Chapter 12 #2
His question came out harsher than he intended, and Oliver recoiled. Even though Alaric’s blood thundered through his body, he forced himself to speak slowly and gently.
“Did someone hurt you, or was it an accident?” Alaric asked.
Oliver shrugged.
“Both?” His heart stuttered and twisted into a knot as Oliver nodded.
What kind of life have you lived? If Oliver were his son, how could he have let him face such pain? Alaric swallowed and met Oliver’s gaze.
“I am sorry that happened to you. I cannot fix the past, but I promise that I will not let anyone hurt you. Not ever. I will keep you safe.” Alaric let the weight of his words sit beside them.
Oliver slowly nodded and sat back on his heels. The serious expression on his face softened into a smile. Alaric could see the mischievous glint in his eyes and laughed as Oliver pointed to the dog again.
“Very well. I will see what I can do about getting you a dog of your own.” Alaric grinned. “Though nothing too big, or you will spend your life being pulled around by it.”
Oliver giggled and drew another dog.
Alaric frowned and held up one finger. “Only one.”
Oliver shrugged, and Alaric had the distinct impression of a man who felt that there was no harm in asking.
“You are quite a clever little chap, and you have the makings of a skilled negotiator. That bodes well; you will need such skills if you are to succeed.” Alaric leaned against the sofa. “But you will have to get better to best me.”
Oliver drew a clock and held it up to Alaric. Then he pointed to his chest, then to his mind.
“You have a point. In time, I suspect you will only grow more intelligent and more strategic.” Alaric stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should get you something to test your mind. A puzzle perhaps? Or riddles. Do you like riddles?”
Oliver pursed his lips, his brow furrowing.
“I suppose you might not have had much exposure to such things. A riddle is…” Alaric frowned as he tried to think of a way of explaining it. “It is a question or a problem designed to make you think. It expands the mind.”
He gently tapped Oliver’s temple, which made the boy grin and laugh. “There are also games that teach strategy. Things like whist, thoug , that may be complicated for you. Chess. Now that is something we could play.”
Alaric gestured toward a nearby chess table, and Oliver followed the motion with his eyes. He stood up, pulled it closer, and let the boy handle each of the finely carved pieces. His eyes lit up when he found the knights and proudly showed them to Alaric.
“Those are knights.” Alaric pointed to the piece.
Oliver canted his head and moved to his slate. He rubbed off his drawing and drew a crescent moon.
“A different sort of knight.” Alaric gestured to one of the suits of armor in the hall, and a burst of memory came back to him, reminding him of a woman reading him stories of King Arthur and his round table.
“Knights used to be men who protected the realm. They would serve the king, go on quests, and save the common people. That sort of thing. Nowadays, the title is given to people to recognize their extraordinary service, loyalty, or some sort of notable achievement.”
Alaric picked up one of the other knights from the chess set. “That is what these are named for. Each piece moves in a certain way; knights move like this.”
Alaric demonstrated, feeling Oliver’s eyes on him as he did. He felt his shoulders relax even as his head began to throb. I can remember this. He was about to reach for another piece when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Alaric turned to find Oliver holding up a hand and then gesturing to his slate.
Alaric waited, watching as Oliver rubbed off the drawings, smearing chalk on his face in his excitement as he drew out a shaky image of the chessboard. Alaric saw his mouth move as the boy looked from the board to his drawing, but no sound came out.
He is counting. Alaric’s eyes widened. How much does he know? How much does he take in? He watched as Oliver drew simple representations of the chess pieces. The pawns were little circles. When Oliver started on the back row, he would point to a piece, and Alaric would say its name.
“And this is the king.” Alaric held the piece up and mimed putting a crown on his head.
Oliver nodded and drew several large, spiky triangles, then looked up at Alaric expectantly, his chalk ready. Alaric examined the board and Oliver’s drawing. He swallowed hard and tried to ignore the pounding in his head as he began to explain how each piece moved.
As he did, Oliver drew directional arrows on the board. Alaric felt a lump form in his throat as he wondered how a boy so clever had lost his voice.
He felt Oliver tug on his sleeve. “Sorry, I was distracted. Now, let me see. Ah, yes, the queen.”
As he explained more of the rules, they settled into a relaxed rhythm, and a warmth spread over Alaric. He pulled out more things for Oliver to draw on. It was only when he looked back that he noticed Oliver’s head begin to droop.
Very gently, Alaric bent down, picked up the sleeping child, and placed him on the sofa. “I suppose it is rather a lot to take in all at once.”
As he turned around, he found Catherine standing in the doorway. He had no idea how long she had been standing there, and her face was half in shadow.
“I did not mean to take so long.” There was an odd edge to Catherine’s voice that Alaric could not place. “Thank you for looking after him.”
“It was a pleasure.” Alaric nodded toward the sleeping boy in his arms, keeping his voice soft. “He is a very bright little boy. Though I worry I may have pushed his mind a little too far with my enthusiasm for chess.”
“You were telling him about chess? I suppose that explains why he is asleep.” Catherine moved into the room, a small smile on her face.
“You do not care for it?” Alaric’s heart leapt.
“Playing it, I do not mind.” Catherine wrinkled her nose. “Discussing it is another matter.”
“I was teaching him the rules.” Alaric gestured to Oliver’s many drawings. “I had forgotten just how many there were.”
“I find that at a certain point, it is easier to simply start and learn as you go.” Catherine laid a hand on Oliver’s head, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead with such gentleness that Alaric feared his heart would explode.
“I shall try that next time.” Alaric swallowed.
“I should get him back to our rooms,” Catherine sighed.
“I would offer to carry him for you but…” Alaric trailed off.
Alaric could see the irritation on Catherine’s face. “But he is not your son?”
Alaric gave her a wry smile. “You told me never to enter your rooms.”
“Oh.”
‘That will never happen.’
Catherine’s words from all those nights ago hung in the air between them. Alaric met her gaze, feeling his heart race as he watched her open and close her mouth. He clenched and unclenched his hands as the silence stretched out.
“I will find you a footman.” Alaric took a step away from Catherine.
Alaric’s eyes searched Catherine’s face as the seconds ticked by. Eventually, she nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
Alaric kept his face a mask as the air was ripped from his lungs, forcing his shoulders not to sag. He turned and left the room.
This is what she wants.