Knave of Hearts (5 page)

Why were two little girls allowed the freedom of the great hall without the supervision of their mother? Strange, that. Children simply weren’t allowed to interrupt their lord for any reason, but the twins had been joyously welcomed.

Like Richard with his ward. Or Gerard with his sons. Could it be…?

“Armand, see if you can find out if Carolyn has any half sisters she has not told me about.”

Marian chose to sit at a trestle table near the door even though she and the girls were entitled to seating near the dais. Once this meal ended, soon now, she could make her escape without too many people taking note.

She sat between the girls to keep order and ensure they both ate appropriately. Her intent to concentrate on the twins worked for the most part, but ’twas hard not
to glance occasionally at the four people seated at the dais.

Strapped into a chair, William held sway over the meal with a vigor that usually eluded him. He would sleep hard and long this night. To his left, Edwin of Tinfield carried the greater part of the conversation. The two men had known each other for many years and never lacked for conversation.

To William’s right sat Carolyn, and next to her, Stephen.

Carolyn was getting over her case of the sulks, though she’d resisted mightily at the beginning of the meal.

Marian wasn’t surprised. She knew firsthand how effortlessly charming a companion Stephen could be, and this evening he made an effort to charm Carolyn. His smile, his gracious manner, his way with words could soften the hardest of female hearts.

As if his charm were not enough, Stephen had given Carolyn a gift—a wooden chest. The chest sat on the table in front of Carolyn, and must be lovely, for every so often Carolyn ran her fingers over the top or lifted the lid. Carolyn hadn’t yet smiled at Stephen, but she would eventually succumb, and Marian wanted to be gone before it happened.

Petty, she knew, but sitting here watching her cousin and her former lover take a meal together proved more hurtful than she’d imagined. She shouldn’t be upset. She’d decided long ago she didn’t want Stephen, that he wasn’t a man she wanted to be married to. She shouldn’t be angry at Carolyn for considering Stephen’s suit, or miffed that Stephen found Carolyn beautiful and worthy of being his wife.

She shouldn’t be angry at Stephen for glancing her way only once that she knew of. Their gazes had met,
and held, then she’d turned away to signify her disinterest. Yet she barely ate for wondering if his stunning green eyes had focused on her again, and for how long, and if he liked what he saw.

Stupid, pointless, but there it was.

“Mama?” Audra whispered.

Marian looked down at her daughter, only to have Audra direct her attention to Lyssa. All thoughts of Stephen fled as she noted Lyssa’s half-closed eyes. Marian inwardly cursed her inattention, for not noticing Lyssa’s lack of chatter during the meal.

She lifted Lyssa into her lap and cradled her daughter’s head against her shoulder. “Audra, go quietly up to the dais and inform his lordship we must leave.”

Audra slid off the bench and walked toward the dais. William saw her coming and motioned her forward. Marian slid around on the bench, prepared to get up as soon as Audra returned.

“Why did you not tell me you hurt?” she whispered in her daughter’s ear.

“I did not want to leave so soon.” A tear slid down Lyssa’s cheek. “Cook made apricot tarts.”

Marian inwardly sighed and hugged Lyssa, unable to utter a reprimand for ignoring the pain for so silly a reason. The mind of a child simply didn’t function reasonably when a treat was in the offing, less so when that little head near burst with pain.

Hearing Audra’s running footsteps, Marian looked up to see her daughter followed by Carolyn and Edwin. So much for her plan for a quiet leave-taking. Now everyone in the great hall watched.

Carolyn’s smile was as tender as her smiles could be. She bent down to put a hand on Lyssa’s forehead. “Leaving us so soon, my dear?”

Lyssa heaved a sigh. “I tried to wait for the tarts.”

Carolyn’s smile widened. “Tarts, hmm? Well, I do believe I can arrange to save you one or two. Perhaps when you next come to visit my father you can have your tarts.”

“Audra, too?”

“Of course, dear.”

“On the morrow?”

“We shall see,” Marian said, injecting motherly caution.

Carolyn straightened. “Send word on how Lyssa does. Father will want to know.”

Marian nodded and shifted her feet to rise.

“My lady, if you would permit?” Edwin extended his arms, obviously offering to carry Lyssa.

“I can—”

“His lordship asked me to be of assistance, which I am most pleased to do.”

Carolyn placed a hand on Edwin’s arm. “Mayhap you should order forth a cart.”

Edwin’s arms folded over his chest, a dark eyebrow rose. “Carolyn, I assure you, I am not yet so feeble I cannot bear one little girl to her pallet, even if that pallet be in the hamlet.”

“I am sure Father’s request to lend assistance meant for you to find a servant to carry Lyssa, not bear the burden yourself.”

Edwin smiled down at Lyssa. “I doubt she weighs more than a sack of feathers.” Once more he extended his arms, and Lyssa went to him readily, hugging him about the neck, her head on his shoulder. “There, you see? No burden at all.”

Carolyn raised her hands, palms up, and backed up a
step. “As you wish, but have a care for your back and do not bounce the poor tyke.”

Edwin rolled his eyes heavenward. “Lead on, Marian.”

Marian rose from the bench, thinking the walk would go faster if she carried Audra.

“Nay, none of that.”

Stephen’s command thrummed through her, stopping her in midreach. She glanced up at the dais. Uncle William had sent far more assistance than needed or wanted.

Stephen bowed to Audra. “My little lady, might I have the honor of seeing you home?”

Audra giggled then, mindful of her manners, curtsied prettily. “You may, kind sir, if Mama says you may.”

Her heart sinking, Marian knew she truly had no choice in the matter. Besides, arguing would only take up time and she needed to get Lyssa tucked into her pallet.

“You may,” she said, still wishing she could refuse, especially when Stephen swept Audra up to sit on his hip.

This was wrong, a sight she’d thought never to see, Audra snug and secure in Stephen’s arms. Marian forced herself to turn away, to lead the men carrying her girls out into the night.

At the gate she stepped into the guardhouse to fetch a torch, which the men would need to see their way back to the keep. She set a quick pace toward her hut.

From behind her she heard Stephen and Audra talking, their voices audible in the night air, but the words muffled. The desire to separate the two lengthened her strides, which the men had no problem matching.

Marian passed the spot at the stone wall where Stephen had halted this morning, talked to the girls and
ruined their mother’s peace. She ran for the door, and once inside, lit the candle on the table.

Edwin entered and glanced around.

Marian pointed to Lyssa’s pallet. “There.”

The moment Stephen entered with Audra, the already small room shrank to crowded. He took up too much space, breathed too much air. Stephen, too, glanced around, but more slowly—noting the simple furnishings and lack of luxuries, she was sure.

Edwin eased Lyssa onto her pallet. Stephen hadn’t yet put down Audra, who seemed in no hurry to be put down.

Marian handed the torch to Edwin, then busied herself with Lyssa’s bolster and blanket. “My thanks, sirs, for your aid. You will want to start back to the keep while there is yet a little light.”

“And before the tarts are gone,” Audra added.

Stephen tugged on Audra’s braid, smiling. “Certes, we must collect our share of the tarts, and ensure Carolyn has set yours aside.”

Finally, he set Audra on her feet.

The men said their farewells and closed the door behind them. Marian took a long draw of air, the scents familiar and comforting, but not quite the same. The unique aroma of male, of Stephen, lingered. On the morrow she would open wide the door to let the summer breeze freshen the room. On the morrow she would reclaim the peace and safety of her own home.

E
dwin carried the torch, leaving Stephen to walk alongside with no more to do than avoid the ruts in the road and ponder his growing puzzlement over Marian.

Dare he question Edwin?

Upon Edwin and Carolyn’s return to Branwick, William had presented the two rivals for his daughter’s hand to each other, then chastised Carolyn for not doing so earlier. From then on Carolyn had been the model of a proper, if sullen, chatelaine of her father’s keep.

Edwin hadn’t said a word to Stephen since, not that Stephen attempted to further their acquaintance either. He didn’t particularly want to know Edwin any better than necessary to assess his rival’s strengths and weaknesses where Carolyn was concerned.

’Twas obvious from their easy ways at supper to see William favored Edwin. Stephen had already decided the battle must be won through Carolyn, to so thoroughly capture the lady that her older suitor would despair of hope. He’d made progress to that end with the gift of the chest at supper. She liked the gift, had even made a point to show it to Edwin.

Unfortunately, Edwin didn’t seem the sort to despair easily.

’Twould probably be best to prod Edwin into a conversation about their mutual quest to win Carolyn, but his curiosity over Marian wouldn’t leave Stephen alone.

“Adorable girls,” Stephen commented.

Edwin didn’t even glance sideways. “They are.”

“A shame about Lyssa’s headache.”

“She suffers them often, I hear.”

Stephen digested the news with a pang of sympathy for both daughter and mother. A wee one should not suffer so, and it must be hard on Marian to see her daughter pained.

Marian’s daughters.

His suspicion that the twins might be William’s had come to an end at evening meal. Those little faces matched Marian’s too well to be other than her own offspring, but not until seeing them sitting together did he notice the resemblance. Too, Carolyn had made a remark about the twins being her nieces.

Why did the family live in the hamlet? Marian’s kinship to William certainly warranted residence in the keep, unless he thoroughly disapproved of Marian’s husband.

Where was the girls’ father, who should have been at evening meal with his family? Obviously off somewhere.

Stephen kicked at a rock, sending it far down the road, beyond the light of the torch. “Has no cure for the girl’s headaches been found?”

“Not for want of trying. Marian took Lyssa into London to see a physician. ’Twould seem his potions cannot prevent or ease the headaches.”

Then Lyssa had been the blanket-wrapped bundle on
Marian’s bed in the palace bedchamber. Audra must have remained behind at Branwick while Marian visited a physician with Lyssa.

“You have known Marian for some time, then?”

Edwin finally graced him with a glance. “For some years. Why so curious?”

“I knew Marian as a girl, but have not seen her in recent years. My concern—” Stephen stopped and looked back toward the hut, now out of sight, and put to words what bothered him ever since closing Marian’s door. “I do not like leaving Marian and her children alone like this. ’Tis not wise. What if some knave decides to take advantage of her husband’s absence? She and the girls should have remained at the keep for the night.”

“Marian is a widow. She and the girls have lived alone in that hut for several years.”

A widow?
No husband. No protector for the girls.

“All the more reason she should live in the keep.”

“I hear she prefers living in the hamlet. ’Tis odd William allows it, but then the whole tale of how she came to Branwick is odd.”

“How so?”

“Carolyn brought her to Branwick after her husband died. The girls were born here, and a few months later William allowed her to live in the hut.” Edwin paused before adding. “I often wondered why she did not return to Murwaithe. Must have been some bad feelings with her family, I suppose.”

He remembered Hugo de Lacy as a proud, rather pompous man, and his wife as pleasant enough. He’d not sensed any animosity between parents and daughter.

“Something must have happened to cause a rift between Marian and her parents around the time of her
marriage, then. I remember them as being fond of one another.”

“An old friend is she?”

Something in the way Edwin asked brought the swirling questions in Stephen’s head to a halt. Stephen doubted Marian wanted anyone at Branwick to know how friendly they’d been—nor did he. Certainly not Carolyn. Especially not his rival.

“Marian’s father bought horses from mine.”

’Twas all the explanation Stephen intended to give. He resumed the walk, anxious now to return to the keep and find out what tidbits Armand might have gathered.

When Edwin didn’t follow, Stephen halted. “Something amiss?”

“You cannot win, you know. You might as well pack up your belongings and take them back to wherever you brought them from.”

Stephen had fought in enough battles, on English soil and Norman, to recognize the strategy—dispirit the enemy by breeding doubt of success.

“Beg pardon, Edwin, but I am in no hurry to be on my way. I believe I shall leave my bed where it is until Carolyn makes her decision.”

“’Tis not merely Carolyn’s decision. She cannot marry where her father does not approve.”

Stephen shrugged with what he hoped showed unconcern. “I will grant you the advantage of having known William longer, and you seem to be in his good graces. But I have youth on my side.” He smiled and ruffled his hair. “See Edwin? Not one strand of gray.”

Edwin laughed and shook his head, then resumed walking. Stephen fell into step within the torch’s light, acknowledging once more that Edwin wouldn’t fall into despair easily.

“A strand or two of gray would serve you well.”

“With Carolyn? Not so.”

“Believe as you will.”

Stephen had reason to believe as he did, for Carolyn made quite clear her preference for a young man as her third husband. Yet, Edwin seemed to think his age made no difference. The man could go on thinking so, to his detriment.

After turning over the torch to a guard, they entered the great hall to find the trestle tables folded up and stacked against the walls for the night. Stephen spotted Harlan and a few of Wilmont’s soldiers seated on the floor with a group of Branwick’s guards, cups of ale in hand and tossing dice.

William was yet strapped into his chair, now settled near the hearth. Carolyn sat on a nearby bench, an open book in her hands.

A place of peace, quiet—boredom.

The place wanted for music, or games, or a wrestling match. At least Harlan had found entertainment with his dice. Stephen looked around for Armand, and not seeing him, guessed his squire must have found more interesting amusement, too.

“What is this?” Edwin complained, the words snapping Carolyn’s head up. “I had thought to come back to sweets, at the least.”

“Do not be churlish, Edwin. You must know I set several aside for the two of you as well as for Marian’s girls.” Carolyn waved a hand in the air, hailing a serving wench. “Tarts and ale for our guests.”

The wench bobbed a curtsey and scurried off.

Stephen slid onto the bench beside Carolyn, ignoring Edwin’s raised eyebrow.

“How very thoughtful of you, my lady. As I told your
father earlier, I find Branwick’s hospitality most noteworthy.”

“My thanks.”

The compliment garnered him a half smile. ’Twas progress from her ill humor at supper.

He glanced down at her book—a prayer book—one to be admired.

“Your psalter is beautifully illustrated,” he said, the comment genuinely meant. The lettering was both simple and graceful, and the picture of the Holy Mother, surrounded by cherubs, had been drawn by a skilled and loving hand. “From where did you purchase it?”

“’Tis a gift from Edwin.”

A costly gift, surely, but not a gift a man gave a woman he was wooing. Did Edwin know nothing about women? Maybe he knew something about one particular woman that Stephen didn’t.

He would never have guessed Carolyn preferred to read a psalter for her leisure, yet Carolyn sat in the great hall reading instead of taking to her solar to choose which baubles to place in her new wooden chest.

“The Swiss monastery at St. Gall is renowned for beautifully illustrated books,” Edwin commented.

“Never been there,” Stephen admitted. “Mayhap one day I should visit.”

“In need of a psalter, Stephen?”

“Nay, but it would account a fine gift for my mother. She cherishes fine works of a religious nature.” He refrained from voicing his belief she cherished them overmuch.

The tarts and ale arrived. Edwin assured William that Marian and girls were settled for the night. Stephen contemplated drawing Carolyn away for a private talk, then decided it too soon, for she hadn’t yet let go completely
of her sulks. ’Twould also be too obvious a ploy for privacy to commit in front of Edwin.

“You look tired, my lord,” Edwin commented to William.

The old man waved the concern away. “I spend too much of my day abed as it is. Besides, Carolyn and I were discussing the improvements she wishes to make to Branwick.”

Carolyn closed her psalter. “My suggestions are quite sound, Father. I believe you should approve every one.”

“And again I ask, where would the coin come from to pay for all of these improvements?”

“I know how you abhor moneylenders—”

William huffed. “Thieves. Every one.”

“—but many of the repairs must be made before winter. We can delay some until after we sell our stock of fleece. The price should rise soon and—”

“If it does not, then with what will we repay the moneylenders?”

Carolyn pursed her lips, and for a moment Stephen thought she would end her argument. He silently urged her on, cheering her persistence. How many times had he stood before Gerard, arguing a point, striving to make his brother see reason? At times, it worked. To his delight, Carolyn’s chin rose.

“Father, I realize you find it hard to make decisions based on others’ observations and opinions. If you were able to take to horse and ride the estate, you would agree that all of the items on my list deserve immediate attention.”

“Surely not all.”

“Ivo agrees with me.”

“My poor steward likely gave in to you to save his wits. But you are right, since I cannot see for myself I
must depend upon the opinion of others. Edwin and I have discussed—”

“Without telling me? You would heed Edwin’s opinion over mine?”

William didn’t answer, simply stared hard at Carolyn. She noticeably reined in her temper. Stephen knew the feeling and was tempted to defend Carolyn. Truly, though, she didn’t yet need help, had held her own quite admirably.

“I see,” she finally said, her voice calm now yet strained. “Am I to assume you have made a final decision then?”

“Not as yet. I thought to seek yet one more person’s opinion.” William’s challenging gaze swung around. “What of you, young Stephen? Have you the knowledge of land use and husbandry to offer an opinion?”

’Twas a challenge, insultingly delivered. The old lord wanted to know how, as a husband to his daughter, Stephen would council Carolyn. ’Twas also clear William thought Stephen incapable of a knowledgeable opinion, just as he thought Carolyn’s knowledge faulty.

Stephen knew perfectly well how to manage an estate, several of them in fact. All of his holdings were doing quite well, too.

“On what matter would you like an opinion, William?”

“What might be your view on moneylenders?”

The answer placed Stephen squarely between Carolyn, who urged obtaining a loan, and William, who wanted nothing to do with those he considered thieves. No simple yea or nay would suffice if he wished to please both daughter and father.

“I have not had occasion to use their services, however, I believe if the need for ready coin is urgent, a
lender should be considered. I know two London Jews who my family has dealt with in times of dire need. Both are forthright in their bargaining and are content with a modest return on their loans.”

William’s eyes narrowed. “So you would risk the loss of Branwick?”

“Never. A lender should only be consulted if Bran-wick is already at risk from want of ready coin. Without knowing the particulars of the improvements Carolyn has suggested, nor having any notion of the health of your coffers, I would not presume to judge Branwick’s state of need.”

Stephen thought he’d slipped from a dangerous situation neatly, until William continued.

“As I was about to say before Carolyn’s outburst, Edwin and I discussed the replacement of the millstone. Apparently the stone is cracked so badly it cannot be trusted through harvest. ’Tis a heady expenditure, but must be done lest we be short of flour for winter. On the remaining items I am undecided.” William turned to Carolyn. “On the morn, give Edwin and Stephen copies of your list. Mayhap one or the other can find a way to give you all you wish at a price I am willing to pay.”

In so few words, casually delivered, William had declared a contest. Stephen clearly understood that whichever suitor presented the best overall plan at the least cost would be highly favored as Carolyn’s next husband.

Armand entered the bedchamber with a smug, satisfied look about him that even the dim candle glow didn’t diminish.

Lounging on the bed, stripped down to sherte and breeches, Stephen didn’t have to ask where and with whom Armand had found amusement.

“So how is the little maid?” Stephen asked.

“Her name is Dena, and she is lovely.”

At the hint of defensiveness, Stephen abandoned the urge to tease the squire further.

William’s audacity yet rankled. ’Twasn’t fair to take his ire out on Armand. Though it annoyed him, he’d participate, if only because Edwin hadn’t protested the contest, thus making Stephen look peevish if he did.

“Was Dena also informative?”

“Somewhat.” Armand threw the bolt on the door and began to shrug out of his tunic. “The twins are not Carolyn’s half sisters, but her cousin’s daughters.”

“So I learned for myself. I also learned that their mother is a widow. Did Dena say how Marian came to be at Branwick?”