Read Online Noble Hearts 03 - The Courageous Heart by Merry Farmer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Merry Farmer
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tried to teach me to fight before but I have no stomach for it. He and Sir Geoffrey and Sir Baldwin were eager for their first conflict . I would have rather jumped back into the sea. Then, before the attack began, Ethan took me aside. He told me that time and again l ife will call on us to do things we don’t want to do. The battle we were about to fight might not be our cause, but it was a just cause. He told me to think not of myself and my ow n safety, but to think of you.
He reminded me that when an injustice has been done it is our moral duty to fight with every fiber of our sinew to right the wrong. No matter the risk to ourselves. I could have kissed him for that speech. It filled me with such purpose that when we attacked the city I charged at Ethan’s side, shouting with enough fury to bring the walls down. Yes, me! Your mouse Toby. With enough borrowed courage even this mouse can roar. In the end we captured the city with ease. Princess Joan has been freed and is safe. We will stay in Sicily for a time before moving on.
It is so beautiful here, Joanna, so warm and inviting. I have been enjoying the view of the blue sea, green mountains, and Ethan, Sir Geoffrey, and Sir Baldwin frolicking in the surf in various states of undress. I know you would enjoy the sight as much as I do. Our hero Ethan has developed quite a tan … all over.
Your affectionate brother,
Toby
Long before the sun was up, Ethan rolled himself out of bed, dressed, and climbed down from his room above the stables to begin his day’s work. London was quiet, almost as quiet as Windale had been in the morning. That would change soon enough.
He walked the length of the stable, checking on the horses and making mental notes about what each one needed, just as he did every morning and had done for two years . He stopped at the end of the row and lowered his head. This was not just another morning.
He turned, staring o ut the stable door at the inn.
Seeing Joanna after so long was like being shaken awake in the middle of a deep sleep. He’d been comfortable in his dream, avoiding everything that he had been. A life of service, the life Toby had lived, had been the a nswer to his prayer to forget.
Now he remembered.
Joanna was every bit as beautiful as the picture he’d carried in his heart since leaving Windale, the first time and the last time . She looked so much like Toby that his heart broke and so distinctly Joanna that it reformed and beat harder. Her temper was everything he remembered it to be too , her accusations sharp as daggers. His hadn’t been much better.
He looked out through the stable, beyond the courtyard to the street. Part of him wanted to run. Running had always been easier than facing emotions he didn’t understand.
He sucked in a breath, swallowing his fear and guilt. Guilt was such a familiar feeling now that he was surprised he’d even noticed it. One of the horses neighed, an ironic commentary on his turmoil.
“Laugh while you can,” he sneered at the animal. “You won’t win any oats from me.”
By the time he slogged back to the front of the stable he felt like a fool for telling off a horse. He clenched his jaw and snatched the pitchfork from its hook, dissolving his anger by doing his job.
When the horses were fed he stomped into the inn.
“There you are, Dunkirke,” the maid Ada scolded him the second he was through the door. “I need you to fetch the water for the stew and the tea. The guests will be up soon and they’ll be hungry.”
He nodded and dodged his way around the busy kitchen staff to continue down the hall. The inn’s large common room was still packed away, chairs on tables , broom waiting in the corner, deserted but for one person.
Joanna sat at a table in the far corner, head in her hands with her elbows propped on the tabletop. She wore the same dress from the day before but her hair was fastidiously plaited as usual. A piece of parchment lay on the table in
He reminded me that when an injustice has been done it is our moral duty to fight with every fiber of our sinew to right the wrong. No matter the risk to ourselves. I could have kissed him for that speech. It filled me with such purpose that when we attacked the city I charged at Ethan’s side, shouting with enough fury to bring the walls down. Yes, me! Your mouse Toby. With enough borrowed courage even this mouse can roar. In the end we captured the city with ease. Princess Joan has been freed and is safe. We will stay in Sicily for a time before moving on.
It is so beautiful here, Joanna, so warm and inviting. I have been enjoying the view of the blue sea, green mountains, and Ethan, Sir Geoffrey, and Sir Baldwin frolicking in the surf in various states of undress. I know you would enjoy the sight as much as I do. Our hero Ethan has developed quite a tan … all over.
Your affectionate brother,
Toby
Long before the sun was up, Ethan rolled himself out of bed, dressed, and climbed down from his room above the stables to begin his day’s work. London was quiet, almost as quiet as Windale had been in the morning. That would change soon enough.
He walked the length of the stable, checking on the horses and making mental notes about what each one needed, just as he did every morning and had done for two years . He stopped at the end of the row and lowered his head. This was not just another morning.
He turned, staring o ut the stable door at the inn.
Seeing Joanna after so long was like being shaken awake in the middle of a deep sleep. He’d been comfortable in his dream, avoiding everything that he had been. A life of service, the life Toby had lived, had been the a nswer to his prayer to forget.
Now he remembered.
Joanna was every bit as beautiful as the picture he’d carried in his heart since leaving Windale, the first time and the last time . She looked so much like Toby that his heart broke and so distinctly Joanna that it reformed and beat harder. Her temper was everything he remembered it to be too , her accusations sharp as daggers. His hadn’t been much better.
He looked out through the stable, beyond the courtyard to the street. Part of him wanted to run. Running had always been easier than facing emotions he didn’t understand.
He sucked in a breath, swallowing his fear and guilt. Guilt was such a familiar feeling now that he was surprised he’d even noticed it. One of the horses neighed, an ironic commentary on his turmoil.
“Laugh while you can,” he sneered at the animal. “You won’t win any oats from me.”
By the time he slogged back to the front of the stable he felt like a fool for telling off a horse. He clenched his jaw and snatched the pitchfork from its hook, dissolving his anger by doing his job.
When the horses were fed he stomped into the inn.
“There you are, Dunkirke,” the maid Ada scolded him the second he was through the door. “I need you to fetch the water for the stew and the tea. The guests will be up soon and they’ll be hungry.”
He nodded and dodged his way around the busy kitchen staff to continue down the hall. The inn’s large common room was still packed away, chairs on tables , broom waiting in the corner, deserted but for one person.
Joanna sat at a table in the far corner, head in her hands with her elbows propped on the tabletop. She wore the same dress from the day before but her hair was fastidiously plaited as usual. A piece of parchment lay on the table in
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