Haunted

Haunted

© 2014 by Annette Gisby

Allromace Edition

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This is a work of fiction.

This book is intended for adults only.

Chapter One

Kestan
had been expecting the summons ever since his young charge had caught
him and the stable boy amidst the straw late one night. The fact that
young Prince Tarile should have been abed at that hour was
irrelevant. What Kestan had done, what both of them had done, was
illegal; there was no getting around that fact. King Varathorn would
have been well within his rights to send for the palace guard and
send Kestan to rot in the dungeons, but in the past two weeks, no
guardsmen had come calling. Kestan lived in dread every day and when
the knock on his door came; he opened it with a heavy heart. Hard
labour or a lifetime in prison if he was lucky; the hangman's noose
or axe if he was not.

But the man standing at the door was not a guard; it was Rorgil, King
Varathorn's valet and right-hand man.

"The master wants to see you in his study," said Rorgil,
his words indistinct through his overly prominent front teeth. "He
only ever sees people in his study when he gives them their marching
orders."

Kestan didn't reply, in all truth the man was probably right. He
followed the rat-like man down the winding staff staircases; staff
weren't allowed to use the sweeping marble stairs that led up from
the ground floor to each wing of the palace. The staff stairs were
narrow and dark, with nary a window on any of the small landings. By
the time they reached the back hall Kestan was accepting of his fate.
It would be hard to get another position without a good reference,
but it could be done. He was still alive and looked to be that way
for the foreseeable future.

Rorgil led him out into another hallway, this one panelled in oak
that had darkened over the years, with former Varathorn ancestors
glancing down their noses at everyone who passed beneath their gilded
picture frames. Rorgil stopped at a heavy oak door and tapped on it
twice with a white-gloved hand.

"Enter," came the imperious voice of King Varathorn.

Kestan turned the handle and prepared to meet his doom.

King Varathorn was one of the most handsome men Kestan had ever seen.
His face was as pale as the marble statues that inhabited his formal
garden and his hair was an ashy blond, almost silver in certain
lights. He wore it long, tied back with a black ribbon, but no one
looking at him could ever mistake him for a woman. Varathorn's jaw
was wide and angular, his eyes grey and calculating. They raked over
Kestan now and Kestan had to stop himself from reacting to the
scrutiny. Kestan'ss weakness had always been beautiful men and if
King Varathorn hadn't been his employer, Kestan knew he would have
tried to become better acquainted with the man. Kestan knew his place
though, knew that the likes of King Varathorn were not for him.

"Ah, Kestan," said Varathorn, putting down his quill and
shaking sand over his letter. "You know that I will have to
dismiss you, don't you?"

"As you wish, sire."

"It is not what I wish at all, but my son must be protected.
What he saw that night he should never have seen. He is an innocent
in such matters; I'm not even sure he knows exactly what it is he
saw. Thank the gods for small mercies."

Kestan tried not to laugh. Prince Tarile an innocent in the ways of
the flesh? Kestan decided it was best not to tell his soon to be
former employer the many times Tarile had missed his lessons in order
to spend time down in the village with any girl who would spread her
legs for him. Rumours had already reached the palace that the boy had
left behind more than his money and honeyed promises.

"I have secured you another place," Varathorn continued "I
only met the man once at some function or other, but he did say he
was looking for a tutor for his son. Grunhall, the fellow is. He's
only a contry knight, but beggars can't be choosers, can they?"
Varathorn shuddered at the thought. "He lives in the back of
beyond but he has ideas above his station. The man will be most
impressed that his son's tutor once tutored a prince. I haven't told
him the reason for your dismassal and I hope it stays that way. My
father would have been more severe with you, but I do not agree that
men should be punished for only acting within their nature. I was a
soldier once, Kestan, just like you and I am not blind. I knows what
goes on and I would have been more lenient with you if my son hadn't
caught you. But he did see you and I have to be seen to act, you
undersand?"

"Yes, your majesty. Thank you."

Grunhill has taken possession of an old abbey, there's rumours it's
haunted and he can't seem to keep staff for very long. It's probably
just in need of better repair. The old bell tower is still there,
although I don't know if the bell is still working. I trust your
tenure there will be as long as it needs to be." Varathorn
handed Kestan the letter he'd been writing. "Your reference."

"Thank you, my liege. This is most generous of you." Kestan
hadn't expected a reference, never mind a place already secured for
him. Not after what he'd done.

"I have arranged for a coach to deliver you to Lake Sapphire in
an hour. Your belongings have already been packed and I have I've
advised Lithor to take you to the coach stage there."

Kestan's stomach jolted as his mind went to his stable companion.
Varathorn smirked. "The elder Master Lithor. Young Lithor has
other duties to attend to."

Kestan wondered why he should be dismissed but Lithor wasn't; after
all they were both caught in flagrante as it were, but he decided to
cut his losses and forget about it. It wasn’t as if they would
ever have become anything more permanent. A few fumbles in the stable
hardly constituted a great romance and long term lovers were not for
the likes of men like them.

"Thank you, my Lord."

Varathorn dismissed him with a wave of his hand, as if now that he
had said what he needed to, Kestan no longer existed.

*

Grunhall
Manor was a few miles away from the coach stage, and there were no
public coaches waiting when Lithor the elder dropped him off there,
so Kestan decided it would be best to walk to his new post. At least
he'd save money on the fare, if not in shoe leather.

A few moments after he started his walk, a farmer stopped his cart
beside him.

"Do you need a lift somewhere, sir?" The farmer was dressed
in shabby clothes, his brown hair liberally peppered with grey,
although he looked quite young.

"I'm expected at Grunhall Manor."

"Oh, aye? You must be the new tutor. Hop in; it's on my way
home."

"Thank you," Kestan lifted his trunk into the cart bed amid
bales of straw and hay before climbing onto the bench beside the man
and holding out his hand. "Kestan of Stonycroft."

The farmer shook hands with him, quite a firm grip and Kestan tried
not to wince. "Grilbur of Sapphire Lake." The man took up
the reins again and they were soon trotting off down the country
lanes.

"How did you know I was the new tutor?"

Grilbur shrugged his shoulders. "It's a small place. Word gets
around."

"I see." They spent the rest of the journey in silence
until Grilbur brought the cart to a stop outside a wrought iron gate.

"This is the place. You be careful, now. There's strange things
happen in that house," Grilbur warned ominously.

Kestan hoisted his small trunk back down and grinned. "I don't
believe in ghosts."

"That don't matter. Not when they believe in you."

With those parting words of wisdom, the farmer drove off and left
Kestan staring at the gate. It was bounded on both sides by a tall
brick wall, with large trees in the grounds behind it effectively
obscuring the view of the house. The gate was warm to the touch –
the late summer sunshine had been warming it all morning – as
Kestan pushed it open and made his way between the avenues of trees.
The path seemed never ending, first winding one way, then the other,
so he felt as if he was walking in circles. Birds fluttered from
branch to branch overhead, calling to each other and his feet
crunched along the gravel path.

Suddenly, the trees cleared and he found himself in an open area at
the front of the house. There were three stories to the main house,
all with arched windows and even some gargoyles adorning the roof. To
the left hand side there was indeed a bell tower, but the bell had
long gone. It seemed it served as a roost for pigeons or doves now,
for Kestan was sure he caught movement up there out of the corner of
his eye.

He ascended the steps and pulled on the door bell. Amid great
creaking and clanking, the door was pulled open and he was greeted
with an older man whose clothes looked in even worse repair than
those of the farmer he'd just left. This man was dressed in a dirty
brown leather coat that reached his shins; underneath it his shirt
was filthy with sweat and tobacco stains. A brown and black tabby cat
was trailing around his feet and mewling frantically.

"Hush, Mag! He's expected! Kestan, is it?"

"Yes," replied Kestan.

"This way, the master wants to see you first."

As the man led Kestan deeper into the house, he caught a brief
glimpse of a black and white chequered floor with numerous vases of
flowers in little alcoves, but even with the flowers the house did
not feel at all homely. There was a melancholy air about the place...
and then Kestan chastised himself for even thinking such notions!
There was nothing wrong with it; it was just and strange and new.
That was all. He'd been at the palace for over five years; any change
was bound to be upsetting at first.

The filthy man pushed open a door in a white frame, leaving a greasy
smudge on the painted wood and Kestan shuddered, resisting the urge
to wipe it off with his jacket sleeve. Inside the room were a large
fat man standing by the fireplace; a thin, bony woman sitting on the
settee and a younger girl seated beside her. Both the women had been
doing embroidery before Kestan entered the room, but once he was in
they set their work aside and glanced at him with ill-disguised
curiosity. The thin woman was dressed in an afternoon gown of dark
blue velvet while her companion was in a plainer dress of green wool.

"Garom, take Master Kestan'ss luggage to his room. The blue
bedroom."

"The blue bedroom. Right you are, sir."

The woman, who Kestan could only assume to be Grunhall's wife –
although he could scarcely have imagined two such disparate beings
conjoined in matrimony – clasped her hands together and seemed
about to make some comment. Her husband quelled the impulse with a
stern frown in her direction and she slumped back against the chair.

Kestan relinquished his trunk reluctantly to Garom, wondering if the
man would rummage through his things. He seemed the type to do just
that.

Kestan removed his hat and bowed to the women, who both blushed.

"This is my wife, Nydia," Grunhall pointed out the bony
woman. "And her companion, Misstress Jessamyn."

"How do you do?" Kestan asked politely and they nodded
their heads at him.

"Ladies, if you would leave us for a moment, I have some things
to discuss with Master Kestan."

Nydia looked as if she was about to protest, but turned to her
companion instead. "Come along, Jessamyn, don't dawdle you silly
girl."

"Yes, madam." The two women gathered up their embroidery
and left them alone.

"Now Kestan, King Varathorn has recommended you quite highly.
But he has made no mention of your
unnaturalness
."
Grunhall shuddered at the thought, his three chins wobbling on very
little neck. "But I have other sources of information and I know
what you really are."

Kestan could feel himself paling. Grunhall held Kestan's life in his
hands now he knew that secret about him.

"However, I know you were a soldier for old King Thornwald and
that counts for a lot with me. I also know that you graduated with
honours from the miliatry academy and that Varathorn's boy will be
getting into the academy, in large part due to your tuition. If
you're good enough for a King's son, you're good enough for mine. I
want Nunos ready to take the entrance exam for the military acacemy
next year; you're to prepare him for that. But if I hear even an
inkling of anything unnatural going on in my house, I'll have you
arrested. I want no scandal attached to my household. Are we clear?"