Chapter 2
Sir Leo Zane stopped at the crest of the hill that looked down over his home. He hadn’t seen it in almost ten years now, having been out fighting and gaining riches and glory. He sighed to see the house off in the distance. It looked as crisp and tidy as ever, and the surrounding land looked well taken care of. His mother ran a tight ship. He sighed again and looked in the opposite direction, seeing the towers of Grancourt Castle high above the treetops. He’d have to pay his respects to old Sir Walter eventually.
He closed his eyes. He’d wanted this. To come home and live a life of simplicity and peace after fighting other people’s wars for so long. But now that it was all a matter of turning his horse onto that still familiar path to home, he faltered. Perhaps he should meander over to Grancourt first instead. He chuckled softly to himself, knowing his mother would kill him if he chose their neighbors over her. Then again, she might relish some new gossip about what Sir Walter’s daughters were up to these days. He himself had barely a lick of curiosity. He could hardly remember them. The elder one was sickly, always wheezing and paler than a full moon. The younger one had her head in the clouds so that she’d trip over a shadow, and if he recalled correctly, possessed a foul temper. Spoiled from being the baby, he supposed. Just as he’d been spoiled from being the only treasured child. Guilt stabbed at him for staying away so long.
He felt an odd wave of memories assail him, shaky and distant as if he were in a fever dream. Had there only been two daughters? The bad-tempered one wasn’t the baby, was she? Images flashed through his mind, but he wasn’t able to firmly grasp one. No, he was certain there were only two.
He chuckled to himself and resolutely turned toward his own land. Of course he wouldn’t remember his neighbor’s children. His last visit to his mother had been cut short and he hadn’t made it to see anyone else. It had been almost twenty years since he’d been to Grancourt Castle. Sir Walter had kindly offered to take him on in his own army all those years ago, and Leo wondered what his life would have been like if he’d accepted.
“You’re not old enough to be ruminating about the past like this,” he said. He reined in his horse at the path to the big, old house he’d grown up in. Large and square, made of stone and timber with a tightly-thatched roof. It was a rich enough house.
“You’re not old enough to be jabbering to yourself, either,” a cranky voice said from the bramble along the path. Leo whirled in his saddle to see old Crowley—ancient Crowley now—with his hands full of pale, underdeveloped blackberries. “Your mother wants a tart,” he grumbled. “No matter it’s the middle of winter. If you had a bit of goodness in you, you’d get off that fancy steed and help me out.”
“You think a handful of berries will make her happier to see me?”
Crowley shrugged his bony shoulders as he inspected Leo head to toe after he jumped off his horse. “It might do, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. That leg still ailing you?”
“It’s been better, but I’ll do,” Leo said. He must have cringed slightly when he dismounted and those clouded eyes of Crowley’s could still see just fine apparently. “How’s your health, old man?”
Crowley snickered. “Been better, but I’ll do as well.”
Leo sighed and thrashed through the barren bushes until he, too, found a few berries. Crowley had never been one to show much emotion, but Leo had seen a slight upturn around the old man’s lips. Someone was happy he was home, at least.
“How upset is she with me?” Leo finally gave up after extracting ten sorry-looking berries from the dry winter branches. “You do know I came as quickly as I could? Italy isn’t the next farm over.”
“Ah, Italy was it?” Crowley drew out the name of the country as if he were a rube who’d never been past the village. Leo rolled his eyes, knowing his mother’s elderly caretaker had seen plenty in his day. “I’m sure you got here as fast as you could. I’m sure your mum knows it as well. Whether or not she’ll act like she knows it is anyone’s guess. Hand those over and get on the rest of the way with you before she spies you out the window and thinks you’re stalling.”
“She’ll be sick of me in a fortnight. Did she tell you I’m retiring? Home for good. Going to till the land and all that.”
Crowley’s rheumy, yellowing eyes nearly bulged out of his wrinkled head. “She did not, lad. She said a visit. You’re sure she knows? I have to say I’ll be glad to have you. A big, strong lout like yourself, who’s clearly seen the better side of a few fights, will draw the proper respect from those damned tradesmen who’ve been trying to cheat me left and right for nigh on the last two years.”
Leo shook his head at Crowley’s statements. “Yes, I’m quite positive she knows unless she hasn’t read the last four letters I’ve sent her. And since she answered every one, I have to believe she’s in denial.” He pulled on his horse’s bridle and grumbled, head cast down. “Maybe I ought to pay my respects to Sir Walter first, after all.”
“He’s got enough visitors already. You know about Sir Andrew’s passing?”
Leo’s head shot up from where he’d been kicking at the dead leaves on the path. “I did not. How unexpected. He wasn’t ill or very old, was he? And who’s got the keep? He was childless wasn’t he?”
Crowley sighed deeply at all the questions but answered them neatly in order. “It was unexpected, but that’s the way of death a good lot of the time. Even the sick and old seem quite surprised when it comes for them. He left it to his ward. You recall young Tristan Ballard? Knighted some ten years now, and did well for himself. But he always remained loyal by Sir Andrew’s side. So, Andrew left him the keep and the land. Some don’t like it, think it should have gone to the crown and been reallocated. It’s been attacked at least once I know of. Anyway, Sir Tristan’s at Grancourt paying his dues, probably needing backup to keep his new land.”
“Perhaps Mother hasn’t been reading my letters. Why wouldn’t she have told me of Sir Andrew’s passing? I greatly admired and respected the man.”
“It wasn’t that long ago. You would have been on your way home already. Don’t go up to the castle until she speaks with you. She’s almost positive Sir Tristan is going to try and snag one of the girls, and she thinks you need to throw yourself in the fray as well.”
“In the fray? You mean for one of Sir Walter’s daughters? I think not. Sir Tristan is welcome to his pick of the two of them.”
Crowley opened his mouth to answer but blinked several times as if he were stumped by some thought. “There are three of them, lad. Where’s your mind gone?” he answered somewhat irritably. “And all of marriageable age, so why not? Could make a worse match.”
“Three? I only recall Lady Anne and Lady Fay. And they were horrible, ill-managed brats, that’s why not.”
Crowley creaked and whistled, his version of a hearty laugh. “Well it’s been more than half their lifetimes since you’ve seen them. They’re all fine young ladies now. Rarely leave the castle.”
“Like catching fish in a barrel?” Leo asked, still shaking his head at the idea of marriage in general and to one of those girls in particular. He ran his hand across the side of his face, feeling the now familiar raised scar. Nor would they want any part of him.
More creaking and whistling as Crowley slapped at his bandy leg. “Exactly like that, good Sir Farmer. Nice way to increase the crop land as well.” He waggled his brows and grinned. “Go on in now. It’s good to have you back, lad.”
Leo clapped the old man gently on the shoulder, welling up with emotion to finally be home. “I’ll go into the forest and get us some game tomorrow,” he promised. “You’ll sit with us at supper.”
Crowley snorted. “I’ll be happy to eat fresh meat no matter where I’m sitting. Good luck to you.”
Leo tugged at the reins, leading his horse the rest of the way. A boy hurried forward to take the horse, but he meant to put off entering the house until the last possible moment. He was foiled in his efforts to go to the barn when his mother threw open the front door, a combination of a smile and a scowl on her face. She didn’t look a moment older than when he last saw her. Her hair had gone from dark blonde to a silvery shade, but she was as trim and straight as ever. She took up most of the doorway as she waved him forward and enveloped him in a brisk hug.
She barely winced at the scar that crossed his left eye. He recalled Crowley hadn’t even noticed it, or had at least pretended not to. “You’re alive,” his formidable mother said. “And you finally made it home after your father died.”
Leo searched her face and voice, but couldn’t find a hint of welcome. Struggling to remember that he was thirty-five years old and master of all he surveyed, he suppressed a sigh and followed his mum into the house.
“It’s wonderful to see you,” he said. “And I recall being home when my father passed away. But, of course, I would still come home after your third husband passed on.”
He regretted the churlish retort. His own father had left this world when he was ten, and Leo had left to seek his fortune five or six years after that. He’d been home since for the occasional visit, usually one of his mother’s weddings. It seemed she might be retiring from the marriage game just as he was retiring from the world of war. The question was, who would go mad first?
“Well, there won’t be a fourth.” She confirmed his suspicion and smiled at him a little more warmly as they settled down for refreshments. “I’m far too old for any man to look cross-eyed at me anymore. So, how long will you be staying this time?”
He looked down at his bread and cold pork so she wouldn’t see him roll his eyes. “I mean to stay,” he said firmly. “Take over running of the place.” He did not add that it was his, after all. It sounded petulant even in his mind. He surreptitiously ran his fingers over the scar that had stolen most of the sight from his left eye and tried to recall the horrors and drudgery that had made him want to retire to a peaceful farm life. He looked hard at his mother, the woman who had driven him to always do his absolute best. “I’ve spoken to Crowley and he says the tradesmen have been giving him trouble. That will stop, and you can have more time to relax.” She scowled and he added, “In your advanced years, that is.”
She burst out laughing that he’d caught her up in her own false self-pity. They both knew she could have a new husband in less than a sennight if she wanted one. The poor woman really did want the same things he did. Peace and quiet. Her version meant not having a man around, squawking and wanting things from her. He wanted not to have to kill anyone anymore. Or have anyone trying to kill him. He felt like he and his mother could work out an accord of sorts.
“I’ll try not to get in your way,” she said bitterly.
“On the contrary, Mum,” he said eagerly. “It’s I who’ll try not to get in your way. You know more about farming than I do. You just tell me what needs to be done and let me be the…”
“The grunt? The brute muscle? Isn’t that what you’re running from being anymore?” she asked over the rim of her cup.
He did not flinch. “I’d say it’s quite a bit different muscling up piles of dirt and manure than torturing innocent souls who pray a bit differently than we do.”
Her mouth twisted. It was clear she didn’t want to know a thing about what he’d been doing since he first set out on his own, a lowly page looking for someone to teach him the arts of mercenary life. “Don’t be silly, Leo. We have workers for the dirt and manure. And you’ll learn the accounts in no time. I’m only worried you’ll be bored and unhappy here.” Her words were actually sincere. And tinged with as much kindness as he knew she could show. Before he could assure her he would be fine, she continued, the words rushing from her. “But as long as you’re meaning to be useful, you should pay your respects to Sir Walter with all haste.”
“Crowley told me he has guests now but, of course, I mean to go,” he said, feeling stalked.
As he expected, she pounced. “All the more reason to go as soon as you can. Tomorrow, even. That upstart Sir Tristan is right now picking over the crop. Go and make your claim, Leo.”
“Are you speaking of Sir Walter’s daughters as if they’re root vegetables?”
She blew out her breath. “Don’t be coy, Son. You know as well as I that there would be no better way to increase our—your land than to marry one of those girls. If you don’t want to stay married, pick Anne. She won’t last long. Poor thing,” his big-hearted mother added with a sniff.
He was too appalled to answer such a thing and she nodded, taking his silence for agreement. He supposed he would be paying his respects to Sir Walter and his crop of daughters the next day, then.
Welcome home, indeed.
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