Taming The Beast. Heather Grothaus

to the big bed at the far end of the room. “I know the way.”

      “Of course you do.” Alan smiled. He paused, took her hand, and then leaned in to press his lips—his warm, soft lips!—to her cheek. “Good night, Michaela. I wish you the sweetest dreams.”

      She gave him a genuine smile this time as he ushered her from the chamber. “Good night, my lord,” she sighed around her dazed smile, too late for Alan to hear though, as the door had already closed behind her.

      Michaela skipped the whole way of the corridor to her chamber, and only tripped once.

      But it didn’t count because she was alone.

      Chapter Four

      “I’m not going, Hugh.”

      “Oh, Rick, come on!” Hugh Gilbert flopped into the wide armchair in Roderick’s chamber. “We’ve not left Cherbon since our arrival. I’m bored out of my very skull. Do I not have a bit of distraction, I do fear I’ll start digging out my own eyes for sport.”

      “Shall I have a spoon fetched for you?”

      “Witty tonight, are we?” Hugh threw himself from the chair once more and approached Roderick where he sprawled on the floor, stretching rather ineffectively on his own. Hugh dropped to one knee and pressed Roderick’s left shoulder to the floor while he twisted his hip to the right, a hand on his thigh for added weight. “Relax your shoulders.”

      “I am,” Roderick growled, the muscles of his back feeling like hammered iron along his spine.

      “Well, try to relax them a bit more, then. All right, other side.” He helped Roderick to readjust. “Any matter, the invitation clearly stated that the feast is to be held partially to celebrate your homecoming. It’s rather rude for the guest of honor to refuse.”

      Roderick grunted. “I’m quite certain Alan Tornfield would prefer me dead upon some muddy field, now that he has chance to win Cherbon. A feast in my honor—horse shit.”

      “Well, then, don’t you at least want to see what he is truly about? Stand up—we’ll work on balance now.”

      “No, I don’t.” Roderick struggled to his feet, slapping Hugh’s hand away as he balanced on his good leg. Hugh handed him his broad sword to hold in his left hand. Roderick balanced it on its tip for a moment, to steady his swaying. “I could not care less what piddling scheme Alan thinks he’s come upon. He won’t take Cherbon.”

      “He may, if you don’t cease frightening off every eligible lady who darkens our door,” Hugh said testily. “All right then, sword out.” Roderick slowly raised the tip of the sword from the floor until it was perpendicular to his body. “Good, good, Rick—steady! Honestly, one would think you’d at least try to impress a woman the tiniest bit. It’s not as if it’s difficult to do, the poor creatures. A kind word, a smile. Must you always slink about the keep like some great, growling ogre?”

      Roderick swayed and returned the sword tip to the floor to regain his balance and sent Hugh a black look. “How would you have me move about, Hugh? Shall I dance?”

      “That would be refreshing.”

      “Shut up.”

      “You shut up. Once more with the sword on this side.” Hugh held his hands at the ready to catch Roderick should he fall. “It would not kill you to at least be cordial.”

      “I’ve tried cordial, or have you forgotten?” The sword fell and rose again, slowly, but more steady in his right hand than it had been in months. Roderick felt a pang at the taunting memories he held of swinging this piece of metal as if it were a hollow wooden stick. “My attempts were wasted.”

      “Your smiles were grimaces, your topics of conversation dour and macabre. You shout at the servants at all hours of the day and night. It’s unsettling.”

      “Are you unsettled by it?”

      “Of course not. But I’m accustomed to it. Let’s get your boots and we’ll work on swing.”

      Roderick lowered the tip of the heavy weapon and hopped backward to sit in the armchair just behind him while Hugh brought his boots. “Then the one who marries me shall also become accustomed to it.” He leaned his sword against the chair and began the daily struggle with his footwear.

      “There is no one left to get accustomed to it,” Hugh nearly shouted, then dropped to one knee again. He sighed crossly. “Get off, I’ll do it.”

      “No.” Roderick slapped Hugh’s hands away. “I can dress myself.”

      “I never insinuated that you could not,” Hugh said. He watched Roderick struggle with his left boot. “Your thirtieth birthday is”—he paused, one thumb touching the fingertips of one hand—“one hundred ninety-two days away, Rick. What are we to do should you not marry?”

      Roderick did not answer him, only grunted as at last the left boot slid fully up to his knee.

      “Fine then. Let us forget this whole lot in England, Rick,” Hugh said quietly, emphatically. “To hell with Magnus. To hell with Alan Tornfield. To hell with Cherbon! There is no love lost between you and this land, and nothing left for me to lay claim to beyond debt. Together we can return to Constantinople and rebuild our army—your name is likened to a legend there for your bravery! Our fortunes can be reclaimed on our own terms! There we can be princes—kings! I don’t know about you, but I’ve always fancied myself as royalty.”

      Hugh let the bold statements hang in the silence for several moments while Roderick studied the floor between his boots. When Roderick still had no answer for his friend, Hugh continued.

      “Here, all we have to look forward to, at best, is your unhappy marriage to some horse-faced, cast-off spinster woman. At worst, you won’t marry at all and the two of us—as well as Leo—will be tossed out on our arses. What will become of him then, Rick? At least if you marry he has a chance of an inheritance. Would you have him a beggar child?”

      “I won’t let that happen, Hugh.”

      “Then at least go to the feast at Tornfield tonight,” Hugh reasoned. “See what Alan is about. Mayhap if you employ but a tiny—tiny—bit of charm, you could find your future bride in a setting not so dreadful”—he waved a hand, indicating Roderick’s dark and gloomy bedchamber—“as all this.”

      Roderick thought upon the suggestion for several moments, but then shook his head. If he was going to be stared at, he preferred it be in his own home, where he could escape if he wished.

      “No. I’ll not change my mind. But—”

      “Rick!”

      “You go, Hugh, in my stead,” Roderick clarified. “Extend my regrets to my cousin and find out what you can.”

      Hugh stared wide-eyed at Roderick, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “Verily, Rick? You wish me to go?”

      “I do. Most dreadfully, I do, if only to have a reprieve from your incessant nagging and physical torture upon my person.”

      Hugh’s face split into a wide grin, and Roderick felt a moment’s guilt in realizing that Hugh rarely showed his teeth lately beyond a sarcastic smirk to anyone other than Leo.

      “Smashing,” Hugh said, and shot to his feet. “Brilliant idea, Rick! I’ll leave directly, and will return on the morrow.” Hugh seemed to be spinning thoughts in his head, speaking aloud but not really expecting a reply. “I shall wear the green—no, blue—tunic. And my red cape and boots. Or the buff…?”

      “I’m certain you’ll look very comely. Now, get out,” Roderick growled.

      “But, what of the physical torture? We haven’t finished your exercises.” Hugh frowned.

      “If we continue, you’ll not have time to ready yourself. I’m sure you wish