Rebel's Son: Changed Heart Series, #2

Chapter 1

Shane slid his fingers unchallenged through his wavy hair as he strolled with quickening breaths. Merriment bubbled like one of Cook’s rich stews hanging over a flame. He cleared his throat to suppress it. A stable boy passed him. The boy’s steps accelerated, his gaze darting about. He wrung his hands together.

Shane slowed his exit from the ward to watch his masterpiece unfold. His heart quickened, and his breaths came in shallow puffs.

The youth cracked open the stable doors, searching the darkness before stepping inside. He glanced once more over his shoulder at Shane, his lips drawn in a harsh line. Shane tossed his head and waved at Ethan stomping toward him through the inner gate.

The stable boy opened the doors further. A scrape groaned above his head.

Shane became stone in midstride, riveted by the action unfolding.

A bucket toppled on the youth, covering him in sticky syrup.

Your Highness! Ethan snapped.

The lad stumbled back, and Ethan veered aside to give aid.

Shane grasped his childhood companion, pulling him to his side. No, ’tis better yet. Watch.

The boy staggered and bumped the other door open. A bag of feathers rained on him.

Shane roared with laughter as the boy slumped to his knees in tears.

Ethan jerked free. Is this what you have been about this day, Highness? Torturing innocent lads? Training with Sir Griff commenced hours ago.

Shane remained doubled over. Is it not the funniest thing you have ever beheld? I must tell the royal jester. He wiped a tear from his cheek. I amaze myself.

What—by all that is holy—is the matter with you? Ethan said as he reached the teary, crumpled, sticky lump.

Shane bristled and straightened. Nothing is the matter with me. He tossed his head and threw his chin in the air. "I am my mother’s son."

The queen’s name may mean ‘rebellious’ but never has she behaved other than a godly upright woman.

Shane shrugged off the reproof and left the curmudgeon. Ethan always dampened his merriment. Ethan remained to clean up after him. ’Twas just punishment for stealing his joy. With slow, meandering steps, Shane moved from the ward into the large bailey. What should he do next? He scanned the castle inhabitants for his next victim. Chuckling laughter toyed with him once more, raising a smirk to his lips. But it faded as quick as it sprang to life.

He tried to shake his spirit free of Ethan’s chastisement. He was the crown prince. He skirted the chapel in the center of the crowded space as a dark humor filled him. What right does that lowly would-be knight have to judge his lord? The hallowed building towered over him, the windows, door, and steps forming a profound scowl of holy disapproval. Shane turned his back on the reproof.

The hollow clank of wasters of the other men-at-arms and knights training vied for his attention. He ducked into the tavern before ol’ Griff could require his presence.

Shaking his head to clear it of all unwanted notions, he took long purposeful strides into the dimly lit room. Glancing down his up turned nose at the few gathered within, he sighed and his muscles relaxed as each underling slipped from their bench and took a knee as he passed. His chin rose higher still. He straightened his jerkin. His chest filled until the toggles threatened to break free.

With only steps left in his regal parade, a twinge of guilt dared to prick him. Like some flighty maid with a needle, it pierced him for a moment but caused no lasting injury. The annoyance of guilt came, as he knew well of his father’s disapproval of such abject observance. Shane brushed off the momentary stab. He had secretly decreed to all within the castle walls that he required such submission whenever the king was not present.

Shane plopped against the wall and put one foot on the seat beside him. No one moved. They dared not until a mug rested in his hand. He slammed his fist on the table, rattling it against the stone floor. A tankard shuddered into place.

You are slow this day, keeper.

Forgive me, Yer Highness, the gray-haired man inched his bent body to the floor.

If this cup stays filled, mayhaps I will consider it. Shane dismissed him with a wave at the entire room and laid his head against the stone wall. He needed a new distraction. The owner’s daughter brought her father a pitcher. She could prove promising. Recently coming into her womanhood, she could be plucked with little effort.

The tavern owner placed the ale on Shane’s table, blocking his view of the lithe woman. Our finest for His Highness. The man bowed again, though not to the floor.

Being as ’tis the only tavern on this high lump of rock, your claim says little.

The old man bit his lip.

You expect not for me to pour it myself? Send your wench to attend my needs.

The tavern owner’s eyes narrowed. Ye knows well, Highness, Rachel bes no wench. She bes me precious daughter.

The maid trembled.

Precious indeed. She will serve me.

The owner opened his mouth, but Shane spoke first.

I wonder the actions of the king when told of your disrespect for his son, the crown prince, ol’ man.

I’ve done naught—

Exactly! You stand there allowing my cup to remain empty as I languish without any amiable companionship. He winked at the tasty morsel.

The girl placed her hand on her father’s shoulder. I’ve finished much of me duties, Father. I can attend the prince. Fret not.

Her father frowned, but Shane shooed him away. The girl stood, hands clasped in front of her, on the opposite side of his table.

Shane straddled the bench and patted the seat beside him.

I can see to yer needs better from ’ere, Highness. Her words were calm, her gaze appropriately lowered. She filled his cup.

You know naught of my needs, girl. He slapped the bench. What would your father do if he no longer owned this pathetic little hovel?

Her knuckles whitened, but she moved to the far end of his bench. Shane admired the contour of her profile for a moment before he leaned forward, slipped his fingers in her apron strings, and pulled her along the bench. She came to rest between his legs. He brushed the smooth skin of her jaw with the back of his fingers. Now, this is better.

She swallowed hard as her breaths quickened.

He skimmed his fingers along the curve of her neck, noting her pounding heart. His blood boiled. He wanted to throw her down on the table and teach her a great many things.

Your Highness! Light flooded his sanctuary.

Go away, Eth. The girl and I are getting acquainted.

Ethan stomped to the end of his table, arms crossed. "You will leave Rachel be and resume your training at once, or I will be forced to inform the king."

Shane sipped his ale, watching its dark amber swirl in the bottom of the cup as he considered his options. How much pleasure could he get from the girl before the rat informed his father and they dragged him to the training corral? Shane drained the tankard and thumped it on the boards. Not nearly enough.

We shall finish this another time, my sweet. His hand brushed over her breast.

She recoiled with a yelp.

Leave her be. Flames flickered in Ethan’s eyes.

Shane rolled his shoulders. I see naught the importance of my presence in training—this day or any other. You all train for the honor of being knighted. It is not as if any would refuse to give the crown prince his spurs.

A growl rumbled through his escort. You set a right poor example. What man will ever follow you into battle?

Shane laughed. Who claims I would so risk the people losing such a glorious ruler by leading the charge into battle? What would the people do without me to guide them?

Celebrate wildly in the streets.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Shane slammed his fist into the man’s jaw. Ethan stumbled a single step. It was not the first time Ethan had been the recipient of his wrath. Shane smirked. He was such a smart lad, one would think he would learn to curb his tongue and save himself the humiliation. They stepped from the dark tavern into the glowing sunlight.

Ethan dabbed at the blood at the corner of his mouth with his tongue. His strides were angry as he escorted Shane to the training ring. Your title alone saves you. Were you any other man—

Aye, but I am nay any other man. I am the crown prince. And no one—not even you, ol’ friend—would dare lay a hand on me outside the training ring. Well, not even there really.

You smug—

Highness, so good of you to join us at last, Griff said.

I know my presence is a great honor to your little school, Griff. Shane sized up the men to find his next amusement.

Chapter 2

As the others trained in earnest, Shane poked some in the ribs with the blunted tip of his waster. Others he slapped on the backside with the flat face of the useless wooden weapon. Turning to one noble son, Shane winked. Here, boy. Shane slapped his shoulder, pushing the young man to the center of the practice arena. Let me offer some guidance.

They squared off. The other man lunged first. Shane swatted the weapon aside like a fly. He patted the startled opponent on his cheek. Lose a little more of this lard, boy, and you shall move faster. Shane roared, tweaking his chin.

Shane waved for him to try again. The red-faced victim lunged with a snarl. Shane sidestepped the charge like a bullfighter. The man staggered. Shane thrust his foot into his opponent’s backside. The noble son landed on his belly, his face in the dirt.

Shane threw back his head his hands holding his middle. Hey, Griff, the boy should rest. Look at the effort it takes the lad to heft his great bulk about.

Ignore him, Oswin, you are twice the fighter of the spoiled prince, Ethan said, helping the man to his feet. Ethan dared shoot a rebuking glance at Shane.

Twice the fighter. He is large, but hardly twice my weight. What have you been drinking, Eth?

You are the only one to indulge in such vice.

A smirk filled Shane’s face. "I am my mother’s son."

Oswin had his back to Shane as he gasped for air.

Shane narrowed his gaze with a sneer and slid his waster between Oswin’s fat thighs. The man did not see the obstruction until he attempted to return to his training. Entangled, he stumbled. His ankle twisted. The man yelped and landed with his face in the dirt yet again.

Shane slapped his knee and roared. Oh, aye, I see now the manner of this warrior. You are quite correct, Eth. I could never lack such grace. He is a much better buffoon than I.

The boy lumbered to his feet and lunged at Shane with a murderous roar. His injured ankle caused him to cry out in pain, but he charged undeterred. It took four warriors to hold him back.

Forget him, Oswin. He is not worth the grief which would be visited upon you for hitting him.

I wish not to hit him, sir. I aim to beat him until he never rises again.

Ethan stepped between the two, sparing Shane having to teach the oaf another lesson. He warned the man to silence. Do not dare put voice to such threats against your prince, Lord Oswin. It dishonors you and lowers you to his juvenile behavior. Come, let us go see Sir Carrington. He will know how best to treat your injury.

Shane took a few swings at the man-at-arms nearest him. He passed the remainder of the day in half-hearted attempts at sparring with the lesser men he was forced to train beside.

At last, the bell in the chapel’s steeple rang out the call to supper. Shane let his waster drop and strolled out before being dismissed.

His servant, Alden, changed Shane’s shirt as he stood barely raising his arms to help in the efforts. Afterwards, Shane threw water on his face, swaggered down to the hall, and approached the high table where he ate with his father and his little brother, Jak.

His father, Edgar, wore a hard expression on his weathered face. His now almost entirely gray hair was one of the signs of his advanced age. How much longer till the ol’ man turns my kingdom over to me?

Shane had once overheard a servant say, The king once had such fine dark hair. The graying commenced as soon as Prince Shane could walk and spread faster once he learned to talk.

Shane could not be the cause of his father’s aging. He tossed aside the notion as he threw off all unpleasant thoughts.

Queen Mariamne approached, carrying two large serving trays. She still served as a common servant in the king’s hall each meal. Her long onyx hair, streaked with ribbons of silver was braided and wrapped at the base of her skull. Mother did not appear to have aged nearly as much as his father, therefore, he could not be the root of the problem.

Evening, my son, she said, though her customary joy seemed to have melted away this night. Only a step beyond him, she stumbled as her toe caught in her hem.

Shane reached out, encircling her with a strong, steadying arm. He pulled his mother close. He felt her pounding heart bang against her ribs, and his own heart trembled.

Are you well, Mother? He whispered as he brushed his stubble-covered cheek against her reddening one.

Aye, son. Much thanks to you, only a small portion fell.

Damn the food, Mother. Are you to right? I could not bear to see you hurt.

A slim smile appeared. Disturbing news weighs heavy on my heart. But, oh, how I cherish your concern, my son. I pray it is ever so. She slipped away to continue her work.

Shane shivered at the loss. God’s blessing be upon you, Mother. Though the words performed an odd jig on his tongue, he meant them with all his shallow heart. There were times her presence alone kept the dark humor from consuming him. His spirit fluttered with rare compassion only she could stir. He followed her. Mother, speak of it, and I will do everything in my power to make it aright. His hand rested on her upper arm as he longed to embrace her again.

I pray you will, my son. She moved to the furthest table to deliver her trays. Her odd plea rang in his spirit, shaking loose some of the darkness and shining a torch on his wickedness. As he followed her movements, Father waved him to his seat.

Is Mother well?

You will come on a hunt tomorrow.

Shane groaned. A hunt with his father meant rising before the sun. Father—

This will not be debated. You will be on your horse before first light. Edgar trapped his son in the heated rage of his glare. "You will not defy me."

Shane quaked as his mind carried him back to times in his childhood when he feared and respected this man. When was the last time he’d looked at his father so? Shane raised his chin. If you require my assistance in the hunt so desperately, of course I will come and give you aid, Father.

Edgar’s fist pounded, rattling the dinnerware. Jak jumped, and the murmur of the hall fell to a whisper, accompanied by covert glances. Shane felt the heat of his father’s wrath. He picked at his food as his stomach twisted into a knot.

Before half the meal passed, Shane excused himself. I will see you on the morrow, Father. Rest you well. He popped his little brother in the arm as he left.

Ow!

Better toughen, Jak, or you will never advance from squire to knight.

Shane savored the cool air outside. He raked his hands through his hair, closing his eyes to the memory of disapproving stares from so many within his father’s walls. He would be king someday—soon, he hoped. And when he sat on the throne, no one would hazard to even look at him.

A small whimper deep in his spirit reminded him if he but did right, he would be approved. Shane sneered. He enjoyed the rush of his antics far too much. His heart thrilled each time his mind commenced work on a new venture. Being the crown prince of all Veronia came with certain privileges—if not, what good was it?

He needed an adventure now to wash away the unspoken impending doom his father threatened. His eyes scanned the ward for ideas. A servant girl approached the well, but he had tasted of her before. The maid brought to mind the bar wench, though. His feet moved with a near skip as he sauntered to the tavern.

The dark room only held two patrons, and they left after giving proper observance. Shane’s heart raced. Keeper? he shouted.

The old man came from the back room and bowed low—though not to the ground as Shane demanded. Welcome, Yer Highness.

Where is the wench?

The frail man straightened to his full limited stature. His jaw set and his chin jutted out. Rachel bes here no longer, Highness.

Send for her at once.

Rachel lives here no longer. She now resides with relatives—far out of your wicked reach, said a familiar voice behind him. Ethan swaggered up to the man two years his senior.

If you fancied her too, Eth, you had only speak of it. I would gladly give you a turn with her when I am done.

Ethan grimaced and scowled at him.

Now, where is she? Shane added his own growl to punctuate his words.

Ethan crossed his arms. As I said, somewhere you can do her no harm.

Shane licked his lips. I wish her no harm, Eth. I mean to pleasure her.

I know not how you could be of the same blood as King Edgar the Honorable and Queen Mariamne the Righteous. They love the Lord and His laws. They care for their people above their own selfish desires. Are you able to comprehend the profound disappointment and embarrassment you are to them?

Shane swung at him again. But—for the first time—Ethan took not the hit. He blocked the blow, landing one of his own in Shane’s ribs, driving out the air. Shane doubled over with a stunned gasp.

Never will you hurt Rachel or another woman in this castle as long as I live. Ethan shoved Shane on his rump. And the Lord curse me if ever I swear fidelity to a man the likes of you.

Your Highness, the old man shuffled to Shane and bent to help him up. My Lord. The man could not contain his approving smirk.

Shane smacked his wrinkled hands away. Dare not to lay your peasant hands upon me. He brushed away the rushes and went to his room, vowing Ethan would rue the day he ever laid hands on his prince.

Chapter 3

Highness?

Fie! Leave me be, Shane cursed the man rousing him.

But the hunt with thee sire, Highness ...

Shane allowed Alden to dress him. There is no good reason to do anything at this ungodly hour.

Highness, you are injured.

Shane dismissed the servant’s mention of the bruise adorning his ribs. His first instinct had been to reveal Ethan’s misconduct. But Shane knew too well his father—and Eth’s father also. They would inquire on the entirety of the matter. Shane conceded his father would approve more of Eth’s response than side with his own behavior. He was also loath to admit Eth had landed him on his arse with a single blow. He would find another way to reward the sanctimonious shite for the injury—both in flesh and soul—and soon.

Alden finished. With his eyes but half open, Shane lumbered to break the fast. Food would at least make the arduous early morning hunt a little tolerable.

King Edgar waited, arms crossed, tapping his foot in the rushes at the end of one of the boards.

Cy sat on a bench—nearby as always. The man was like part of the castle. He served as Father’s thane; of course he was Ethan’s father, and somewhere in their history he had come to be called a brother to Mother. Oft times Shane resented the man, for Cy behaved as another parent. This morn, his blond brows furrowed and his frowned deep. No others lolled about and Shane’s heart quickened.

Good morn to you, Father. Good morn, Sir Cynric. Mayhaps his genial greeting would soften them.

You are late. Let us be off. Father stomped through the rushes.

May I collect a bite—?

Father shoved open the door. Had you been on time, you could have eaten your fill. Come!

Cy followed close on Shane’s heels assuring he moved to join the king.

Shane quickened his steps to catch up. They mounted their horses as first light kissed the Kestron Ridge. The three of them traveled without guard or escort. Veronia had been at peace since months after his birth, but the king never took such chances as to travel without a contingent of personal guards. Shane’s heart beat harder, drowning out the pounding of his mount’s hooves as they trotted from the castle’s perch.

The late spring day dawned warm, though Shane shivered from the chilled reception afforded him. Father, if this is about my training—?

’Tis about a great many matters, which concern me most grievously! Edgar kicked his mount to speed.

Shane raced after him, but they did not head for the royal hunting grounds. Father charged north, toward the ridge. They did not slow until they neared the narrow mountain pass.

Father led his horse off the road to a stream, allowing it a long drink. He turned to Shane I will no longer tolerate your insolence and your wicked behavior.

Sire, Cy said.

Father whirled. I know well the lessons of the Bible, brother. I have read the punishments God casts on a kingdom whose leader does not discipline his own. I will nay allow my people to suffer for my inaction out of some misplaced love and hope for this ingrate. Father kicked his horse to a trot.

An unyielding lump grew in Shane’s throat, making it difficult to breathe. What did Father aim to do? I am the crown prince. He cannot plan to kill me and hope to cover it up. Was not murder a greater sin than any of the trivial games he got about? What discipline can he hope to find way out here? A myriad of possibilities bombarded Shane as the day wore on and they traversed the high pass single file.

Father led the way and Cy followed—slumped and far too quiet. Father never spoke either. He sat like a broadsword had replaced his spine, eyes straight ahead, his lips drawn and thin. When was the last time Father and Cy went anywhere when they did not laugh, let alone converse with one another?

Shane’s muscles cramped. He shoulders and neck were as stiff as if mortar had been poured in them. His breaths came in quick puffs.

They spent the night in a cave. Edgar refused to speak, and Shane curled on his bedroll. Sleep did not come, as dark shadows of his future danced on the walls. Every muscle ached. Even his heart struggled.

His father and Cy stirred before first light. Come, Shane. Let us deal with you and your behavior.

Father, I—

Speak not a word to me until you are prepared to be a different man. Edgar stared, an unmoving force without reason.

Shane clamped his mouth shut and mounted his horse. His father had moved beyond discussion. Best to let the matter proceed as Father intended, without disruption. Shane needed no more wrath than was already to be visited upon him.

With much of the day behind them, they increased their pace once more in the valley on the far side of the ridge. They formed up side by side, Edgar in the middle. They skirted Lincolnshire, following the curve of the valley to the east. Deep in the woods, filled with late afternoon shadows, Father drew his mount to a halt and jumped from the saddle.

This is the place. Father handed his reigns to Cy with a melancholy smile. "I remember the joy of that