Honor in the Dust (13 page)

“Now wait a minute, Mother—”

“No, that's the way it will be, Edmund. You make your choice. Either you help your brother and his family or I will.”

Edmund glanced at Edith, then back to her. Leah returned their cold glare, hoping they saw her steely resolve.

“Very well, he can stay,” Edmund said at last, ignoring Edith's start of surprise. “But he'll be under my authority. And
they certainly cannot reside here. They must stay in that house.”

“I'm sure one day you'll find charity in your heart for your brother, Edmund.” Leah smiled. “For now it is enough. But please go and assure Claiborn and his family that you've changed your mind, that they are now welcome at Stoneybrook; I know he will not set foot again within the castle gates until he hears directly from you.”

Edmund swallowed hard but turned and left the room. Edith stayed for a moment, but Leah simply shook her head with a frown, warning her not to say a word.

Edmund stood in the parlor of Leah's house, refusing to take a seat and carefully avoiding any glance in Grace's direction, staring instead at his brother. “You've been of little use since you were born, but our mother wants you to stay. Out of respect for her, I have chosen to allow it. She says you can use this house. In the meanwhile, you will take care of the hawks and the dogs. Surely you haven't forgotten all you knew about falcons.” Indeed, Claiborn had always been good with hunting birds. “You and the boy can take care of them until I find somebody else.”

With that, he left, and Claiborn sat down heavily, head in hands.

As soon as the door shut behind Edmund, Stuart blurted, “I hate him! He's horrible. Let's go away from here.”

“No,” Claiborn said. “No, Son, God led us here. And here we will stay until his reasoning becomes clear.”

“At least here we have food, shelter, work,” Grace said, putting a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder.

He looked up at her. “And maybe in time we will succeed in gaining my brother's forgiveness as well as his tolerance.”

The care of the hawks was no work at all for Stuart, even though Sir Edmund had intended it to be punishment. Stuart, now nearing the age of manhood, loved the birds, and his father, he was convinced, knew more about hunting falcons than any man in England—even more than the king himself.

He held the bird named Sky on his wrist and felt the power of the talons as they clamped down. “There's a good bird,” he whispered. The hawk was hooded, but when Stuart ran his fingers along its throat, it opened the wide beak, a signal that it waited to be fed. With his free hand Stuart got hold of a small fragment of meat and held it up. The hawk took it daintily enough but then gobbled it down.

Putting the hawk back on its perch and removing the hood, Stuart looked over all the birds. The mews had been in terrible shape when his family arrived, but Stuart and his father had worked to make it clean and suitable for the noble birds. Stuart then took over as much of the work as possible, giving his father time to regain his health.

“You have a gift for the birds, Son.”

Stuart quickly turned. His father had come in silently, his feet making no noise on the litter—mostly sawdust and reeds—beneath
the bird cages. “You've taught me everything I know, Father.”

“I am proud of your gift with these noble birds. It's the sport of kings.”

“One day the king might take a liking to our birds.”

“Well, you aim high. He has the choice of any birds in the kingdom.”

“But ours will be the best, won't they?”

“I trust they will.”

At that moment Sir Edmund came charging in. “You two are idling, as usual, I see. Can't get an hour's worth of work out of you!”

Stuart's temper flared, but before he could speak, Claiborn said quietly, “I'm sorry, Brother. We were just working a little with the hawks here.”

“You were lazing about! That's what you always do. You must work harder.”

“What, in particular, would you like us to do?”

“Go over and help with the horses.”

“With pleasure.”

“Go on and help with the horses,” Edmund snapped. “Then I'll find something else for you to do.”

“Right away, Edmund,” Claiborn snapped back, suddenly at the end of his patience. Stuart clamped his lips shut as he walked beside his father. Claiborn was still limping pretty badly, but Stuart was glad to see the color in his cheeks and pleased that he had put some meat on his thin frame. He felt the weight of his father's hand on his shoulder, and it pleased him. He listened as his father kept up a running monologue about hawks and their training, care and feeding, how to breed them, things he already knew. But he didn't stop him; it felt good to walk with his father, listen to him. Even better to be away from Edmund. With each step, Stuart's racing heartbeat slowed.

Claiborn paused outside the stables and said, “You're taking
in all I say just as if it came from heaven. Not many boys listen to their father as you do. I appreciate that, Stuart.”

After they had helped with the horses, which did not take long, for there was really nothing to do, late in the afternoon Claiborn led Stuart back to the summer house. He pulled out a pair of foils from a rack and said, “How about a fencing lesson?”

“Yes!” Stuart cried. He loved fencing. He and his father took time to practice every day, whenever possible. He took the foil, which had a button on the end of it, and put his right foot forward, his left back. His left arm was curved behind his head.

“That's a good fighting pose you have there.” Claiborn took the same pose and advanced. Soon the air was full of the clanging steel of the foils. Stuart's arms were not strong enough yet to push a fight, but in two more years he knew they'd rival his father's.

Stuart startled when a voice said, “Well, aren't you two the very picture of noble leisure.” Stuart turned to see Lady Edith, who was watching them with cold eyes. She had come by, no doubt, to spy on them. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her head high.

“Why does she hate us, Father?” Stuart had learned to expect nothing in the way of kindness from the woman and watched her with something akin to hatred. It was not so much the way she treated him, but he could barely stand it when she showed cruelty to his parents.

“Well, that's hard to say, Son. I'd guess she has no gentleness in her, and if there is no gentleness, there is no love. Mayhap she hates everyone.”

“Even Sir Edmund?”

“Even herself. Now then, let's see what your mother and grandmother have been doing.”

They entered the house and found Lady Leah still there. She
smiled and held out her hand, and at once Stuart went to her and took it, leaned over and kissed it.

“Is that right, Grandmother?”

“Why, you've done as well as a courtier! I can't believe you have such grace. You are a real nobleman, Stuart Winslow!”

Stuart flushed. He liked his grandmother very much. She told him stories of her younger days, grand stories of when life at Stoneybrook was peaceful and joyful. Leah brought him small presents, and he knew that most of the food that came to their table was from her.

“Sit down and tell me what you'd like to hear today,” she said.

Stuart sat as close to her as he could and said, “Tell me about the court and how the people act there.”

“Well, it's a very wicked place, my boy.”

“Oh, Grandmother, not really!”

“You have good morals, Grandson, but I hope you never get caught up in the king's court.”

Stuart smiled and said, “You never can tell. Now then, let me show you what I've learned to play on this lute.”

Afterward, she said, “Very good, Stuart. Very good. Now let me sing you a song.” She sang in a thin, sweet voice:

Henry, our royal king, would ride a-hunting
To the green forest so pleasant and fair;
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping:
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repair:
Hawk and hound were unbound and free.

“Do you know who wrote that song, Stuart?”

“No, Grandmother.”

“The king himself. Our sovereign lord Henry.”

The news surprised Stuart. “I thought he was a warrior and a soldier.”

“Indeed he is. They tell me he's outstanding in the arts of weaponry, with a lance, with a broadsword, the longbow. He's almost unbeatable, but he's also a good dancer and a good singer.” She looked at Claiborn, who was sitting across the room, studying the two with a smile on his broad lips. “Are you still teaching the boy Latin?”

“Yes, he is,” Stuart answered, instead of waiting for his father. “But what good is it?”

“Well, for one thing,” Lady Leah said, “you can read the Word of God. The Bible. If there were no other reward, that would be enough. Learn all you can, Stuart. Do you know that the king speaks six languages?”

“Truly?”

“Truly. He's quite a scholar. That ought to encourage you.”

“I want to be a soldier, and I want to be rich.”

“The two don't often go together, Stuart. Ask your father about that.” Lady Leah put her hand on Stuart's shoulder and added softly, “Be as good a man as your father, Grandson, and that will bring you far more joy than either soldiering or wealth.”

Stuart looked up into his grandmother's face and felt a love for her that he longed to express. He said, “I'm glad we're here. With you.”

“I'm glad too, Stuart. You make life cheerful for this old woman.”

“Whoa there, Shannon!” Stuart cried. Ives, Lady Edith's son, had asked him to exercise his prize mare by walking her about the yard; she was always easier to ride if she'd had a brief jaunt. Stuart was leading the gray mare when the horse, a spirited animal, reared up, pulled the reins from Stuart's hands, and trotted off.

Stuart ran after her, but, of course, he could not catch her.

He knew he'd have to follow her until she let herself be caught—but he had no opportunity for that. A rough hand grabbed him. It was Ives, his eyes filled with fury.

“You bumpkin! You idiot, you let my horse get away!”

“I'm sorry, Ives, she jerked the reins—”

Ives suddenly slapped his face with an open palm and then brought his hand back and hit him on the other cheek. “I'll teach you to mistreat my horse!” He dragged the boy over to one side, and taking a pocket knife out from his belt, he cut a switch. “Bend over, boy, I'm going to teach you a lesson!”

There was no help for it, so gritting his teeth, Stuart bent over. He heard the whistling of the cane, and pain shot through him as Ives struck him across the buttocks. Again—and again—

Suddenly Ives fell away from him, jerked away by Claiborn Winslow. Never had Stuart seen his father look so fearsome.

“You will not thrash my son, Ives.”

“
You
are giving
me
orders? You might have once been second son on this land, but now Mother is certain that I will be named heir.”