Forbidde to Love You

Chapter Eight — The Beauforts I

The Beaufort castle was a full contrast from the excitement of the tournament. It was not less grand then the King's Palace. If anything, some would say that the castle was more imposing, its dark stone walls rising above the surrounding hills, its towers built to withstand a siege rather than impress visiting nobles. But there was a certain coldness to it.

William had always known that.

By the time he returned, the sun was already beginning to disappear behind the hills. His arms still ached. His shoulders felt as though someone had replaced the bones with iron. He had barely stepped through the doors of his chambers when his mother appeared.

Eleanor Beaufort stopped in the doorway.

Her eyes immediately went to his arms. Then his shoulders. Then the bruise forming along his jaw.

"What happened?"

William sighed. "Mother."

"What happened?"

"It was a tournament."

"I know what a tournament is."

"Then you know."

"I know men enjoy pretending that hitting each other with swords is a respectable way to spend an afternoon."

William smiled faintly. Eleanor walked toward him.

"And you went."

"The King expected us to."

"The King expects many things."

She carefully touched his shoulder. William winced, and her eyes narrowed.

"You are injured."

"Not seriously."

"That is what men say immediately before discovering they are seriously injured."

"I'm fine."

"Your father said the same thing about his shoulder twenty years ago."

William raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And he couldn't lift his arm for three months."

"That explains a great deal."

Eleanor gave him a look, then she sighed.

"Come. Sit."

William obeyed. His mother had never been particularly fond of tournaments. She despised the violence, but that wasn't the only reason. She had little patience for the noblemen who attended them.

"They smile at your father," she had once told William, "while thinking about how much land they could take from him."

She knew what people said about the Beaufort name. She knew how nobles who privately despised Nathaniel would suddenly become warm and affectionate when there was money involved.

"I still don't understand why you attended," she muttered as she examined the bruise on his arm.

"Because I was invited."

"You were summoned."

"That too."

"And did you enjoy yourself?"

William hesitated.

Eleanor noticed, her eyes narrowing. "William."

"It was interesting."

"That is not an answer."

He smiled. "It was."

She studied him for another moment before shaking her head.

"I had dinner sent to your chambers."

"My favorite?" he asked.

That remembered Eleanor when he was a little many years ago. "Of course, my darling boy."

A small smile appeared on his face. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't eaten."

"I will."

"You will eat all of it."

"Mother—"

"All of it."

William laughed. For the first time since the tournament, the tension in his shoulders eased.

His mother turned toward the door. Then stopped.

"And William?"

"Yes?"

She looked back at him. "Try not to get yourself killed at the next one."

"I'll do my best."

"Your best is apparently questionable."

She left. William smiled to himself.

But when the door closed, his thoughts returned to the tournament.

To Alexander.

To the final strike.

And, inevitably, to Serena.