Warped (Maurissa Guibord)

Now the youth seemed to be entangled in a bush of some sort.
    "Is it that short one from the village, the one with the hair in yellow ringlets?" Hugh sighed. "I love ringlets."
    "Don't be an idiot," Will said, perhaps a little too quickly. He hoped his face didn't show anything. But he needn't have worried about revealing anything subtle to his brother. He had poked Hugh's temper, which was as quick as his smile.
    Hugh reached out and cuffed him. Despite the glancing blow and the gloved fist, Will's head snapped as if it hung on strings, and his teeth rattled together.
    "Watch your tongue, little brother," said Hugh pleasantly.
    Indeed, Will checked his tongue, as well as his teeth. All there. His brother spoke with his fists. Fighting was a second language to Hugh, really, in which he was fluent. Foul-mouthed, but fluent.
    "I forgot to say good morning," Hugh added, baring his teeth in a smile.
    Will rubbed his throbbing ear, all thoughts of the girl in the wood, for the moment, driven from his head. "You do know," he said to Hugh, "you can't go around doing that once you're at court."
    Hugh shrugged. "When we get to London, I'll let Father do the talking."
    Right. Will frowned at the thought. That would not be a vast improvement. "Perhaps I should come along," he suggested, knowing even as he did that it was a wasted effort.
    "Father's already told you no," said Hugh. He straightened in the saddle and announced, in a fair imitation of their father's deep, authoritarian boom: " 'There must always be a de Chaucy at Hartescross.' Besides," he added, nodding toward the huddle of wattle-and-daub cottages in the distance, "what if one of the villagers has a complaint? Suppose there're weevils in the barley? Suppose somebody steals a chicken? Who better to deal with it than the earl's younger son? A young Solomon."
    "You're very funny," Will told him. Then, more quietly, "You leave today, then?"
    Hugh's face sobered and he looked out to the right, where the fields and the valley lay below. A shadow of worry crept over his features, and Will was shocked to see it. His brother was as stout-hearted as a lion.
    "Aye," Hugh said, all trace of his usual bluster gone. "I just pray the king grants our petition."
    "He must," said Will. "King Henry will listen to reason. He's an educated man."
    Hugh brightened and grinned at him. "Well. We'll not hold that against him. Yet." He studied Will for a moment, then said with a nod, "We'll send news as soon as we have it. Now I'll leave you, little brother, to your thinking ride." He gave Will a swift punch in the arm for a farewell and wheeled his horse around. "And give the girl a kiss for me!" he called over his shoulder as he galloped away.
    Will watched until Hugh became a distant figure. For once he didn't mind being left behind while his father and brother tended to the business of the estate. The land dispute would be settled soon anyway. Despite his rough ways, the Earl of Umbric was no fool. Neither was Hugh. They didn't need him.
    Need him? Will's mouth curled into an ironic smile. They barely noticed him. As younger son, he wasn't master here at Hartescross (though everyone usually did as he bade them) and he wasn't servant (though he was told often enough what to do). Neither master nor servant. Neither idle nor employed. Just something in between. Would he ever find his place?
    Will sighed. Somehow he didn't think it was at Hartescross.
    He gave Hannibal free rein and trotted down the hill and into the meadow. The young man wandering there seemed put off at seeing the earl's son, for he gave a nervous tug on his cap and stumbled away.
    After but a few steps, Will observed, the young man encountered a group of villagers, themselves running through the meadow with raucous shouts. Some exchange took place. It involved heated gestures toward Will and the woods beyond. And quite a bit more scratching. Finally the whole lot turned and walked with an air of glum resignation back toward the village.
    Will shrugged and turned his horse toward the forest, where the girl had gone.
    It was a foolhardy thing to do, he thought. Surely the chit knew it was forbidden. No one entered the wood without the permission of the earl. Not that his father would care if a young maid went wandering in the northern woods. But if the gamekeeper spotted her, she would likely have a thrashing. Miles was an ill-tempered sort. Foolish maiden or poacher, it made no difference, he would exact punishment first