THIRTY-ONE
Bernard told Ursula how grateful he was for the walking stick he'd been given, but that was before he'd used it. After two days of painfully slow and painfully painful steps crossing the tower room, he was ready to pitch the thing out the window.
But he did not. Firstly, because it would be absolutely mortifying to have to ask Ursula to go and retrieve it, after he'd thrown it in a particularly childish tantrum, but also because he knew it was the only way he would ever walk again.
Ursula deserved a whole man for a husband. And if he wanted to demonstrate to his father that he was strong enough to hold the barony for him, he didn't dare to appear to be the cripple his father expected. The only thing his father respected was strength, which Bernard sorely needed.
So he plodde
