Authors: Shari Anton
July, 1109
M
arian didn’t have to look up from her embroidery to know which of her twin daughters entered the hut. Audra’s leather sandals slapped the hard-packed dirt floor with the purposeful steps of someone much older than five summers. Had it been the other twin, Lyssa, the footfalls would have landed light and quick.
Flipping her raven braid behind her, Audra sat at the table and propped her chin in her hands. Well acquainted with her daughter’s pout, Marian pursed her lips to withhold a smile. Apparently, Lyssa was doing something Audra didn’t approve of. Not unusual.
Bowing to the inevitable, Marian asked, “Where is Lyssa?”
“Playing on the stone fence.” Audra’s tone suggested Lyssa receive a scolding, which Marian wasn’t about to do. Though she didn’t completely approve of Lyssa’s daring, she could hardly deny the girl one of the few joys in her life.
As different as night and day, were her girls. Though
they looked so alike most people couldn’t tell one from the other, their temperaments distinguished them as no physical trait could. Audra would never scramble up on the stones and walk along the top of the fence, not for fear of falling off but out of disdain for such unladylike behavior. Lyssa inevitably forswore dignity when a fence wanted climbing, a mud puddle must be run through, or a twin sister needed irritating.
Most often the twins balanced each other. Lyssa sometimes heeded Audra’s cautions, which prevented the bold twin from courting disaster. Audra sometimes got caught up in Lyssa’s gleeful view of life, which kept the solemn twin from becoming dour.
Usually, as happened last night, when Lyssa’s headaches stole away the sparkle in her eyes, Audra sat next to her twin’s pallet, quietly holding her sister’s hand.
With an inward sigh, Marian acknowledged that the long, vexing trip to Westminster with Lyssa had proved a failure. They’d endured the journey’s physical hardships, the sorrow of leaving Audra behind and the annoyance of Carolyn’s almost constant company, all for naught. Marian had so hoped the London physician would provide a cure for Lyssa’s headaches. Though Lyssa obediently downed the powders and herb mixtures the physician claimed would help, the headaches still struck hard and without warning. In the three months since returning home, Lyssa had suffered two bouts of pain no treatment seemed to ease.
If Lyssa felt well enough to walk along the fence this morn, Marian wouldn’t call her down until necessary.
She slid the needle into the pristine white linen, wishing she could set the altar cloth aside and join her girls out of doors. Unfortunately, the altar cloth she decorated—a gift from her uncle, William de Grasse, to the
Archbishop of York—must be completed and taken to Branwick Keep today.
So she’d comply. Uncle William asked so little of her in return for his protection. ’Twas the least she could do for the man who’d seen to her welfare when she’d desperately needed shelter and succor.
“Do not fret, Audra. Lyssa will come down from the fence when she is ready. You have finished your chores?”
Audra’s head bobbed. “Aye. I fed the chickens and Lyssa tied the goat to graze. Truly, Mama, when you finish the altar cloth we can leave for the keep. Shall I tell Lyssa to come in to make ready?”
“Not quite yet.” Marian again stifled a smile, this time at Audra’s sigh. “Go out and enjoy the sunshine. I shall call you both when I am finished.”
Audra got up and slowly headed for the door. Then she stopped and turned. “Mayhap we should gather eggs for his lordship. He enjoys them, does he not?”
Audra knew very well William did, and Marian thought her daughter’s ploy to get Lyssa down from the stone fence just might work. That William would be delighted with the gift of the eggs only made the offer more appealing.
“He will be well pleased, Audra.”
The girl wasted no time in grabbing a basket and scurrying out of the hut, calling her sister’s name.
Marian gave in to both her mirth and curiosity. She set aside the altar cloth and took the few steps necessary to see out the open door, yet not be noticed easily.
Lyssa took the bait of an egg hunt and scrambled down off of the fence. Their black braids bouncing on the backs of their brown tunics, the girls hurried toward
the long grass beyond the garden where an egg or two would likely be found.
Sweet heaven, how she adored the tykes, despite the trials of raising them on her own. Now, she couldn’t imagine life without them, when once, as a young and naive girl, she’d envisioned her life far differently.
Marian shook her head. What was past was past. She usually managed to get through weeks on end without thinking of those days before the twins were born—until lately. The memories came more often, she knew, because she’d seen Stephen again.
Stephen—standing before her in the palace bedchamber, partially disrobed, his arms outstretched.
The knave. He’d fully expected her to step into his embrace as if the years gone by had never happened, as if they’d parted on the best of terms. Knowing full well the impact of his charms, and having heard tales of his recent amorous exploits from Carolyn, Marian didn’t doubt Stephen simply accepted female adoration as his normal due.
Thankfully, she’d been too shocked at seeing him and too concerned over protecting Lyssa that she hadn’t done his bidding. Under other circumstances…No, never again would she willingly court such heartbreak.
Marian took a steadying breath, fetched the altar cloth and resumed stitching. The last gold cross was nearly done.
The motions she was sure she could do in her sleep soon lulled her into a familiar calm, heedless of all but the slip of needle and slide of thread through linen. So intent was she on finishing the cross she didn’t hear the jangle of horses’ tack until the travelers were nearly at the front gate.
The girls called a greeting to whoever was passing by. The altar cloth put aside, Marian got up to observe.
Stunned, her feet rooted to the floor when she saw
him
. Panic swelled and threatened to clog her throat.
Breathe!
her body shouted. She could barely obey.
Stephen of Wilmont, mounted on a magnificent black horse, smiled down at the twins who gave him their rapt attention.
Marian squelched the urge to scream at the girls to come into the safety of the hut, or to shout at Stephen to be on his way. Neither the girls nor Stephen would understand her panic at seeing the three of them together.
The threat he presented nearly overwhelming her, Marian took refuge in glancing over his escort.
Two chain-mail-clad knights rode horses of brownish red, of the same renowned Wilmont stock as Stephen’s. Six helmeted foot soldiers, carrying spears and shields, flanked two wagons pulled by teams of sturdy oxen. As did most nobles when traveling to a keep where they intended to visit a long while, Stephen arrived bearing crates and barrels—filled with his belongings, extra food, gifts for his hosts—and furniture. Above the sides of the last wagon she spied the half moon of a round table. Towering above it all were the thick, unmistakable four posts of a huge bed. Stephen’s bed.
The girls giggled. Lyssa climbed up onto the wall, the better to talk to the man who beamed down at her. Audra dared a couple of stones to rise higher, to get a better view of the noble lord who, for whatever reason, stopped to speak with them.
Marian remained rooted, not daring to go outside until she brought her fears under control. Stephen had no reason to harm the girls, or to suspect they were other than
the daughters of a peasant. The realization calmed her some.
She wished she could hear clearly what they spoke of, but all that reached her ears was Stephen’s deeply timbered tone and the girls’ high trills.
Why couldn’t he have found some other adventure to pursue to keep him away longer, or better yet forever? After a month had passed, then two, she’d been sure another woman had caught his fancy, enticing him to forget about marrying Carolyn.
Now, a full three months after their meeting in Westminster, Stephen arrived in full splendor, apparently intent on winning Carolyn, so sure of his welcome he planned on a prolonged stay and brought along his bed.
Stephen had obviously taken great care in his choice of garments today, wanting to impress, and impress he did. Over a bloodred, long-sleeved sherte he wore a gold-trimmed, black silk tunic. A girdle of gold links wrapped twice around his waist. Impressively noble garb on a magnificently formed male.
He possessed coin aplenty, or so Carolyn claimed. His brother, the baron, had gifted both Stephen and their half brother Richard with several holdings apiece from which to draw income. Enough coin for Uncle William to take Stephen’s suit for Carolyn’s hand seriously, though Marian suspected Stephen’s being the sibling of a powerful baron was more a factor in William’s acceding to Carolyn’s pleas to hear Stephen’s offer.
Carolyn, on the other hand, cared little for the coin or Stephen’s rank. A gifted Adonis, Carolyn had dreamily termed the young man with the comely face, exquisitely formed body, and lack of desire to interfere with her wish to be sole overlord of Branwick when she inherited.
Truly, Marian’s youthful lover had most definitely
come into the fullness of his manhood. Stephen had grown tall, wide across the chest and narrow in the hips. Unlike most Norman nobles, he wore his hair long in Saxon fashion, the wind-tossed black tips skimming his broad shoulders.
No boyish innocence remained in his striking features. His clean-shaven jaw jutted forward at a determined but not arrogant angle. A noble brow hooded his deep-set eyes of sparkling, spring green—both predatory and mesmerizing—that darkened to nearly emerald when lust reached feverish heights. His mouth, so quick to smile, with lips full and warm and mobile—
Marian’s heart stuttered, an unwanted reminder that those lustful bouts with Stephen remained so vivid and affected her so forcefully, even from across the full length of the yard. Even over the passing of years. She thought she’d been fully prepared to see him again if necessary, had steeled her heart and mind against his appeal. ’Twas galling to admit she’d failed so utterly.
Audra swept a hand behind her, palm up, stopping when her fingers pointed at the hut. Inviting Stephen inside?
Dear Lord, have mercy, no!
Stephen glanced at the doorway. Marian stepped back. A foolish gesture. He couldn’t see this far inside the hut from the road.
Coward
, a niggling voice chided her. If Stephen were here to stay, if he married Carolyn, he would learn where Marian lived, that the girls were hers. What sense putting off what couldn’t be avoided?
Her secret was safe. She’d told no one, and no one could guess merely by noting that the girls and Stephen shared but the one physical trait of shining, raven-hued hair.
Marian took a step forward.
Stephen shook his head, an aggrieved smile on his face. With a courtly bow to the girls, he backed his horse from the fence, signaled to his escort, and resumed his journey to Branwick Keep.
Marian sank down on the stool and covered her face with her hands, so relieved that she moaned.
The twins came into the hut at a run.
“Mama, he is here!” Lyssa cried. “Stephen of Wilmont has come to marry Carolyn!”
“He comes to ask Lord William’s permission to marry her, you mean,” Audra corrected Lyssa, once again proving that Audra missed none of the servants’ gossip. She set the basket of eggs on the table. “Will William like Stephen over Edwin, Mama, as Carolyn does?”
To Marian’s bewilderment, Carolyn preferred to marry Stephen of Wilmont over Edwin of Tinfield. True, Stephen was young, unlike Carolyn’s first two husbands. Stephen had no wish to usurp Carolyn’s place as ruler of her dower lands and eventually Branwick, as she feared Edwin might try to do. Stephen pleased Carolyn in bed, a fact Carolyn had been eager to point out to Marian, if not to her father.
That Carolyn had the chance to marry Edwin, a man she’d been fond of for years, held no sway with Carolyn in her choice of husbands.
William was inclined to allow his daughter some say in her third marriage. He’d chosen both of her first two husbands and saw how miserably and quickly those marriages had ended!
“’Tis for William to decide,” Marian finally answered.
“Can we go now, Mama? We have the eggs!” Lyssa said proudly.
Marian glanced at the altar cloth. “Not yet,” she said, grateful for the short reprieve.
Mayhap, if fate proved kind, she could slip in and out of Branwick Keep later today without hardly a soul, especially Stephen, knowing she was there. No sense flirting with further distress when it would likely find her soon enough.
With Branwick Keep in view, Stephen shifted in the saddle, the better to swipe at the road dust on his tunic and breeches. There wasn’t any hope for his boots, so he didn’t bother with them.
“Nervous?”
The question came from the man who rode at Stephen’s right, Armand, one of Gerard’s favorite squires and a pleasant companion on a long journey.
Stephen shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “Not unduly.”
After all, one Norman noble thought and acted much like another. He usually handled himself well around the likes of barons and earls, and King Henry—the most headstrong Norman in the kingdom. ’Struth, his last encounter with the king hadn’t gone at all well. Still, William de Grass, lord of Branwick, shouldn’t present a challenge.
“I would be, knowing I was minutes away from confronting and being judged by the father of the woman I hoped to marry,” Armand admitted with a shiver.
William was also ill and quite frail, which had kept him from accompanying Carolyn to Westminster. Stephen saw no difficulty in having his way with Carolyn’s father.
“I doubt the proceedings will lead to a confrontation, rather to a meeting of the minds.”
“His lordship might be of a mind to deny you. You
are
late.”
Long overdue, by several weeks. He’d been stuck in Normandy longer than planned. Then he’d spent several more weeks helping Richard. Then he’d stopped at Wilmont to report to Gerard. The four to six weeks he’d planned to be gone had stretched into three full months. Carolyn might not be pleased by his extended absence, but Stephen didn’t see how he could have done anything differently and still do right by Richard.