Page 58 of The Darkest Oath

Rollant closed his eyes, wishing Camille would close her mouth.

“Father and Monsieur de Montvieux should sit on the sofa, Mother,” he said.

Rollant waved his hand to quickly overlook Hugo’s comment. “Your father and I are already seated. Take the sofa.”

Hugo dipped his head, tiptoed past Rollant, and sat on the couch, his knee by Rollant’s head. His sisters sat beside him, and his father sat beside the opposite sofa leg.

After Jacq led the small group in a prayer of thanksgiving for their meal, the table silenced, all eyes on Hugo and Élise.

Rollant swallowed his piece of bread and began the conversation, “An herbalist? Is that a family tradition?”

“No, Monsieur,” he said. “I did not want to raise chickens like my father, and the prior herbalist did not have any children, so it was a natural inclination for me to study with him and become his apprentice, rest his soul.”

Camille leaned over to Élise and said loudly behind a wall of fingers, “He also learned to read. Had to read so many books. I’m grateful because we could not afford him an education, but the Good Lord has blessed him in his endeavor.”

Élise’s gaze shot to Hugo. “You can read?” Her eyes lit up. “Could you teach me?”

Hugo chuckled with raised shoulders. “I—I am no teacher, Mademoiselle, but I—I’d love to help you best—the best—that—the best I can.”

Rollant took a bite of cheese to distract his tongue from his contribution to the conversation. He knew how to read as well—in seven languages. He could stay and teach her to read. He swallowed the cheese and took a bite of bread to stay silent.

“Hugo!” Camille whispered in a harsh tone. “Why are you talking like you need the healing hands of our Lord and Savior?”

Jacq sighed loudly. “Let our son make his own way, Camille.” He dipped his head to Élise. “I apologize for any discomfort we may have put you in, Mademoiselle.”

Élise smiled with her eyes darting between Hugo and Rollant. “None whatsoever,” she spoke as a true lady of the house, but tension laced her words.

“We could start today, if—if you wanted, Élise,” Hugo said. “I’ve read over ten books and anything I can find. I’ve memorized most of them. Well, I—I had to in order to be an herbalist, and a good one, if—if I can boast. My master said I surpassed him at my age. He believed I’d become one of the best in the region if I kept studying.”

Rollant couldn’t bear to look up and see the zeal flaming in the boy’s eyes; his tone was enough. He sipped his tea with his gaze on the worn spot on the floor.

“Well, Rollant is only here a few more days, and he still has much to teach me before he leaves.”

Hugo’s eyes dropped, the spark dimming. “Oh, I—I see.”

It was in Rollant’s interest to speak if his resolve was firm. “I think you should begin now, Élise,” he said after another sip. “You seem more excited about reading than any of the other topics I had lined up for us.” His smile did not reach his eyes.

Her brow knitted again, and her head twitched in confusion. Her mouth opened and closed as if words fought to escape but failed. At last, she nodded. “Well, what book shall we start with?”

“Oh, theBook of the Apothecary”—Hugo’s voice steadied, the stammer gone—“It’s very old and written by a monk. It tells of all the ailments and what to pluck, how to prepare, and what to do. My favorite is one on how to soothe coughing.”

Élise’s gaze softened as Hugo spoke of his remedies, but when her eyes flicked to Rollant, her smile faltered with a question hidden in her glance.

Rollant shifted, averting his focus to Hugo. The boy zealously spoke of his trade, a lifeline of compassion and skill. The craft was admirable and quite a feat to master. It was one of the many professions Rollant had dabbled in over the centuries until he realized he would never require it. His thoughts bittered his tea, heavy with truths he could not speak.

The confidence in Hugo’s discussion of his trade grated against Rollant’s resolve as he realized Hugo reminded him of himself long ago, before the Crusade, before the oath, before the curse stripped him of his innocence. He, too, spoke with certainty in all things before God as he trained as a squire and became a knight. Hugo, he assumed, would be suitable for Élise as a husband, provider, father, and friend, for Hugo would never be calloused by unending time.

Hugo’s boyish enthusiasm lit up the room. He must have told a joke; Élise laughed a genuine laugh. Everyone chuckled in the room, and Rollant followed suit, as if he had been listening intently. But he sipped the last of his tea soon thereafter to soothe the sharp sting in his chest. How many generations had he seen come and go on this land? How many lives had flourished under his care while he remained unchanged?

He’d watched Jacq’s ancestors grow from struggling farmers to the respected neighbors they were now. He could take pride in that, at least. His gaze lingered on Élise’s guarded smile, growing soft under Hugo’s attention. He’d given his heart away, only to see another claim it. That was his curse—the curse of revenge.

Breakfast ended, and Hugo agreed to come over with his sisters after Rollant left. Élise cleaned up while Rollant walked the family to the door. Camille and the children exited, but Jacq stayed behind to speak with Rollant.

“I know I was a child, but from my memory, you look so much like your father,” Jacq murmured with nostalgia. His gaze lingered on Rollant as if the resemblance unraveled decades.

The weight of the man’s words settled on Rollant’s shoulders. “You look so much like your father”—the same sentiment came more times than he cared to remember, spoken with reverence and gratitude, only to be met with countless lies in return.

Rollant forced a smile and spoke the lie. “I’ve heard that once or twice.”

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