Armored Hearts (4 page)

The old man nodded. “I see. Why the sudden interest? I’ve been trying to teach you fencing for months but you’ve shown no interest before.”

Gareth composed himself and drew upon his typical expression of boredom. “I just feel that it’s about time I learned every aspect of becoming a lord.”

Mr. Strong made his way to a bureau and pulled out a long, slender sword by the hilt. “Let’s start with a rapier.” He tossed it toward Gareth.

Gareth instinctively reached out and grabbed it by the handle without a thought.

Mr. Strong let out a whistle. “Fine work, Lord Gareth. Ye might na be able to learn the footwork, but yer hands certainly be na crippled.”

Gareth tilted his head to the side trying to figure out the change in his tutor’s accent.

Mr. Strong must have noticed his strange expression. “Oh, I studied fencing in Scotland. When I practice it, the old tongue comes back to me.”

Gareth nodded and pushed himself out of his chair. He used his arms to help put one foot in front of the other for a wide stance. “It’s true that I can’t walk, but I can stand. Let’s see how this goes in standing position.”

Mr. Strong’s eyes shone with delight as he smiled. “All right, let’s go.”

The tiny, old man positioned his feet so that his body’s side faced Gareth. Mr. Strong put one hand behind his back as he extended the sword with his other. “En garde!”

Gareth mimicked Mr. Strong’s position as best he could, and lifted his rapier at the shorter man. The two stared at each other for a moment. Adrenaline rose in Gareth’s veins, and he tried his best to be sensitive to every possible move his tutor could make.

The grandfather clock in the entrance ticked slowly, each clockwork change clear. A waft of pine-scented cleaner rose from the floor, and he wondered for a moment if it would be slippery after Sarah’s visit. While his thoughts had wandered, Mr. Strong launched his attack.

Gareth blocked Strong’s blade with his own, the clanging of metal echoed in his ear as Mr. Strong pushed his blade hard against Gareth’s sword. At least his tutor didn’t hold back.

“You’re strong for an old man,” Gareth said before pushing off the sword and leaping back. He landed in a graceful stance similar to Mr. Strong’s.

The tutor shook his head. “And you are quite lithe for a cripple.”

Mr. Strong swung hard, and Gareth blocked him again. His tutor attacked with renewed fervor, and Gareth’s feet slid back against the slick floorboards. With a smile, his tutor made a rounding motion with his blade and knocked Gareth’s sword from his hand.

Gareth stared wide-eyed at the old man as he came at his chest full force with the tip of the rapier. Without thought, Gareth leapt to the side and hovered for a split second.
Dimwit.
He clenched his jaw and tried to cover his flying by landing to the side in a body roll on the floor, grabbing up his sword and springing back to his feet.

“Well done.” A wide grin spread across the old man’s face. Mr. Strong placed the blade of the sword under his arm and began clapping. “Very nice indeed. You are truly growing into your abilities.”

Gareth blinked at the old man. “You were coming at me full force. You could have killed me!”

The old man shook his head as he took Gareth’s blade from him and headed for the cabinet. “No, I couldn’t, because you jumped out of the way. I wanted to see how you would react with your life in danger, if you would let your natural instincts take over. And you did. Very good.”

Gareth swallowed against his dry throat and tried to settle his pounding heart.

“Those were the small swords. Eventually we will work with these.” Mr. Strong placed the rapiers in the bureau, and pulled out a long, thick blade. The sword was longer than Mr. Strong, himself.

Gareth wondered how the old man could hold such a sword and how it had fit inside the cabinet.

“This is a Scottish highlander sword called a claymore. It is the sword of warriors and lairds and…kings.” His eyes twinkled at the last word. Mr. Strong made his way to where Gareth stood. “Take hold of it and feel its strength and power.”

Gareth took hold of the sword. It was heavy as he held it out and felt its balance. “How do you fight with such a large blade?”

“Simple. You make sure your sword is slicing through your enemy before theirs is slicing through you.”

Gareth stared at his teacher.

Mr. Strong took the blade from Gareth and headed back toward the cabinet. “We will work with it eventually, after you’ve mastered the rapier and strengthened your upper body. Though I imagine pushing your chair has done a great deal for you.”

“Speaking of my chair, could you please wheel it toward me?”

“It’s obvious from our fight you could get to it yourself.” The man continued to maneuver items in the cabinet.

Gareth glared at the old man’s back. He couldn’t fly now; the man could turn to him any moment. “But I’d have to jump there.”

“So?”

“It’s not dignified.”

Strong shrugged, closed the cabinet, and faced him. “Never be embarrassed about what you have to modify in order to function. I like your independent spirit. It will do you well. Your pride, on the other hand, is your greatest weakness and we need to get rid of it as soon as possible. Go to your chair the best you can.”

Gareth narrowed his eyes at the man. He crossed his arms, stiffened his spine, and waited for him to bring his chair.

Strong leaned against the cabinet doors. “I’m really not going to bring your chair to you. Don’t be ashamed. You were quite agile during swordplay. Just do the same back to your chair.”

Instinct lead Gareth during the swordfight, but now he had returned to his faculties. How must he have looked as he jumped and hobbled about the room? He’d not give the tutor another display. He huffed. “Bring me my chair. That’s an order, and last I checked you were under my grandfather’s authority and so under mine. You don’t order me; I order you.”

Mr. Strong sighed and lifted his hands in a gesture. “I suppose we are at an impasse. I’ll not do it.”

The clock began the chime for the hour with the two men staring at each other. The tutor’s expression remained unchanged. His face held the same bored expression that Gareth constantly strove for. But one better. The man never broke eye contact and smirked throughout.

When the clock’s chimes had finished, Gareth swallowed his pride and dropped his eyes. He hobbled and jumped his way to the chair. Heat rose on his neck, and he’d never felt so demoralized. He placed his lap blanket across his legs and started pushing himself toward the door.

“Where are you going? We’ve not started your instruction for the day.”

Gareth didn’t turn to face the man. He didn’t like being pressured to jump to his chair like some undignified wiggle worm. How could the old man say pride was Gareth’s greatest weakness? It wasn’t his pride. It was the stupid chair and his blasted legs that were his greatest weakness. Why couldn’t he will them to step and walk? It was obvious they were strong enough to support him. It wasn’t the old man’s place to embarrass him or tell him he needed to get over it.

He opened the door and rolled down the ramp.

“Lord Smyth!” Strong called from the doorway, “When you are over your ire, you need to return for further instruction or else you’ll never learn the claymore.”

Gareth sat in the shade of the backyard, avoiding the sun and the scrutiny of the guests. Grandfather never hosted these sorts of gatherings and had always declined invitations. But now, he’d even hired a house staff for the day. Young ladies and gentlemen entertained themselves in his backyard. Some played badminton on the lawn, others sat at a card table.

Tabitha’s cheeks were pink from running the badminton court. She shrieked and giggled as she hugged the dark-haired girl she was partnered with to keep from tripping. Both wore fashionable, white, corseted day dresses and hats.

Grandfather had noticed Tabitha wasn’t being invited out into society enough to find a gentleman, so now society was invited to visit her. A last ditch effort to marry her off.

The game broke up and the other team left the net. The dark-haired girl hugged Tabitha again and peered up at Gareth under thick, dark lashes. He thought for a minute she grinned at him. He ignored the idea, knowing better. The girls stepped away from the net and under the shade of a tree.

***

Jessamine whispered into the ear of her new found friend, “Who is the young man in the shade there? The one watching us?”

Tabitha glanced in the direction Jessamine nodded. “Oh that is Lord Smyth, Lord Pensees’s grandson.”

“So, he’s always lived in this shire?”

“Yes.”

“Lord? That means he holds a title?” Jessamine bit her lip as she took in the handsome young man. His honey-blond hair was short and stylish for the times. It was hard to tell with him sitting, but he looked tall even still. His white shirtsleeves were pushed up, revealing muscular forearms.

“He doesn’t hold a true title yet. He will inherit the title, Earl of Pensees. Being the next in line to someone of top rank, he gets the courtesy title of Lord until the Earl passes his title to his grandson.” Tabitha pushed a strand of blonde hair that had escaped her ribbon, taking a glass of lemonade from a servant as they took a short break from the game.

Jessamine took a glass, too. “So much to remember with English etiquette and proper titles. In America, the only lord we have is the Good Lord. Would you mind introducing me?”

Tabitha returned her glass to the servant’s tray. “I don’t mind, but he will. Gareth hates introductions. He usually skips these things all together.”

Jessamine returned her glass as well and glanced at the handsome young man. “Then why didn’t he skip today?”

“Because it’s my birthday, and he knew if he didn’t come, it would disappoint me. He tries very hard not to do that.”

“What if we made the introduction unavoidable? Then he wouldn’t be irritated with you for introducing us.”

“How would we make it unavoidable?”

“I have an idea.”

***

Gareth watched the dark-haired girl pull away and motioned for Tabitha to move to the other side of the net.

The girl was quite pretty. Gareth couldn’t help but notice as they volleyed the birdie back and forth. He let his eyes linger over her form longer than normal. He chided himself. No young lady wanted to be settled with a cripple for a husband unless she was only interested in his title. He could never suffer such shallowness in a woman.

The dark-haired girl gave what looked like a nod to Tabitha who got a gleam in her eye and hit the shuttlecock with unnecessary force. Gareth wondered what they were up to when he noticed the birdie heading straight for him. The dark-haired girl ran backwards, trying to hit the thing, completely oblivious to Gareth directly in her path. Before he could move his chair out of her way, the girl tripped and landed squarely in his lap.

Large, brown eyes returned his stare. She covered her mouth and giggled. “I’m so sorry.” She wiggled around in his lap, twisting until she gained her footing to stand.

Gareth pushed her up to assist her and to keep from embarrassing himself.

She backed away, and a red blush rose under her olive skin. “Again, sir, my apologies.” Her accent was clearly American.

Gareth scowled back at her, adjusting his lap blanket. “You should watch where you’re going, miss.”

Tabitha ran up to join them. “Gareth, are you all right?” She glanced over at her friend, eyes too wide. There was something said in that look which Gareth wasn’t sure about.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He winced at his tone. His answer was more cutting than his normal tone with Tabitha. It was the way he addressed everyone but her. Still, she wasn’t fazed by it.

“Gareth, let me introduce you.” Tabitha gestured to the pretty, dark haired girl. “This is Miss Jessamine Cardinal Keller. She and her father are visiting from the United States.”

Then she gestured to Gareth. “And this is Lord Tristan Gareth Smyth, future Earl of Pensees. His grandfather is my guardian and benefactor.”

Jessamine made a quick curtsy. “Future Earl? Very nice to make your acquaintance.” She glanced up under long lashes and smiled.

Gareth waved her off. “Yes, yes. Nice to make yours. Try to be more careful in the future.”

Her grin widened as she peeked over at Tabitha. “Yes, of course. My apologies for landing in your lap like that.”

Gareth’s pulse raced just a bit. He motioned again for them to be off. He wasn’t accustomed to young ladies paying him attention, much less sitting in his lap. He didn’t wish to embarrass the girls or himself with the effect she had on him.

The girls finally scurried off to Gareth’s relief. But wherever they were in the yard, the girl Jessamine would glance over at him and smile sweetly. Gareth in turn would adjust his lap blanket and look away, trying to forget the sweet scent which had lingered in his personal space after she had left it.

***

The afternoon meal was taken outside as a picnic with everyone sitting on blankets under the tree. Gareth was not interested in staying. He wasn’t
that
hungry. Tabitha sat on the blanket next to his chair, and he snatched his opportunity.

“Tabitha, I’d like to excuse myself. I’m feeling fatigued and need a nap,” Gareth pleaded with his young aunt. He didn’t enjoy dining picnic style out among the flies any more than he enjoyed dining among society. He felt he’d suffered long enough, watching everyone play games and chatter all morning.

He’d expected her to relent, but instead she grabbed his arm and pouted. “Oh, not yet. I’ve not cut my cake. Stay just a little longer.”

Gareth closed his eyes and sighed. “Fine. But just until lunch is over and we cut the cake. You know I don’t enjoy these gatherings.”

Tabitha squealed. “Tell me what you’d like to eat, and I’ll get it for you.”

He told her, and she went to make him a plate. He watched her go and hoped his torture would be over quickly. In her absence, Jessamine took a seat on the blanket next to him. His heart raced, and he watched her from the corner of his eye but refused to turn his head. Instead, he watched the other gentlemen and ladies settle on blankets nearby as if he found it of interest.