Chapter Eighteen
Robin walked back to Castle de Noir with the feeling that he might explode with happiness, and a smile on his face that, try as he might, he could not suppress. He didn't know how or why, but somehow Catherine had this effect on him; when he was around her he felt so completely comfortable in his own skin, like he could truly be himself and not fear any judgement. It occurred to him that the last time he felt this way was probably in the company of his sister, Loveday.
Robin had only been a small boy when their mother had passed away and it fell to Loveday Minette, who was eleven years older, to care for him. His sister was a sweet young woman, taking after their mother with her kindly nature and exquisite good looks, and together the siblings would spend most days with their aging grandmother in her tower bedroom, helping her with her knitting when her sight began to fail, taking turns to read aloud from books, or just talking together, the three of them laughing loud and often. The two women came to have such a profound influence on Robin that when he became a teenager his own father began criticising him frequently and in public, dubbing him weak-willed and too sensitive. The humiliation had been overwhelming and Robin had taken to spending more time with the other boys of his age and rank in the clan: Richard, David, and Henry. But the damage was already done, for Robin still found it difficult to fit in and it seemed like nothing he did was enough to make his father proud, the public dressing-downs becoming more frequent and peppered with the occasional physical punishment.
His sister had left home abruptly five years ago, without an explanation and barely a farewell, and since then, despite being with the other boys every day, Robin had not realised how truly starved of company and conversation he was, that is until he met Catherine. While initially his intentions behind cultivating a relationship with her were with the true aim of finding the Moon Pearls, Robin hadn't been lying when he said that he didn't actually believe in the legend, but his entire family did and he so desperately wanted to make them proud and to earn his father's approval. Nevertheless, despite his ulterior motive, he felt himself irresistibly enjoying every moment of Catherine's company; with her he felt like he could open his heart and let all of his true passions, emotions, and anxieties come spilling forth, and receive the exact same trust in return. He felt shy around her, to be sure, for he had grown to like her so very much, but he did not feel ashamed of this as his father would have made him feel, believing that a De Noir heir should have the boldness to take what he wanted, when he wanted.
Upon returning to the castle, Robin passed through the kitchen, a hive of activity as the cooks and scullery maids prepared dinner for the entire De Noir clan and servants. Amidst all the hustle and bustle he went unnoticed as he swiped a pasty and an apple to tide him over until the evening meal, thus he overheard the conversation of two teenage pot washers, standing with their arms in sudsy water up to their elbows.
"Cook went her ends when she heard the news." the first girl, a plump brunette said.
"I don't blame her." responded the other, a blonde a couple of years older, "As if we don't have enough work to do without extra mouths to feed."
"And it's never just the family, mind you. They bring all of their men and servants too."
"Exactly. But look on the bright side, it'll be nice to have some new boys about the place for a couple of weeks, won't it?"
The girls descended into a fit of giggles and Robin, who had no interest in such fickle girlish gossip, continued on up to his room.
He settled in the armchair next to the fireplace to read a book of poetry which Catherine had lent him the other day. Robin usually favoured novels and had openly admitted that he had no education in poetry, so Catherine, blessed with an education and an ardent love of the stuff, had lent him a copy of Shelley's work to start him off. So far he had enjoyed what he had read but right now he struggled to concentrate on the verses because his thoughts kept slipping away to contemplate other things; this was Catherine's book. How many times had she had held it in those fair, elegant hands and leafed through its pages? Which poems were her favourite? Which had she lingered over again and again because the words held some secret special meaning to her? Some of the poems were quite romantic, and he found himself rereading one in particular. There was a crease in the corner of the page where it had been folded over, had it been an accident or did Catherine enjoy this poem too and had marked it out to return to?
See the mountains kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?
All thoughts of poetry aside, he returned again to their conversation earlier; Robin was elated at the prospect of spending a day at the fair with Catherine, that instead of hiding their friendship like some clandestine shameful thing in the lanes and fields surrounding Silverydew, they could be out in public together like regular young people. Also the knowledge that Catherine's birthday was the same day excited him and made him want to take action, a day out together just didn't seem enough, he wanted to give something to her alone but struggled to think of anything he could provide which would be worthy of such a fine noble young lady.
A knock at the door startled him out of his reverie. Robin snapped the book (hitherto forgotten on his lap) shut and went to open the door. Outside he found the maid Rosie, smiling coquettishly up at him.
"Sorry to disturb you, Master Robin, but your grandmother has requested you go see her."
Robin smiled fondly to himself, his grandmother never requested anything, she gave her orders and expected them to be obeyed immediately.
"Thank you, Rosie, I shall go right now."
"Also, I was in earlier changing your bed sheets and I noticed that you're running low on candles so I brought you these." Rosie held out a handful of six white candles tied together with a piece of string.
"Thank you, that's very considerate." Robin said, reaching to take them.
"Anything for you, Master Robin." Rosie responded, her smile widening as she allowed their fingers to brush.
"Yes...well...thank you, again." Robin muttered awkwardly, quickly stepping back into the room and swinging the door shut without preamble. As he went to place the candles on his bedside table, a thought occurred to him quite suddenly, and he stared down at them in wonder for a second then quickly ran to catch up with her.
"Rosie! Wait a minute!"
The serving maid was halfway down the tower stairs but had stopped and turned to look back when he called.
"Those candles you bring me, where do they come from?" Robin questioned.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean, Master Robin." the girl giggled confusedly.
"In the castle, where are they stored?"
"Why, in the store cupboards near the kitchens, of course!"
"Brilliant, thanks! Excuse me!" Robin said, squeezing past her and heading to his grandmother's tower.
Despite the warmth of the day outside, the fire in his grandmother's room was built up and she sat beside it with a blanket over her lap. She frequently complained that old age made the body feel the cold more, and maintained that the warmth eased the pain of her arthritis.
"You summoned me, grandmo- Oh. Father. I didn't realise you'd be here too." Indeed, Coeur de Noir was standing on the side of the room furthest from the roaring fire, his black robes making him almost indistinguishable from the shadows, so Robin had initially quite overlooked him when he bounded into the room.
Coeur de Noir regarded his son with narrowed eyes, trying to find some perceived slight in what he had just said. However, any potential argument was interrupted by Robin's grandmother speaking.
"Robin, my dear! Have you heard the news? We are to receive some guests soon!"
Immediately Robin's stomach began to churn, Castle de Noir only ever received one type of guest: other De Noirs. The question was, were they relatives from Ireland or France? If they were the latter then Robin could cease his worrying immediately, he got on very well with the French branch of the clan, but the Irish were another matter entirely.
"Yes, and I thought it necessary to have a talk with you about your behaviour before they arrive." Coeur de Noir stated, walking forward to stand by his mother's chair.
Ah. So that's why Robin's grandmother had sent for him: to actually get him in the same room as his father for once. Robin couldn't help but send a wounded look in her direction, despite knowing very well that she couldn't see it.
"Although, what boy of eighteen needs to be coached by his father on how to behave, I do not-"
"Roland." his mother chided.
Robin's father took a breath to calm himself. Even he, Coeur de Noir, head of the clan, indomitable and proud, bowed before his mother's iron will.
When he resumed speaking, his voice was calm but steely, "There has always been trouble amongst you boys. At first we all put it down to youthful exuberance, 'boys will be boys' and all that. But you're old enough now to know better, Robin. Two years ago when we last visited our cousins in Ireland you embarrassed our whole family with your appalling behaviour, so unbecoming of a guest. So I am warning you now, boy: I will not be shamed on our own land. Any conflict you create will be punished, do you understand?"
Robin was indignant, and the words came forth before he could stop himself, "Youthful exuberance? 'Boys will be boys'? Father, are you serious? All my life, Michaelis-"
"Enough!" Robin's father thundered, "I do not invite conversation or debate! I expect you to obey! Now, say you understand!"
"I understand, father." Robin muttered, hanging his head.
With one final glare, Robin's father shouldered past him and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Robin's grandmother sighed and resumed her knitting, for several minutes the only sound in the room was the rhythmic clicking of her needles.
"I don't start fights." Robin finally said forcefully.
"Oh, Robin." his grandmother murmured, reaching out unseeingly towards him. Robin stepped forward and clasped her hand in his, "This I know. All these years, that boy has been more trouble than he is worth." she continued bitterly. For as long as he could remember, Robin's grandmother had referred to his cousin as that boy, as if speaking the Irish bastard's very name was beneath her.
She reached up and cupped his cheek, wiping away the wetness she found there, "Sweet boy. It's only three weeks. You'll survive."
