Broken Dove
Page 144
Christophe looked back at his quill and kept his attention there when he spoke on. “You were angry with her for looking for me.”
“I was,” Apollo confirmed.
“I got her into trouble,” Chris whispered to his quill and Apollo’s gut tightened with hope.
“She and I have spoken, Chris,” he said gently. “And that is past. She will not do something so foolish again, even if moved to do it through her concern for you and Élan, and I will not lose my temper with her in the manner I did.”
Christophe said nothing, simply contemplated his quill.
Apollo decided he’d had enough.
So he changed the subject by asking softly, “Are you done with your studies, son?”
Christophe looked to him and nodded.
“I have not tested you with your sword in some time,” Apollo remarked and watched his son’s eyes light. He smiled at him and turned to the door, ordering, “Get our swords. I’ll meet you outside.”
“But, it’s gone dark, Papa,” Christophe called to his back.
At the door, Apollo turned back to his son.
“Then it’s good we have torches. But not every swordfight is fought in the sun, Chris. To be prepared, you must be prepared for anything.”
Christophe nodded enthusiastically.
“Swords,” Apollo prompted.
Down went the quill and up went his son out of his seat.
He dashed to his wardrobe.
Apollo drew in a breath and let it out as he walked out of the room.
It was only when he was well down the hall that he allowed himself to smile.
* * * * *
“And at that, Princess Arianna stepped onto the cloud…”
Apollo stopped reading and looked down at his daughter.
She was asleep.
Then again, she always fell asleep at that part the third time he read it.
He closed the book softly and laid it on her nightstand. Carefully disengaging her from his arm around her, he rolled her to her side and exited her bed. He pulled the covers up high over her and tucked her in before he bent deep to brush a kiss on her temple. He then straightened, turned out the lamps and walked out of the room, keeping the door open an inch as she liked it.
He moved to Christophe’s room and saw his door opened an inch.
As he liked it.
He pushed it open further and moved through the darkened room toward his son’s bed. The light from the hall barely illuminated the space. Therefore Apollo gave it time for his eyes to adjust before he bent over his boy, pulled the covers to his neck and carefully tucked him in.
Awake, he was too old for it.
Asleep, Apollo could do as he liked.
So he brushed his fingers across his son’s brow, sweeping the hair away from his skin. Then he bent and touched his lips to that hair before he straightened and moved away.
He was halfway across the room when he heard a sleepy, “Papa.”
He turned and softly replied, “I woke you.”
“No.”
Apollo said nothing.
Christophe didn’t either.
When this lasted some time, Apollo asked, “Do you need something, Chris?”
There was a long hesitation before Christophe answered, “No…I just…” Another hesitation before, “I just wanted to say goodnight.”
Apollo strode back to the bed, bent in and wrapped his hand around the side of his son’s neck.
“Goodnight, my son,” he whispered.
“’Night, Papa,” Chris whispered back.
Apollo gave his neck a squeeze then moved back to the door. He pulled it to almost closed behind him but kept it open an inch, as Christophe liked it.
He then moved to his room, grabbed the cloak that was lying across the foot of his bed and exited his room swinging it on.
He found Torment as he requested, blanketed and saddled, waiting for him at the foot of the steps at the front of Karsvall.
He mounted his horse and kicked in his heels.
Torment burst into a gallop across the snow.
He made the dower house quickly and noted when he did that there were lights streaming around the curtains from more windows than normal. The front sitting room. Maddie’s upstairs bedroom. From the side where the kitchen was. From the back where her maids stayed.
He rode Torment to the stables, made short work of settling him in for the night and as he left, he made certain to secure the door against the chill.
Instead of moving to the front of the house as he would normally do, with the light coming from the kitchen, thinking perhaps Maddie sat with her friends there for an evening natter, he approached the side door.
He opened it and closed it swiftly to limit the draught he allowed in. Once he’d dropped the bar to lock it for the night, he turned to the kitchen to see only Cristiana sitting in a tufted chair by the fire, feet up on a small padded stool, shawl around her shoulders, knitting in her lap.
Her head was turned to him and her face was expressionless when she greeted him much less enthusiastically than normally.
“Lord Apollo.”
“Cristiana,” he returned. “Where’s Maddie?”
She turned her attention back to her knitting, saying, “Sitting room.”
Apollo began to move that way before he stopped and looked back at the woman.
“Don’t you have a husband to look after?”
Her lips quirked as her eyes came back to him. “I’d hope, by this time and with his age, he’s able to look after himself.” Sharpness entered her gaze when she finished, “I also have a girl to look after.”
Her loyalty to Madeleine was welcome.
Her inference was not.
He said nothing.
He just dipped his chin and moved from the room.
He found Cristiana was correct. Maddie was in the sitting room, and he had a sense of foreboding when he saw her not reclining on the sofa reading, or chatting with Loretta and Meeta, but at the window. She’d pulled a curtain slightly back and was staring out into the night, her expression unreadable.
He’d seen her like that before, the night Franka Drakkar had said words that tore into her soul.
He had hoped their earlier discussion had given her much to think on that would prove Franka’s words for what they were: intentionally malicious and utterly untrue.
It would appear it hadn’t.
“I hope, my dove, that Hans and Loretta aren’t out in this chill,” he quipped as he entered the room and her head whipped his way. “And if they are, I would hope Hans is keeping her warm. But if he is, I would guess it’s in a way that you should not be witnessing.”
“They’re not out there,” she told him and he stopped advancing to her, this placing him in the center of the room.
“I was,” Apollo confirmed.
“I got her into trouble,” Chris whispered to his quill and Apollo’s gut tightened with hope.
“She and I have spoken, Chris,” he said gently. “And that is past. She will not do something so foolish again, even if moved to do it through her concern for you and Élan, and I will not lose my temper with her in the manner I did.”
Christophe said nothing, simply contemplated his quill.
Apollo decided he’d had enough.
So he changed the subject by asking softly, “Are you done with your studies, son?”
Christophe looked to him and nodded.
“I have not tested you with your sword in some time,” Apollo remarked and watched his son’s eyes light. He smiled at him and turned to the door, ordering, “Get our swords. I’ll meet you outside.”
“But, it’s gone dark, Papa,” Christophe called to his back.
At the door, Apollo turned back to his son.
“Then it’s good we have torches. But not every swordfight is fought in the sun, Chris. To be prepared, you must be prepared for anything.”
Christophe nodded enthusiastically.
“Swords,” Apollo prompted.
Down went the quill and up went his son out of his seat.
He dashed to his wardrobe.
Apollo drew in a breath and let it out as he walked out of the room.
It was only when he was well down the hall that he allowed himself to smile.
* * * * *
“And at that, Princess Arianna stepped onto the cloud…”
Apollo stopped reading and looked down at his daughter.
She was asleep.
Then again, she always fell asleep at that part the third time he read it.
He closed the book softly and laid it on her nightstand. Carefully disengaging her from his arm around her, he rolled her to her side and exited her bed. He pulled the covers up high over her and tucked her in before he bent deep to brush a kiss on her temple. He then straightened, turned out the lamps and walked out of the room, keeping the door open an inch as she liked it.
He moved to Christophe’s room and saw his door opened an inch.
As he liked it.
He pushed it open further and moved through the darkened room toward his son’s bed. The light from the hall barely illuminated the space. Therefore Apollo gave it time for his eyes to adjust before he bent over his boy, pulled the covers to his neck and carefully tucked him in.
Awake, he was too old for it.
Asleep, Apollo could do as he liked.
So he brushed his fingers across his son’s brow, sweeping the hair away from his skin. Then he bent and touched his lips to that hair before he straightened and moved away.
He was halfway across the room when he heard a sleepy, “Papa.”
He turned and softly replied, “I woke you.”
“No.”
Apollo said nothing.
Christophe didn’t either.
When this lasted some time, Apollo asked, “Do you need something, Chris?”
There was a long hesitation before Christophe answered, “No…I just…” Another hesitation before, “I just wanted to say goodnight.”
Apollo strode back to the bed, bent in and wrapped his hand around the side of his son’s neck.
“Goodnight, my son,” he whispered.
“’Night, Papa,” Chris whispered back.
Apollo gave his neck a squeeze then moved back to the door. He pulled it to almost closed behind him but kept it open an inch, as Christophe liked it.
He then moved to his room, grabbed the cloak that was lying across the foot of his bed and exited his room swinging it on.
He found Torment as he requested, blanketed and saddled, waiting for him at the foot of the steps at the front of Karsvall.
He mounted his horse and kicked in his heels.
Torment burst into a gallop across the snow.
He made the dower house quickly and noted when he did that there were lights streaming around the curtains from more windows than normal. The front sitting room. Maddie’s upstairs bedroom. From the side where the kitchen was. From the back where her maids stayed.
He rode Torment to the stables, made short work of settling him in for the night and as he left, he made certain to secure the door against the chill.
Instead of moving to the front of the house as he would normally do, with the light coming from the kitchen, thinking perhaps Maddie sat with her friends there for an evening natter, he approached the side door.
He opened it and closed it swiftly to limit the draught he allowed in. Once he’d dropped the bar to lock it for the night, he turned to the kitchen to see only Cristiana sitting in a tufted chair by the fire, feet up on a small padded stool, shawl around her shoulders, knitting in her lap.
Her head was turned to him and her face was expressionless when she greeted him much less enthusiastically than normally.
“Lord Apollo.”
“Cristiana,” he returned. “Where’s Maddie?”
She turned her attention back to her knitting, saying, “Sitting room.”
Apollo began to move that way before he stopped and looked back at the woman.
“Don’t you have a husband to look after?”
Her lips quirked as her eyes came back to him. “I’d hope, by this time and with his age, he’s able to look after himself.” Sharpness entered her gaze when she finished, “I also have a girl to look after.”
Her loyalty to Madeleine was welcome.
Her inference was not.
He said nothing.
He just dipped his chin and moved from the room.
He found Cristiana was correct. Maddie was in the sitting room, and he had a sense of foreboding when he saw her not reclining on the sofa reading, or chatting with Loretta and Meeta, but at the window. She’d pulled a curtain slightly back and was staring out into the night, her expression unreadable.
He’d seen her like that before, the night Franka Drakkar had said words that tore into her soul.
He had hoped their earlier discussion had given her much to think on that would prove Franka’s words for what they were: intentionally malicious and utterly untrue.
It would appear it hadn’t.
“I hope, my dove, that Hans and Loretta aren’t out in this chill,” he quipped as he entered the room and her head whipped his way. “And if they are, I would hope Hans is keeping her warm. But if he is, I would guess it’s in a way that you should not be witnessing.”
“They’re not out there,” she told him and he stopped advancing to her, this placing him in the center of the room.
