Authors: Shari Anton
Sweet Lord, I am a father!
So now what? Tell everyone? Hell, he’d shout it from Wilmont’s highest tower! Nay, not yet. Not until his insides settled down, his heartbeat slowed. Not until he had some answers from Marian.
First he had to sit down before he fell down. No, first he had to kiss Marian. Except he couldn’t kiss Marian because he was furious with her. If he hadn’t provoked her into telling him she might never have done so, allowed him to go through life never knowing about his daughters.
How dare she!
He glanced at the girls again. All four children stared straight down into the water, unaware that the earth had shifted to provide room for a stray piece of heaven.
What kind of a father would he make? He nearly staggered under the duty he now assumed. Responsible for Marian, the girls. Of all the explanations he’d expected, this news hadn’t been among them.
Hellfire, could he be a decent father, a reliable husband?
He gazed into Marian’s beautiful pewter eyes and found worry and doubt. He had to set her mind at ease, tell her he wouldn’t fail her again, that all would be well
just as soon as he figured out where he was and what he was going to do next.
Tell the girls. He should tell the girls, give them a hug, let them know he loved them. Or maybe he should tell Marian that he loved her. Good start.
“Stephen, I think you should sit down.”
Grand idea. Maybe if he sat down his head would stop spinning and his thoughts settle.
Marian led him over to the boulder. “I know this must come as a surprise….”
He plopped down on the rock and scoured his face with his hands, as if the action would make everything clear.
“Hellfire, Marian, surprise does not begin…I never dreamed…when your father did not come to demand a marriage…Why did
you
not send word? I would have come!”
“At the time I was not sure you would remember my name!”
He shouldn’t be angry with Marian. He could think of several reasons she might not have been willing to name him as her lover, and he wasn’t ready to hear them confirmed.
“So you told your father you were carrying, but refused to name…me as the child’s sire. What then?”
She looked downstream where Lyssa sat on the bank, laughing at Philip, who delightedly showered Daymon and Audra with water.
My daughters
. The thought made him giddy all over again. The girls would be—he counted years—five. Then he counted months—somewhere near Yuletide if he guessed the month of conception aright. He’d thought them younger by a full year.
“Father flew into a rage,” Marian said, dragging him
back. “He demanded the name of my lover over and over. I refused.” She took a deep breath. “He vowed he would not harbor a harlot or her bastards, swore to send me out the gate if I did not give over. Carolyn happened to be at Murwaithe. She was as horrified at my father’s threats as I. She offered me shelter at Branwick and I snatched the chance. The following morn we left Murwaithe. I said no farewells.”
No wonder Marian put up with so much from her cousin, considering Carolyn her savior, of sorts. How frightened and upset Marian must have been.
He understood the false tale of Marian’s widowhood, to spare her disgrace and save the girls from scorn.
“’Twas Carolyn’s idea to claim you a widow?”
“Aye. William knows what happened, but no one else at Branwick.”
So William sheltered his niece, and might have done better by her, to Stephen’s way of thinking. At least William had taken her in. What would Marian have done if Carolyn hadn’t taken her to Branwick? Would Hugo de Lacy have shown his pregnant daughter the gate? No way to judge—he didn’t know the man all that well. Marian thought her father capable of such harshness or she wouldn’t have left Murwaithe.
So many people to tell, so much to set right.
Audra came toward him at a run, her tunic and braid wet from the children’s play.
Mine
. Gad, every time the realization struck he suffered another shiver of joy mingled with terror.
“Mama, Lyssa rubs at the back of her neck.”
Marian’s mouth pursed into a straight line. “The beginning of a headache. We must get Lyssa back to the tent.”
Stephen pushed away from the boulder and headed
for where Daymon and Philip stood over Lyssa. Only three days had passed since Lyssa’s last headache.
“Does she get sick so often, then?” Stephen asked.
“Not usually. I had hoped she would be spared another until we returned home, at the least.”
Home to Marian meant Branwick, a hut in the hamlet. That was about to change, but he’d discuss living arrangements with Marian later, when he figured out what they might be.
Lyssa tore up a fistful of grass and flung the blades toward the stream. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She glared at Audra.
“I told you not to tell! We do not have to go back yet!”
“Do, too,” Audra retorted.
“Do
not!
Please, Mama, ’tis only a little hurt. Can we not stay a while longer? I do not want to go back to the tent. I want to stay here!”
Marian bent down and brushed at Lyssa’s cheeks. “You know ’twill only get worse. Best we do what we can early on.”
Lyssa looked ready to argue. Marian put a forefinger on the girl’s lips.
“You
know
we must, Lyssa. Mayhap, when the pain is gone, we can come back.”
He reached down; Lyssa lifted her arms. “Certes, we can. The stream and the frogs will still be here.”
Lyssa laid her head on his shoulder. His daughter. He’d held her before but not like this. Not as his own. Ye, gods.
Marian set the other children to putting on footwear, and they were soon headed back through the woods. As they stepped into the clearing, he sent Daymon ahead to tell Ardith why he was bringing Lyssa to the keep.
Daymon shot off like an arrow from a bow, Philip beside him.
Marian protested. “Oh, Stephen, we need not bother Ardith. She has so much to do with the baby and her guests and—”
“So I give her one more task to attend. She will not mind. Besides, if she has some notion of how to cure Lyssa, why not let her try it now?”
Marian didn’t look happy, but she didn’t argue further. He knew she wasn’t used to having others make decisions where the girls were concerned. The moment she admitted he was their father, however, she gave him rights. Rights he intended to claim fully.
As they passed through the bailey, several heads turned his way. ’Twas all he could do not to shout out the news, answer the questions on their faces.
He found Ardith waiting for them on the keep’s stairway. “Bring her up to the children’s room,” she ordered, then turned to lead the way.
The great hall was as crowded as Stephen had ever seen it, people everywhere. He followed Ardith along the wall, the quickest path to the stairs. His foot was on the first stair when he glanced toward the hearth. His brothers were in deep discussion with Robert of Portieres, one of Marian’s new suitors.
After what Marian had just told him, he felt completely justified in telling his brothers to inform any future suitors to take their interest elsewhere.
Marian put a hand to his back. “Not yet. We need to talk more first.
Please
, Stephen.”
Stephen climbed the stairs, his curiosity high. Marian couldn’t have guessed his thoughts. So what did she believe she stopped him from doing? Telling his brothers?
If Marian thought he’d keep his daughters’ existence secret, she’d best think again.
T
he nursemaid gathered up all the children except the baby and took them to play elsewhere. Ardith left to mix a potion. Lyssa sat on Stephen’s lap, her back to his chest, her eyes closed. Marian didn’t know if the lavender oil he rubbed into Lyssa’s temples truly helped the headache, but her daughter’s expression reflected no pain.
Marian sat in the other chair, tamping down her hopes. Over the past two years she’d dosed Lyssa with fever-few, meadowsweet and valerian, none of which worked well. Ardith meant to try a potion made from hawthorn berries, willow bark and rosemary.
If the potion relieved Lyssa’s pain, then coming to Wilmont was worth the trip, no matter what else happened.
Lyssa gave a contented sigh and Marian had to smile. She’d given little thought to how the girls would react to learning Stephen was their father. She rather expected they’d be angry at her for keeping it secret, but they’d already taken Stephen to their hearts and would welcome him into their lives.
How much of their lives would he be a part of? Would
he always be around to rub Lyssa’s head with lavender oil, or would he only come around to play with the girls occasionally?
Marian felt as if she’d opened a door that couldn’t be closed. By giving Stephen his daughters, she’d changed all of their lives irrevocably. Some changes might not be for the better, but as she watched Stephen’s fingers caress Lyssa’s head to ease her pain, Marian couldn’t be completely sorry.
Ardith bustled into the room, a cup in her hand. “Here we are. Tsk. Stephen, you were supposed to soothe the child, not put her to sleep.”
“Here now, Lyssa, open your eyes or you will get me into trouble,” Stephen teased.
Lyssa’s eyes popped open. Ardith handed her the cup.
“’Tis warm, and I tried to make the potion more palatable by adding honey. It may yet taste awful but should ward off your headache.”
Lyssa took a sniff and wrinkled her nose.
“Drink it down,” Stephen encouraged her. “The sooner the hurt is gone, the sooner we can go back to the frogs.”
Even the promise of frogs didn’t take the wary look from her daughter’s face. Marian got up, took the cup from Lyssa and tried a sip. Not tasty but not intolerable.
“You have had
much
worse.”
Lyssa relented and drained the cup of the brew.
Ardith pointed to the nursemaid’s pallet. “Now a nap. We should know within an hour or so if we have found our cure.”
Stephen tucked Lyssa under the coverlet. He hovered over her for a moment, just looking. Marian remembered how, when the girls were babes, during those rare moments when both slept peacefully, she’d simply stare at
them, wondering how she managed to give birth to two such beautiful, angelic creatures. Was Stephen, knowing he’d sired them, now awed in the same manner?
Ardith peered into the cradle at Matthew. “This one will be squalling about the time I want to check Lyssa. I had best go down to the hall till then. I assume you wish to remain here?”
Marian nodded. “Just in case she needs me. My thanks, Ardith, for your help. I know you must be terribly busy.”
As always, her ladyship’s smile held warmth. “No trouble at all.” She headed for the door. “Stephen? Coming?”
“In a moment.”
Ardith left the room, leaving Marian alone with Stephen and two sleeping children. Marian walked over to the pallet and bent over Lyssa, who had fallen asleep almost immediately upon lying down.
“Mayhap the lavender oil helped,” Marian whispered, believing Stephen’s gentle massage had the greater effect.
“You wanted to talk,” Stephen said, his voice soft in deference to the sleeping children. Marian realized how many of their talks had been in low voices so as not to be overheard.
Marian approached him but remained out of arm’s reach—her arm’s reach. ’Twas far too tempting to lean on him for support, to take succor within his embrace. She couldn’t think clearly when he held her. Only look at what she’d confessed earlier.
Down in the hall, she’d stopped him from going off to tell his brothers about his daughters, fearing he’d blurt out the news for all to hear. Perhaps she’d been too hasty. She didn’t think Stephen would do anything to
hurt the girls, not apurpose anyway. Still, she had to be sure.
“I am rather proud of my daughters—”
He interrupted with a forceful, “Our daughters.”
Marian accepted the reminder with grace. “’Twill take me some time to remember. I am not accustomed to sharing them.”
The corner of his mouth turned upward. “Understandable. Ever since you told me I have been thinking of them as
mine
.” He glanced over at Lyssa. “I cannot help wonder how they will think of me when we tell them.”
On that score she could ease his mind. “They have become very fond of you. I doubt calling you ‘Father’ will be a chore for them.”
“When do we tell them?”
“When the time is right, I suppose.”
“Later today? Mayhap tonight?”
Marian understood his impatience. She also knew the telling must be done carefully.
“As I said, I am proud of our daughters. They have coped well with being twins. For the most part they ignore the stares and snubs from those who cannot accept them, who think them strange and loathsome for a misfortune of their birth. When we tell them of you we give them another burden to bear, that of being…base born. I should like as few people as possible to know of it.”
Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “I intend to acknowledge Audra and Lyssa, Marian. Surely you realized I would when you informed me they are mine.”
“To the girls and, if you wish, a select few of your family. I see no reason to tell anyone else.”
“What of your family?”
“They need not be told.”
“Not even your father? Would he not be relieved to hear the truth after all these years?”
Probably. Then he’d try to force a marriage just as he would have done six years ago. Marian wanted no part of it now as she hadn’t then.
“Especially not my father.” How to make Stephen understand? “You told me about Richard, of how he suffered as a child. That is what I wish to avoid with the girls. Did your father truly do Richard a favor by acknowledging him to all?”
“But that was different. Mother made Richard’s life hell because she hated the reminder of Father’s liaison with a peasant woman, even though the woman died. Better to look to Daymon. The boy has little to complain of.”
“So you say because Daymon is the baron’s acknowledged son, everyone treats him with as much respect as they do Everart.”
“Well, nay, there are differences in the boys’ stations.”
“Exactly.”
He stared at her a moment. Just when she thought her point well taken, he said, “Not quite. Everart is the heir, so is given deference. Daymon is treated more as a second son would be. Gerard will see to Daymon’s upbringing and livelihood in much the same manner as little Matthew.” Stephen ran a hand through his hair. “I fail to see what this has to do with us, anyway. Neither my father nor Gerard were free to marry the mothers involved. That is not the case with us. From the moment we wed and I acknowledge the girls, they bear no taint and are entitled to all of their birthright.”
Marian’s heart did a happy flip, then sank straight to her toes. He’d simply assumed they would wed. She’d
once wanted to be Stephen’s wife and lover with all of her young heart, and a piece of her yet yearned for him. Sweet Mother, but it hurt to have him so near and speaking of a life together—as a convenience, for the girls.
If only he loved me
.
Their physical attraction to each other had burned bright and hot from the beginning. Even now, if she put her lips to his he would kiss her back. He’d even told her last eve he yet lusted for her.
She’d learned long ago the difference between lust and love.
“If I had been willing to marry you for the girls’ sake alone, I could have given my father your name. I had my reasons for defying him, for giving you your freedom then. Those reasons have not changed.” He flinched, as if she’d slapped him. If she didn’t go on she wouldn’t get it all out. “’Struth, you are not free to offer for me, having already spoken to Carolyn’s father about marriage. You cannot cast her aside for your convenience without doing her irreparable harm.”
He shook his head as if coming out of a daze. “Carolyn and I are not betrothed.”
“Not formally, but your family proclaimed your intentions last eve by inviting her to sit at the dais. I will not have her shamed or made the subject of gossip, which will surely happen if you do her honor one day and discard her on the next.”
He walked over to the chair and sat down, hunched over with his forearms on his thighs, staring at his clasped hands between his knees. “If I could do right by Carolyn, what then?”
Her insides churned and her heart bled. She took a resolving breath, gathered her pride.
“I still must refuse.”
“For the reasons you defied your father.”
She nodded.
“Would you mind telling me those reasons?”
Marian closed her eyes, allowed her chin to drop. She’d never told anyone. Stephen wasn’t just anyone, but the man she’d adored, still loved and couldn’t have. Maybe he didn’t deserve an explanation, yet if she gave him one, he might desist in this madness. He may as well have the truth and the whole of it. In the telling she might find hope that her own heart might heal.
She sat in the other chair.
“After you left, I spent…weeks waiting to hear from you. I could not believe you could leave me without a word, that what we shared meant so little to you.”
“I explained—”
“I know. I did not know then you and your father had been called away. Truly, it now matters not, nor did it then if I am honest. ’Twas not until I realized I had mistaken our lust for love that I came to my senses. You must forgive me for being young and naive.”
His head came up, his expression drawn. He said nothing. Marian swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She’d get through this without crying. She
would
.
“Shortly after Yuletide I began to suspect I carried. I put off telling my parents until my gowns grew too tight. Father demanded I name my lover, but I could not bring myself to tell him, knowing he would try to force a marriage. You see, by then I had realized two things. First, your father could have easily refused my father. You were the son of a baron, and I the daughter of a minor lord. Your father could have sent my father away, insulted and angry.”
“I doubt it would have come to that.”
“Mayhap not, but I wasn’t willing to hear I had been
rejected once again, whether by your father…or you. I had also come to see that you and I would never suit. We would both have been miserable.”
He leaned forward. “How can you be so sure? You never gave us a chance to find out.”
“Think on it, Stephen. We were both a mere ten and six, I the lass who dreamed of a knight who would make me his wife, build me a strong manor and give me children, and you…the lad with visions of adventure in his heart. You wanted to visit Italy, climb mountains, sail the seas. You would have soon hated me for trying to bind you to a normal life, and I would have hated you for not loving me enough to give up your dreams.”
Unable to sit still, Marian got up and walked over to the cradle. Matthew’s lips were pursed, twitching. Hungry, she realized. He’d be awake soon.
She swallowed that annoying lump again. “I dreamed of hearth and home, crops and stone walls. You wanted to follow the flight of an eagle, just to see where it landed. You still do. ’Twas why you chose Carolyn to wed, because she does not care if you stay away for months at a time, prefers it actually.”
Marian found the courage to face Stephen again. “I could not be happy with such an arrangement.”
Stephen put his hands on his knees, pushed up to his feet. With hands crossed behind his back, he walked slowly toward her, his expression thoughtful.
“Marian, if Carolyn had not whisked you off to Bran-wick, what might you have done after your father threatened to show you the gate?”
Caught off guard by the question, Marian shrugged. “I—I suppose I might have gone to some town…and, oh, found somewhere to live.”
“Think on it, Marian. You were a mere ten and six,
a noble lass with no funds, forced to live in squalor and beg for meals, and carrying. Would you have truly walked though the gate, or realized you were sentencing yourself to ridicule and starvation, and your child along with you?”
Marian shuddered to even think about it. Now that the girls were older, and she’d realized she could make a living with her needlework, she might be able to live on her own and still care for the girls. But back then?
He glanced over at Lyssa. “Do not misunderstand me. I am glad you had somewhere to go, people to care for you and the twins. But I believe Carolyn did you a disservice. If she had not interfered, I wonder if you would not have seen the sense in naming your lover. Once done, my father would not have shown your father Wilmont’s gate. And believe me, Marian, I would have remembered your name.”
Marian pursed her lips, thought chasing after thought in a whirlwind. She’d never considered Carolyn’s offer of shelter as interference, but as a kindness.
I would have remembered your name
.
Perhaps, but in lust, not love. And for how long?
From the cradle came a mewing sound, a baby about to wake.
Stephen smiled, a sad smile. “I will let Ardith know her youngest will be calling her sooner than planned. You will let me know when you think the time right to tell the girls, will you not?”
“Certes.”
He headed for the door.
“Stephen.” He stopped, turned. “I know you think I did wrong, but I swear, you would have balked at a forced marriage as much as I.”
“Perhaps. But I cannot help think we might have
come to some arrangement, mayhap even chased a few eagles together. Would that have been so bad, Marian?”
Three hours and too many goblets of wine later, Stephen paced Gerard’s accounting room.