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‘Very well.’ Matthew chose to ignore the last comment. ‘My thanks, Brother.’
‘Then it’s settled. Will you walk with me, lady?’
Matthew bent to pick up his candle again, battling a growing sense of annoyance as Alan offered his arm to Constance and led her back along the gallery, forcing him to follow behind. It wasn’t far, but by the time they arrived he was feeling more than a little irritated. As if their father wasn’t enough to contend with...
‘Here we are.’ Alan opened the door and then stepped aside. ‘Not much has changed, as you can see. Yo
u should feel right at home.’
Matthew felt a thud in his chest, irritation forgotten as he stepped over the threshold and seemingly into the past. Alan was right, not much had changed at all. There were the same tapestries on the walls, the same heavy oak coffer that stood in the same place at the end of the same four-poster bed, as well as the same writing desk tucked into the corner. Memories assailed him at every step. So much of his youth had been spent in this room. When he and Alan hadn’t been out riding or hunting or practising sword and spear fighting in the training yard, it was the place where they’d gone to be themselves instead of the silent, obedient statues their father expected them to be. It had been their haven, their one place of refuge. Right up until the night when Blanche had knocked on his door, begging for help. The night he’d let her in and...
He dragged air into his lungs, trying to banish that particular memory. He hadn’t even realised he’d been holding his breath, but if he didn’t breathe soon, he’d surely pass out...
‘You’ve kept the chess set.’ He gestured towards the board and pieces set out on a small table by the window. It had been a gift from their stepmother Marthe on his tenth birthday. She’d taught him and Alan the rules and they’d played almost every day growing up.
‘It’s a valuable set. Of course I still have it.’ Alan sounded defensive.
‘Do you still play?’
‘Yes, but I have a new partner. Adelaide is my opponent now.’
‘Our stepmother, Adelaide?’ Matthew lifted an eyebrow, unable to hide his surprise. ‘Doesn’t Father mind?’
‘Why would he? I’m his weak and puny son, remember?’ Alan’s mouth contorted into something between a smile and a grimace. ‘Why would he worry about me spending time with his wife? He doesn’t see me the same way as he sees you. I’m not a threat, but at least I can still take pleasure in thwarting his schemes.’ He glanced towards Constance and his tone shifted. ‘I hope that you find this chamber more comfortable, my lady. Now if you’ll excuse me.’
Matthew watched the door close behind him with a heavy heart. If it hadn’t been for the mop of tousled dark hair he would hardly have recognised that curt, hostile man as his own brother. The Alan he remembered had been a gentle soul, kind and loving and sensitive. Too sensitive for life with their father. It had broken his heart to leave him behind, but he’d had no choice. There was nothing else he could have done and no words to explain.
He twisted his head, aware of Constance watching him silently from beside the hearth.
‘I’m sorry.’ He ran a hand over his jaw, making a futile attempt to ease the tension there. ‘I should have better prepared you for meeting my father, but I wasn’t sure what to expect. He’s never been easy, but I thought that things might have changed since I went away.’ He walked to the opposite side of the fireplace and propped one shoulder against the wall. ‘Clearly I was wrong, but don’t worry, we’ll only stay for a couple of days.’
She nodded, though her face remained troubled. ‘It was kind of your brother to lend us his chamber.’
‘Yes. Alan was always kind.’
‘Why is he angry with you?’
She asked the question softly, but he still winced.
‘Because I left Wintercott very suddenly five years ago. I didn’t want to leave Alan, but there was no other way.’ He stared broodingly into the fire. ‘You were angry at me for leaving England without asking what you wanted, but I left Alan without even saying goodbye. He was only young, just like you.’ He shook his head at the irony. ‘I never came back here after our marriage ceremony.’
‘You mean you left right away?’
‘Yes. I rode out of Lacelby and straight for London, then sailed for Normandy a sennight later.’
‘Why?’
‘I had a reason, a good one, but it wasn’t something I could talk about. I knew Alan would ask me to explain and I couldn’t so...’ he sighed ‘...I suppose you could say that I ran away.’
‘I see.’ Her tone was thoughtful, though thankfully she didn’t pursue the subject. ‘Were the two of you close before?’
‘Extremely. I even remember the day he was born, thinking that here was somebody else like me, somebody to play with, to be friends with, too. We were always kept separate, you see, never sent away to be raised as squires in other households, never allowed to mix with the local children either. It was always just the two of us.’ He cleared his throat to stop his voice from catching. ‘He was my best friend as well as my brother.’
‘Isn’t that unusual? For you both to be raised at home, I mean?’
‘Very, but our father is unusual. Only it wasn’t out of affection, I assure you. He just didn’t want anyone else to have influence over us. That would have undermined his control.’
‘But Alan said your father sees you as a threat?’
