Читать книгу Knave Of Hearts - Shari Anton - Страница 11

What was Marian doing at Branwick?

He’d envisioned her at home on some distant manor with her husband and child, far from where she could distract him.

Such a distraction. Gowned in dove gray, the linen’s weave rough and suited for workaday wear, Marian gracefully floated toward him. So beautiful. He’d thought so from the first moment he set eyes on her—standing beside her mother on the steps of Murwaithe, awaiting presentation to the baron of Wilmont and his youngest son.

The two of them had made an effort to resist an instant and powerful attraction. On the third day of his visit, however, they gave in to their lust—and once done, easier done.

“Stephen, I fear your audience with my uncle must wait a few moments,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact, and yet melodic. She turned to Ivo. “His lordship wishes to sit at table for evening meal. He asks you to send his body servants to him.”

“At once, my lady. I gather you and our guest have met.”

She glanced Stephen’s way before she admitted, “We have.”

Most assuredly they had. So many years ago and so well met. For two days they’d taken every chance to place eager hands and warm mouths on each other’s bodies. Well met, indeed.

Stephen bowed in her direction. “Lady Marian and I have known each other for several years. Mayhap she and I can renew our acquaintance while I await his lordship’s convenience.”

Ivo’s eyebrow arched. “Only a moment ago you were ready to tear down the draperies from around his lordship’s bed.”

Stephen shrugged off his former impatience. True, he needed to talk to William, but the mystery of Marian’s presence proved too enticing to resist further examination. Obviously she was visiting Branwick, but why and for how long? With or without her child and husband?

Had she ever tumbled in the hay with her husband? How odd he should wonder. Even odder he should realize he’d never tumbled in the hay with any other woman.

“’Twould hardly further my cause if I disturbed his lordship at an untimely moment,” he explained to Ivo. “I shall wait until he is fully prepared for my visit.”

Ivo took his leave.

Stephen took a longer than normal breath, remembering the unease of his last conversation with Marian. Part of that unease, certes, had been their state of undress and seclusion in a bedchamber. Yet, even though they stood in Branwick’s hall, with servants scurrying about to prepare for evening meal, with Armand hovering nearby, Stephen’s body and mind were firmly engaged by the woman standing before him.

“I do not see you for many years, then you appear in the most unexpected places,” he said, then could have bitten his tongue for evoking the faint blush that bloomed on her cheeks.

He’d seen her turn vivid scarlet once before, her face and chest fully involved. She’d been astride him at the time. He hadn’t known those many years ago what that meant, but he did now—a female reaching her full pleasure. Try as he might, he couldn’t tamp down the pride of realizing he’d brought Marian to her peak without knowing what he was doing. He truly hadn’t—which meant Marian must be one of those women who reached bliss with little effort on her bed mate’s part.

So much for pride.

Marian’s husband must be delighted with so easily pleased a lover for a wife, if he cared at all. Many men didn’t, which made no sense. Pleasured bed mates made for eager bed mates.

“I hear Carolyn did not receive you well.”

The edge in Marian’s voice both rebuked him for reminding her of their meeting in a bedchamber, and turned the conversation back to Carolyn—whose rebuff had been witnessed by enough people that the tale would have spread swiftly to all in Branwick.

Stephen hadn’t a doubt he would be back in Carolyn’s good graces by the end of evening meal. He must be, despite the distraction of Marian, whose good graces wouldn’t be so easily obtained.

Knowing full well it wasn’t true, but not willing to admit to anyone but himself that his intended bride had purposely deserted him, Stephen prevaricated. “Apparently I intruded on Carolyn’s previously made plans for an afternoon ride.”

“Mayhap your visit with William will go better. He cannot get up and walk out on you.”

Marian turned as if to leave.

“How fares William?” he asked, partly because he wanted prior knowledge of the man’s current mood. Partly because Carolyn had already turned her back on him and he hated the thought of Marian repeating the insult.

“His mood or his health?” she asked.

“Both.”

“His mood is decent and his health is improved.”

Not much to go on.

“I gather his illness does not keep him abed permanently.”

She hesitated a moment before answering. “The apoplexy drained his strength and restricts his movements. He remains abed, for the most part, because he does not like having servants carry him about. My uncle’s body may be sorely afflicted, and one must listen carefully when he speaks, but have a care not to mistake his slur for lack of intelligence.”

“My thanks for your help.”

“I do not tell you this to help you, but for William’s sake. I would not have him upset because you treated him in thoughtless fashion.”

Marian’s admonishment stung. Surely, she knew him better. True, he possessed the devil’s own temper when crossed unfairly, and a nobleman’s natural expectation of deference. He wasn’t so high flown with himself, however, that he’d treat William as a lesser man because of his affliction.

On the edge of his vision, Stephen saw two young men slip behind the draperies, one carrying a pitcher and washbasin, the other bearing what must be garments. They would soon have William suitably robed.

“Your caution is unnecessary,” he told her.

“Is it? I do not remember you as the most considerate of lads.”

It irked him that Marian hadn’t forgiven him for a lapse of manners nearly six years ago, a lapse not his fault. Nor had she seen fit to accept his tardy but sincere apology, having told him it came too late. ’Twas as if she thought him both brainless and unfeeling.

Damned if he’d apologize again. If the woman chose to hold a youthful mishap against him, so be it. He didn’t need her good opinion. ’Twas Carolyn he must win over, not Marian.

“I intend to treat William de Grasse with no less than his rank and intelligence deserves. ’Twould not further my interests to do otherwise.”

She blinked, then said softly, “Nay, you would not treat a man of rank with disregard. I should have known better than to think you would.”

He didn’t know how to answer, and indeed Marian didn’t give him the chance. She spun around and walked toward the door.

“You do have a way with the ladies today,” Armand commented.

Stephen winced, having forgotten Armand stood so close as to overhear. Thank the Lord the young man could be trusted not to reveal this latest debacle.

Women. He thought he understood them, how their minds worked. Indeed, not until today had he questioned his ability to talk to a female in perfectly reasonable fashion. How had he managed to fail so completely with two women on one day?

Ivo came toward him. “His lordship awaits you.”

Grateful for what he hoped would be sensible meeting of minds, Stephen followed the steward to the right side of the bed.

Carolyn’s father appeared much as Stephen expected: aged, white-haired and withered. But, possibly due to Marian’s cautions, Stephen noted the sharp clarity and unmistakable self-assurance within the man’s deep-set brown eyes. Carolyn had inherited her father’s eyes, his intelligence, and most probably his stubborn nature.

Stephen nodded to William de Grasse, who occupied a bed with the dignity befitting a king upon his throne. “Good tidings, William. ’Tis good we finally meet.”

“You find your bedchamber to your liking, your lordship?” he asked, the words slightly ill formed.

“I have traveled widely, both in England and without. I find no lack in Branwick’s hospitality.”

William’s head bobbed slightly at the compliment. He folded his right arm over the unmoving left. “Your travels kept you away overlong, Stephen of Wilmont. So much so that my daughter cast aside her good manners and left the hall in a snit. I will, certes, speak to her about her rudeness, though you did sorely test her temper.”

Stephen withheld a request to ignore Carolyn’s behavior. ’Twas a father’s right to reprimand his children, no matter their sex or age. Stephen could only hope for light discipline so Carolyn wouldn’t be more upset with him than she was already.

However, he wasn’t about to apologize to either father or daughter for helping his brother.

“Carolyn’s expectations aside, I took charge of a task for my brother, Richard. The duty took me longer than anticipated.”

William said nothing, only looked at him expectantly. Stephen allowed that a fuller explanation might be in order. A man might understand what a woman might not and, given Carolyn’s hard feelings, he needed William’s good opinion.

“King Henry settled the guardianship of an orphaned boy on Richard. I offered to inspect the boy’s lands in Normandy and assess any threat of interference from his paternal relatives. There was resistance, not over the boy, but over control of the fees and rents from the boy’s inheritance.”

“You arranged a bargain?”

He had, except Richard hadn’t liked the bargain. In the time it had taken Stephen to bring the boy’s uncle to England to exchange Philip for more coin and goods than Richard could ever hope to gain in one fell swoop, his brother had grown fond of his ward and wouldn’t give over.

“Nay, only brought the two parties together so a bargain could be reached.”

“Then your brother’s problem is resolved.”

“So I believe.”

William frowned. “You do not know?”

The accusatory tone didn’t sit well.

“The last I saw of the boy’s uncle, he was returning to Normandy without taking his nephew. Richard considered the matter done, so I left Richard’s holding for Wilmont, to report on the situation to our brother, Gerard.”

“I see.”

Stephen heard disapproval. That William thought Stephen left his brother without hope of further aid wasn’t to be borne, no matter how much he wanted William’s goodwill. He did, however, try to keep his anger under control. ’Twas his loss of temper that had gotten Richard into trouble, and Stephen sensed he was in quite enough trouble now without inviting more.

“Should Richard need further help he need only send to Gerard, who will bring every resource of the barony of Wilmont to play, if warranted. Gerard also knows where to send for me if I am needed. Though I thank you for your concern over my brother’s welfare, I assure you ’tis not necessary.”

William waved a dismissing hand in the air. “I have no doubt Gerard of Wilmont can take care of any problem that may come his way. ’Tis you I have my doubts about, Stephen.”

Very aware of his less than steady reputation, and knowing it was one of the reasons Carolyn considered his suit, Stephen asked warily, “How so?”

“Let me say that I do not consider you a suitable mate for my daughter.”

Not suitable? He was a knight of Wilmont, a member of one of the most powerful families in the kingdom. His wealth far surpassed that of William de Grasse. If he had a mind to, he could gather more men-at-arms than necessary to lay siege to Branwick and take it by force. Surely the man knew Stephen of Wilmont to be a better match for his daughter than lowly Edwin of Tinfield.

Had the apoplexy somehow affected William’s mind more than anyone at Branwick, including Marian, wanted to admit?

“Your daughter considers me suitable.”

“My daughter also believes herself capable of overseeing Branwick and her dower lands without assistance.” William tilted his head. “If Carolyn considers you more suitable than Edwin, then why is she out riding with him instead of attending you?”

Stephen couldn’t comment on Carolyn’s ability to manage her and her father’s lands, but he was fairly sure of why Carolyn had dragged Edwin out of the keep.

“To test my resolve. Carolyn wants to know if I insult easily, and if I can give back as good as she gives. I suspect her elderly husbands could not.”

The corner of William’s mouth twitched. “I gather you believe you can?”

“Aye, I believe I can.”

“We shall see.”

William’s attention swerved to the sound of little feet pounding across the rushes.

Stephen turned in time to see the twins pull up short behind Armand. He recognized them as Audra and Lyssa, the peasant girls he’d seen earlier.

His first thought was to shield them against their lord’s anger at being interrupted. The smile on William’s face belied all trace of ire.

To Stephen’s amazement, William beckoned the girls forward. “Back so soon?”

Lyssa nodded. “Cook plopped the eggs into the soup kettle to boil.”

Stunned that the girls had been allowed to interrupt, Stephen glanced down at the basket Audra held. Six hard-cooked eggs lay nestled within.

William looked up behind the girls. “Where is your mother?”

“Wrapping the altar cloth.” Audra held up the basket. “Can we eat these while they are yet warm?”

William patted the bed, an invitation the girls readily accepted. Before Lyssa hopped up on the bed, she flashed Stephen a sunny smile.

“Would you care to share our eggs, Lord Stephen?”

Stephen doubted William would appreciate it, and decided to take his leave while the old lord was in a good mood. He chucked Lyssa under the chin, grateful that at least one female at Branwick considered him worthy of her regard.

“My thanks, little one, but I would not think to deprive you of your treat. We shall continue our talk later, William.”

Stephen left the bedside, Armand at his heels. He headed for the door, hoping a brisk walk might help clear up some of his confusion.

Apparently William de Grasse had gleaned information, and little of it good, on Stephen of Wilmont from someone. Carolyn? Possibly. Marian? Hellfire, had she carried her irritation with him too far, belittled him to her uncle? Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to see Marian as vindictive.

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.