A Promise of Tomorrow Read online

  Stanbury, Sussex—1335

  “Go to bloody hell, Garrett.”

  Ashby fitz Waryn ground out the words with clenched teeth. “I refuse your pity. And I will not rely upon charity from my thick-headed best friend.”

  Garrett Stanbridge, the Earl of Montayne, glared at him as if he were a serf caught poaching on Stanbury lands. Let him glare all he wanted. Ashby’s mind was made up. It was his life. His decision. Garrett could pester him until the Second Coming and Ashby wouldn’t budge. He refused to take charity.

  “You are an insufferable oaf, Ash. Full of foolish pride. Why do insist upon refusing my offer?”

  He moved closer to Garrett, his words just above a whisper. “Why do you continue to ram it down my throat?” He took a step back. “Besides, I have done nothing to deserve it. I do for you as I would for anyone.”

  His friend shook his head. “No. You have been as much of a brother to me as Luke was, lo those many years ago.” Garrett’s eyes searched his. “You are my chosen brother and friend of my heart, Ash. My cherished comrade and companion in battle. You have been at the birth of my children and are much beloved by my family.”

  Garrett’s eyes pled with Ashby as much as his words. “Do not reject it outright. At least give it some thought.”

  Ashby tamped down the anger that surged through his veins and inclined his head. “As you wish.” His words would placate Garrett.

  For now.

  He turned and strode across the great hall. He was reluctant to leave the warmth of the fire but he needed a surge of cool air outside to calm his temper. Usually the most easygoing of men, Garrett had hit upon the one thing that most bothered Ashby.

  Land.

  He wove his way through the crowded room. The remains of the evening meal had been cleared. The trestle tables had been placed against the walls in order to afford the occupants of Stanbury more room to relax and enjoy what was left of their evening. Music and chattering children now dominated the atmosphere.

  “Ashby!”

  He turned to Lyssa’s call. All anger stirred by Garrett melted when he spied the nine-year-old girl.

  “Come dance with me. Please,” she entreated.

  Although dancing was the last thing on his mind, he mustered a smile and took her hand. “Only one, my little love. I have business to attend.”

  Lyssa pouted prettily, giving him a glimpse of the woman she would become. “Papa keeps you much too busy. If I were you, I would tell him so to his face.”

  “You’re a brave—and opinionated—child, Lyssa, and one dear to his heart. I am but your father’s lowly man of business.” Before she could protest his words, Ashby swept her up and into the dance.

  As they moved around the room, he spied Garrett and Madeleine speaking by the fire in hushed tones. Madeleine held two-year-old Cynric in her arms, balanced upon one hip. She glanced up as he and Lyssa passed by, her lips pursed in displeasure.

  If only things had been different. If he could have been the one to rescue Madeleine. He would now be Cynric’s father—and Madeleine’s husband.

  He shrugged off such wistful thoughts. Regret didn’t become him. He never would have made Madeleine a good husband. Nor any woman. No, he was pleased that she came into Garrett’s life when she did. She saved his friend from the depths of despair. Madeleine had turned Stanbury into a place of happiness once again, through her gifts of storytelling and love. In truth, he felt honored to claim the countess as his friend. He treasured her wit and intelligence. She was a unique woman and he doubted he would ever be lucky enough to find one with her rare qualities and abilities.

  Besides, what woman would want him? A third son, cast off, noble nonetheless, but with nothing to offer a woman other than a pleasing demeanor. No title, no lands, no home he could call his own. He would never ask any woman to follow him into marriage with so little future ahead of them.

  The music ended. He swept a gallant bow to Lyssa.

  “Time to depart, my fair maiden.” He took her hand and brushed a swift kiss across her knuckles before leaving.

  He chuckled to himself at the blush his gesture brought. Lyssa was caught up in a quandary. Part of her still loved to run with the boys of Stanbury in all their games, while a softer part longed to begin her journey toward womanhood. He’d been there the night Garrett’s first wife gave birth to Lyssa. He looked forward to dancing at the girl’s wedding someday, enjoying each phase of the transition she now discovered.

  Ashby stepped through the massive oak doors and out into the crisp night air. Though only mid-September, the cool pierced his woolen shirt with a sharp bite. He sat upon the steps that led down into the bailey and leaned back, propping his elbows on the step above him as he studied the stars in the velvet sky.

  He remained lost in thought some minutes when he heard the door open. It would either be Garrett come to argue with him again or Madeleine come to scold him. The voice that spoke took him by surprise.

  “Ashby,” Edith said, “you are behaving like a spoiled child.”

  He turned and looked up at the only mother he’d ever known. His own died in childbirth when Ashby was three so he only had a few dim recollections of Beatrice. They were more shadows of impressions than any real memories.

  Yet the woman before him had seen him through childhood illness and washed and tended his scabbed knees. She’d taught him good manners and the proper way to treat a lady. Lady Edith was everything he wanted in a mother. He thanked the decision that brought him to foster at Stanbury when he was but seven. Edith, more than anyone, had shaped him into the man he was today.

  “Spoiled, you say?” he teased lightly. “And a child? Simply because I like dancing with Lyssa and getting down in the mud with Cynric? I should not think me a child, my lady.”

  She shook her head sadly. “What am I to do with you, my son? For that is what you are to me, as much as Garrett is. You both have been the joys of my life.”

  Edith knelt beside him and took his hand. “What has ruffled your feathers this time? Do not give me that innocent, charming look,” she warned. “I saw you and Garrett together. Your conversation was tense. I know you argued, Ashby, before you stomped across the room.”

  Ashby took her hand and squeezed it. “Stomped is a harsh word, my lady. More like I stalked across the hall. But I think I recovered nicely when I took time to dance with Lyssa. She does have a soothing effect upon me.”

  “Children always calm you, my dear. It’s the very reason I think you should have a few of your own.”

  He saw the glint in her eyes. “My dear Lady Edith, you know I have no plans to settle down with one woman when so many charming and delightful beauties are in my corner of the world. It wouldn’t be fair to any child to have an absent father with a roving eye.”

  Standing, he took her hands and brought her to her feet. “My lot in life is to simply enjoy Lyssa and Cynric. After all, I have no soiled cloths to change nor whining to listen to. I have the freedom to enjoy them when they are pleasant to be around—and walk away when they’re cross. I’ve had the best of both worlds.”

  “With none of the responsibility,” she added sharply.

  Ashby grinned at her. “You are in fine fighting form tonight, my lady. Mayhap Garrett should put you in the bailey to spar with his knights. You could teach them a thing or two.”

  “Making light of things will not always be the answer, Ashby. You would do well to remember that.” She gazed at him with love in her eyes. “Please. Accept Garrett’s offer of a manor house. Do it for me. Keep the peace between my two sons.”

  He bristled, dropping her hands. “I will not take from Garrett what is his. Ever. No matter how many times he offers—and tonight made the count at seven and twenty. It’s his land and his manor. Not mine.”

  Ashby tamped down the anger that sprang up so quickly again, knowing talk of the incredibly generous gift made him irritable. More than anything, he would love to possess his own manor. His ancestral home, Ashland,
naturally passed to his eldest brother, also called Ashland. If anything ever happened to him, then his brother, Ashcroft, would take ownership, or one of their children. The only way Ashby would ever gain his own land was to join the king’s army and do something so spectacular on the battlefield, the king would immediately bestow a title and castle upon him.

  Since that was a far-fetched scheme which would never come to pass, he knew he must learn to be happy with his lot in life.

  Part of him thought he was a coward, in some respects. Oh, he’d proved himself valiant in battle. Both he and Garrett owned more than a few scars between them to prove their prowess. Yet a secret part of him never wanted to leave Stanbury. It had been home to him these last two and twenty years since he’d come to foster as a boy. How could he leave it, much less Garrett and Madeleine, Edith and Lyssa, Cynric and all the friends he’d made?

  No, his stubbornness and pride dug in their heels. This was where he’d grown up, where he’d reached his maturity. This was where he would stay.

  “Shall we go in?” he asked Edith politely. She cast a look at him that would chill any knight in training but he knew how soft she was underneath the brittle glare. He took her arm and led her back inside, hoping he could avoid Garrett.

  Ashby took to the shadows, sitting far from the fire and gaiety of the great hall, the better to become lost in his thoughts. In truth, he admitted it might be for the best if he did leave Stanbury, despite the great estate’s pull on him. Things had been different before Madeleine came. He and Garrett lived their lives much as they pleased.

  Madeleine Bouchard changed everything. She brought light and grace and charm to Stanbury. For all his fierce ways before, Garrett was now tamed from his wild days. He was utterly, madly in love with his wife and two children.

  Watching the happy family together ate away at Ashby’s core. Though he knew he would never have greater friends than Garrett and Madeleine, his jealousy of their closeness and joy might well destroy him. How could he love the two of them as much as he did and yet despise everything about them? He wanted what they had, something he could never attain.

  Because the intensity of his feelings had grown stronger over the past few months, he realized the time had come. He must move beyond Stanbury, else his unreasonable envy would cost him everything he held dear.

  Yet he hesitated. How would he explain to them where he went or why he must leave? Garrett offered him a way out but Ashby did not feel right in taking it. His frustration with abandoning all that was dear to him warred with his strong sense of pride. He refused to be treated as a charity case. He must make his own way. The time had come to cut his ties with Stanbury. Ashby pushed aside the heaviness in his heart. Leaving would be best for all. He would speak to Garrett immediately. Before he changed his mind.

  He rose and made his way around the great hall, scanning the crowd in search of Garrett. He spied him and felt the knife twist in his heart at the warm smile his friend gave him.

  Garrett motioned him over into a corner. Madeleine was no longer there, probably having gone to put Cynric to bed. Ashby took a seat.

  “I don’t want us to quarrel, Ash. I will respect your wishes and swear I shall not bring it up again.”

  “Not at least for a sennight,” he piped in, reverting to his usual quick wit. How could he broach the subject? Already his resolve wavered.

  Garrett’s mouth tightened and he shook his head. He laid a hand on Ashby’s shoulder. “Why do I put up with you?” he asked softly.

  “Because no one else besides Madeleine, of course, will put up with you. You should be grateful that I am your staunch supporter and truest friend.”

  Garrett laughed. “You will be the death of me, Ash. That or Cynric, now that he is walking and into everything not nailed shut.” His friend grew more serious. “I think the time is right for you to go to France. It’s something I have pondered upon for many months now.”

  Ashby sat up expectantly. No one had visited the French vineyards in close to five years. Garrett himself went then, staying for a few months and learning all he could about the grape. Then he’d met Madeleine. That had kept the earl close to Stanbury.

  Maybe Garrett’s request would lead to new opportunities. At any rate, it would give Ashby more time to think his plans through.

  “I would need you to go to the Bouchards first,” Garrett said. “Pierre is in total charge since Madeleine’s father fell ill last spring. I would also like you to go to a neighboring vineyard, that of a Comte de la Tresse. I would go myself but I have no wish to be gone for too long a time.”

  Ashby smiled. “Unless you took Madeleine with you. I am sure she has said no for the time being, wishing Cynric to be a bit older and less troublesome.”

  Garrett broke out in a grin. “Do you skulk about under our bed while we have our private conversations, Ash? You know far too much about us.”

  He shrugged. “I do know you, my friend. You both are miserably predictable. It’s what happens to old married folk. Now I, on the other hand, as a man with no ties, beholden to no other—I move as the wind blows me.”

  Garrett snorted. “Yes, from one young maiden to the next.”

  He chuckled. “Shouldn’t I have the freedom to sample the wares of all the flowers in the field?”

  “You are impossible.” Garrett swung an arm around Ashby and hugged him tightly. “I will miss you more than life itself while you are gone.”

  “So,” Madeleine interrupted, “he has agreed to go?”

  The two men turned to her.

  “Who knows, Madeleine?” Ashby smiled. “Mayhap I will find as fresh a flower as you among the women of France.”

  Madeleine’s brows arched. “And how many will you sip from before you alight upon the one true bud?”

  Ashby let out an exasperated sigh. “I do not know how you live with the women in this family, Garrett.”

  They all laughed and then Garrett said solemnly, “If the place suits you . . . if you find an affinity with the grape . . . mayhap you could remain there indefinitely and manage the vineyards alongside Pierre.”

  The idea intrigued Ashby more than he was willing to admit. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Let me first get there, Garrett. I have yet to see a sunrise in France.”

  “Then let us meet on the morrow to discuss the details. It will involve a new strain of wine that I have an idea for, mixing the red grapes with white ones. Would you be agreeable to leaving the day after that?”

  Ashby smiled. “I am at your service, Lord Montayne. Wherever you wish me, there I will go.”

  Chapter Two

  Marielle de la Tresse contained the excitement that filled her. Finally, a visitor that was not Marc. Someone who could take the boredom from her days and nights. Jean-Paul promised that she could plan entertainment and a small dinner or two while Ashby fitz Waryn stayed with them, talking, as most visitors did, of the grape. The Englishman represented an English nobleman who owned the neighboring vineyard, managed by the Bouchard family for several generations.

  She had liked Robert and Cadena Bouchard from the moment Jean-Paul introduced her to the couple. While a bit gruff, Robert was a fine storyteller, weaving fantasy with the everyday into magical stories. Cadena had taught Marielle much about herbs and spices. She’d tried to pass along her new knowledge to the chateau’s cook but the stolid woman merely grunted and prepared what she intended to in the first place.

  Pierre was another matter. The Bouchards’ son was so serious, seldom speaking. He reminded Marielle of Sister Clotilde, the quietest of the nuns at Sisters of Merciful Heart. Thank goodness her convent days were well behind her although Monteville was often as silent as a tomb. The quiet drove her to distraction.

  She fingered the twisted rope of gold and garnets that hung from her neck. It was Jean-Paul’s latest gift to her, one of a hundred he had presented her with during the last seven years. He’d promised her diamonds upon the birth of their first child.

  Neither the diamond
s nor the child seemed forthcoming.

  Marielle stood, restless, and stared out the window. She’d already discussed with Cook all the menus for fitz Waryn’s visit. She knew the great hall was set for their visitor’s welcome. New rushes covered the floors, their sweet smell wafting through the air. She’d picked fresh flowers only an hour ago and had placed them in the English visitor’s bedchamber. She was dressed and perfumed, eagerly awaiting the new company.

  Marielle perched on the window seat in front of her and looked down the road as far as she could see. After a quarter-hour, she was rewarded with a glimpse of horses in the distance. It would be their guest, certainly accompanied by Pierre Bouchard. Jean-Paul might also have joined in if he’d seen them from the vineyards. Most likely, though, her husband would not return to the chateau until work ceased for the day. She almost hoped he wouldn’t. She was eager to speak with this Englishman and find out what had gone on in the outside world as of late. Maybe fitz Waryn had even been to London or Paris. How she longed to see those magnificent cities one day.

  She doubted that day would ever come.

  If she had it to do all over again, knowing what she knew now, she would steal away from her parents’ house, never to return. The nuns hadn’t wanted her at the convent after she’d been exiled there for ten years. Mother Superior and all the Sisters of Merciful Heart nuns had tried to push her toward the holy life. It was a pity they hadn’t practiced more of the holiness they preached. If even one of the nuns had shown her any personal kindness, Marielle might have tried to fit in and take her vows.

  Instead, they returned her to her parents’ care and the long days and nights of her father’s badgering and her mother’s complaining. No wonder each of her siblings had left by the time she’d returned home, seeking a trade in another town or fleeing into the hands of the first man that asked for their hand in marriage.

  Marielle should have seized an opportunity and left. She was fairly tall for her age. She should have cut off her auburn tresses and worn a man’s tunic and pants, trying to pass herself off as a young boy for a time. She might have found work as a servant to a great nobleman, traveling far and wide with her master and seen all the world had to offer.