left to stand.
“Um, am I in trouble?” asked Will.
His mother did not look up from her stitching. “Will, you are the heir of Shackley House, and you are too old to be afraid of a scolding from your mother.”
Will let out a breath. “Oh, I thought that—”
“That being said, yes. You are in trouble.”
“What? Mother, that’s not fair!”
Finally, Lady Katherine looked up from her embroidery. Her face was full of exasperation and something else. Her blue eyes had made her worthy of many portraits in her youth, and she was still considered a great beauty. But tonight those eyes were bloodshot, puffy. Had she been crying?
“Sit down, my son. We need to talk.”
Will pulled a chair over to the fire. He lingered near the sweet cream for just a second but left it, sadly, untouched.
Once he’d settled into his seat, his mother watched him for a bit, saying nothing. Will knew better than to interrupt whatever thought she was mulling over, but he did wish he had a nice plateful of cream and perhaps a honey roll to pass the quiet. Maybe this was a part of his punishment, this torture by pastry.
“You look like your father when you sulk,” she said, smiling slightly.
“Father?”
“What?” she said. “You think a great lord of men doesn’t know how to pout? Not when he’s holding court, to be sure. But you remember the year when he wasn’t allowed to journey to France to ride in my father’s jousting tourney?”
Will nodded. “He twisted his ankle, and Geoff rode in his place.”
“And Lord Rodric Shackley sat in that very same chair and grumbled for weeks. You have his frown.”
Will squirmed uncomfortably, adjusting the cushion beneath his bottom. He hadn’t been frowning, had he?
“But you have something else of your father, too. You have his instinct. His sense of justice and fairness. It’s lordly and you wear it well. I’m proud of you for standing up for your friends, Will. You should know that.”
He kept his eyes on the fire. He hadn’t been expecting praise and wasn’t sure what to do with it. Was this part of her interrogation?
“But you haven’t been caught stealing from Nan’s larder this time,” she said. “Sir Guy is a favorite of the prince, and while he was enjoying the hospitality of our castle, his man was wounded. By the Shackley heir himself.”
“But I’ve already told you I was protecting Milo and Jenny. That man would’ve whipped Milo to shreds!”
“Yes, but Guy refutes your story. He claims that his sword went missing in the night and that he sent his man out to search for it in the morning. And that his man found the three of you
playing
with it in the stables. When the man tried to retrieve his master’s sword, you turned on him. He defended himself with his horsewhip, and you cut him down.”
“That’s not true!” said Will.
“Can you prove it?”
“I have witnesses!”
“Co-conspirators, Guy calls them.”
“Mother! I’m innocent!” Will found himself shouting, while all the while his mother sat calmly before him, her voice level and her stare hard. Did she really not believe her own son?
His mother took a deep breath as a sad, small smile cracked her otherwise stony expression.
“Oh, my son,” she said. “Of course you are. No one believes Sir Guy or his repulsive bribes master. But innocence and guilt have nothing to do with this now. Sir Guy wants to take you to Westminster. To be tried by the royal court there.”
“Westminster? Why, Mother?” asked Will. “Couldn’t we summon the sheriff instead? Why must I travel to London?”
“You won’t,” she said. “Geoff won’t allow it. He’ll let Guy shout himself blue, but he won’t give you over to Prince John.”
Prince John? What does the prince have to do with a brawl in Shackley Castle?
His mother must’ve seen the look of sudden understanding dawn upon her son’s face, because she nodded. “England is plots within plots,” she said.
This wasn’t about a
“Um, am I in trouble?” asked Will.
His mother did not look up from her stitching. “Will, you are the heir of Shackley House, and you are too old to be afraid of a scolding from your mother.”
Will let out a breath. “Oh, I thought that—”
“That being said, yes. You are in trouble.”
“What? Mother, that’s not fair!”
Finally, Lady Katherine looked up from her embroidery. Her face was full of exasperation and something else. Her blue eyes had made her worthy of many portraits in her youth, and she was still considered a great beauty. But tonight those eyes were bloodshot, puffy. Had she been crying?
“Sit down, my son. We need to talk.”
Will pulled a chair over to the fire. He lingered near the sweet cream for just a second but left it, sadly, untouched.
Once he’d settled into his seat, his mother watched him for a bit, saying nothing. Will knew better than to interrupt whatever thought she was mulling over, but he did wish he had a nice plateful of cream and perhaps a honey roll to pass the quiet. Maybe this was a part of his punishment, this torture by pastry.
“You look like your father when you sulk,” she said, smiling slightly.
“Father?”
“What?” she said. “You think a great lord of men doesn’t know how to pout? Not when he’s holding court, to be sure. But you remember the year when he wasn’t allowed to journey to France to ride in my father’s jousting tourney?”
Will nodded. “He twisted his ankle, and Geoff rode in his place.”
“And Lord Rodric Shackley sat in that very same chair and grumbled for weeks. You have his frown.”
Will squirmed uncomfortably, adjusting the cushion beneath his bottom. He hadn’t been frowning, had he?
“But you have something else of your father, too. You have his instinct. His sense of justice and fairness. It’s lordly and you wear it well. I’m proud of you for standing up for your friends, Will. You should know that.”
He kept his eyes on the fire. He hadn’t been expecting praise and wasn’t sure what to do with it. Was this part of her interrogation?
“But you haven’t been caught stealing from Nan’s larder this time,” she said. “Sir Guy is a favorite of the prince, and while he was enjoying the hospitality of our castle, his man was wounded. By the Shackley heir himself.”
“But I’ve already told you I was protecting Milo and Jenny. That man would’ve whipped Milo to shreds!”
“Yes, but Guy refutes your story. He claims that his sword went missing in the night and that he sent his man out to search for it in the morning. And that his man found the three of you
playing
with it in the stables. When the man tried to retrieve his master’s sword, you turned on him. He defended himself with his horsewhip, and you cut him down.”
“That’s not true!” said Will.
“Can you prove it?”
“I have witnesses!”
“Co-conspirators, Guy calls them.”
“Mother! I’m innocent!” Will found himself shouting, while all the while his mother sat calmly before him, her voice level and her stare hard. Did she really not believe her own son?
His mother took a deep breath as a sad, small smile cracked her otherwise stony expression.
“Oh, my son,” she said. “Of course you are. No one believes Sir Guy or his repulsive bribes master. But innocence and guilt have nothing to do with this now. Sir Guy wants to take you to Westminster. To be tried by the royal court there.”
“Westminster? Why, Mother?” asked Will. “Couldn’t we summon the sheriff instead? Why must I travel to London?”
“You won’t,” she said. “Geoff won’t allow it. He’ll let Guy shout himself blue, but he won’t give you over to Prince John.”
Prince John? What does the prince have to do with a brawl in Shackley Castle?
His mother must’ve seen the look of sudden understanding dawn upon her son’s face, because she nodded. “England is plots within plots,” she said.
This wasn’t about a
Similar Books
