“I had a terrible reputation, but I had never known another man. He had known other women, for he was sure, but he was also tender and gentle and loving.” She glanced at her son. “In the dark, under the stars, he spoke of love, but the next day I thought I’d never see him again and counted myself just another foolish girl taken in by a nobleman’s charms.
“But against any hope of mine, he came to me a month later, in the late afternoon, alone, astride a horse flecked with foam from a hard ride from his castle. Hidden by a large cloak, he had slipped into the inn as we were readying for the night’s trade, and there he sought me out and revealed himself. To my astonishment, he professed love and asked for my hand.” She gave a bittersweet laugh. “I called him mad and ran from the inn.
“Later that night, I returned to find him waiting at this very spot, like a common farmhand. He again told of his love for me, and again I told him he was bereft of sense.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “He laughed and said he knew it seemed that way, but after taking my hand and gazing into my eyes, he kissed me once and convinced me. This time I knew why I had gone with him the first time—not because of his rank and station, but because I loved him as well.
“He cautioned me that none must know of our love for each other until he had journeyed to Rillanon to petition King Lyam for my hand, for tradition bound him to his liege lord’s pleasure. But to seal our love, and to provide me with a claim, we spoke our vows in a small chapel used during the harvest, with an itinerant monk who had been in town less than a day, conducting the ceremony. The monk made a pledge not to speak of the vows until Otto gave him leave, and left us alone, for the next morning Otto planned to leave to see the King.”
Freida was silent a moment; then her tone took on a familiar bitterness. “Otto never returned. He sent a messenger, your friend Owen Greylock, with news that the King had denied his petition and had instructed him to wed the daughter of the Duke of Ran. ‘For the good of the Kingdom,’ Greylock said. Then he said the King had ordered the Great Temple of Dala in Rillanon to declare the wedding annulled, and had the order placed under Royal Seal, so as not to embarrass Mathilda or any sons she might bear. I was advised to find a good man and forget Otto.” Tears ran down her cheeks as she said, “What a shock good Master Greylock got then when I told him I was with child.”
She sighed and reached over and gripped her son’s arm. “As my time neared, rumors circulated about who was your father, this merchant or that grower. But when you were born, and quickly became the image of your father in his youth, no one denied you were Otto’s boy. Not even your father will deny it publicly.”
Erik had heard the story a dozen times before, but never told quite this way. Never before had he thought of his mother as a young girl in love or of the bitter rejection she must have felt when news of Otto’s marriage to Mathilda had come. Still, there was no profit in living for yesterday. “But he never acknowledged me, either,” said Erik.
“True,” agreed his mother. “Yet he left you this much: you have a name, von Darkmoor. You may use it with pride, and should any man challenge your right you may look him in the eye and say, ‘Not even Otto, Baron von Darkmoor, denies me my night to this name.’ ”
Erik reached up and awkwardly took his mother’s hand. She glanced at him and smiled her stiff, unforgiving smile, but there was a hint of warmth in it as she squeezed his huge hand, then released it. “This Nathan: I think he may be a good man. Learn what you can from him, for you’ll never have your birthright.”
Erik said, “That was your dream, Mother. I know little of politics, but what I have heard in the taproom leads me to believe that should you have had the High Priest of Dala himself as witness in the chapel that night, it would count for little. The King, for reasons known best to him, wished my father married to the daughter of the Duke of Ran, and thus it was, and thus it would always have been.”
Erik stood. “I will need to spend some extra time with Nathan, letting him know what I can do, and finding out what he wishes me to do. I think you’re right: he’s a good man. He could have sent me packing, but he’s trying to do right by me, I think.”
Impulsively, Freida threw her arms around her son’s neck, hugging him closely. “I love you, my son,” she whispered.
Erik stood motionless, uncertain how to respond. She spared him the need by letting go and turning quickly into the kitchen; shutting the door behind her.
Erik stood a moment, then slowly turned and moved toward the barn.