Eoin nearly doubled over to squeeze under the arched lintel. When he’d managed to wriggle his massive form through the stone doorway, he waved with his hand for her to follow. Méibh waddled after him first.
Hannah had to stoop as well but not nearly as far as Eoin had. When she made it inside, she found Méibh bouncing and furiously flapping her stubby wings. The intrepid little goose managed to climb up a few of the stones, but Hannah was afraid that she might take a tumble. Hannah reached down and scooped up the bird. Méibh gave her a vicious peck on the knuckles—as if to inform Hannah of who was in charge. After that warning, Méibh nestled her little body against Hannah’s arm.
“I do apologize. I should have carried her.” Eoin looked over his shoulder, his entire body taking up most of the corridor.Hannah could imagine him as a medieval knight storming a spire, his sword gleaming, his armor clunking as it scraped against the walls.
“I doubt that you and Méibh would have fit,” Hannah pointed out. “Did you live in the keep itself?”
“Yes, which is why I know exactly how drafty old fortresses can be. This one was built in the early eleventh century. When the former Dukes of Aucourte erected modern wings, they all elected to keep the original tower along with the south turret, which is almost as old. They are, after all, testaments to the ancientness of our Norman line. Why build a monument when you can live in one—or at least force your heir to take up residence in it?”
“Isn’t this part of the castle absolutely frigid in the winter?” Hannah asked as they passed by an arrow slit. Rays of pearly pink light shined through the opening, illuminating the interior sandstone. A few golden motes danced in the glow, looking a bit like tiny fairies. The stairwell was practically a scene from a fairy tale, but once the biting December winds blew, these steps would be a foreboding, chilly place.
“The whole tower feels like it’s made of ice starting in November. Even the massive fireplaces in the main rooms do little to ward off the drafts.” Eoin opened a small wooden door. This time, he had to lean his top half into the opening first and then wiggle the rest of his body through.
Even Hannah had trouble. Realizing that she and Méibh could not fit together, she placed the gosling on the floor. The fowl shook her feathers as she proudly left the staircase to rejoin her favorite human.
Hannah’s exit also required a great deal of wriggling her back end—although for entirely different reasons from Méibh’s tail shake. When Hannah finally popped out, she found herselfin stark, unadorned space. It did not look like the boyhood domain of a wealthy heir apparent to a dukedom. There were no wooden toys tucked into a corner. Tin toy soldiers didn’t stand at attention on the mantel. There wasn’t even a single novel about buccaneers, castaways, or swashbuckling adventurers—in fact, there was nary a fictional tale on the single plain wooden bookshelf. Instead, it contained the Bible, Machiavelli’sThe Prince, Thomas Hobbes’sLeviathan, and political treatises espousing Royalist views. The only furniture was a scarred writing desk, an uncomfortable wooden chair, and a thin, narrow mattress, which was really more cot than bed. It was shoved against one wall rather than near the central fireplace.
The room could be described in one word: austere.
Eoin had already moved to the center of the circular space. Despite his modern waistcoat and Méibh’s presence at his feet, Eoin still looked like a chevalier. The chamber’s high ceilings, bare stone walls, and massive fireplace suited Eoin—or at least the Eoin that Hannah had first met. It was cold and unyielding, yet still in possession of a rugged, rough-hewn beauty.
“From here you can see the entire holdings,” Eoin explained, his voice dull. “My inheritance and my duty.”
Even standing in a corner, Hannah could espy part of the moat from the narrow windows. Beyond the water, a flat plain stretched in all directions. In the distance, a river curved around the estate, and it sparkled a molten silver in the fading light. Yet she doubted that Eoin saw the view’s splendor.
“Was your room decorated like this when you lived in it?” Hannah asked, trying to keep her distaste from her voice. It might be an impressive, historic chamber, but it was not a hospitable living space, especially for a child.
“Yes,” Eoin said. “My grandfather did not wish for me togrow up coddled like his five children. He felt that a luxurious upbringing had spoiled them, and perhaps he was not entirely wrong.”
“No. Your grandfather was most definitely wrong. I hope you understand that truth. You never should have been treated that way.” Hannah’s heart ached for the boy he’d been and for the man he’d become.
Eoin walked over to the tall mantel and stood next to it, his head level with the massive piece of timber. “In the winter, he used my sources of heat as punishment if I did not learn my lessons quickly enough, if I was too rambunctious, if I forgot a detail about the Aucourte past, if I spoke too softly or if my volume was too loud. The list was endless. At each infraction, I would first lose the heated bricks in my bed and then logs on the fire. I eventually realized that much depended upon his mood, and that was when I started to learn to decipher subtle clues that people display about their emotions.”
Hannah moved in his direction and pressed herself against his back. Méibh struck at her ankles, but Hannah ignored the insistent pecks. Wrapping her arms around Eoin, she held him tight, wishing she could go back in time and keep the empty fireplace blazing.
“You asked about my muscles.” Eoin’s voice was even and precise, but Hannah could feel a slight tremor shift through him. “They are in part due to the duke. He believed that he had raised his sons too softly, and that he should go back to the times when noble lads learned to become knights. I always found it odd that he did not encourage me to fight with a sword, but I suppose now it was because of my mother’s skill with the quarterstaff. He didn’t want me to be anything like her. Instead, he preferred more regimented exercise. I marched, like a soldier. He commanded me to run circles around the outer moatas he felt it expunged a boy’s natural tendencies for wildness. I suppose he wished to physically exhaust me into obedience. Despite being servant’s work, I was ordered to muck out stalls or shovel during the planting of the kitchen garden—alone, of course, because I wasn’t to mingle with any commonfolk.”
Eoin spoke his words in a fast rush, and Hannah didn’t try to interject. She just leaned her cheek against him and listened. Although tears gathered in her eyes, she didn’t let them fall for fear that Eoin might feel them despite the layers of silk and linen separating them.
“After I outgrew my reedy, gangly adolescence and began to acquire muscles, Foxglen ordered me to stop. He blamed me for looking too much like a laborer,” Eoin continued in the same matter-of-fact tone. “By then, I’d come to like exertion. It drove out my frustrations and bitterness. My mood always seemed to lift afterward. When I no longer had permission to haul loads, I was stuck in this room with my books. Although I have never minded reading or even quietude, I found myself growing increasingly restless. It was as if something was ramming against the insides of my stomach, begging for release. Eventually, I decided to try hefting my own weight since I had no access to anything else heavy. I lay flat on the floor and lifted myself upward. Sometimes I would push myself up and down in rapid succession, and other times I would hold up my weight until my arms nearly gave out from under me. Anything to relieve my internal tumult.”
Eoin fell silent, and Hannah continued to hold him. She thought he’d turn around and embrace her, but instead he reached up and viciously scrubbed his face. Embarrassment roiled off him, and Hannah experienced a rush of impotent anger toward his grandfather. How could he have made this wonderful, strong, kind man feel like he was inadequate?
“Do you still exercise in that manner?”
“Yes.” The admission came out as a guttural groan.
“Good. I think it was very clever of you to devise such a method. Perhaps you should teach me it.” Hannah stretched her entire body so that she could press a soft kiss against the nape of Eoin’s neck. Méibh hissed, but Hannah ignored her. Thankfully, the stubborn gosling had at least stopped pecking so furiously.
“You do not find it strange? Or me strange?” Eoin asked.
Hannah shook her head. “Of course not. In fact, I very much like the results.”
“You have mentioned liking my physique once or twice, haven’t you?” A tiny bit of emotion had reentered Eoin’s voice, and Hannah’s heart swelled with relief.
“I have.” She bussed his neck again. “And now that I know how you earned those muscles, I appreciate them even more. They’re badges of ingenuity and perseverance.”
Eoin’s responding chuckle started out a bit rusty and then turned full and bright. “Are they, now?”
