“I expect you will teach him well,” Viscount Gerald told his friend.
“Of course,” Renaurd responded, clasping the young boy on his shoulder.
Gunter was but five years of age. His blue eyes sparkled in excitement as his father attached a wooden sword at his side.
“Take heed and listen well. You are becoming a man – it is your responsibility to learn to protect this domain,” Gerald told him firmly before stepping back.
The men stood talking for a time, and though the boy listened intently, he could not truly follow the conversation at hand.
“Go say goodbye to your mother, Gunter.”
The boy nodded, excited to be able to move. He was not entirely sure what was going on, but he knew that his father and mother would be leaving him here for a time. And he knew his father deemed it important.
He went to join his mother and Lady Isamina who were clustered near the well looking at whatever the lady was holding. They seemed transfixed, cooing at the thing.
“What are you looking at? I want to see,” he said indignantly upon approach.
“Here you are,” Isamina said. She turned the bundle to face him.
“What is that?”
“Tis a babe. Her name is Rosomon.”
The boy moved closer, “It’s hideous!”
Peronell gasped, “Gunter!” She could not believe the child had said that.
“It’s quite alright,” Isamina said as she laughed gently. “She may not suit you now, but one day she will.”
The boy hummed doubtfully.
“Trust my, little Lord, she will. It is her duty. After all, she will be your wife.”
He thought on her words as he stared at the babe wrapped in a blanket. She yawned and shifted, just waking up. “You mean she is mine?”
The women looked at one another and shrugged delicately. “You could say that,” Isamina replied.
“Well then,” he said, pointing at the babe’s face, “you had best do your duty well! I am doing mine.” He was not entirely sure what “duty” was, but the grown ups sure liked to talk about it a lot.
The babe just cooed happily at him and reached for the finger before her, not knowing in the slightest who the boy would become.