Authors: Shari Anton
“Nay, but then I did not ask. Shall I?”
Stephen thought to say yes, then changed his mind. The mystery was still there, but would keep for the nonce. More urgent matters pressed on his mind.
“No need.”
Armand shrugged a shoulder. “As you wish. Anyway, I did ask Dena about Edwin of Tinfield, thinking you would wish to know about your rival. On that score, she was most informative.” He tossed his tunic down onto his pallet at the foot of the bed, then lowered onto a stool to dispose of his boots. “Edwin’s prime holding is not far from here, so he has known William de Grasse and his family for a long time. Apparently Edwin lost his first wife about the time Carolyn lost her first husband. He applied to her father for a marriage bargain, but William had already pledged Carolyn to another.”
“So now Edwin tries again.”
“Only this time Carolyn pleaded with her father to let her choose her third husband, or at least have some say.
William must have felt some pang of sympathy because he agreed. He has, however, allowed Edwin to spend much time at Branwick, even though Carolyn balks at Edwin’s age.” Armand grinned. “Dena says the arguments between the pair are spectacular, most of them over how much freedom a woman should be granted within the bounds of marriage. Edwin taunts Carolyn with her unladylike beliefs. Carolyn taunts Edwin about his gray hair. A mismatched pair, I would say.”
Another mark against Edwin. Still, even if William didn’t force Carolyn to marry Edwin, he could certainly refuse to allow his daughter to marry Stephen of Wilmont—all because of this damn contest.
Stephen rubbed his eyes, thinking about the list he’d receive on the morn. Gad, he’d left his estates under his stewards’ and Gerard’s direction for too long to know costs of materials and labor readily. ’Twould pose a problem, though not an insurmountable one. William couldn’t expect him to know the price of goods and services in this area, for costs differed greatly depending upon ready availability. Ivo could supply figures.
His greatest problem was getting to know Carolyn better. He needed to know what pleased her outside of the bedchamber—which he already knew.
She obviously liked to ride over the countryside, but did she also like long walks? Did she prefer bold colors to pale, ale to wine, a psalter to a wooden chest?
Not William, nor Edwin, nor Ivo would be of help on that front. Nor would Armand’s Dena, for servants often saw their betters in a different light than would those of closer rank and status.
He knew of only one other person at Branwick who matched Carolyn’s status and could supply the answers he needed. Marian.
Marian of the pewter eyes and sable hair. The widowed mother of adorable twins, who lived in a hut on the edge of the hamlet. He still didn’t like the arrangement, the three of them out there alone and unprotected, no matter how long they’d lived on their own.
Marian’s continued vexation at him rubbed a raw spot on his innards, more troubling than he should allow. He hadn’t meant to seem indifferent to her all those years ago; there simply hadn’t been time when leaving Murwaithe for fare-thee-wells or a parting kiss. Yet she still held him in contempt for that one act of discourtesy.
Could he somehow make it up to her now? Would she then soften her manner toward him, talk to him without an edge to her voice? Grace him with a smile?
’Twasn’t as if Marian had pined for him overlong. Judging by the size of her girls, they must be somewhere around the age of four, so Marian she must have wed within a year or so after their affair and given her husband children.
Had Marian’s husband known she wasn’t a virgin before they married?
Stephen frowned.
If Marian had confessed her lack of virginity to her father, she might have had to settle for a less than suitable husband. Could it be she blamed Stephen of Wilmont for some degradation he knew nothing about? ’Twould certainly explain her high vexation, and also explain Edwin’s comment about the possibility of hard feelings in Marian’s family. Perhaps she’d come to Branwick after her husband’s death because she couldn’t return to Murwaithe for some reason.
“What plan for the morrow, my lord?”
Armand’s question jolted Stephen back to the immediate
problem of William’s challenge. He briefly related the conditions to Armand.
“Should not be a difficult task,” Armand commented. “You did a similar study several years ago for Gerard, did you not?”
The king had settled a large grant of land—confiscated from a traitor to the crown—on Gerard for bringing the miscreant to justice. Gerard kept only one holding, then gifted Stephen and Richard with the rest. Seeing the opportunity to be off on an adventure, Stephen offered to inspect all the newly gained holdings and report back on their condition. He’d taken Corwin along, and the two of them enjoyed a grand time visiting one estate after the other. Some of the estates had suffered greatly under their former overlord.
“Similar, but different. Wilmont’s coffers run deep, and Gerard was willing to borrow funds, if necessary, to make urgent repairs. William is neither so wealthy nor so broad-minded.”
“Broad-minded enough to allow Carolyn the freedoms he does. Mayhap he will be easier to please than you fear.”
’Twas possible. Unfortunately, since arriving at Bran-wick he hadn’t been able to please anyone except one little girl who’d smiled brightly at him before coming down with a severe headache.
Despite Marian’s obvious wish not to, he’d like to make amends with the girl’s mother. Not because Marian could influence William’s opinion of him, if she chose, but for his own peace of mind.
Except, given Marian’s hostility, returning to her good graces might prove more difficult than winning William’s contest.
Marian couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d cracked opened the shutters to judge the time by the rising sun, then wondered if her wits had fled.
’Twas just past dawn, yet Stephen sat on her stone wall, staring at her hut. Garbed in a dark-green tunic, brown breeches and boots, he looked like a man of the forest, a wanderer—or a brigand.
Stephen hadn’t been out there all night, had he? Surely not. Then he must have left the keep before the chapel bell pealed to bid all to morning Mass.
She gave a moment’s thought to staying safely within the hut before she pulled on her boots and tossed a hooded cloak over her unbound hair and gray gown. The girls would sleep awhile yet, and she wanted Stephen gone before they woke.
He slid off the wall as she slipped out the door. She walked toward him, getting only close enough to talk quietly so they’d not wake the girls.
“How fares Lyssa?”
His inquiry tugged at Marian’s heart. Stephen didn’t know he asked after the health of his own daughter. Then again, the inquiry might not be truly Stephen’s, but William’s. ’Twould be like her uncle to send someone out at dawn to ask after Lyssa.
“She was up twice in the night, but has slept steadily for the past few hours. The worst has passed.”
“Poor tyke. ’Tis not right a little one should suffer so. On our way back to Branwick last eve, Edwin told me you had taken her to a London physician to seek a cure. That was Lyssa in your bed that night, was it not?”
She’d tried very hard to put that night in Westminster Palace out of her mind, as well as other nights in Stephen’s
company, and certainly didn’t want to talk about any of them now.
“Aye, ’twas Lyssa. She had finally fallen asleep and I did not want you to wake her.” Marian glanced back at the hut, her refuge. “I should go back in now, and you had best be on your way or you will miss Mass.”
He smiled, a hint of mischief in the upward curve. “I suppose I should, or William will have one more thing to hold against me.”
The question that skittered through her head must have shown on her face.
“He does not like me,” Stephen said. “William thinks me too young and not worth my daily bread, to hear him tell it. Certes, not worth the hand of his daughter.”
William could be blunt, but he was rarely outright rude.
“My uncle told you this?”
“Not only did he say he considered me an unsuitable match for his daughter, but he has devised a contest designed to prove his belief.” Stephen turned around and placed his hands on the wall, his head turning as he perused the view of Branwick’s fields and woodlands before him. “Edwin and I will each receive a list of improvements to be made to Branwick. We are to inspect the holding and devise a plan to make the most improvements at the least cost. He did not say so but he expects me to make a muck of it.”
Hoping her uncle might be right, which meant Stephen would be on his way soon, she asked, “Will you?”
He spun around. “Oh, nay. In truth, I am not overly worried over the contest, merely annoyed. I am concerned, however, over you.”
Her confusion heightened when he took two steps toward her and grasped her shoulders. She could feel the
heat of his hands through her cloak, enjoy the pressure of the familiar squeeze of his fingers.
“I was up a time or two myself last night,” he said. “After we left here last eve, I worried over leaving you and the girls out here, unprotected. Edwin told me you have lived as such for several years, yet I do not understand why you do not live in the keep, as you should.”
She wished his fingers would be still, that her own arms didn’t yearn to wrap around him. She locked her arms firmly across her chest to muffle her pounding heart.
“I prefer the hut to the keep. Truly, we are in no danger.”
He looked skeptical, so she pointed toward a hut not far down the road.
“In yon hut lives the blacksmith, whose two lads are nigh as big as bulls. If I scream, you had best prepare to defend yourself.”
A smile touched the edge of Stephen’s mouth. “I am a Wilmont trained knight. I do believe I can manage against the blacksmith’s lads.” His amusement disappeared. “Marian, I must confess the ill will you bear me sits heavy on my mind. I had hoped we could make amends. At Westminster, I tried to apologize for whatever heartache I might have caused you. Will you listen now?”
This was why Stephen had come. Not to inquire about Lyssa or relay concern over their safety. Marian backed up a step; Stephen’s hands fell away.
“’Twas a long time ago. You need have no concern—”
“I believe I do.” He waved a hand at the hut. “You deserve far better than a hut outside the walls of your uncle’s keep. I remember a girl filled with gaiety and a
sense of adventure, but the woman barely smiles. I fear our liaison caused your downward change of fortune. What happened after I left you?”
Marian quelled the panic before it could rise. Stephen didn’t know about the twins. He begged answers she refused to give.
“The life I now have is of mine own choosing. Let it be, Stephen. Best you go back to the keep before you are missed.”
She fled the man and the memories. Not until she opened the door did he call out her name. The urge to turn around nearly overcame her good sense, but she closed the door behind her and threw the bolt.
Marian leaned against the door, trembling, listening for the sounds of his footsteps. Not hearing them, she dared a peek out the shutters. Stephen had vanished, as if he’d never been there.
But he had been and he’d be back. As sure as she drew her next breath, she knew Stephen wouldn’t let the matter be.
Her daughters, Stephen’s daughters, yet slept. How angelic they looked in their sleep. Audra with her thumb in her mouth; Lyssa without the furrow of pain on her forehead.
She’d been up most of the night holding a cold rag on Lyssa’s brow and wished she could do more for the darling who’d given her so much joy. Somewhere in the wee hours, with her eyes heavy and guard down, the thought had crept in that she’d denied Stephen the joy of watching the girls take their first steps, hearing their first words.
Heaven help her, she still couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a grievous mistake in keeping them apart.
N
eeding a long, hard ride after his unsatisfactory talk with Marian, Stephen decided to begin his inspection of Branwick at the farthest reaches of the estate. All he need do is have someone point him in the right direction.
All through Mass he’d reviewed his talk with Marian and realized he went about it wrong. He should have apologized first, then tried to find out what he apologized for. She couldn’t still be angry with him over a discourtesy; it had to run deeper, much deeper.
He gave the horse’s cinch a hard tug. The stallion protested with a toss of his head and an irritated snort, as he always did.
“Problem?” Edwin asked from two stalls away, where he prepared his own mount for an outing.
“Nay. He is simply peevish.”
“Ah. Then the two of you make a suitable pair this morn.”
Stephen heard Edwin’s amusement, didn’t appreciate it, but didn’t fault the man for making the remark. He might have taunted Edwin with a similar comment if their moods had been reversed.
The list Carolyn had given both men consisted of
twenty items, some within Branwick’s walls but most without. A few items required long rides and an overnight stay at two of William’s lesser holdings. None of the items seemed beyond the ordinary repairs or improvements regularly necessary or much desired on any holding of good size.
The only item to pique his interest was the repair of the thatched roof on Marian’s hut. Surely William would agree to the repair without a qualm or thought for cost. Or William might not, forcing Marian to reside in the keep where she belonged.
Irritating woman.
Edwin backed his horse out of the stall. “Where shall we begin?”
“We?”
Edwin sighed. “We must inspect the same places and you have no notion of where most of them are. Why not go together if only to keep you from getting lost?”
“I should think you would rather I got lost.”
“Nay, I would rather win this contest fairly, not because you rode over a cliff.”
Damned if the man didn’t sound sincere, and damned if Edwin didn’t know Branwick well enough to act as a novice’s guide.
Still wary, Stephen asked, “Just you and me?”
“On my word, Stephen, you have naught to fear. I will not help you, but neither will I hinder you. The sooner over, the sooner you are gone.”
Stephen relented. This would be a good opportunity to observe Edwin, though he’d still watch his own back. Edwin seemed an honorable man, but was a rival. One didn’t trust one’s enemy to adhere to honor when the prize was great.
“I had planned to begin at whatever site is farthest
from Branwick yet reachable within the day. Agreeable?”
Edwin smiled. “A good hard ride should work the peevishness out of both rider and mount. Ready?”
“Lead on.”
Edwin wound his way through the crowded inner bailey, picked up speed in the outer bailey, then dashed out the gate, Stephen at his heels. Once out, Stephen gloried at the freedom of flying over the countryside, at a speed that tasked the horses’ stamina and the riders’ ability. By the time Edwin slowed to spare the horses, Stephen’s mood was much improved.
He pulled up alongside Edwin. “Where do we go?”
“The bridge.”
Stephen recalled Carolyn’s list. “Carolyn deems one of the supports rotted and in need of replacement. Is the bridge heavily traveled?”
Edwin hesitated before answering. “At times.”
Stephen chided himself for asking the question. ’Twasn’t Edwin’s intention to give further aid than ensuring Stephen didn’t get lost. Fair enough. What information he couldn’t glean from observation, he’d ask of Branwick’s steward.
For the better part of the next hour, they rode in silence over a decently kept road which wound through well-tended fields and dense woodlands. He observed the wealth of game, from fluttering doves to an elegantly racked buck. A hare scampered across the road and into the wheat field, safely hidden now within the tall sheaves of gold.
“Ah, for a falcon,” Stephen said, drawing a wistful smile from Edwin.
“Aye, ’twould be a good day for a hunt if we had not
another task before us. I hear tell Wilmont’s mews are beyond compare.”
“My brother does love his hunting birds. To my great fortune, he is also willing to share. ’Tis a rare occasion to visit Wilmont without him pressing to fly the hawks at least once.”
“Have you a preference in birds?”
Stephen did. “Peregrines. At least Wilmont’s peregrines. My sister-by-marriage has them trained to such a degree they might hunt on their own.”
Edwin raised a doubting eyebrow. “The baron’s wife has charge of the mews?”
“Nay, not truly. Gerard’s falconer oversees the hunting birds care and training for the most part. Ardith, however, has a great love of peregrines and enjoys the training. The birds respond so well to her methods that Gerard allows Ardith her way with them.” He chuckled. “Of course, one must understand that Gerard allows Ardith her way in most things.”
Gerard did deny Ardith on occasions when he thought his wife tasked her strength and endurance, like as now when she was carrying. For the next few weeks, until after the birth of her babe, Ardith would find it harder to elude her protective husband’s dictates to rest.
Edwin shook his head. “’Tis not wise for a husband to allow a wife to run roughshod.”
Stephen leaned back and laughed. “Nobody runs roughshod over Gerard. He is the most obstinate, overbearing, strong-willed man I know. When he gives an order, all obey immediately. He can be reasonable, but once he has made up his mind over something, then arguing with Gerard is tantamount to butting one’s head into a stone wall.” His amusement died, knowing to what lengths Gerard would go to protect Wilmont and
those he loved. “Nay, one does not cross Gerard without paying a severe penalty. The last man who tried lost all, including his life.”
“Basil of Northbryre. The tale of his treachery against Wilmont and the king is well-known.”
Mention of the man’s name still made Stephen’s stomach churn. Basil had nearly caused Richard’s death, schemed to overrun one of Gerard’s keeps, then tried to escape the king’s justice by leaving the country—using Ardith and Gerard’s eldest son as a shield. Stephen refrained from rubbing at his ear, at the chunk of lobe lost during the kidnapping, an event he yet blamed himself for. If harm had come to his two charges…but none had. Ardith and Daymon had survived unscathed.
“When Gerard received Northbryre’s English lands, I went out to inspect the holdings, not so much to see how they fared but to judge any resistance to new lordship. Richard holds a small manor not too distant from here. ’Twas the last time I was in the area, over three years past now.”
“Truly? Which holding?”
Stephen searched his memory. “Snelston?”
“Hmm. Not familiar.”
“Not surprising. If I remember correctly, the manor’s entire fee is three hares and three sacks of grain per year.”
Edwin pointed off to his left. “There, beyond the copse of trees is the bridge.”
Stephen noted the faint sound of rushing water and the continued good condition of the dirt road, so likely the bridge crossed a stream where fording wasn’t possible.
The conjecture proved partially correct. At this bend the stream wasn’t wide, nor deep, but made up for the
lack in vigor. Water bubbled and churned merrily over the rock bed and the scattered large boulders. A man on horseback could negotiate the steep banks, but not a cart.
The bridge, however, was a sorry sight.
Stephen urged his horse down the bank into the water and crossed over to the other side, where one bridge support in particular appeared ready to give way. Edwin chose to cross the bridge. The beam groaned, but held. Stephen wouldn’t wish to test it with two men on horseback.
Edwin rode down the bank and entered the water.
Stephen waved at the beam. “’Twould appear Carolyn has the right of it.”
Edwin inspected the underside of the bridge and the support in question, then grunted. “So it seems.”
Stephen followed Edwin back across the stream and up the sloped bank. “Where to next?”
“The forester’s dwelling.”
An important man on any estate, the forester ensured the game in his lord’s woodlands wasn’t overhunted, mostly by keeping watch for poachers. Any peasant caught taking game on his overlord’s land would be severely punished, just as any noble who dared hunt the king’s preserves risked censure. The Forest Laws were absolute and unforgiving, and the men who enforced those laws were well cared for.
According to Carolyn’s list, the forester’s hut should be torn down and replaced.
As they left the road and took a narrow path into the dense, cool woods, Stephen noted the abundance of trees useful for planks. Did Branwick boast a good carpenter, or must he be hired from a nearby town? Stephen made a mental note to ask Branwick’s steward. ’Twould make a difference in the cost.
Settled comfortably in the saddle, he followed Edwin down the meandering path. In places, sunbeams pierced the thick canopy overhead. Stephen watched one wide beam dim and then disappear, a warning of clouds traveling the sky.
Edwin pulled up in a grassy glade. In the middle of the glade stood a hut which tilted hard to the side.
Stephen winced at the thought of going inside the dwelling. “Someone lives in there?”
“Nigh on a fortnight ago Carolyn bid the forester to move his family into the keep. Degan still comes out here daily, to do his job properly, but no one sleeps within.”
Stephen turned in his saddle to stare at Edwin. “Just how much time do you spend at Branwick that you know the name of the forester?”
“Enough.”
“Apparently. Do you not have lands of your own to oversee?”
Edwin shrugged a dismissive shoulder. “The border of Tinfield marches with Branwick on the north. Should I be needed, a messenger will come for me. I can be there and back in the space of a day.”
No wonder William favored Edwin. A marriage between Carolyn and Edwin would join neighboring estates, a highly desirable event. Stephen wondered which Edwin coveted more, Carolyn or Branwick—the affairs of which the man knew too much about for Stephen’s peace of mind. Which did Carolyn desire less, Edwin himself, or bowing to her neighbor’s rule over lands she wished to rule on her own?
Stephen drew a long breath. “Where to next?”
“Back to Branwick. Storm coming up.”
Stephen glanced up at the sky over the glade. Indeed,
clouds gathered, but he had one more place to visit before the storm broke and he’d rather do it without Edwin.
Marian’s. To inspect the roof.
“Lyssa, ’ware the carrots. Ah, the onions are not ready for picking yet, Audra. Put it back in the ground, if you please.”
Marian’s voice carried over the stone wall and out onto the road, competing with the rumble of distant thunder. Stephen reined in, hearing but not seeing the three ladies of the house who must be in the garden, hidden by the wall.
“Hurry, girls, before the rain comes or you will be up to your knees in mud.”
“Then we could stand out in the rain and wash it off!”
Lyssa’s voice, with an imp’s response.
“I think not,” her mother answered, amused. “Come, a few more weeds and then we are done.”
Stephen dismounted and led his horse toward the wall, glad to hear Lyssa’s voice. If she was still hurting, she’d not be out in the garden pulling weeds.
“What shall we do with the afternoon, Mama?” Audra asked.
“Mayhap lessons are in order. We have neglected them of late.”
“Can we do letters, then? I dislike numbers,” Lyssa commented, bringing a smile to Stephen’s face. Everart, his nephew, disliked numbers, too. Then Everart was merely three summers old, so his mother only gave him lessons he liked. Not for a few more years yet would he join six-year-old Daymon in earnest lessons with Wilmont’s priest.
Marian’s twins were a bit taller than Everart, but nowhere
near the size of Daymon. About four, he’d guessed at their age.
Stephen tied the reins to a nearby bush and rested his arms on the chest-high wall. Marian and her girls knelt at the edge of the garden where Marian pulled weeds from around a patch of turnips and the girls, by turns, tugged at greenery and played in the dirt.
The sight warmed him clear through, though he was at a loss to explain why. He’d seen other mothers with their children without being so affected.
“You could read to us from your new book,” Audra suggested to her mother, then looked his way. “Oh, good morn, my lord!”
Lyssa nearly tumbled into the carrots as she rose and spun around. Marian’s head turned. Her gaze locked with his. The warmth turned to heat and settled in his loins. Not even her unwelcoming expression could chill his body’s reaction, and he was thankful for the barrier of the wall to hide his physical response.
“Good morn, my ladies,” he said. “You tend a lovely garden, Marian.”
The slight nod of her head acknowledged the compliment.
Lyssa scampered over to the wall. “We helped!”
Stephen could imagine how much help the girls had been, but he kept his amusement hidden. “So I saw. I am sure your mother appreciates your efforts.”
The girls beamed.
Marian stood stoic. “’Tis about to rain, my lord. Surely you should return to Branwick before the storm lets loose.”
He probably should. Marian didn’t want him here. Still, there was the matter of her roof.
“Your roof is one of the items on Carolyn’s list of
repairs. How better to judge the extent of the repair than during a rainstorm?” he asked, surprising himself. He hadn’t planned to wait out the storm here, simply have a look at the thatch.
“One need only look at the corner to see it needs repair.”
Rightly so.
“True, but how much repair? Would you have me lose this contest from lack of thorough knowledge?”
Marian pursed her lips.
Audra tilted her head. “Will you fix the roof?”
Stephen couldn’t imagine himself doing so. “Nay, merely inform William of the extent of the damage so he can hire a thatcher to make the repair. For that I need to know how much rain falls into the hut.”