Title: A Brother's Promise
Author: Sam & Scarlett
A Light in the Darkness: 02 of ?
Introduced Characters & Ages: Eric, 16, Michael, 18 (and their father), and Uni, 16
Chapter Summary: Eric, severely injured, is traveling to the king's summer home for the summer party and tourney he is to compete in - - in honor of his new betrothal.
Note:
xxx
The black-haired youth stepped down the staircase one slow step after another. He held his back stiffly with each jarring thud of foot on stone. Stoicism warred with something almost unidentifiable at each shift of his fine linen tunic. His brown-black eyes reflected a deep pool of pain.
Eric Montgomery finally arrived at the ground floor.
Standing at the base of the stairs, arms crossed over his satin and velvet covered chest, Lord Leander Montgomery frowned at the sixteen year old. In a booming voice, meant to carry to everyone working and eating in the vast common room, the tall blond man said, "fell down again, huh?" Lord Montgomery narrowed vivid green eyes, and his voice rose to a louder pitch, the tones harsher, disapproval and disgust dancing a macabre waltz as he glared hatefully at Eric. "You clumsy, useless idiot. How I could have sired such a useless waste of flesh is beyond me. You'll never be a true knight. A knight requires grace . . . a laughable idea in you. A knight requires poise. A knight does not cry at some minor scrapes from missing a stair or two. Useless! At least your brother is able to walk and talk at the same time. Get outside, boy, and don't be all day about it!"
Eric spoke not a word in his own defense. Quite used to the verbal abuse from his sire, the knight-in-training merely turned and tried to ignore the screaming fire in his back as he headed to the waiting horses. His mind raced over his options and settled on the knowledge that this last leg of their journey would be extremely painful; nothing he did or said would change the powerful man's mind about continuing right away.
And threatening to dissolve the betrothal before it was publically announced had landed him with numerous injuries and an ultimatum: "Marry the little bitch or be disowned as a base-born bastard." Long after midnight Eric had finally chosen what seemed to be the less of two evils: he would marry a woman he'd never met.
As two servants aided the young man in mounting the placid mare the inn had provided him, Eric tried not to scream. His back roared with fire, his arms ached and shook in weakened protest. The young man reminded himself that he merely had to get on the beast then his strong legs could hold him in place during the hours it would take to get to the palace their king had eccentrically named 'the Hunting Lodge.' A tearing pain ripped a scream from the youth and Eric collapsed against one burly stable hand, the young knight's breath catching in body-shaking sobs.
The elder Montgomery growled in disgust and strode forward, his hard boots striking loudly on the flagstone inn yard.
A second youth, slightly older, a little broader, and a bit sturdier, sprinted over to the other teen, cutting their father off. Michael Montgomery reached his younger brother's side and signaled to both grooms to leave. "I have this," he said aloud then whispered "bite your glove, Eric. Don't scream."
Taking Michael's advice, Eric pulled off his leather riding glove with his teeth and stuffed it into his mouth. He drew a deep breath and knew what came next. Painfully, he lifted his arms and gripped the saddle, knuckles whitening.
The muscular eighteen year old grabbed the younger man by the waist and lifted, forcing him up to the saddle of the still placid mare. Eric scrambled ungracefully onto the beast and settled, head bowed, strong legs gripping the horse's sides. Michael turned just as their father reached the brothers.
In a loud voice, the older youth proclaimed, "again, Father, I humbly apologize for tripping Eric down the steps. I'll tend his injuries and heal him in time for the King's Tourney and the betrothal announcement."
The man drew up to his full six foot height, towering over the five foot nine inch youth. He gripped his belt and frowned up at the youngest Montgomery, still sitting in the saddle with head bowed. Before Lord Montgomery could once more deride Eric's clumsiness or penchant for showing his pain, the elder brother spoke, voice carrying throughout the inn's courtyard.
"I'm sorry, Eric. Those bruises must feel as fiery as a dozen lashes." His voice never changed and his eyes remained steadily on his father's.
Lord Montgomery stiffened and turned a cold, menacing glare on the older brother.
As if something life-changing hung in the balance, the three Montgomery men remained frozen in place; minute after minute dragged by. Michael and Lord Montgomery only broke eye contact when the innkeeper called from the door, asking after their well-being. The eldest turned away and strode back inside, his manner reminiscent of a thunderstorm about to unleash its full fury.
Michael slumped against the gentle mare and let out his pent up breath. He knew that he'd pushed the line with the veiled threat. He just hadn't been able to resist letting his father know that at least one person knew what was really happening . . . one person was willing to protect the younger man. He wished he could do more, but there was never any proof, and Lord Montgomery was rich and powerful enough to have almost any naysayer locked away . . . even his own heir.
Eric's pain-filled voice interrupted Michael's troubling thoughts. "Close," he said, "it was more like sixteen. I counted."
Michael whirled around to look up at his little brother, eyes searching for something unspoken. What he saw nearly broke his heart.
The younger teen had straightened in the saddle, reins clutched properly in one hand, knees gripping lightly to keep his seat. His drawn face showed his efforts to hide his painful injuries once more with mouth pinched and eyes shadowed and almost sunken. Instead of weakness, the younger man's demeanor radiated tired haughtiness and strict control: the epitome of what their father declared a true knight of the realm should be. Nowhere showed the gentler, kind-hearted, injured youth Eric truly was.
Without comment, Michael nodded and mounted his gelding. Neither suggested waiting for their sire. Rather, silently, the pair began the last leg of their journey to the country palace and the King's Summer Tourney.
xxx
Upon arriving at the King's country palace, the Montgomery men stopped their horses on the crest of a hill, looking out over the rolling countryside and thick bordering forests. The palace, set back from the main road by a long drive of crushed rock, rose above four stories. It had been constructed of local stone and glowed a muted golden brown in the afternoon sunlight.
Lord Montgomery eyed the country palace with an eye for soundness and possible hidden wealth. Finally, he signaled his sons to approach the King's summer home. Distracted by the glorious season spread before him, plans of a favored match to delight the King and a possible second one to enrich himself, the man rode ahead of the younger pair, ignoring them completely. He was not aware of the youngest breaking away and guiding his horse not to the welcoming palace but to the forest's concealing canopy and refreshing streams.
Free for at least a few minutes, Eric arrived at the side of the water and slid from his horse, hissing at the ripping pain which signaled his wounds had reopened once more. He looped the reins loosely around a low-hanging branch and let his horse do as she might. Ignoring the mare drinking a few feet away, Eric knelt, shaking, by the cool, clear stream. He painfully reached for his belt and began to unfasten it, hissing at the sharp burn and sudden slash of pain as his tunic tore at his recent wounds. Blood once more began to stain his already soaked shirt.
No one ever wandered these parts of the forest by horse. It was always by foot; only a stranger or two ever passed by, which was rare. Hiding behind a tree and trying not to make a sound, Unity watched a young man of royalty remove his blood soaked shirt and the blood that continuously ran down his back.
Hearing him grunt out in pain caused her to slowly walk over to the wounded young man. It was always in her good nature to help the ones that needed it the most. She hated seeing people in pain. Not wanting to startle him, she kept her distance as she called out behind him. "Would you like some help?"
Eric looked up, dark eyes widening at the thought that he was not alone. He held his shirt in his hands, blood running down his back from opened and reopened lash wounds, some deep enough to need stitching. Looking at the young woman before him, he couldn't say a word. She seemed almost ethereal . . . almost one of the faerie folk. Swallowing, he rasped out "who are you?"
"Forgive me. My name is Unity St. Clair. I live at the lodge nearby with my mother, a healer." Pausing, she glanced at his wounds, seeing more blood run down, then looked back at his face. Seeing him start to pale she quickly continued, "I'm also in training. I was supposed to gather these medicines for our supply, but I fear you'll need them more," she said softly as she pulled out her small brown satchel and showed him the leaves. "I can help you, sir, if you'd like."
He looked to the leaves in her satchel then back to her strange colored eyes, nodding almost involuntarily. "I . . ." he cleared his throat and tried again, the hoarseness replaced by his normal baritone, albeit faint with pain and ever increasing weakness. "Thank you, Miss St. Clair." He tried to stand, but fell back to his knees with a groan, flushing for his weakness. "I . . . I don't know how to use those." Eric looked again at the pretty teenager.
Uni stared a little too long, longer than she should have considering that he appeared to be of the royalty. Her beautiful smile suddenly turned into a frown at his weakness. She removed her satchel and set it down on the grass. Picking up her worn out, medium brown skirt, she knelt down beside the youth and the river. "If you don't mind me asking," she said as she tore a good length of cloth from her underskirt, "what is your name?"
He flushed deeper, his dark eyes closing briefly. Upon opening them, he cleared his throat and said, "Eric . . . my name is Eric Montgomery." He tried to keep his eyes up at her face level, trying not to look at the amount of leg exposed by her actions. "You live at the palace?"
Uni blew a strand of her red hair out of her face and swept a strand of her long locks behind her shoulder. "Well, yes. Actually, I live in a nearby cabin in a clearing just beyond those trees," she said while pointing her finger to the left of them then placing her hand back to her lap, grabbing the torn cloth. "Your wounds are getting worse," she noted aloud. Uni placed her hands gently on Eric's shoulders and positioned his back toward her. "Why don't you tell me something about yourself while I tend to them. It would help keep your mind off the pain," she suggested, soaking the torn cloth in the cool river water then bringing it close to his torn skin.
The knight in training winced though her actions hadn't hurt. His move had been reflexive, as if he was used to being hurt instead of helped. With a grimace for his own weakness, Eric slowly turned, fully exposing the long welts, open and bleeding, criss-crossing over old scarring. "I'm . . . I'm here for the Summer Tourney. I'm supposed to earn my spurs." He sighed. "I don't like the joust." He paused then asked, a wistful note in his voice, "do you plan to attend the tourney, Uni . . . uh . . . Miss St. Clair?" His face, ears, and neck flushed brightly in embarrassment.
"You can call me Uni if you'd like." She smiled. "Now just try to relax." She cleaned the cloth in the water then pressed it against one of the lashes on his right shoulder. "I will be attending the tourney along with my mother. She has three patients to see, including the King himself." Uni placed her hand on Eric's left arm and stared at his bloodied back, wondering what happened to the teen. She had seen worse wounds than this, but there was always a heroic tale, an act of bravery, and even in worse cases, a horrific accident to go along with it. The gentleman before her didn't look any of the sort of that, nor was he eager to tell his story. She feared it was something much worse. Ignoring the thoughts as soon as they came, she quickly rinsed the cloth again and then touched a mark and applied pressure to stop the bleeding. "Do you have any siblings?"
Eric clenched his teeth, hands grabbing at the ground before him as pain ripped through his back. "Yes . . ." he panted, ending on a sob. "Mich . . . ael's . . . to be . . . knight . . . ed . . . at the . . . tour . . . ney." He finally leaned forward, away from her ministering hands, and put his forehead on the ground between his now dirty hands. "Sor . . . ry," he whispered, voice broken.
"No, don't. I'm the one who should be saying sorry." Her voice was just above a whisper. "I should have just taken you to my mother. . . All I've caused you is more pain. Your wounds are deep, and most of them look like they might need stitching." Uni frowned. "I don't have any of those supplies needed if you wanted me to continue." She paused for a long moment, trying to collect her thoughts. Eric was in a lot of pain. Normally she would continue on treating the patient against any protest, but Eric was of some type of royalty and she'd have to follow his wishes. One wrong move and he could possibly have her thrown in prison. "All that these leaves can do is fight the infection your wounds might have. They'll start the healing process and keep anything from sticking to them. It will last a day or two before it needs to be cleaned and changed. If you have a more trusting wiseman to go to, then I suggest you go there and have him treat you. That's all I can offer you." After a moment passed, she soaked the cloth in the river again and waited for his answer.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Eric opened his eyes and pushed up from the ground, easing back to a kneeling position. He turned to look at the pretty redhead, feeling like a cowardly weakling, like his father often called him. Opening his mouth, the young man never got a chance to reply.
"Eric!" Lord Montgomery strode heavily through the trees, scaring wildlife and damaging plants as he made his way to the stream. "Damn useless fool! Get your ass up to the palace and present yourself to the king!" The tall man broke through several branches and missed a step as he saw the teen his son was in company with. "Who is this?"
Rather than give either young person a chance to introduce Uni, Lord Montgomery turned the full force of his anger on his younger son. "You, get to your feet this instant! Get dressed!" He shot a glare towards the redhead then back to his son. "You have no time for whoring!"
Eric's head shot up and backwards as if struck, and his brown-black eyes widened. Clenching his fists, the youth said, "Father . . ."
Lord Montgomery cut him off. "Shut your mouth and get out of here before I have her thrown in prison for prostitution." He grabbed his son roughly and yanked him to his feet, ignoring Uni and the fine blue linen tunic Eric left on the ground. "Go home, girl!" He unwound the reins of his son's horse and gripped them firmly, guiding the placid beast as the angry nobleman pushed his son before him from the stream and into the trees, ignoring the added scratches and tears Eric received from the grabbing branches.
By the slow running water, next to the bloody tunic, lay Eric's gold colored over-tunic and the tooled leather belt with the ivory embroidery of a griffon.
Uni was shocked and stunned in place, staring off into the trees where Eric and his father had just passed. She could still hear his raging voice, but the words were unclear due to nature coming back to life after the loud disturbance. Her heart beat fast with the anger running through her body. She wasn't the type to judge someone she had just met or didn't talk to, but she did have a good sense of good and wrong when it came down to it. Seeing Eric's father treat him in a horrible manner told her that wasn't a good man at all, ignoring his high status completely.
Witnessing the verbal and physical abuse was painful and it wasn't unnecessary. Of his class there should be no reason, but it wasn't her place to say. His father seemed rude even if they were in a hurry to arrive to the King. He hadn't let either one of them introduce her. He called her a whore and that stung her just as much as being slapped by a man. She wasn't that low. If only fear hadn't gotten to her, she would have told him she was a healer; she was helping his son, not providing filthy entertainment.
His son wasn't in any condition to be forced, hurtfully even, to be on their way to the palace. Hearing Eric's cries alone sent pain to her own heart. That was something no patient she helped had done before, though the screams and cries, moans and whimpers were nothing new to her. It was as if there was something more to them than just pain.
Turning around, finally, Uni looked over at the two different tunics and leather belt near the river. No matter what the cost may be, she wanted to help the teen and know that he would be okay. Bending down to pick up the forgotten clothes, she decided to bring them home with her incase Eric's father had some sympathy to tend to his son's needs before they continued on. Before going her own way home, she decided to make a visit to the only person she could go to for anything, hoping he may know more information about the two people she encountered and the clothing gathered in her arms.
xxx
Continued in Chapter Three: Acquaintances
