Читать книгу Knave Of Hearts - Shari Anton - Страница 12

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

Dare he question Edwin?

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

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

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

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

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

“Adorable girls,” Stephen commented.

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

“A shame about Lyssa’s headache.”

“She suffers them often, I hear.”

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

Marian’s daughters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

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

“An old friend is she?”

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

“Marian’s father bought horses from mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With Carolyn? Not so.”

“Believe as you will.”

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

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

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

A place of peace, quiet—boredom.

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

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

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

The wench bobbed a curtsey and scurried off.

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

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

“My thanks.”

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

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

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

“’Tis a gift from Edwin.”

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

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

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

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

“In need of a psalter, Stephen?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know how you abhor moneylenders—”

William huffed. “Thieves. Every one.”

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

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

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

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

“Surely not all.”

“Ivo agrees with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What might be your view on moneylenders?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was Dena also informative?”

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

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

“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.”