Authors: Shari Anton
The jest held a hint of a challenge, and Stephen loved a challenge. Even the verbal sparring with Edwin seemed a contest. ’Twas becoming a matter of honor to see which of them claimed the last word.
“Nay, though you might oblige me by succumbing to unaccustomed vigorous exercise.”
“Not a chance, pup.”
“Pup, is it? I will have you know a Wilmont trained pup can best a cur of any other breed with ease!”
Edwin’s eyes narrowed. “Wood practice swords or steel blades?”
“Wood. I should hate to perchance injure an
old
man with a sharp blade.”
“Fetch your gambeson.”
Edwin grumbled all the way to the keep. Stephen kept his peace, enjoying the man’s discomfort. Dammit all, but he liked Edwin—his rival, the man supposed to be his enemy. At some time in the past week the two of them had reached an accord, which boded ill for his quest for Carolyn. Had Edwin lost sight of the prize? Doubtless not.
Stephen’s only thought when suggesting a bout in the practice yard had been to work off his irritation over seeing the girls shunned. Mayhap, in the process, he’d best remind Edwin that their truce was only temporary. Only one man could win William’s contest, and Stephen had no intention of losing.
Once inside the great hall, Edwin stomped up the stairs to fetch his gambeson. Though he knew he shouldn’t, Stephen lagged behind—to look for Marian.
Girlish giggles from behind the draperies surrounding William’s bed gave him her location. Drawn by the irresistible temptation to catch another glimpse of her, Stephen maneuvered around to where he could see the open curtained side of the bed from a bit of a distance.
Marian perched on the foot of the bed, smiling at her girls who talked to William with waving hands and exaggerated gestures, saying something about a race.
’Twas Marian’s smile which held him enthralled. Her eyes sparkled, her face lit with joy so profound it near took his breath away.
Her girls were her world, her joys and sorrows. In that moment he knew that if Marian had nothing else—not even a repaired roof—her life would be complete so long as she had her daughters.
“Someday,” Carolyn said softly, startling him. He’d been so intent on Marian he hadn’t heard Carolyn come alongside. She looked longingly at the girls. “Father so wants grandchildren.”
Carolyn was William’s only hope for grandchildren, the continuing of his family, heirs to all he’d built. If his delight in his nieces was any indication, the old man would be in heaven with grandchildren.
Stephen’s children. His own heirs, too. But he was thinking too far ahead. First he must marry Carolyn, which was not yet a certainty. Still, the thought of having his own wee ones to hold and watch grow wasn’t quite so unnerving anymore.
“Twin boys, perhaps?” Stephen chided her.
“Boys would be nice, but I have not the patience for
two so close in age as Marian’s. One at a time will do me fine.”
Carolyn grasped him by the elbow and tugged. He resented being led away, though his feet moved.
She waved him toward a bench. “I know we are not allowed to discuss the particulars of the contest, however, I do not think it against Father’s dictates to ask if you and Edwin are nearly finished with your inspection.”
Stephen ignored the bench, preferring to lean against the trestle table, reluctant to discuss any details of the contest. Besides, he hadn’t much time. Edwin would be down soon, gambeson donned and looking for a fight.
“I should think another fortnight ought to be sufficient.”
“Another two weeks? Why so long?”
“Your list was long, and we have not yet visited the other two holdings.”
Carolyn pouted. “Certes, one would think ’twould take the two of you less time to do the inspection as it did me to make out the list to begin with! Can you not hurry this contest along?”
The request came out in a whine that grated on Stephen’s nerves. He dismissed the irritating appeal as understandable impatience on Carolyn’s part.
“Would you have me do less than a thorough inspection, and possibly miss some vital point, causing me to lose?”
Her sigh conveyed annoyance. “Nay, but I do not wish to die an old woman before ’tis completed, either. Mayhap, I could ask Father to remove a few items from the list, then you might be done the quicker—” she ran a finger along his jawline “—and have more time to spend with me.”
So that was it. Carolyn felt neglected. Truly, he’d spent little time with her, and none of it alone. Unfortunately, by the time he finished with Ivo each day, ’twas near time for evening meal. From supper on, too many people, including William and Edwin, hovered in the great hall until time to retire. Since Carolyn and her ladies always went upstairs before the men were ready to bed down, there hadn’t been time for private talks, much less a kiss, certainly not the opportunity to arrange a tryst.
Time to rectify his mistake. Time for another gift, perhaps this evening.
Stephen glanced at the stairway. No Edwin yet. The maids near the hearth seemed occupied. The bed curtains blocked William’s view of the hall. And Marian’s.
Resolved to please the woman he intended to wed, Stephen focused on Carolyn’s lovely face, on her wide brown eyes, on a mouth he deemed kissable when not marred by a pout.
“You are right. We should spend more time together.” He rose and gently cupped her cheek. “What say we begin now?”
He drew her nearer. Her lips parted, her eyes closing.
He kissed her full on the mouth and felt—nothing.
No lust. No desire. Not a wisp of interest. Damn. That had never happened to him before.
Confused, he broke the kiss. Carolyn slowly opened her eyes; the tip of her tongue tasted her bottom lip.
The sensual action should have tossed him into agony.
Nothing
.
“Aye, we should get to know each other better,” she whispered. “Tonight, after all are asleep—”
“Nay, not in your father’s keep.” He chuckled to hide his panic over what might happen if Carolyn came to
his bed and
nothing
happened. “More to the point, not with Edwin upstairs. If he should hear or even suspect we lay together, and inform your father—nay, we must not risk it.”
To his relief, she nodded an agreement. “’Twill be hard to wait, but I suppose we must.”
“We must.” Stephen stepped around her, anxious to escape. “Till later, my lady,” he said with a slight bow, and with measured steps, crossed the hall and headed up the stairs.
By the time he reached his bedchamber, his hands trembled.
What the devil had come over him? He’d never kissed a beautiful woman—hell, any woman!—without his body responding in some way. Damnation, all he had to do was
look
at Marian—
Marian. Her presence behind the bed curtain had caused this affliction. Perhaps, as had happened at Westminster Palace, his mind and body had been too aware of a former lover to respond fully to another. That was all. He had to rid himself of the distraction of Marian and all would be well. The possibility of failure to perform his husbandly duty to Carolyn, should he win her, was simply too horrifying to contemplate.
Stephen shrugged into his gambeson, thankful he’d arranged a practice session with Edwin. Perhaps, while they crossed swords, he could figure out how to banish Marian from his head.
W
ood slapping wood didn’t produce the satisfying urgency of steel striking steel. Stephen missed the heft and balance of his sword, the metal hilt warming to his hand, the blade becoming an extension of his arm.
Still, as he fended off Edwin’s well-aimed blow, he couldn’t complain overmuch. He’d chosen wood practice swords apurpose, knowing his fighting skills far superior to Edwin’s—superior to most men’s due to the demanding standards of Wilmont’s weapons masters. Those knights in charge of training squires, men-at-arms and knights alike settled for no less than perfection.
From the sons of the noble family of Wilmont they’d expected more, and the sons hadn’t disappointed them.
He didn’t want to injure Edwin. Prove who was the better swordsman, aye, but not hurt his opponent. ’Twould not be wise to make a martyr of his rival.
Damn, but the exercise felt good, despite the heat of the day and the weight of his hauberk. Sweat trickled along the back of his neck and beaded on his forehead. His muscles responded to the pleasurable strain of maintaining his balance while executing the thrust and withdraw of attack and defend.
Edwin pressed an attack with a flurry of quick strokes, driving Stephen back, which he allowed. The maneuver both tired Edwin and pleased the crowd gathered around the tiltyard. Let them cheer and wager their coin on Edwin. Somewhere in the crowd, Stephen didn’t doubt, Armand was taking wagers and would be wealthier for it in the end.
Had Carolyn come out to the tiltyard to watch? Had Marian and the girls? He wondered but didn’t allow his gaze to stray beyond Edwin’s flushed face.
Sensing the nearness of the crowd, Stephen disengaged and swiftly sidestepped, bringing his mock sword around in a punishing but not contest-ending arc. Edwin met the blow with a solid block, his balance wavering ever so slightly.
Stephen took advantage—a slow, feral smile the only warning of his intent. With precision and speed, Stephen let loose, holding nothing back. In a varied attack of swift strokes and sweeping arcs, he pushed Edwin hard, confident his opponent’s defense would soon break.
Nothing could have surprised Stephen more than the sound of Armand’s high, shrill whistle, a signal used at Wilmont to bring fighting to an immediate end. He nearly obeyed. Except he wasn’t at Wilmont and Edwin wouldn’t halt, not understanding the signal.
Instead, he executed a series of thrusts to bring Edwin’s weapon to the desired defensive position necessary—then swept the mock sword from his rival’s hand.
Edwin stared at his empty hand, so stunned Stephen almost apologized. Almost. He turned toward where the signal had come from. Armand crossed the tiltyard at a run.
“My lord, a messenger has arrived from Wilmont. The baron desires an immediate response.”
Stephen looked around for a man clad in Wilmont colors of scarlet trimmed with gold. Donald stood near the gate to the inner bailey. Both man and horse looked exhausted.
He tossed the practice sword toward a nearby soldier and briskly headed for the messenger, Armand at his side.
“Hail, Donald! What news?”
Donald smiled and held out a scroll tied with a red ribbon. “Glad it is I am to see you, my lord. Your brother worried you might have already…well…read and then I will explain further if need be.”
Stephen took the hefty scroll—one of Gerard’s infamous missives. Gerard might be a man of few words, but give him quill and parchment and he rambled on forever.
“You look done in. Come have an ale whilst I read this tome. Armand, have the horse rubbed down and fed.”
Armand led the horse away. Stephen untied the ribbon and began walking slowly toward the keep.
What he read chilled him to the bone and halted his steps.
A bit over a week ago, Corwin had been escorting supply wagons to one of Gerard’s holdings in southern England. Before Corwin got that far, however, he learned that Judith Canmore, a royal heiress, had been kidnapped by ruffians. Corwin rode off to rescue her, headed north. Neither Corwin nor Judith had been heard from since.
Stephen chafed at Gerard’s emphatic order to remain at Branwick in case Corwin showed up there. “Hellfire.”
“His lordship feared you might have already heard of
Corwin’s pursuit and left Branwick to try to find them. The sheriffs and barons hereabouts have all been alerted to keep watch for the pair. If it helps, the baron said to tell you Lady Ardith does not fear for her twin.”
The assurance eased his fears, some. The twins shared a bond Stephen didn’t completely understand, probably never would. But if Corwin had suffered an injury, or worse, Ardith would know
something
amiss with her twin. Still, his friend could be in deep trouble, and the order to remain at Branwick knotted his innards.
Stephen occasionally disobeyed Gerard’s orders, but not without extremely good reason.
“Has the search turned up any sign of them?”
“Not as yet. The baron feels that is good. If Corwin rescued the lady and is being hunted, he may have gone into hiding.”
Having traveled widely and often with Corwin as a companion, Stephen knew of several places where his friend could go to ground. He could give Gerard directions to those worth searching. Feeling less useless, he led the way up the stairs and into the great hall.
Not spotting Carolyn, he approached the two maids who were sweeping out the hearth. He sent one to find Carolyn with a request for a quill and ink, and the other to the kitchen for food for Donald.
With cups of ale soon in hand, Stephen waved Donald to a trestle table. “Sit while I make my way through the rest of this. I assume you are to return to Wilmont immediately?”
“Aye. I will leave as soon as you are done.”
Naturally. Gerard expected no less.
Stephen sat on a bench opposite Donald and read the rest of the message. Gerard wrote of his wife and sons, and of his hope Ardith would have the babe soon so
order might be restored to his household and peace to his marriage. He complained of how his wife balked at his reasonable restrictions.
At the not unexpected news that Richard had married Lucinda of Northbryre in a private, quiet ceremony at Wilmont, Stephen smiled. The two were a good match, though he doubted Gerard was too pleased. He couldn’t wait to hear the tale of how Richard broke the news to Gerard.
Of course, Gerard wanted a report on how things went at Branwick. Stephen had no idea how to tell Gerard about the contest without sending his brother into either a rage or fits of laughter. Best he not mention the contest at all.
Feminine voices came from the stairway coming down from the upper floor. The women must have been in the solar. Carolyn carried the writing tools he asked for and strode toward the table. Marian barely glanced at him, then led her girls straight out the door.
He wasn’t hurt. Like hell he wasn’t.
Mayhap her avoidance of him wouldn’t bother him so much if he knew the reason. Every time he broached the subject, however, she negated his concern and pushed him further away. He’d not mention Marian to Gerard, either. What could he say?
The girl I first loved is here at Branwick and she hates me. She’s grown into a beautiful woman, a widow with two adorable daughters, lives in a hut in the hamlet where she shouldn’t be living, and fires my blood as my intended wife doesn’t
.
Stephen inwardly shuddered at the last thought.
“Bad news?” Carolyn asked.
“Aye,” he answered, relieved she couldn’t read his thoughts.
He took the ink and quill; she set the sand on the table.
“Are you called to Wilmont?”
“Not as yet. Where might I find the sheriff in these parts?”
“York, but whatever would you want with the sheriff?”
“A friend of mine is missing.” Stephen turned over the last page of Gerard’s missive and began his list with directions to a secluded cave near Oxford. “Donald, tell Gerard these are places where Corwin might hide. There are two near here which I will not list, but check myself. I will also have a word with the sheriff in York.”
“Um, my lord, I am sure the sheriff of York has already been told.”
“Then I will remind him.”
A maid put a trencher piled high with cheese, broken meat and bread in front of Donald, ending all argument as the messenger tucked into the food like a man half-starved.
Carolyn slid onto the bench beside Stephen. Though she said nothing she fidgeted—shifting on the bench, playing with the container of sand. ’Twas the drumming of her fingernails on the table that finally set his teeth on edge. He couldn’t very well take the mistress of the keep to task while in Donald’s presence.
“Donald, I believe your ale cup needs filling. You will find the barrel in yon corner.”
Donald glanced at his cup, not even half-empty. He looked about to object before he realized Stephen’s suggestion was truly an order.
“Shall I refill your cup too, my lord?”
“My thanks.”
When Donald was out of hearing range, Stephen turned to Carolyn. “You have something to say?”
“You intend to go into York?” Her tone could have frozen a rushing river.
“I am.”
“What of your obligation here?”
The contest. His friend was in trouble and she was concerned with the damned contest.
“York is only a day’s ride from here. I will be gone three, four days at most. ’Tis the least I can do to aid a man who has guarded my back more times than I can count.”
“Your brother seems to have the search underway and well in hand. You waste precious time on a situation you can do nothing about. I see no reason for you to leave Branwick.”
No reason important to Carolyn. Whether she approved or not, come tomorrow morn he’d be on the road to York. He wouldn’t rest well until he heard for himself that the sheriff made an effort to find Corwin.
“I do not abandon the contest, Carolyn, merely postpone it for a few days.”
“The last time you told me you would be gone for a few weeks, you did not return for three months!” Carolyn rose from the bench. “I will not wait so long again, Stephen of Wilmont. Be too long gone and you may return to find another man has taken your place.”
Stephen watched her flounce off, wondering if that would be so bad. Aye, it would. He’d made too much progress toward his goal to give up now.
Stephen finished the list and then saw Donald out Branwick’s gate before he sought an audience with William, a courtesy he must perform to remain in his lordship’s good graces. He approached the bedside with resolve in place and court manners firmly in mind.
William wore a frown, not a good omen. “I hear you
are leaving on the morn, something about a friend gone missing.”
Carolyn must have complained to her father. So be it.
He sat down on the stool by the bedside. “Corwin is more than a friend. We grew up together, trained for knighthood with each other, have fought side by side in more battles than I care to remember. He is more brother to me than a friend.” Stephen smiled. “Truth to tell, we are now related. Corwin’s sister is the baron’s wife.”
“A call of family duty, then.”
“Somewhat.”
William nodded. “’Tis important, duty to family. You have my leave to go, and godspeed.”
Stephen chose not to comment that he hadn’t asked William’s leave. “My thanks.”
“Can we here at Branwick assist you in some manner?”
The offer took Stephen by surprise. Truly, he’d been prepared for William to simply bid him good riddance.
“A gracious offer. A few days worth of victuals for myself and Armand would be appreciated.” Stephen rose, preparing to bid William good day, then thought of another task in need of attention before he left for York. “In his missive, Gerard mentioned that Richard has married. I should send a gift. Might there be a craftsman on your estate you might recommend?”
William thought about it a moment. “Truly, lad, I leave such matters in Carolyn’s hands. You might have a word with her.”
“Your daughter is not pleased with me at the moment. Mayhap I shall have a look around the merchant shops in York.”
“If you do not wish to consult Carolyn, then you could ask Marian for advice. She would know what gifts
are appropriate for a noble couple.” William’s eyes lit up. “Of course, Marian. Have you seen the lovely embroidery she does? Mayhap you could talk her into decorating table linens or some such.”
Right now he didn’t think he could talk Marian into giving him the time of day.
“I shall consider your suggestion.”
“Well you should. Marian is truly gifted. Her designs are only exceeded by her exacting stitch.”
“Talented, is she?”
“By my word, none can compare. ’Struth, she is securing my place in heaven with her deft hand. If you speak with her this afternoon, she might have a design readied for your approval when you return. And while you are out there, tell her I believe another altar cloth is in order. A design in silver and dark green this time, I think.”
Buying William’s way into heaven? With altar cloths? A strange notion, but Stephen didn’t inquire further, the possibility of a way to connect with Marian driving all else from his mind.
Working together on a project tended to bring the people involved into frequent close contact, and most often fostered camaraderie. Could so simple a thing as having Marian embroider table linens help bring about the much longed for peace between them?
While the girls napped, Marian used the quiet time to work with wax tablet and stylus. The storybook lay on the table, open to the illustration of the first story.
Adam and Eve’s banishment from the garden.
The painter had drawn forth a hiss from the snake. Marian was determined to learn how to do the same in needlework.
Gads, ’twould make a beautiful tapestry. Her fingers fair itched for cloth and yarn. To do this picture justice, however, she’d need a large loom in a big room, and far more yarn in brighter colors than Branwick’s dyer could supply.
Marian knew Carolyn would allow her the use of Branwick’s loom, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. ’Twould mean spending too many days at Branwick. ’Twas easier to ignore those who couldn’t accept the twins when not forced to face them every day for long hours.