Summer 911 MC
Baron Douglas Fitzwilliam rode through the gate, followed by his knights. It had been a long patrol, and they were covered in dust and dirt, evidence of the task they had undertaken.
On the wall, young Richard Fitzwilliam looked on with all the interest his four-year-old mind could muster.
“Papa!” he called out.
His father, ignoring the cry, dismounted, passing off his reins to the stable hand. The lord removed his gloves, using them to rather ineffectually beat the dust from his armour, then started moving towards the Keep.
Richard, having reached the bottom of the steps, called out again in glee.
“Papa!”
This time the baron turned, his face a mask of annoyance.
Richard, seeing the look, halted his advance, standing awkwardly in the middle of the courtyard.
“Have yo
