Armored Hearts

chapter 2

4 years later

Gareth watched nine-year-old Tabitha tuck bits of her dinner into her pockets as Grandfather spoke. Treats for the mutt she’d found. Gareth sighed and kicked her under the table. If Grandfather caught her, he’d ask her why, and then the dog would be discovered. She was already hiding the cat she’d found in the yard.

Tabitha’s sky blue eyes met Gareth’s. They were just like his grandfather’s eyes, but full of warmth and kindness. Gareth was the image of his father, except for the hazel eyes that belonged to his mother, or so he’d been told.

Gareth’s look was stern. She could sneak into the kitchen later and get something for the animals. He would help her keep her secret just as she’d kept his. The old man was growing stingier by the day. He had rid Waverly Park of most of its fulltime staff just the month before. Thankfully he’d kept Sarah for Tabitha’s sake. She was fond of the maid and her husband. If Grandfather disposed of the dog and cat, Tabitha would be heartbroken, and Gareth couldn’t allow that.

“And how are things in the parish?” Grandfather sliced the meat on his plate as he questioned the minister, who came by every Tuesday to join them for dinner.

Reverend Piper sat up in his chair. “We’ve had several parishioners’ homes robbed in the last week. Mrs. Duncan’s silver spoons were taken, along with Mr. Duncan’s gold watch. It’s dreadful. Just dreadful. These aren’t people with pockets full of silver and gold to spare. Those items were keepsakes—heirlooms. Things they’d probably do better selling for a bite to eat—only to be taken by some hoodlums.” He shook his head and bowed it.

“What’s been done?” Grandfather asked in a bored tone and never glanced up from his dinner. He didn’t really care about the locals.

“The authorities have been notified and are looking into it,” Reverend Piper answered, with his mouth full. He swallowed hard and continued, “All the intrusions have been on the east side of the village. Most of those hit are farmers already struggling to make it. Something like this only brings spirits down further.”

Tabitha chimed in, “What can be done for them?”

Her eyes were wide with concern. Gareth felt it too but he kept it masked. He was more practiced at hiding his true feelings.

Grandfather glared at Tabitha, his expression stern. “Children are to be seen and not heard. If you cannot remember that, you will go back to dining in the nursery.”

Tabitha’s head bowed. “Yes, Lord Pensees.”

Reverend Piper stammered, “It’s sweet of the child to be concerned, don’t you think?” He looked across the table at Tabitha. “We can pray that God will send help. A guardian to watch over the shire. And for someone to bring work to the town. Farming isn’t sufficient for the people here any longer.”

Tabitha peeked up at the minister but kept her head bowed. “I will pray for that now.” She closed her eyes in silent prayer.

Gareth watched, amazed at her sweetness and faith. How could she keep it when she lived in a house run by Grandfather? Hard to believe she was related to the old man at all. She cared about stray animals and desperate people. All she could do was pray, and he knew she would do so every night.

Her sweetness and desire to help was contagious as Gareth began to think and tune out the old men as they spoke.



***

Reverend Piper had left and Grandfather had retired for the evening, but Tabitha was nowhere to be found. She normally waited by the stairs to keep lookout for Gareth so he could get himself to his room. He checked in Grandfather’s office. He often found her there, practicing her arithmetic on parchment or glancing at some of the latest marvels pictured in the newspaper.

Gareth wheeled himself out of the empty study and around to look in another room, but she wasn’t there either. He pushed the wheels through the open space of the foyer and into the hall toward the kitchen. It wasn’t proper for him enter. It was below his station, but he pushed harder toward the room, regardless, once he heard Tabitha’s weeping.

He watched from the open door of the kitchen. Sarah sat in a chair, cradling Tabitha in her lap. Sarah’s orange curls were coming loose from her bun. “There’s na ye can do fer the folk, but pray. God will hear yer prayers, just as Reverend Piper said.”

Tabitha sat back on the woman’s lap and wiped her wet eyes. “How do you know?”

Sarah pushed blonde hair that had fallen into Tabitha’s face behind the little girl’s ear. “Because the Good Book says the prayers of the righteous avails much and ye, me sweet girl, ’ave a good and righteous heart.”

Boot steps moved toward the two of them from the other side of the kitchen. Gareth had not realized Thompton was there, too, until the tall lanky man with brown hair knelt in front of Tabitha and took her small hand in his. “It also says the angels assigned to wee lads and lasses go before the throne of the Almighty daily. So ye say yer peace to God and He will get the message. And ye can sleep well knowin’ God heard ye.”

Thompton grabbed Tabitha under the arms, picked her up, and swung her in a circle about the room, causing her to giggle with delight before setting her on the floor and kneeling again before her. “And ye need be headin’ to bed and sleep soundly, because not only do God’s angels be watchin’ over ye, but also the good fairies.”

Tabitha grabbed the man around the neck and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before giving one to Sarah.

“I’ll be up to tuck ye in after I finish in here,” Sarah said as she made her way to a stack of dishes.

Tabitha nearly ran into Gareth when she darted into the hall. Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry! I forgot to come watch for you.”

Gareth smiled at his little aunt. “That’s all right. I wasn’t quite ready to go up yet anyway.” He wheeled around and headed back in the direction he’d come from with Tabitha beside him.

“Why are you so worried about the townspeople?” Gareth asked as they headed for the stairs.

Tabitha shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess I think about how awful it must be to have just enough to get by and have someone come and take it from you. It’s just wrong.” She ran around the stairs, then up them and back. She smiled and said in a loud whisper, “All’s clear.”

Gareth smiled back and took flight from his chair to his chamber door. The orange tabby appeared beside him and raced him up the stairs. Tabitha soon joined him in his chamber, the orange tabby cradled in her arms. She set it down, plopped herself in the wing chair, and picked up his math book. He was supposed to finish working some numbers for Mr. Strong before his time of instruction the next day.

“Can I finish these for you?” She glanced up under long, dark lashes.

“That would be cheating. Besides those are too hard for you, and arithmetic isn’t healthy for the female mind.”

“That’s stupid and not true. I like numbers. Miss Duncan is teaching me higher arithmetic. She says I might need it someday if I end up a governess like her.”

Gareth dismissed the notion with a shake of his head. “You’ll find some gentleman to marry you and make you a lady. You won’t need to think at all then.”

Her face scrunched. “Maybe I don’t want that. I like to think about more than pretty dresses and my hair. I’d rather spend my days teaching children than worrying about what color dress I should wear.”

Honestly, he couldn’t imagine a girl who chewed her fingernails and hated having her hair braided would care about the color of her dress.

The cat pounced from the floor back into her lap, and she patted it absentmindedly. She let out a sigh. “I wish there was some way I could help the people in town.”

Gareth furrowed his brow and floated a few feet above his bed. He liked the feeling of weightlessness that came from not touching the ground or his furniture.

Tabitha bowed her head in what looked like a silent prayer before opening her eyes and starting on Gareth’s arithmetic anyway. “The way our finances are going, I will probably need to look for employment by my sixteenth birthday.”

“Have you been looking in Grandfather’s books again?”

“I can’t help it. Working numbers is soothing.” Tabitha pouted. “We are barely hanging on. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why Sarah and Thompton stay. Did you know Lord Gerald had to cut their pay by half and they stayed anyway?”

Gareth blinked hard and lowered himself back to the bed. He had not known that. No wonder the other staff had left. He did know Grandfather had let out his home in London this year rather than visit for the season. They had little more than a title and the farmlands barley produced. Times were changing, just like the turn of the century. Those in trade had more in their bank accounts than their landlords. If Tabitha were legitimate, she would be Lady Smyth, daughter of an Earl. That could help her secure a good union when she became of marrying age. But instead she was penniless Miss Fitzgerald of dubious origins.

Gareth flew to his wardrobe and pulled out his coat.

“Will you take me flying tonight?”

“Not tonight. I’m going to assess the situation over on the east side.”

Tabitha leapt up from the chair, and the cat hopped to the floor. It eyed her indignantly. The girl looked around as if someone would hear her, and asked in a harsh whisper, “Where the robberies are happening?”

He shrugged and buttoned his coat. “You were so worried about them, and it got me thinking. Those folks won’t get much attention from the authorities. They’re too low in rank for anyone to really care. Unless Grandfather pays a call to the authorities on their behalf…but we both know he never will.”

Tabitha rushed in front of him. “But the robbers could be armed. You could get hurt.”

Gareth flew to the balcony doors. “I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t out fly a bullet.”

He shrugged. “It’s dark.”

Her voice rose, and she no longer spoke in a whisper. “How would you come home and explain a bullet wound to Lord Pensees? Or what if someone saw you and told?”

Gareth stopped and bit his lip. She was right; he shouldn’t risk it.

Tabitha’s face lit up. “I have an idea.”

She ran to the door, stepping over the cat. The orange tabby darted under his bed. She stepped out into the hall and peeked back in with a mischievous smile. “All’s clear. Follow me.”

Gareth threw up his hands but relented. When they reached the door to the attic, he had to ask, “Where are we going?”

“I told you. I have an idea.”

They reached the top of the attic stairs, Gareth reining in his flying pace to wait for Tabitha. She rushed over to a corner and pulled a sheet off of a suit of armor. “You could wear this.”

Gareth parked himself on top of an old wardrobe. He laughed. “I’m not wearing that.”

“Why not? You’d be bullet proof. No one would recognize you. And if anyone sees you, no one’s going to believe a story about a flying knight.”

Gareth shook his head, but a smile formed on his lips. She might have something. She usually did. Tabitha was the smartest person Gareth knew, even if she were a girl. All the ladies he’d ever met bored him within minutes of a conversation’s beginning. Perhaps it was being trapped in the chair and on the country estate that made Gareth long for conversation that went beyond the current fashion and silly giggles. Another reason to swear off the idea of matrimony.

But Tabitha would need to marry well. Grandfather discouraged her in flaunting her intelligence. Gareth had to agree. Most gentlemen were stupid and only interested in cards and all things trivial. No mindless gentleman would want a wife who was so obviously his intellectual superior. Her origins and sharp mind were two strikes against her. But she was pretty and sweet natured. Some man would be able to see pass the other issues.

Gareth flew down from where he’d perched and picked up the sword that went with the suit. The tarnished blade felt heavy and awkward. Mr. Strong had been teaching him fencing as best he could with Gareth in a chair. He’d said it was part of a proper and well rounded education. Gareth hadn’t paid much attention, thinking swordplay a foolish endeavor for a cripple. Perhaps just holding the sword would be enough to frighten criminals away. He surveyed the suit again and turned to Tabitha.

“Help me put it on over my clothes.”

***

Gareth made his way to the east side of the village, slower than usual due to the extra weight. The armor’s visor kept falling over his eyes, making visibility difficult. Sweat beaded on his forehead in the stifling lack of airflow.

At his rate of flight, it still didn’t take long to reach the other side of town. He flew over one farm and saw nothing out of order. He did the same over at the Miller place. He’d been there with Sarah to get apples as a child. Nothing.

Just as he was about to give up, three young men came out of a shed, carrying tools. Gareth had never confronted anyone before, not really. He’d been surly to the help and to his grandfather all his life, but that was different.

He landed in the midst of them. They were around his age but he didn’t recognize any of them from church or the dinner parties he attended at Greenview.

“Put them back.” Gareth deepened his voice to sound older and pointed with the sword.

The boys froze; their jaws dropped and eyes widened.

“I said, Put. Them. Back.” His tone was controlled but with true power.

The tallest, a thin boy, backed away, tripping over a red-haired boy who had frozen in place. The tall one’s tweed cap flew from his head, and he let out a sharp cry as he fell on his backside. He scrambled to his feet, snatched his cap, and sprinted down the lane.

“I said, PUT. THEM. BACK.” Gareth’s voice echoed through the suit, and he wondered if it boomed as loud outside of it.

The stocky boy holding the tools shook his head vigorously and whimpered. His wide eyes shone in the moonlight, and he suddenly looked younger than Gareth had thought at first. In desperation, the boy tried handing the bundle to the frozen boy, but they fell at his feet. With a cry of frustration, he picked the tools back up and tried to give them to the boy again, but they fell once more. He shrugged and bolted after the first boy.

Blinking hard, the frozen one seemed to realize he stood alone. His nose crinkled, joining the freckles, and his eyes looked black. He backed away, picking up speed with each step. He stepped into an irrigation ditch on the side of the road and fell into the mud. His dark eyes never left Gareth as he fumbled to his feet and started running backwards again. He fell twice more.

Gareth rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, at least turn around and watch where you’re going.”

The boy nodded in agreement, eyes still wide. “Yes, right.” And then took the advice by turning and tearing after his friends. The boy’s backside was covered in brown mud, and Gareth chuckled.

He glanced at the scattered tools at his feet and considered picking them up. The armor would rattle and bump into something and probably get him caught. He shook his head. That would never do. At least the owner would find them in his yard and not gone.

***

When Gareth got home, he flew to Tabitha’s balcony instead of his own. The orange cat sat on the balcony, looking out as if waiting for him. It followed him into Tabitha’s room where his aunt lay on her bed with a book. The mutt was tucked into her side. She glanced up when he pushed open her doors.

“Did you find anything?” She jumped up and ran to him.

“Yes. I stopped some boys from taking tools at the Martin place.”

“Did they see you? Did you have to fight them?”

Gareth placed the helmet on a table in the corner and began removing the rest. The cool air licked the sweat away and made him feel instant relief. “Yes, they saw me, but I didn’t have to fight them.”

Tabitha helped him out of the armor. “I bet they were scared to death when they saw you.”

Gareth laughed. “They were. All three of them ran.”

“Still, be careful. At some point, someone’s going to challenge you with either a fist or a gun. Not everyone will run from a flying knight.”

“I have my sword. Now that I have a reason to learn fencing, I’ll take my practice with Mr. Strong seriously.”

He caught the blue stone as it fell from his waistcoat when he bent to pull off a metal legging. His eyes darted to Tabitha who didn’t seem to notice his secret treasure. The blue stone had lost the smell of flowers long ago, but it had become his good luck charm whenever he flew out. Now he needed that sort of thing more than ever before.

***

Gareth wheeled himself to Mr. Strong’s a half hour earlier than usual. He wanted to work more with the sword. He had pushed his way up the ramp to the door of Strong’s cottage when Sarah came out, tugging her cardigan over her arms.

“Oh, Lord Smyth!” Sarah’s worried green eyes were huge before she dropped her gaze to her rumpled skirt and began smoothing out the wrinkles. Her hands fluttered to her long red hair. It hung loose about her shoulders which was uncommon. She pulled pins from it and stuck them in her teeth before scooping her hair up with both hands, twisting it into a hasty bun and fastening it with the pins from her mouth. “Yer early.”

Gareth narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Sarah blinked several times as she bit her lip. “I came to deliver some laundry to Mr. Strong and tidy up a bit.”

Gareth narrowed his eyes. “You’re working for Mr. Strong, too?”

“Well, after yer grandfather had to cut me pay…”

Heat rose to Gareth’s cheeks. Talking about the family’s financial problems wasn’t polite. “Yes, well, I came early to work on some numbers a little more.”

“Numbers? Yes. Well. Have at it. I’ll see ye later at yer grandfather’s. Best knock before entering, since yer early.” Sarah turned on her heel and left in haste.

Gareth knocked on the door three times as was his habit.

“Enter,” a shaking voice called through the door.

Gareth turned the knob and pushed the door open before wheeling himself in. He liked how Mr. Strong didn’t rush to assist him but left it to him to do things on his own.

“Lord Smyth, you’re early.”

Gareth wheeled himself behind the door so he could push it shut. “Yes, I wanted some extra time to work on our fencing.”

The old man nodded. “I see. Why the sudden interest? I’ve been trying to teach you fencing for months but you’ve shown no interest before.”

Gareth composed himself and drew upon his typical expression of boredom. “I just feel that it’s about time I learned every aspect of becoming a lord.”

Mr. Strong made his way to a bureau and pulled out a long, slender sword by the hilt. “Let’s start with a rapier.” He tossed it toward Gareth.

Gareth instinctively reached out and grabbed it by the handle without a thought.

Mr. Strong let out a whistle. “Fine work, Lord Gareth. Ye might na be able to learn the footwork, but yer hands certainly be na crippled.”

Gareth tilted his head to the side trying to figure out the change in his tutor’s accent.

Mr. Strong must have noticed his strange expression. “Oh, I studied fencing in Scotland. When I practice it, the old tongue comes back to me.”

Gareth nodded and pushed himself out of his chair. He used his arms to help put one foot in front of the other for a wide stance. “It’s true that I can’t walk, but I can stand. Let’s see how this goes in standing position.”

Mr. Strong’s eyes shone with delight as he smiled. “All right, let’s go.”

The tiny, old man positioned his feet so that his body’s side faced Gareth. Mr. Strong put one hand behind his back as he extended the sword with his other. “En garde!”

Gareth mimicked Mr. Strong’s position as best he could, and lifted his rapier at the shorter man. The two stared at each other for a moment. Adrenaline rose in Gareth’s veins, and he tried his best to be sensitive to every possible move his tutor could make.

The grandfather clock in the entrance ticked slowly, each clockwork change clear. A waft of pine-scented cleaner rose from the floor, and he wondered for a moment if it would be slippery after Sarah’s visit. While his thoughts had wandered, Mr. Strong launched his attack.

Gareth blocked Strong’s blade with his own, the clanging of metal echoed in his ear as Mr. Strong pushed his blade hard against Gareth’s sword. At least his tutor didn’t hold back.

“You’re strong for an old man,” Gareth said before pushing off the sword and leaping back. He landed in a graceful stance similar to Mr. Strong’s.

The tutor shook his head. “And you are quite lithe for a cripple.”

Mr. Strong swung hard, and Gareth blocked him again. His tutor attacked with renewed fervor, and Gareth’s feet slid back against the slick floorboards. With a smile, his tutor made a rounding motion with his blade and knocked Gareth’s sword from his hand.

Gareth stared wide-eyed at the old man as he came at his chest full force with the tip of the rapier. Without thought, Gareth leapt to the side and hovered for a split second. Dimwit. He clenched his jaw and tried to cover his flying by landing to the side in a body roll on the floor, grabbing up his sword and springing back to his feet.

“Well done.” A wide grin spread across the old man’s face. Mr. Strong placed the blade of the sword under his arm and began clapping. “Very nice indeed. You are truly growing into your abilities.”

Gareth blinked at the old man. “You were coming at me full force. You could have killed me!”

The old man shook his head as he took Gareth’s blade from him and headed for the cabinet. “No, I couldn’t, because you jumped out of the way. I wanted to see how you would react with your life in danger, if you would let your natural instincts take over. And you did. Very good.”

Gareth swallowed against his dry throat and tried to settle his pounding heart.

“Those were the small swords. Eventually we will work with these.” Mr. Strong placed the rapiers in the bureau, and pulled out a long, thick blade. The sword was longer than Mr. Strong, himself.

Gareth wondered how the old man could hold such a sword and how it had fit inside the cabinet.

“This is a Scottish highlander sword called a claymore. It is the sword of warriors and lairds and…kings.” His eyes twinkled at the last word. Mr. Strong made his way to where Gareth stood. “Take hold of it and feel its strength and power.”

Gareth took hold of the sword. It was heavy as he held it out and felt its balance. “How do you fight with such a large blade?”

“Simple. You make sure your sword is slicing through your enemy before theirs is slicing through you.”

Gareth stared at his teacher.

Mr. Strong took the blade from Gareth and headed back toward the cabinet. “We will work with it eventually, after you’ve mastered the rapier and strengthened your upper body. Though I imagine pushing your chair has done a great deal for you.”

“Speaking of my chair, could you please wheel it toward me?”

“It’s obvious from our fight you could get to it yourself.” The man continued to maneuver items in the cabinet.

Gareth glared at the old man’s back. He couldn’t fly now; the man could turn to him any moment. “But I’d have to jump there.”

“So?”

“It’s not dignified.”

Strong shrugged, closed the cabinet, and faced him. “Never be embarrassed about what you have to modify in order to function. I like your independent spirit. It will do you well. Your pride, on the other hand, is your greatest weakness and we need to get rid of it as soon as possible. Go to your chair the best you can.”

Gareth narrowed his eyes at the man. He crossed his arms, stiffened his spine, and waited for him to bring his chair.

Strong leaned against the cabinet doors. “I’m really not going to bring your chair to you. Don’t be ashamed. You were quite agile during swordplay. Just do the same back to your chair.”

Instinct lead Gareth during the swordfight, but now he had returned to his faculties. How must he have looked as he jumped and hobbled about the room? He’d not give the tutor another display. He huffed. “Bring me my chair. That’s an order, and last I checked you were under my grandfather’s authority and so under mine. You don’t order me; I order you.”

Mr. Strong sighed and lifted his hands in a gesture. “I suppose we are at an impasse. I’ll not do it.”

The clock began the chime for the hour with the two men staring at each other. The tutor’s expression remained unchanged. His face held the same bored expression that Gareth constantly strove for. But one better. The man never broke eye contact and smirked throughout.

When the clock’s chimes had finished, Gareth swallowed his pride and dropped his eyes. He hobbled and jumped his way to the chair. Heat rose on his neck, and he’d never felt so demoralized. He placed his lap blanket across his legs and started pushing himself toward the door.

“Where are you going? We’ve not started your instruction for the day.”

Gareth didn’t turn to face the man. He didn’t like being pressured to jump to his chair like some undignified wiggle worm. How could the old man say pride was Gareth’s greatest weakness? It wasn’t his pride. It was the stupid chair and his blasted legs that were his greatest weakness. Why couldn’t he will them to step and walk? It was obvious they were strong enough to support him. It wasn’t the old man’s place to embarrass him or tell him he needed to get over it.

He opened the door and rolled down the ramp.

“Lord Smyth!” Strong called from the doorway, “When you are over your ire, you need to return for further instruction or else you’ll never learn the claymore.”