Lord Vane

8. The Hunt

If Lord Gavriel Vane shared anything in common with his great uncle, the previous lord, it was a quick and vicious temper.

For the old, it was unleashed at those who threatened his store of monies; but for the new, it was aimed with precision at all things unjust.

And as Sir Giles, Gavriel's man of business, has just learned, the ugliest and darkest of Lord Vane's rage is reserved exclusively for the dogs that would be daft enough to snatch his wife.

He returned to the manor from a day abroad on foot, no carriage, and with an injured driver. No one had a chance to sound the query, "Where is Lady Vane?"

Orders for men were howled and within a short time a small army had been gathered, briefed, and intel shared. An even shorter time later found them thundering hooves, headed straight for the southeast boundary, the coming darkness be demned. Their target was a lesser known crop of caves which rumor had assigned to this particular set of bandits. Bandits with an accumulated bleak history with the house of Vane.

There were few Charis had not touched with her kindness, and there were more than a few who had once nursed the quiet hope of having Charis as a bride. As such, it was not with neutral hearts these men rode. No, theirs were breasts filled to the brim with affront and the battle ahead had turned personal.

Giles Camden had received his post within months of Gavriel's ascension to the title. He soon learned that he had not known a truer, gentler, kinder soul than the man he was fortunate enough to serve.

But in some areas, Giles fumed, his lord was outright naive.

Take, for example, the conversation that passed at an early hour that very morning:

"My lord, you have ordered a carriage for the day? Jed and myself will accompany you."

"Do not bother, Giles. We are just riding in to see Lady Vane's family."

"But sir..."

"Giles." Just one word, but so heavy with warning.

If Giles could know his lord's heart, he would find that Vane was a man desperately wooing his own bride. In the short time he had her, he had seen enough into her mind to know she did not desire to live higher than others around her. A poor village girl riding into her hometown perched high in a lord's carriage and surrounded by a guard would be abhorrent to her. He knew it, and would do anything at the moment to avoid her discomfort.

"At least...at least strap your sword on, my lord." Giles tried in vain to keep exasperation from his voice. It was impossible.

No, thought he bitterly, Lord Vane is impossible.

"I am not sure how many times I must reiterate the danger in going about unarmed," Giles complained to his employer. "Everyone knows you are not accustomed to threats on your life. But sir, by now you should know well how your uncle garnered enemies in every corner — practically under every rock! You have men at your disposal, but if you will not use them, at least arm yourself!"

This rant had the audacity to fall on shut ears.

Sir Giles fenced daily with Lord Vane, and although he found his skill to be adept and adequate for survival, one must actually have the sword on hand for such a skill to be of any use. But for the first twenty-four years of his life, Vane had not needed a long blade as his daily attire, swinging so cumbersome at his side. To him, its use was nothing more than good exercise. And so habit robbed the young lord of common sense.

Such was the first error of the morning.

I should follow behind the carriage with stealth, thought Giles, and be on hand if only needed. But he was out of temper with his lord when the wheels rolled down the drive and stubbornness is a foe as strong as any.

Such was the second error of the morning.

So here they were now, riding themselves into the ground, shoulder to shoulder: Lord Vane and his posse of devoted soldiers.

Giles felt grim at the events of the day, frustrated at his own carelessness and stubbornness. He imagined the dark figure next to him was likely berating himself for the same.

He knew how heavy his lord's hand was when righting a wrong, had been there enough times to witness the store of fury beneath that quiet, kind layer.

It was with this last thought that Giles anticipated with relish the heated moments to come, when the wife-thieves would be laid open by his very own Lord Gavriel Vane.

~Chapter 8 End~

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