Knave Of Hearts

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.

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