Page 20 of The Marquis, the Minx, and the Mistletoe
"It is a long time past," Sheldon assured her. "But, at the time, feuds had boiled on for so long and had heightened over the generations that Moorvale's enemies arrived that night, not for a simple raid, but to wipe our clan from the world, once and for all."
"Why didn't they fight?" Reggie demanded.
"Because, my boy, the most important thing a warrior ever learns is when to fight and when to flee. It is not cowardice, but wisdom, and many of the clan were young children, grandparents, and delicate ladies. Safety and survival should always win out over the urge to fight."
"Quite," Rose murmured, placing a hand on her son's shoulder.
"The clanspeople knew the caves well enough in the beginning, but once their enemies began to search the mouths of the caves for signs of them, they were forced to go deeper inside than they ever had before. So deep that they had to use their hands to find their way, because the strength of the torch flames was not enough. So deep, that eventually the torches did not burn anymore, and they were lost in darkness.
"They did not know if hours passed or days. They did not know if it was light or dark without or if their enemies had gone. They sat and waited, afraid to even whisper amongst themselves, huddling close against the chill and praying for a miracle to lead them back to the light."
The table had gone as silent as the Moorvale clan, staring at Sheldon with expressions ranging from rapt engrossment to open horror. He took a moment to sip at the glass of water he had before him, if only to drag the tension of the moment out just a bit longer.
"What happened!" Reggie demanded, having no patience for such theatrics. He shouted it so loudly that a few people startled, and an echo of bashful laughter went around the table.
"They followed the bats," Callie said softly. "The bats knew the way out."
"That is exactly right," Sheldon said, raising his eyebrows. "What a clever young miss you are!"
The girl flushed in pride, sparing a glance at her mother to share a little smile.
"It took them more than one night to find their way out," Sheldon said. "And they were hungry and tired and so, so afraid. The sounds of the bats going out to hunt and returning to the cave to sleep gave my people two opportunities per day to follow the sound of flapping wings and gentle chirps. The bats saved Clan Moorvale, and the caves became the foundation of Hawk Hill. If not for the bats, my ancestors would have been lost in the caves, or lost to the raids, and I would not be here now."
"Then why is the house called Hawk Hill?" the footman asked, forgetting for a moment to be intimidated by his surroundings. "And not something more ... batty?"
"Ah, that is a funny story," Sheldon replied, picking up the paper with his sketches on it and handing it to the young man. "I'm afraid my ancestors were just as shoddy as I am when it comes to illustration. The particular relative who erected the manor, sometime in the fourteenth century, was not a scholar or a very curious sort at all, but had the ambition to erect a large family estate, which he did.
"However, instead of asking his relatives for our family history or spending an hour or so in the old library, he simply took a cursory glance at an old coat of arms, painted on a tribal shield, and mistook which animal he was seeing as a hawk, starting almost a century's worth of misconception that our clan sigil was a bird and not a bat. I suppose it is a fair enough mistake, for a hawk is a much more popular symbol of nobility, incorrect as it may have been. Still, Hawk Hill is a good name for a castle, so even once the history was repaired, the name stayed on."
"It is remarkable that the truth was uncovered after so long," said the viscountess. "Imagine how much has been lost to time just like that, due to laziness and impatience."
"That's why you always want a scholar in the family," Sheldon agreed. "My great-great-great and so on grandfather, Martin Bywater, became obsessed with the history of the land and our family heraldry, back when we were still a minor house with an overly grand castle. He transcribed and recorded everything he could find, from old books to local legend to poorly drawn bats scattered throughout the castle. So when King Edward granted the title of marquis to the family some generations later, it was done with the appropriate fanfare and symbolism, the latter of which was likely commissioned out to a competent artist with a name other than Bywater."
There was a beat of silence as the story ended, those in the room considering what they'd been told.
"Mama," Callie said softly, turning again to look at Heloise. "Might I have a pet bat someday?"
Heloise opened her mouth to answer, but before she could speak, Reggie had begun to demand the same, sparking off a din of children and adults arguing about the practicality of such a concept.
From across the table, Sheldon caught Tia's eye, and thought something about her expression very thoughtful. She had her chin rested in her hand, and was watching him, a softness in her eyes. "Thank you for answering my question," she said, her voice somehow traveling through the threads of other conversations.
He felt his heart jump, surprised that during one of these moments of stolen eye contact, that she would speak. He held her gaze, a smile twisting its way onto his lips, and replied, "Thank you for asking it."
Chapter 11
Were there spirits in the halls of Somerton?
If there were, Tia thought, they were no bloody help at all.
She tutted, scattering the tarot cards she'd laid out so neatly in front of her, all askew on the bed. Nothing she drew made any sense.
She could hear her father's voice calmly intoning, "Of course it makes no sense, Tatiana. It is the very definition of nonsense."
Then, unbidden and unexpected, Nana's voice joined in, saying, "There's nothing worse than going through life afraid of nonsense, Harold. No one likes an overcooked biscuit."
She found that a smile was cracking through her scowl, drawn out the way a laugh might be coaxed from a child in a tantrum, and she sighed, gathering the cards back up into a neat deck. She allowed her giggle to come to fruition, remembering the way her father's face puckered when his mother teased him.
All people, she thought, became children again in the company of their parents,
