Lord of the Manor Read Online Free PDF Page B

made many raids on English soil. Every noble or peasant child should have heard of the Vikings.
    “The Vikings are warriors who believe the only honorable death is to die in battle, so they can go to Valhalla, their vision of heaven.”
    Philip absorbed that piece of information, then asked, “You are a warrior?”
    “Aye.”
    “Are you a Viking?”
    “I have some Viking blood in my veins.”
    As do you, probably more than 1, Richard wanted to add, but didn’t
    Over the past two days he’d watched Lucinda and Philip closely and become more convinced that both were Norman. For some reason, Lucinda wanted all and sundry to believe that she and her son were English. It seemed foolish to Richard, for anyone who took the time to study them would see through the ruse just as he had.
    Lucinda was also overprotective of Philip. She rarely allowed the boy to wander far from her side, and never out of her sight. Richard looked around and, as if his thoughts had called her, Lucinda was walking toward him. Her ankle had improved, though she yet walked gingerly and with a limp.
    “Do you wish to die in battle?” Philip asked, his concern over the possibility seeping into the question.
    Richard had once come within a gnat’s breath of dying from a battle wound, and preferred not to repeat the experience.
    “’Tis my wish to live a very long life and die peacefully in my bed,” he assured the boy.
    Philip laid his head on Richard’s shoulder and whispered, “That is how Oscar and Hetty died. They got sick and went to sleep and never woke up.”
    A multitude of questions begged answers, but the boy didn’t need questions now. He needed comfort.
    Richard wasn’t sure how to react to Philip’s sorrow, how to comfort a hurt of the heart. True, he’d once held Daymon to stop the flow of tears when his nephew had scraped both hands and knees during a nasty fall. Richard knew he would do almost anything for Daymon.
    The bond Richard had formed with Daymon was a natural one. Bastards both—English and Norman both—Richard had tried to prepare his nephew to one day cope with the attitudes of people outside of the family circle. Thankfully, Daymon’s life would be less harsh than Richard’s had been, simply because Ardith accepted Daymon as Gerard’s son, and loved and nurtured him as she did her own son.
    Philip and Daymon were of an age, and a hurt was a hurt.
    Richard tightened his hold on Philip and lowered his head until his cheek touched Philip’s brow.
    What could he say to a boy who had obviously lost two people whom he cared about, Hetty and Oscar, to sickness? Recently? Were they friends, perhaps? Or a brother and sister? Maybe that was why Lucinda fairly hovered over the child. Maybe that was why these two were on the road, escaping a sickness that had ravaged their family.
    Richard groped for words. “Their death made you sad,” he finally commented.
    Philip nodded.
    “Does it help to know that Oscar and Hetty are now in a better place, in heaven with God?”
    “Nay.”
    The boy’s honesty echoed Richard’s beliefs. In truth, he’d never been able to take comfort in religion. Oh, he believed in God and Christ, but Ursula had always made sure that he knew that God had no use for bastards.
    Lucinda finally made her way to where he stood.
    “Philip, you must not disturb his lordship this morn. He has preparations to see to before we leave,” she said in that lyrical, husky voice that invoked visions of disheveled fur coverlets and the heady scent of coupling.
    Philip stiffened at his mother’s rebuke. Richard put a hand on the boy’s back, holding the child still.
    “He does not disturb me,” Richard told her. “When Philip came to admire the horse, ‘twas my notion to pick him up so he could touch Odin.”
    She glanced at the horse. “I see.”
    Lucinda was nervous, upset. Richard saw no outward sign of it. She neither fussed with her clothingnor wrung her hands. Her voice didn’t shake. Somehow,