After stabling the horse, Lachlan walked across the courtyard with Andrew. Over the past few days, they hadn’t exactly built up comradery, but at least they were on civil speaking terms. Earlier, he’d shrugged off the stunt Andrew had pulled with poking the horse in the flank. Still, he didn’t know if he could trust the kid. And he had to keep reminding himself not to rush things.
“So what’s your favorite breed of horse?” Lachlan asked. It was always safe to talk about horses or weapons with Andrew. Anything else was a crapshoot.
“Ye mean a type?” The lad grinned—holy hell, that was a first. “A destrier for certain.”
Lachlan noted that medieval folk didn’t yet use the term “breed” for a horse type. “Not a galloway like your mum rides?” Lachlan hardly knew modern breeds or types like thoroughbreds and quarter horses, but a destrier? What the hell?
“No chance. I’d not allow myself to be seen on a pony if I had my druthers. A destrier is a knight’s horse, but…” The lad hung his head and kicked a stone.
“But?”
“They are dear. A squire could never afford one—even a knight must earn many a purse afore he can hope to buy such a mount.”
“A destrier, you say?” Lachlan tapped his chin with his forefinger. “They must be big-boned to support a knight in full mail.”
Andrew looked truly interested. His posture even straightened. “They are—the largest warhorses of the lot.”
“So when a knight can’t afford a destrier, what sort of horse does he ride?”
“A palfrey would me my second choice.”
“A palfrey?” Lachlan pulled open the door to the great hall. He had heard nothing of these types.
Andrew stepped through. “Of course,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Hit with the pleasant aroma of freshly cut pine, Lachlan stopped in the entryway of the great hall. “Smells like Christmas.”
Lady Christina turned from where she was directing a man up a ladder. “How was the riding lesson?”
Lachlan rubbed his backside. “Only got thrown once.”
Taking on a sudden case of disinterest, Andrew headed for the stairwell.
“A moment.” Christina hastened toward him. “I’ve arranged for your Latin lessons to commence on the morrow.”
“Latin?”
“Aye, all noblemen should be familiar with Latin at the very least.”
Lachlan didn’t miss Andrew’s eye-rolling look of disgust. “But why? I hate books. I hate reading and writing.”
“Noblemen oft write in Latin,” Christina explained. “If their missives are stolen by outlaws, it is less likely for them to understand the contents.”
Lachlan moved in, holding up a finger. “Your mother has a good point.”
Andrew glared at him as if he’d suddenly grown two heads. “Why do ye always have to take her side?”
“I what?” Lachlan moved his hands to his hips. “Sure, you love horses and weapons, but there’s a whole lot more to life.”
“Well, it’s not in books.”
Jeez, the kid couldn’t be more mistaken.
“There must be a million poverty-stricken children out there who would do anything to learn to read, let alone learn Latin.”
“Well then find some street urchin to take my place.” Andrew whipped around and dashed up the stairwell, his footsteps echoing.
Christina’s shoulders sagged. “I thought he’d be thrilled.”
Fed up, Lachlan returned his attention to the greening—goodness, Christina took her Christmas decorations seriously. “I don’t think Andrew has the capacity to be thrilled about anything. If you’d like I could take the lessons with him.”
“Ye could, but I’d prefer to see him give Father Sinclair a chance. Ye’re already doing far more for the lad than anyone should ask.”
“I don’t mind. He’s growing on me.”
“Are ye serious?”
“Well, if he’d learn to smile and stop being a priggish bastard toward you, I might enjoy being around him.”
She chuckled, drawing her hand to her forehead. “I have no idea how we shall endure the next year.”
“As I said, take it one day at a time.” Lachlan looked from the walls to the rafters. “Holy smokes, when you said you were planning to green the castle, you decided to go all out.”
“’Tis our way of bringing spring inside until the end of winter.”
“I like it.” He grinned. “And where are you planning to put the tree?”
Her eyebrows knit together. “I beg your pardon?”
“The Christmas tree.”
Her ladyship gave him a panicked stare as if she’d never heard of such a thing.
She probably never has.
“In my time everyone greens their homes, but the centerpiece is a tree that is decorated with garlands.” Lachlan tried to describe it in terms she would understand. “We trim it with ornaments like balls and ribbons and bows.”
“Oooo.” She drummed her fingers against her lips. “That sounds lovely.”
“I think so. And we put gifts under the tree.”
“Gifts?”
“Yes, we wrap them in paper and then open them on Christmas morn.”
“For the entire clan?”
He chuckled—jeez, that would be pricey to say the least. “Well, people pretty much live in their own homes and gift giving is restricted to the immediate family and maybe a few close friends.”
She smacked her lips as if considering. “I see. The de Moray clan partakes in a grand feast and we give our people nutmeats and bread baked with sweet fruits. ’Tis everyone’s favorite feast day.”
“Mm, I can smell the baking already.” He flicked the pine branch in her hand. “If you could have anything you wanted what would you like for Christmas, m’lady?”
She heaved a big sigh. “My son to be content.”
“Unfortunately, that’s something I can’t give.”
“Hmm.” She waved her branch toward the dais. “Mayhap introducing a new tradition might be worthwhile. I think the hall would look grand with a festooned tree.”
“And the presents?”
“Perhaps we could do something for Andrew above stairs in my chamber. ’Tis quite homey up there.”
Lachlan gave her a wink. “I think I know the perfect gift for him.”
She shook her bough, her eyes shining with her mischievous grin. “Oh please, do tell.”
“Have you heard of a destrier horse?”
She dropped her hands to her sides. “He wants a warhorse?”
“Well, he does want to become a knight.”
“Holy snapdragons. We have plenty of garrons and galloways, but a destrier?” She bit her thumbnail. “Let me put some thought into it. Heavens, a warhorse? Perhaps I should rethink gift giving in my chamber. We’ll have to take him outside whilst it’s still light—afore the feast.”
Andrew relished the feel of the iron weave in his hand as he sparred with Sir Lachlan. The big man had taught him a great deal already and he reckoned the squires back at de Vere’s castle would be impressed. When he returned, he’d be promoted to the top of the ranks and made a knight as soon as he reached his majority.
He might have to endure a year of hell at this dank outpost, but at least he would gain in strength and skill. Watching Sir Lachlan spar with the other guards had made Andrew realize the knight’s true talent, though how he could have ridden in the tourney circuit on the continent was a quandary. He couldn’t handle a horse worth beans. Regardless, the man could fight with the strength of ten warriors and Andrew wanted to learn everything he could. If he could match that kind of prowess with his horse skills, he’d be unbeatable, and invaluable to Lord de Vere.
Just when Andrew thought he was gaining the upper hand with a thrust to Sir Lachlan’s right hip, his damned mother came into the courtyard.
“Father Sinclair his waiting in the solar for your lesson.”
Why did she always have to make things miserable? “Can ye not see I’m still in the midst of my lesson with Sir Lachlan?”
“No.” The big knight grabbed Andrew’s wrist and disarmed him faster than he could blink. Dammit, how did he do that so quickly? Andrew didn’t even have a chance to set up a counter maneuver.
He looked at Lachlan and gritted his teeth. “I said I do not want to learn Latin.”
“How do you know if you haven’t tried?”
“I just do.”
“Not an answer. Until you can provide me with a rational explanation of why learning Latin would not behoove a young man of your stature, you have no choice but to comply with your mother’s desires.”
Taking mother’s side again. “What if I refuse to learn?”
“Then you are more foolish than I initially thought.”
“Blast it all. Ye are as horrible as she!” With that, he made a show of stomping off toward the second floor solar.
Mother’s footsteps clapped the stone steps behind, but Andrew didn’t wait for her. The sooner he got this damned Latin lesson over, the sooner he’d be free to take Sir Lachlan to the riding arena and put him on an untrained colt.
Bursting through the door, Andrew came to an immediate stop.
“Hello,” said a cleric with grey streaks through his brown hair. But Andrew wasn’t looking at him. A redheaded lass with striking blue eyes smiled from across the board. Holy smokes, she was lovely.
The cleric pushed himself to his feet. “I hope ye dunna mind I brought my ward, Aileen. She’s been awfully keen to learn Latin and I hoped ye would enjoy having a study partner.”
Aileen waved, her smile lighting up the entire chamber. “Good afternoon.”
“Ah…” Andrew wanted to turn and run, but his legs wouldn’t move.
“There ye are,” said Ma, coming up from behind. “Has Father Sinclair already made the introductions?”
For the first time, Andrew didn’t resent his mother’s presence. He gave her a sharp nod and slid into the chair beside the lass. “Yes, thank ye.” The corner of his mouth quirked as he looked Aileen in the eye. “So why do ye want to learn Latin?”
“’Cause ’tis the language of our Lord.” Then she turned a brilliant shade of pink and lowered her gaze. “Besides, nary a lass like me would gain a chance to learn reading and languages if it werena for the kindness of Father Sinclair.”
The tutor shook out his black robes and resumed his seat. “Shall we begin? I’d like to start by scribing the alphabet.” He slid two pieces of vellum toward them, the inkwell was already set in the center of the table with three quills.
Aileen snatched one. “This is going to be so fun.”
Andrew took a quill of his own. “Perhaps it will be.”
Thankfully, Mother quietly slipped out the door, closing it behind her.