Page 19 of Gambling with the Earl
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Guy looked levelly at Otto Sarragnac, the Feared One, only son of the Earl of Darkmoor. Otto was a towering giant of a man, all muscle and brawn, wearing a mail shirt topped with polished plate armour. Guy would hate to face him across a battlefield. But close up, he could still see the warmth in his brown eyes and the sincerity in his smile.
“I apologise for our sudden arrival,” Otto said immediately, grimacing in recognition of his lapse in etiquette. “I should not have blamed you if we had met up with armed guards on the causeway.” Guy inclined his head, swallowing the urge to confess to Otto that he had no armed guards at his disposal. “We had business with the Duke of Answick, and thought to call on you, being so close to your new home.”
Guy pursed his lips. The story was plausible, but something about Otto’s strained voice told him it was not the full story.
“You are welcome, of course,” he said. “Is your father with you?”
Otto indicated a distant trio of riders picking their way slowly over the final cobbles of the causeway. “That is him coming now.” He took Guy’s arm and led him a few steps away from the Darkmoor knights, who were dismounting from their horses and stretching weary limbs. “May I speak frankly?”
“I wish you would,” said Guy, matching his old friend’s bluntness as he looped the horse’s reins through a hook affixed to the stable wall.
Otto smiled, giving Guy another glimpse of the boy he had once known. “In truth, my father is tiring. We had hoped to make it as far as the western mountains today, but within an hour of leaving Answick, he was stooped over his horse’s neck.” A shadow passed over his handsome face. “I tell you this in trust, Guy, in recognition of our kinship and the friendship we once shared, even though it is many years since we last broke bread together. I have come to ask for food and shelter for the night. And I admit, it pains me to ask for anything.”
A wave of relief washed over Guy. “I thank you for your honesty,” he said. He didn’t need Otto to spell out the implications of Lord Ulric’s ill health. Darkmoor occupied prime lands, and many an opportunist would be willing to take a chance on ousting the Sarragnacs if word got out that the earl was failing. “Of course, I will say nothing of what you have told me.” He put his arm across his heart to demonstrate his faithfulness.
“Least of all to my father.” Otto ran a hand through his tousled dark hair. “He grows cantankerous when forced to confront his failing health. I have told him we are here for my pleasure, so that I might catch up with an old friend.” He clapped Guy on the shoulder once more, luckily not his injured one.
Guy reached out and clasped Otto’s hand. It was many months since he had felt the calloused knuckles of a warrior, and the feel of his skin combined with the smell of horses, leather and clean sweat, made him momentarily weaken with nostalgia for his old life. “Tell your men to make themselves comfortable in the barn,” he said. “I will have food and water sent out tothem. You and your father will dine with me tonight. I will ensure the best rooms are made ready for you.”
Otto laughed. “We are two men, both accustomed to sleeping rough when the occasion demands it. Even my father, ageing as he is. We have no need of luxury, my friend.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Guy told him wryly.
*
Hours later, Guysat with Otto beside a roaring fire in the great hall. A long trestle table had been pulled out and positioned in the centre of the stone-flagged room. Guy had dined alone in his solar since taking up residence in Rossfarne Castle, but tonight would be different. Candles had been lit and positioned around the four ornate pillars, casting a flickering light into the distant corners of the bare walls. It was far from cheerful, but for the first time, Guy could begin to see how Rossfarne Castle could be brought back to life. If that was what he wanted.
The two men stretched their legs before the fire, reclining in ornately carved wooden chairs. They were drinking good wine, and the potent liquid was helping to make Guy feel comfortable and relaxed. He should not have regarded his old friend with such suspicion, he mused, as Otto relayed a humorous tale about a recent joust. Fear and distrust of good men could be as dangerous an enemy as weakness or bad judgement.
“Do you joust at all these days?” Otto asked suddenly, his darkly stubbled face half illuminated by the dancing flames.
“I am injured, my friend,” Guy answered, surprising both of them with his honesty. “But I hope to return to full health in time.”
Otto acknowledged his confession with a nod of sympathy. “And then you shall return to service with the king?” he asked, taking a long swig of wine.
“Of course.” Guy gazed into the fire. “I know of no other life.” His gaze flickered over to the heavily-muscled warrior by his side. Even in repose, Otto’s body hummed with energy. “Have you never considered it?”
“The life of a serving knight?” Otto raised his eyebrows. “You think I am worthy to fight the king’s battles? This is praise indeed, coming from Guy de Vray, first son of Forbisher.” He spoke lightly, evoking Guy’s full name and the title he had abandoned long ago. But his brow clouded quickly when he saw how his words affected his cousin. “Forgive me. I spoke unthinkingly.”
Guy waved his hand to dismiss the apology, leaning forward to pour a liberal helping of wine into both of their goblets. “There is nothing to forgive. That is indeed how you once recognised the winner of our many contests.” He winked at Otto as he sat back in his chair.
Otto laughed. “You did not win every time.” He pursed his lips. “You could beat me for speed, of course. And your skills with a sword were exemplary, even then. But for sheer brute force, I reckon I was usually the winner.”
Guy raised his glass to his friend. “For sheer brute force, no man in the land can hope to outclass Otto Sarragnac.” He drank deeply, enjoying the moment of camaraderie.
“Except, of course, on those occasions when we both held back to allow Angus to win,” Otto said softly.
Guy stilled, his goblet resting on his knees. Images of his younger brother crowded his mind. Angus had been but a small child, barely more than a toddler, during the long summer when Otto and Guy had shared a tutor at Forbisher. He’d trailed after them, desperate to join in with their games, laughing uncontrollably at Otto’s clownish antics. Guy swallowed hard, quenching the swell of grief. “Aye, except for then,” he forced out. “I try not to remember those times, to be honest.”
“It was a terrible thing that happened,” Otto murmured, his fingers beating a tattoo on the arm of his chair. This was a man who had faced innumerable horrors on the battlefield, but he still displayed palpable grief at the injustice of a child taken from the world too soon. “Do you never go back to Forbisher?”
“Never,” Guy said, more harshly than he intended. “My aunt has taken up residence there. She collects the tithes and considers herself lady of the manor. I say she is welcome to the lot.” He shifted in his chair, keen to change the subject. “You have not yet answered my question about joining me as a knight in the king’s service.”
Otto breathed out heavily, glancing up at the door to ensure they were still alone. Lord Ulric had retired to his room soon after arriving, and Thomas had carried hot water up to him for a bath. The old earl had sent word he would join them for dinner, but he had yet to arrive in the great hall. “In truth, there is nothing I would like more.” He inclined his head, looking Guy fully in the eye. “But alas, I fear I am needed at home.”
Guy considered this for a moment as a log sizzled in the flames. “Does Darkmoor not know peace?” he asked, keen to keep the conversation far away from the painful topic of his past.
“Aye, it does, for now.” Otto scratched his chin, flickering a sideways look at Guy. “Though I fear my father is on the cusp of hostility with our nearest neighbours, for no better reasons than pride and avarice.”
