Authors: Shari Anton
Yet the temptation lingered to weave a tapestry large enough to hang in the great hall of Branwick Keep, whether of the banishment or some other scene of William’s preference.
If of the banishment, she’d also be tempted to make the snake hiss not in victory, but from failure. All human woes could be traced back to Eve listening to an evil snake. How much more pleasant the world would be if not for Eve’s weakness.
Marian turned the book to view the snake at a different angle. He certainly was beautiful when colored in green, blue and black. Maybe that’s why her attempts to capture him in wax failed so miserably, lack of color.
A knock drew her to her feet. Distracted by the snake she opened the door without first looking out the window. To her dismay, temptation had come knocking, clad all in black, from raven hair to leather boots.
She resisted the urge to answer Stephen’s smile, to look too deeply into his bright-green eyes. Her heart beat too fast. She should close the door.
“William sent me,” he said, his voice low and mellow and seductive. He looked behind her and saw the
girls sleeping on their pallets. “Have I come at a bad time? I could return later.”
Marian shook her head. “What does William want?”
He leaned forward and wrapped his hand around the doorjamb. “Might I come in? On my word, I will ask you no more questions about the past and I will try not to wake the girls.”
Marian backed up a step, away from the male scent of him she’d remember forever. He took her retreat as permission to enter the hut.
What difference if he were within or without? If he kept to his promise she’d have no reason to throw him out, and she couldn’t send him away until learning of William’s request.
Stephen walked over to the table and put his fingertips on the illustration she’d spent the past hour studying. He glanced toward the wax tablet, then looked up at her.
“Your uncle said you possessed a deft hand, and I see he had the right of it. Even in wax your snake comes alive.”
Alive, but not hissing. Leaving the door open so she might have air to breathe, Marian approached the table, irritated he’d seen the sketch. No one except her and the girls viewed her handiwork until completed in cloth and yarn, until Stephen.
“William’s request?”
Stephen’s brow furrowed. “He wishes you to make him another altar cloth. A design in dark green and silver, he said. What I find confusing is his belief you are somehow securing his place in heaven with altar cloths.”
Marian could hardly believe William had sent a man of Stephen’s rank on such a simple errand. Any servant
could have delivered the message. Then again, maybe Stephen had just proved the handier messenger.
“The cloths are of a certain size, made to fit the altar in the cathedral in York. For each cloth sent, the archbishop grants William an indulgence.” Marian had to smile at William’s fanciful vision. “My uncle thinks of each indulgence as one thinks of a coin. He believes if he has enough of them in hand to pay Saint Peter, the saint will allow him unhindered passage into heaven.”
Amused, Stephen shook his head. “I suppose, as one grows older, one thinks of such things. I imagine his ill health makes thoughts of the hereafter more immediate.”
“One supposes.” With his message delivered Stephen could now leave, get out of her hut and take his overwhelming presence with him. “Tell William I will work up a design for his approval.”
He nodded at what she thought a perfectly understandable dismissal, but made no move toward the door. He flipped the pages of the storybook to another illustration. Noah leading the animals into the ark.
Stephen’s smile widened as he pointed to the corner of the picture. “Now here is a snake of a different sort. No threat to him at all. I wonder if the same monk painted both?” He tilted his head, studying the picture. “Possible. Look here at Noah’s face and compare it to Adam’s. Very similar.”
Taken aback, Marian stepped closer, noting Stephen’s acutely correct observation. “Similar, indeed. Yet this painting has a flavor of playfulness the other does not. Look at the lion. He seems to grin.”
“As well he should, all considered.” Stephen turned slightly and perched on the edge of the table. “So, what
types of designs do you stitch on an altar cloth? Not grinning lions, certainly.”
He made himself far too comfortable to suit Marian. His comment on grinning lions hit a nerve.
“The archbishop is partial to crosses evenly spaced between vinelike swirls. I dare not divert from the tried-and-true for fear he might withhold William’s indulgence.”
“But you would like to.”
Did he know her so well, or did he guess?
“I would.”
He nodded, as though he’d made some important point. “Then mayhap, while you stitch the tried-and-true for your uncle, you might design something more fanciful for me. Well, not truly for me but for my brother Richard, as a gift. He just got married.”
Had she heard aright? “You think an embroidered altar cloth an appropriate gift for your brother?”
He shook his head, slightly mussing his raven locks. A spark of mischief lit his eyes. She swallowed hard against the endearing countenance. Stephen wore his charm as naturally as his own skin, to devastating effect.
“Perhaps table linens or towels or some such. Choose as you think best as a wedding gift. The design, however, must be fanciful. Richard’s new wife has led a hard life, without much humor or play. I should like my gift to her appropriate and practical, but bring a smile to her heart when she sees it. Is that possible?”
Marian’s head whirled with possibilities. “Certes. Have you colors in mind? Any preferences?”
He held out his hands, palms up. “None whatever. So long as the gift pleases the eye and heart, I leave the way of its making to the creator. I shall pay for all materials, of course, plus a bit extra for your time.”
Marian bit her bottom lip to hold her excitement inside. To have free rein over such a project! Already she imagined bold, playful patterns hemming a table-size piece of pristine, tight-weave linen.
“Indigo and saffron make for pleasing designs.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Your choice. Truth to tell, I shall need two gifts, the other a christening gift for Gerard’s as yet unborn child. A wool blanket, perhaps?”
Table linens for Richard. A blanket for the baron’s child. Stephen paying the costs without restrictions. Near giddy, she crossed the room to a chest in the corner. From it she fetched two small, soft woolen blankets. After partially unfolding each, she spread them on the table.
“I made these for the twins. Would a similar design do?”
His expression changing to thoughtful, almost tender, he ran his fingertips reverently over the lambs on Lyssa’s blanket, then the kittens on Audra’s.
Marian held her breath. Beyond reason, she wanted Stephen to like his daughters’ blankets, lovingly stitched toward the end of her pregnancy when she’d been too huge to move about comfortably.
“Perfect,” he said softly. “How about lion cubs for the cub of the lion of Wilmont? A good choice?”
Relieved, and embarrassed for coveting a compliment, she quickly folded the blankets. “Aye. When must it be done?”
“The babe’s? Oh two, three weeks, I would guess. The table linens—whenever you complete them. Are we agreed?”
“’Twill take me a day or two to work up designs.”
“No need to rush. I leave in the morning for York. I
doubt I will return for four days or so. Soon enough then.”
Marian clutched the blankets. Stephen was leaving Branwick. “Why York?”
He briefly told her of his missing friend.
Stephen’s upset, his anger and frustration, rang clear if not loudly. He feared for Corwin as if a brother. Compassion lifted her hand to his shoulder.
“I hope you find him, if not for his sake, for yours.”
“Do you?”
She couldn’t answer, the words stuck in her throat. The touch meant to comfort became a caress, her body tingling with awareness of the man she’d wanted to embrace ever since he’d come back into her life.
Desire swirled in his eyes and her body answered with swift, painful longing. She recognized his intent, yearned for his lips on hers just once more.
He stood, his hands sliding up her arms to caress her shoulders. His arms came around her, entrapping her within. His mouth sought hers, gently, persuasively. She needed no persuasion. She leaned into Stephen, the only man she’d ever kissed, had ever wanted to kiss.
She craved more, far more, knowing what heights this man could take her to. Her knees went weak with the memory of a solitary moment of bliss. She wanted the pleasure again. She wanted Stephen.
He broke the kiss, cradled her head against his shoulder. Even through her hard, unsteady breathing, she felt him shudder.
Nothing had changed. Not in six years.
“I have to go.” His voice was low and harsh.
It took her a moment to remember he was leaving Branwick for York. But he’d be back, wouldn’t he?
“You will come back?”
“On my honor.”
The second kiss nearly knocked her senseless. Foolishness beyond belief, but if not for the girls napping on their nearby pallets, she’d be sore tempted to pull him down in the dirt and strip him bare.
She held on to that thread of sanity, the cord between mother and children. It pulled her up short of making a huge mistake.
Marian suddenly understood Eve’s downfall. If she’d been alone with the snake, if he’d held out the promise of heavenly bliss, and spoken to her in the voice of an irresistible man—low, mellow, seductive—Eve hadn’t stood a chance.
Nor did she if she didn’t end this kiss, send Stephen away. She pushed, he backed up. The kiss ended and ripped her apart. He looked as tortured as she felt.
“I will be back,” he whispered, then hurried out of the hut.
Marian sat on the stool and buried her face in the soft, woolen blankets now warm from heated bodies and scented with the dusky male scent of the girls’ father.
Dear God, what have I done?
She shook with the enormity of her mistake. She’d betrayed Carolyn as well as herself. Not only had she let Stephen into the hut, she’d let him back into her heart. And this time, when she lost him again, the heartache would be so much worse.
I
n the middle of a square of soft ivory wool, a lion cub snoozed, tired from chasing butterflies, stalking beetles and cavorting with his cub mates—the activities depicted along the blanket’s edges.
Marian considered the blanket the most creative piece she’d ever done, as well as the most skilled. For the better part of two weeks she’d spent nearly every moment of her free time stitching the cubs, taking great care to keep the yarn smooth and the tension even. After all, the blanket was meant for the child of the baron of Wilmont, who could command the best. Marian meant her work to exceed that expectation.
Even this morning she worked carefully, though she kept glancing at the chest in the corner which contained the fabric and thread the dyer’s helper delivered yesterday. The white table linen beckoned hard. To her request for indigo and saffron thread she’d added scarlet and forest green. The pattern she’d chosen, based on the beautiful scrollwork surrounding the picture of Noah and his animals, would be bright and fanciful, as Stephen wanted.
She hoped Stephen approved, but considering what
happened the last time he visited the hut, she wasn’t about to get close enough to him to ask. He’d returned from York several days ago, apparently disappointed in not finding his friend. He’d returned to Branwick, but not to her hut. He, too, must have realized their kisses unwise, the temptation for more irresistible. Best he stay away.
“Mama, Carolyn comes!” Audra called from outside.
Through the doorway Marian saw Carolyn bend down to give each girl a brief hug, then shoo them back to play. A large basket containing Branwick’s healing herbs and medicinals hung from the crook of her arm. Someone in the hamlet must be sick enough to bring the lady of the keep out to attend the stricken peasant.
Carolyn stepped through the doorway, waving a cooling hand in front of her face.
“Who is ill?” Marian asked.
Carolyn put the basket on the table and plopped down onto a stool. “Carla. From her husband’s description of her ailment, she merely needs a physic. Nothing serious.”
“Then why did you not send a physic home with the blacksmith for his wife?”
“Boredom and curiosity.” Carolyn leaned forward to touch the blanket. “Oh, my. This is precious, Marian. Almost done?”
“I should finish it in a day or two. Tell Stephen I will send it in with one of the blacksmith’s lads after I finish.”
“Why not bring it in yourself? Father is not pleased about your absence, even though he did recommend your work to Stephen. Your sending the girls to the keep is all that keeps him from summoning you.”
Twice now she’d sent Audra and Lyssa with Dirk and
Kirk on their way into Branwick of a morn. After their visit with William, one of Branwick’s guards brought the twins home. The arrangement gave Marian extra time to work on the blanket, and allowed her to avoid Stephen completely.
“So long as your father sees the girls on occasion, he will be content. If I am to have this blanket done, I need to work on it. The baron’s wife is very near her time. Any word as yet?”
“The last messenger from Wilmont merely brought news of the lack of progress on finding Corwin. Stephen is near distraught over the situation. I wish the man would show up so Stephen would get his mind back to the contest.”
Thrice Marian had seen scarlet-and-gold-clad messengers ride past her hut. One of those messengers would soon bring word of the babe’s birth.
“How goes the contest?”
Carolyn gave an aggrieved sigh. “Nearly done. All that remains are the three items which require Edwin and Stephen to visit Father’s other estates. Stephen balks at leaving Branwick in case his friend should show up.” She crossed her arms. “What drives me witless is Father’s easy acceptance of the delays. According to him, there is no need for haste.”
Marian wished the contest over with, too. Depending upon who won, she would either stay or leave.
The decision hadn’t come easily, but all considered, she saw no choice except to leave Branwick if Stephen married Carolyn.
Oddly enough, ’twas Stephen who gave her the means to leave. With the coin he paid for the gifts, she and the girls could set up residence in a town, possibly near a cathedral or abbey. If Stephen was willing to pay for her
handiwork, so might others, giving her income to keep the girls fed and clothed.
“Mayhap the next messenger from Wilmont will bring better news about Stephen’s friend.”
“Either that or word of the babe’s birth. Stephen is sure his brother will call him home for the child’s christening. Then he would be off again and only heaven knows when he’d return.”
Assuming he returned. If Stephen must leave Bran-wick for an extended period, would he then give up the contest? Or might Carolyn give up on Stephen? Either was possible. Then Edwin might stand a better chance of marrying Carolyn and Marian’s worries would be over.
On that bright thought, Marian asked, “How is Edwin?”
Carolyn worried her bottom lip. “Marian, you were not serious when you said you might take up with Edwin if I do not marry him, were you?”
Marian felt a twinge of triumph, but hid the reaction from her cousin. “Any reason why I should not? If you do not want him, he is bound to marry another. Why not me?”
“Because I would hate it if the two of you made a match. I know he must marry again. He needs an heir. I think I could bear his marrying a stranger. But you?” Carolyn shook her head. “’Twould make me miserable. He already likes you so could grow to love you.”
Not in an age, but telling Carolyn so served no purpose.
“He could also grow to love a stranger. ’Twould be easy, I think, to become fond of someone who shares one’s table and bed every day. You were fond of your husbands, were you not?”
Carolyn shrugged. “Perhaps. Sharing meals and bed play does not necessarily lead to love. Stephen says his parents barely tolerated each other.”
“They must have shared something in common. They produced three sons.”
“Nay, only two. The middle son, Richard, is base born. His mother was a peasant.”
Base born? She’d heard Stephen speak of Richard and he’d never made the distinction. Knowing the advantage and standing Richard enjoyed, she could only conclude Stephen’s father hadn’t made the distinction either, but acknowledged his bastard and raised him as his own.
Apparently Stephen’s mother had been forced to endure her husband’s infidelity, and perhaps his parents’ intolerance of each other influenced Stephen’s view of marriage. But then most nobles married for many reasons other than affection, as Stephen proposed with Carolyn.
Still, Marian wasn’t about to let Carolyn get comfortable over Edwin’s fate if she let him go, not when her cousin had the unusual chance to marry for love.
“I will take your feelings into consideration, Carolyn, but I must say Edwin is certainly a fine catch for any woman.”
“How can you be so horrid?”
Marian looked pointedly at her cousin. “I have a good tutor. Are you not being most horrid to Edwin?”
Thoroughly miffed, Carolyn rose and grabbed her basket. “By the by, I meant to tell you about Father. He improves. He can now flex the fingers of his left hand, which you would have seen had you bothered to visit.”
Marian gasped. “Carolyn, that is wonderful news!”
“Perhaps,” Carolyn commented, then left on her errand.
Stunned by both the good news and Carolyn’s reaction, Marian put aside the blanket. Why wasn’t Carolyn overjoyed with William’s progress?
If William regained mobility, then he could resume his duties and…oh dear…then Carolyn would be forced to give up the duties to her father, duties she thoroughly enjoyed.
She’d been acting in her father’s stead for months. If William could act on his own, Carolyn would again be relegated to the status of mere chatelaine, in charge of only the household. The duty her father thought her most fitted for. The duty Edwin believed the
only
duty a woman should have charge of. Of all the men in Carolyn’s life, only Stephen thought her fit for more than overseeing the cooking and cleaning and weaving.
If William recovered, Carolyn would fight all the harder to marry Stephen.
’Twas after evening meal when Stephen approached Marian’s hut with a mixture of excitement and dread. Ardith had delivered of a healthy baby boy two days ago, and Gerard called Stephen home to attend the christening, adding an invitation to Carolyn if Stephen wished to bring her along.
Carolyn readily accepted the invitation. Unfortunately William, in the guise of being helpful, suggested Edwin accompany them as escort. Stephen protested the necessity. Edwin thought it a grand idea. William insisted—and so Edwin was going, too.
But at the moment, nearing Marian’s door, none of that seemed to matter overmuch. He’d come to collect the present for the babe, which Carolyn told him was near completion and utterly adorable. Problem was he
found the blanket’s creator adorable and damn near impossible to resist.
Resist he would, however.
He’d given the matter a great deal of thought while in York. His strong attraction to Marian was the result of memories of their brief affair so long ago. She’d been his first lover, and he hers, the trysts sweet and illicit. Naturally, his curiosity urged him to learn if bedding her now would be as memorable.
Their kisses should never have happened, the first sweet and tender, the second hot enough to burn the hut down around them. He’d taken advantage of her effort to give comfort and nearly gone up in flames. Hellfire, he even promised her to return, at her prompting.
He couldn’t trust himself alone with her. Marian must have come to her senses, too, for she’d not sought him out.
From here on he’d treat Marian as an old and dear friend, and get on with winning the contest and Carolyn. Away from Marian, he might even work up a wisp of lust for his intended.
Faint candlelight flickered behind the shutters. He need only knock on the door, collect the blanket and pay Marian, and be back in the keep before full night descended.
Stephen took a resolved breath and raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles landed, from within he heard a young voice shout a defiant “Nay!”
Audra? Sweet little Audra?
“’Tis all there is.” Even through the closed door Stephen heard Marian’s weariness. “If you choose not to eat the porridge then you go to sleep hungry.”
“Hate porridge!”
“You do not.”
“Do, too!”
“That will be quite enough, young lady.” A pause. “Audra, I warn you, put that down or—”
Stephen winced at the clatter that interrupted Marian’s scolding, picturing pots and bowls scattered over the floor. Now might not be the best time to visit. However, he intended to leave on the morrow at first light, so needed to collect the blanket now. Mayhap his arrival might help cool tempers.
“To your pallet!”
“Nay!”
Stephen knocked firmly, wondering if either mother or daughter heard. One did. The inside bolt slid.
“Audra, wait!”
The door flung open. Before him stood the most forlorn child he’d ever seen. Tears streamed down Audra’s cheeks, her frown deep and desperate.
He held out his arms. “Come here, little one.”
She stood still, studying him with glistening eyes, likely wondering if he were truly friend or foe.
He wiggled his fingers. “Come,” he said again, still gently but with a bit more command.
Audra’s bottom lip trembled. He couldn’t stand it. He picked her up. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and buried her wet face against his shoulder. She breathed hard, an effort to hold back sobs.
Wonderful. Now what did he do with her?
He closed the door and sought out the mother for guidance. Marian sat on the floor between the girls’ pallets, cradling Lyssa, a wet rag pressed to the girl’s temple. Headache, he realized. Marian looked both angry enough to spit and weary to the bone. No help there.
He’d never seen the hut in less than neat order. The place was a mess, to say the least. Apparently Audra had
decided to wreak havoc while her mother was occupied with Lyssa. She’d done an excellent job of it.
Still at a loss, Stephen rubbed Audra’s back, wondering what it must be like for Marian, trapped in one room with two young children. He’d go mad. What would one do if both girls went on a rampage at the same time?
The incident reinforced his belief that Marian shouldn’t be living in this hut without help. Without protection. Audra shouldn’t have opened the door before asking who was without.
He cradled Audra’s head. “You know better than to open the door without first asking who is on the other side, do you not?”
She nodded against his shoulder.
“Swear me an oath you will ask next time, no matter how angry you are.”
Audra took a deep breath. “I swear.”
An oath too easily given by one too young. Stephen could only hope she’d remember to have a care.
“I assume you came for your blanket,” Marian commented.
Her anger had cooled somewhat, which only allowed her weariness to come to the fore.
“Aye.” He righted the pot on the table but ignored the pool of porridge dripping off the edge into the rushes. “Carolyn told me it was near finished.”
“’Tis done. I will get it.” She removed the rag from Lyssa’s head, shifted as if to put the girl down.
“Stay where you are.” Stephen tugged Audra’s thick, black braid. “Audra can show me.”
“In the chest,” she said, not raising her head.
Stephen suspected she wasn’t yet ready to face her mother. He squatted down by the chest and lifted the lid.
There, on a field of ivory, a lion cub chased a butterfly. ’Twas a stunning piece of work.
“Upon my word, Marian, you have outdone yourself. Look, Audra, is he not the cutest cub you have ever laid eyes on?”
Audra’s arm lifted. She dared a peek beneath. “I like the one in the middle best.”
“Do you? Let us have a look then.” Stephen flipped open the blanket far enough to discern the pattern. Another cub stalked a beetle with humorous ferocity. Next to him, two cubs tumbled in rough play in a patch of grass. In the center, amid a halo of flowers, a cub slumbered, near angelic in countenance.