Page 100 of The Forsaken
“Yes, she is.”
“Will would have been proud of her. And his son.”
Kate wasn’t sure what had brought on Hugh’s attack of sentimentality but chose not to ask. She supposed he missed his brother, and having Guy back reminded him of other Christmases and other feasts.
“I was about Adam’s age the first time I was permitted to attend the Christmas celebrations. I was enchanted. I watched Will dancing with Eleanor and thought they made a handsome couple. I envied him because I knew my father would arrange their betrothal shortly and Will’s future would be taken care of.”
“Do you wish your father had had a chance to arrange a marriage for you before he died?” Kate asked. Will had arranged a marriage for Hugh with Eleanor’s sister, Kate recalled, but that had been years later, and the marriage had never actually taken place. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who wished things had been different.
“No, Kate. I wish my father had sired me first. My life would have been very different had I been the eldest.”
“We don’t get to choose the order in which we’re born. That’s God’s will.”
“I’ve grown tired of contending with God’s will,” Hugh said softly, so no one would overhear such heresy spewing from his lips. “I wish to make my own choices.”
“Whatever do you mean, Hugh?”
He laughed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Never mind. I’ve grown maudlin with drink and lack of sleep. I think it’s time we made our way back. The party is starting to break up.”
Hugh was right. The number of dancers had dwindled to only a few couples and the earl and his duchess had retired for the night. Sleeping forms draped some of the benches, and the servers looked run off their feet as they began to clear away the flagons of wine and pitchers of mead. Many guests would remain at the castle and enjoy the earl’s hospitality, but the de Rosels lived close enough that they had no need to impose on the earl’s kindness. Hugh signaled to Guy, who bowed to his partner and joined them by the door.
“We’re off home,” Hugh announced. “Fetch our cloaks.”
Guy didn’t seem to mind being ordered about. He strode from the chamber and returned a short time later with their cloaks, which had been left in one of the anterooms intended for that purpose. Hugh draped Kate’s cloak about her shoulders while Guy helped Eleanor, whose attention was fixed on Adam. The boy looked dead on his feet, but his cheeks were flushed with excitement and his lips frozen in a smile.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Eleanor asked as she ruffled Adam’s dark hair.
“Oh, yes, Mother. It was marvelous. I liked the mummers best. I can hardly wait to come to live at the castle.”
“If you think life at the castle will be all feasts and entertainments, you should think again,” Hugh said, bursting Adam’s bubble of happiness.
“Won’t it?” Adam whined.
“No, my boy. It will be hard work. You’ll be training, learning, and making yourself useful to your lord.”
Adam hung his head in disappointment. “Still better than being at home,” he muttered, earning himself an angry look from Hugh and a wistful glance from his mother.
SIXTY-ONE
It wasn’t a long ride back to the keep, but it was a merry one. Hugh, having drunk way more than his fair share, began to sing, and Adam and Guy joined in, making the night come alive with the sound of their voices. Hugh and Guy had nice baritone voices, but it was Adam’s pure, childish voice that brought tears to Kate’s eyes. How she wished she had a son to love and cherish. Adam was so sweet, so kind. In a few years he would transition into manhood and lose the naïve trust he had in all those around him, but tonight, he was still a boy who’d enjoyed his first grown-up evening.
“Well, I’m for my bed,” Eleanor announced as soon as they returned to the castle. “Adam, time to say good night.”
Adam didn’t need telling twice. He wasn’t accustomed to staying up so late or partaking in as much wine as he’d enjoyed this night.
Hugh looked the worse for wear as well. The drink had finally caught up with him, despite the sobering effects of the December night, and he staggered off after mumbling something about having to attend the St. Stephen’s Day service at church tomorrow, leaving Kate and Guy alone.
Kate was about to say good night when Guy bowed his head and pressed his fingers to his temples as he leaned against the wall for support. “Splitting headache,” he explained. “Too much mead.”
“I have some lavender oil that might help. I can rub it into your temples. Shall I get it?”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Guy replied.
Kate retreated to her bedchamber to fetch the oil. Hugh was sprawled on the great bed, his snores echoing off the stone walls of the room and his chest quaking with every rumble. He was a deep sleeper, as a rule, but he’d consumed enough mead to fell an ox, and would probably sleep well into the next day before wakingwith a sore head. He’d be as enraged as a bear at a baiting, especially once he recalled that St. Stephen’s Day was traditionally associated with the giving of alms and he would have to make a respectable donation to be distributed among the poor of the parish. Hugh didn’t enjoy being charitable, nor did he honor the tradition of allowing the servants a day of leisure on December 26. Since most servants served their masters on Christmas, the lords allowed them a day of rest and an opportunity to spend time with their families the day after, but since Joan, Alf, and Jed had been left to their own devices on Christmas while the family went to Stanwyck Hall, Hugh felt that was reward enough. Only Walter was permitted a few days’ leave to visit his family.
Kate found the vial of oil and slipped out of the room. The castle was quiet and dark, the flame from her candle the only pinprick of light in the impenetrable darkness of the spiral staircase. Guy was sitting on his bed when she came in. He’d removed his doublet and boots and was wearing only a shirt and breeches. His hair was tousled, and his gaze clouded with pain and the effects of alcohol. Kate approached the bed and positioned herself between Guy’s thighs, which were level with her waist. She dabbed a bit of oil on her fingertips and began to massage it into his temples, moving her fingers in slow, steady circles.
She thought he’d close his eyes, but instead he looked straight at her, his pupils dilated in the dim light of the room. He hadn’t bothered to light any candles but had started a fire. The hungry flames were already devouring the kindling and caressing the thicker logs as the fire began to take hold, gradually warming the room and making Kate feel pleasantly relaxed. She was usually rigid with tension at bedtime, unsure of what Hugh’s mood would be like when he came to bed, but knowing that he was sound asleep on the floor below eased some of the strain in her neck and shoulders.
