me to assist in quelling a small uprising en route to my lands. But the man he'd known before Cherbon was not the man who stood before him. I refused. I told him that I would never fight again.”

“What happened, Papa?”

“Well, he did what any king in possession of good sense would do, faced with a subject who held valuable property and rights from him but would not fight.” Walter raised his eyes. “He stripped me of my lands, and my license. Sent me back to Cherbonshire to live here, in the least of the holdings.”

“That seems rather unfair,” Michaela said in his defense.

“Not unfair at all. Generous, really,” Walter argued. “He could have had me killed, my dear, for refusing him thusly after all the favors I had won. Instead, my punishment was to live out my days in the land I had painted with my own sword, under the distant heel of the Cherbon Devil. But it was your and your mother's punishment as well, you see, that affected me so much more deeply. Agatha ridiculed, you shunned. I am paying for my barbarity, still. But I know the truth, and so I am at peace.

“Which is what you need to accept, daughter,” Walter said, at last bringing his shocking tale back to Michaela. “Your own truth. Hold it inside of you and honor what you know is right and fair and good.
You
are right and fair and good. Angels watch you, watch over you—I do truly believe. You will find your place in this life yet, Michaela. It has only not been revealed.”

She felt none the more enlightened by her father's sad tale of loss and humility. In fact she was more piqued, and something was bothering her to no end. “But Papa, did not Magnus Cherbon wish to aid in your plight after you had helped him secure his own demesne? Surely he would repay you.”

Walter chuckled. “Oh, no. Magnus was more than happy with the station I had been given. Although he'd heard that I had given up the sword, it always turned in his mind that I would one day take up my blade again. In a bigger hold, I could have revolted against him and usurped his place.”

“Papa, truly?” Michaela said skeptically, although it was not like Walter to boast.

“Truly. I could have disposed of Magnus Cherbon within a week's time had I the will.”

Michaela was stunned. And a little perturbed that her father had sentenced them all to this poverty and humbling station. Surely God did not wish them to suffer so?

“You will marry one day, Michaela,” Walter continued. “And when you do, you will be removed from this place, into your own life. The life you lived at Tornfield was not yours—you were only borrowing it. You will forget what you now feel for Lord Alan.”

“How I wish I could,” Michaela sighed. Although she would have vowed she hated Alan Tornfield, she missed him desperately already, and hated herself for that. And Elizabeth…She felt a burning desire to repay Alan for shattering her dreams and ripping her away from sweet Elizabeth. “I hate him, Papa. He is a cruel liar and he played me false.”

Walter tilted his head as if what his daughter had said interested him. “Did he, though?”

She did not want to meet his probing eyes and was glad when another knock sounded at the door, and Agatha entered, carrying a woven basket.

“Oh, Michaela!” Agatha set the basket at the bedside and grasped her daughter's hands. “You have come out of your burrow, at last!”

“Only for a moment, Mother,” Michaela said as Agatha embraced her. “I still have yet to decide what I am to do.”

“Of course, of course. And until you do, you may go through your things from Tornfield. They were sent over this morn by Lady Juliette with a note. Wasn't that thoughtful of her ladyship?” Agatha waved a hand toward the basket on the floor.

Michaela groaned and fell back onto the mattress, yanking the covers over her head once more. She wanted not one piece of anything she had so much as touched at Tornfield. It was bad enough that the now-hated rose-and-green gown lay wadded in the corner of her chamber. Her mother's voice taunted her from beyond the blanket.

“Oh, here are your nightclothes, and a pair of aprons, and—what's this?” Michaela heard the crackle of parchment. “My goodness, it looks a royal decree, 'tis so fancy!”

Michaela peeked out from the covers to find her mother holding a wrinkled piece of parchment. She immediately knew what it was, and memories of that intimate night in Lord Alan's chamber flooded her so that she thought she would start crying once more. Oh, she hated, hated,
hated
that man!

“Burn it,” she said, hiding once more. She had no wish to see the pathetic plea that had prompted Lord Alan to marry that wretched, nasty, beastly Juliette. And, un-Christian or not, she did not care in the least if Lord Roderick Cherbon ever found a wife!

Michaela snatched the covers down once more and all but ripped the parchment from her mother's hand. She stared at it a long time.

And then Michaela smiled.