Blood of Quartz

Chapter 9

Abigail straightened out the loose hair that was flipped in front of her shoulder as she stood at the main door to the keep. The breeze was lifting leaves, wafting them through the air, skittering them across the stones. Other than the sounds of the village below them, the assembly with her was silent, and it was uncomfortable. For once she wished for Mouse's gurgles and cries, or the general chatter of the staff while they went about their work. Her hands felt empty, not having her cousin to hold.

The Duke of Burton was making his way up to the Keep, a slow process, as he had ridiculously asked for a chaise once he had arrived by carriage at the outer gates. It had not rained for days, and the streets were dry, yet... Abigail sighed. It would do no good to pass judgement on a man she had yet to meet. He could have a leg injury, or be a cripple. Her uncle had said very little about him, just that he was peculiar and required careful management and entertaining.

Abigail had heard the rumours that the Duke was a fussy, soft man, not one to exert himself. He didn't have to, being brother to the King, but she wondered at how he was able to command the King's Army without himself being a soldier, trained to fight.

It didn't really matter. His arrival meant her departure, with Mouse, was that much closer.

"Blast it, can the man not just take to a horse, or walk?" Samual said, pacing in circles beside her. "I have many things to do. I have no time for this pomp and ceremony."

"Uncle. Rest easy. This is part of your duty," Abigail murmured. "Besides. You are outside, in fresh air, not chained to your desk inhaling ink fumes."

"Samual. Stop pacing, you're making me dizzy from the effort," his mother added, on his other side.

Abigail hid a giggle, and looked over at the dowager countess, standing as regally as she could, her cane bent out in front of her. She winked at Abigail and the two of them shared a smile. Only his mother would dare address him so in front of the staff who had also assembled to help the Duke's party get settled.

Her uncle gave them both a despairing look, but stopped pacing and stood beside his mother, fussing with his overcoat, looking up at the sky, then fussing again.

The Duke's entourage rounded the corner into the courtyard, followed by the Duke in a chaise draped in cloth, eight men carrying it. He wobbled back and forth like a many-tiered pudding, and Abigail had to hold back yet another giggle as his ridiculous silk hat skewed sideways when one of the men slipped off a high-set cobblestone.

"Abigail," her uncle whispered. "Do not even think it."

He was about to laugh as well, and they mock scowled at one another to prevent it. The past few days he'd been more energetic, preparations catching him in a frenzy of tasks. He had ridden out to see the men he had summoned, and when he returned, his cheeks were pinked from the wind, and he had a sparkle in his eye. He had spoken of Erik, her new cousin, and said he was to be a captain of his men. He'd also said he was quite adept at the bow, which Abigail was happy to hear. It was also her favourite, when she was allowed sport.

Hearing the entourage approaching, she steeled her demeanour to that of a lady, and as the chaise was set down in front of them, she got a full look at the Duke of Burton.

"Your Grace, welcome to Berrigan Keep," Samual said, offering his hand as the Duke wrestled himself up and out of the chair, standing up and huffing. "I trust your journey was uneventful?"

"Quite. Pleased. To. Be. Here," he wheezed out. It was obvious to Abigail that he was completely out of breath simply from standing up. Fascinating. She caught one of the men carrying the chaise rolling his shoulder, his face bright red from the effort.

The Duke was indeed large. He resembled an ale barrel. Swathed in silk.

"May I present to you Lady Abigail of Kirkam."

Abigail brought her attention back to the Duke, and carefully curtseyed. "Your Grace," She said quietly, and kept her eyes on his knees. His pants were blue silk, adorned with paisley stitching in greens and yellows. It was beautiful, and she immediately wanted to know how to get some of the jewel-toned fabric to make a dress for Mouse.

"What. A. Lovely young lady. You are one of Benjamin's daughters?"

"Yes, your Grace," she answered. Obviously the Duke was aware of the ranks within the nobility, she shouldn't be surprised.

"Ah. Very good. Samual, I was so sorry to hear of your wife," the Duke said as he straightened further, and gestured to his staff carrying things to go into the keep. "Shall we take a restorative drink inside? The trek up to your keep is quite taxing. I do not remember it being so steep the last time I was here."

As her uncle and the Duke walked inside, she stayed a moment more with her great aunt, taking her arm. "Well now," was all she said and the dowager countess patted her hand, laughing.

"He wasn't always so corpulent, my dear. I think Nathaniel is too soft on him. The Duke—Richmond—was the one with all the head for numbers and political strategy, Nathaniel the swashbuckler, adventure-seeker. But, as you can see, first-born is more important than brains," she remarked dryly, one eyebrow arched.

"Surely Nathaniel is as intelligent, he is a good king," Abigail replied.

"He is," Noora replied quietly. "The Duke would have been a very different ruler, I think."

"He does rule in some form though, I suppose, being the commander of the King's Army and in charge of the Kingsmen forces," Abigail said then, watching the procession enter the buildings. The endless line of baggage carried by red-faced servants was somewhat amusing, and she chastised herself for finding discomfort of others funny. It wasn't. They were in fabric overcoats that looked thick and heavy, much too warm for a day like this, carrying heavy trunks.

Noora cleared her throat and gestured towards where the Duke and her son had disappeared through. "You know, The Duke of Burton was once a very handsome, swarthy man. All the ladies at court would vie for his attention. They still do, I suppose, but for different reasons now. Your aunt Emilie, she was supposed to marry him, did you know that?"

"Oh! Emilie, whose son is here?" Abigail asked. "I met him the day he came to the keep. He was just lovely with Mouse."

They had reached the door when her great aunt stopped and looked soberly at her. "Yes. I spied that boy out my big bay windows as he was leaving with the officer. A fine young man. Emilie did well."

"Oh Great-Aunt, do you regret what happened? When she left?" Abigail asked, worried the conversation was making her sad. "Let us not talk of it if it is hard for you."

"My child, I do not regret her running off to marry that hog farmer one bit. Nor once in the many years since," the dowager duchess said firmly, "Because I helped her."