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…!

Dear Reader,

Harlequin Historicals is putting on a fresh face! We hope you enjoyed our special inside front cover art from recent months. We plan to bring this “extra” to you every month! You may also have noticed our new look—a maroon stripe that runs along the right side of the front cover and an “HH” logo in the upper right corner. Hopefully, this will help you find our books more easily in the crowded marketplace. And thanks again to those of you who participated in our reader survey. Your feedback enables us to bring you more of the stories and authors that you like!

We have four incredible books for you this month. The talented Shari Anton returns with a new medieval novel. Knave of Hearts is a secret-child story about a knight who, in the midst of seeking the hand of a wealthy widow, is unexpectedly reunited with his first—and not forgotten—love. Cheryl St.John’s new Western, Sweet Annie, is full of her signature-style emotion and tenderness. Here, a hardworking horseman falls in love with a crippled young woman whose family refuses to see her as the capable beauty she is.

Ice Maiden, by award-winning author Debra Lee Brown, will grab you and not let go. When a Scottish clan laird washes ashore on a remote island, the price of his passage home is temporary marriage to a Viking hellion whose icy facade belies a burning passion…. And don’t miss The Ranger’s Bride, a terrific tale by Laurie Grant. Wounded on the trail of an infamous gang, a Texas Ranger with a past seeks solace in the arms of a beautiful “widow,” who has her own secrets to reveal….

Enjoy! And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor

Knave of Hearts
Shari Anton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Available from Harlequin Historicals and SHARI ANTON

Emily’s Captain #357

By King’s Decree #401

Lord of the Manor #434

By Queen’s Grace #493

The Conqueror #507

Knave of Hearts #547

To the Schwagers:

Lady Chris, of the flaming hair and enchanting smile,

and Sir Ron, her dark and stormy knight.

Hark, the summer cometh!

And we couldn’t ask for better playmates.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Prologue

April, 1109

Stephen wished he could cheer his half brother out of his morose mood. He’d tried and failed, probably because by getting angry and confronting King Henry, Stephen bore some blame for getting Richard into trouble to begin with.

Within Wilmont’s richly furnished chambers in Westminster Palace, Richard slumped in a high-backed chair, a goblet of wine dangling from his fingertips, a frown on his face. No wonder. He’d been forced to accept the guardianship over the widow and orphan of Wilmont’s greatest enemy, a man who’d damn near succeeded in getting Richard killed.

Stephen still had trouble believing events had taken such a strange turn, but King Henry was adamant and they must all deal as best they could with this unpalatable situation. For his part, Stephen would leave at sunrise for Normandy, to assess the extent of young Philip’s estates and determine if the boy’s relatives posed a threat. The errand should take a month, or maybe a week or two more, to complete.

Which left Stephen this one night to secure a betrothal bargain with Carolyn de Grasse, the heiress who awaited him in a bedchamber on a lower floor of the palace.

Stephen gave Richard an affectionate shake on the shoulder. “Get some sleep. I will see you come morn.”

“Do try to stay out of trouble,” Richard said.

Stephen didn’t take offense. ’Twas the several goblets of quickly quaffed wine talking. Of his two siblings, Gerard, the eldest brother and powerful baron of Wilmont, was the more overbearing and quickest to censure. Despite his brothers’ tendency to overprotectiveness, Stephen wouldn’t trade either of them for all the riches in the kingdom.

He just wished they wouldn’t take every opportunity to remind him of his tendency to give in to his whims of fancy, which they considered his weakness. ’Struth, bound by duty, his brothers possessed neither the time nor inclination to follow the flight of an eagle simply to see where it landed. Staid fellows, both. A repugnant fate Stephen intended to forswear.

He chided Richard. “Pray tell, how can I get into trouble by spending the night with the woman I plan to wed?”

For the first time in hours, the corner of Richard’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Oh, I can think of a way or two.”

“Never fear. I have not yet failed to thoroughly pleasure a woman whose good opinion I wish to enjoy,” he boasted, and was rewarded with a wider smile and a grunt of disbelief. “Now I must go. ’Twould not do for me to be late for a tryst with my betrothed.”

“Lady Carolyn is not your betrothed, yet.”

“Give me an hour and she will be begging to marry me.”

To the heartening sound of Richard’s soft chuckle, Stephen left Wilmont’s chambers and strode down the palace passages and stairways, wishing Gerard was here to help Richard.

Unfortunately, Gerard wasn’t on good terms with King Henry at the moment, so he’d sent Stephen and Richard to court at Westminster in his stead. While keeping a careful watch for any shifts of power that always accompanied large gatherings of England’s nobility, Stephen had also taken the time to study the current crop of unwed heiresses.

A man in his position needed to marry, to continue the family line and provide heirs for his holdings. Stephen intended to do his duty, but on his own terms. That he’d finally found a woman damn near perfect for his needs, Carolyn de Grasse, he considered a heaven-sent twist of fate.

A few years older than his own two and twenty years, newly widowed for the second time, Carolyn wanted a young, virile man as her third husband. She wanted a man to pleasure her in bed and sire her children, then otherwise make himself scarce so she could oversee her lands with no husbandly interference.

Stephen kept the “scarce” condition firmly in mind—the best part of the arrangement to his way of thinking. He could fulfill his duty to his family and provide an heir to his estates, all without becoming staid.

Since he’d already proven his prowess to Carolyn yesterday, leaving her languid and sated, he harbored no worries over tonight’s outcome. He would pleasure her once more, explain the need for his upcoming journey, and secure her agreement to accept no other man as her husband in his absence. When he returned from Normandy, he’d present his suit to her father.

From the nearby abbey came the peal of deep-toned bells, announcing the hour of matins. Midnight. Right on time. He tapped lightly on the chamber door and softly called Carolyn’s name. Receiving no answer, he pushed on the latch, and finding the door unlocked, eased it open.

The flame from a thick tallow candle cast enough mellow light for him to inspect the chamber. Sparse, Stephen judged the furnishings. Truly, he’d have thought the room unoccupied if not for the human-size lump curled in the middle of the bed, huddled completely under a wool coverlet.

It didn’t bode well that Carolyn had fallen asleep. He’d expected her to remain awake with anticipation. But then she’d left the door unbolted and a candle lit for him to see by, and she was in the bed waiting for him to come to her.

Planning a seductive awakening, Stephen slid the bolt, then shucked his tunic and sherte and tossed them onto the small oak table. As he sat on the only stool in the room and removed the first of his boots, a soft gasp came from the direction of the bed.

Bare-chested, boot in hand, Stephen stared at the woman propped up on an elbow. Within the space of a heartbeat he noted hair of sable brown, not auburn. Skin of ivory, not porcelain.

Hellfire. Not Carolyn.

He recognized the woman who stared at him with eyes the color of polished pewter. He hadn’t seen her in five, no six years, but he knew the lovely lady’s name as well as his own.

Marian de Lacy.

They’d lost their innocence together, he and Marian, in her father’s stables. During secret trysts filled with eager, exploring touches, in a fever of sense-banishing youthful lust, they’d discovered the thrill of robust, if unskilled, coupling.

Stephen searched for a way to end the shocked silence, but came up with nothing better than a nod and her name.

“Marian.”

She glanced at the door, then at his discarded garments.

“Sweet heaven, Stephen. What are you doing here?” she asked in a loud whisper.

Knowing women as he did, Stephen suspected that blurting out the truth might not be wise. A man did not tell a former bed mate that he’d come to make love to another woman and hope to escape unscathed.

“I…um…”

Marian shushed him, then eased out of bed while arranging the coverlet into a jumbled heap. When she stood, her sable hair tumbled over her shoulders and down to below her rump, only partially veiling her lush curves. She wore a chemise of cream linen, without sleeves, cut low to her bosom and high on her calves.

Her hips were more rounded than he remembered, her breasts fuller. She padded toward him on bare feet, sleepy-eyed and delectable. All the vision wanted was a stray piece of hay caught in her tumbling, wavy tresses and they could be right back in the stables enjoying each other’s bodies.

His loins stirred, a familiar and natural reaction to seeing a near naked woman, especially when remembering how he’d hastily divested this female of a similar filmy chemise to fondle her firm, dusky-tipped breasts. To press her smooth skin against his. To ease his aching member into Marian’s slick, velvet softness.

Stephen dropped his boot and stood, his arms rising to invite an embrace. Marian stopped beyond his reach and pointed to the door.

“Out,” she whispered, the command as clear as an angry shout.

So much for a tender reunion.

Stephen placed his hands on his hips, drawing her gaze downward to his waist and below, where evidence of his thoughts now strained at his breeches. She stared at the bulge long enough for him to know she remembered well what they’d been doing, in boisterous fashion, when last together.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” he asked.

“Shh!”

He failed to understand her insistent hushing. “Why must we whisper?”

Marian glanced over her shoulder at the bed. “So we do not wake my daughter.”

Stephen noted the heaped coverlet, under which must lie a child, a little girl. He banished a moment of unease by recalling, with great relief, that his and Marian’s union hadn’t borne fruit. For a while after their affair he’d wondered over that particular consequence, fearing Marian’s father might come roaring into Wilmont demanding a wedding—or Stephen’s head. It hadn’t happened. He’d been spared.

He’d also taken the incident as a warning and forever after been careful about where he spilled his seed.

The bundle on the bed shifted, the child the result of another man’s spilled seed.

Marian must now be married. No wonder she was so angry at his intrusion—and he had intruded. He’d taken it upon himself to enter the chamber in search of Carolyn.

Was it possible that sometime after he and Carolyn had arranged this tryst, the palace seneschal had moved her into another room, giving this one to Marian? And Marian’s husband? Was that why the door hadn’t been bolted?

Stephen sat and pulled on his boot. He’d never been caught in a compromising situation with another man’s wife and didn’t intend for that to happen now. Too, he had yet to find Carolyn and secure the betrothal bargain tonight.

Dare he ask Marian if she knew where Carolyn had been moved to? He stood and shrugged into his sherte and tunic, preparing for a hasty escape if Marian took his inquiry badly.

“My pardon for the intrusion, Marian. I obviously mistook your chamber for that of another. Do you happen to know where its former occupant might be?”

She stared at him, long and hard. “You look for Carolyn?”

Wary, he nodded.

Without a hint of surprise or anger, which might be expected of a former lover, she said, “Then you are in the right chamber. Unfortunately, my cousin is not here.” She waved at the door. “Kindly wait without.”

Marian and Carolyn were cousins? They shared these quarters? Stephen pushed aside further questions. Those were for Carolyn to answer, not Marian.

“As you wish. Truly, I did not mean to disturb you, Marian, only talk to Carolyn.”

Marian scoffed. “Talk?”

“Aye, talk,” he said. “If you will recall, you and I managed to do some of that, too.”

“You talked. I listened. For all my devoted attention you dismissed me without so much as the courtesy of a farewell.”

True enough. She’d listened, fascinated by his tales of the many places he’d been, and especially about those he yet wished to visit. He’d forgotten how good a companion she’d been, but then, he truly hadn’t thought about Marian in years. He’d been too busy traveling to all of those exotic places he’d told her about. She was wrong about dismissing her lightly, however. Surely, someone had explained to her why he’d left her father’s estate so quickly.

“We were denied the chance to part company as we should. I am sorry for that,” he said.

He took a step forward, knowing he shouldn’t touch her, yet reached out to brush at a lock of silky hair that threatened to cover Marian’s eyes. She jerked back and looked away. Her recoil hurt, sharper and deeper than it should. His offending fingers curled into his palm.

“Rather too late for apologies, is it not?” she asked.

Apparently so, and for that he was sorry, too.

“Fare thee well, Marian.”

Chapter One

July, 1109

Marian didn’t have to look up from her embroidery to know which of her twin daughters entered the hut. Audra’s leather sandals slapped the hard-packed dirt floor with the purposeful steps of someone much older than five summers. Had it been the other twin, Lyssa, the footfalls would have landed light and quick.

Flipping her raven braid behind her, Audra sat at the table and propped her chin in her hands. Well acquainted with her daughter’s pout, Marian pursed her lips to withhold a smile. Apparently, Lyssa was doing something Audra didn’t approve of. Not unusual.

Bowing to the inevitable, Marian asked, “Where is Lyssa?”

“Playing on the stone fence.” Audra’s tone suggested Lyssa receive a scolding, which Marian wasn’t about to do. Though she didn’t completely approve of Lyssa’s daring, she could hardly deny the girl one of the few joys in her life.

As different as night and day, were her girls. Though they looked so alike most people couldn’t tell one from the other, their temperaments distinguished them as no physical trait could. Audra would never scramble up on the stones and walk along the top of the fence, not for fear of falling off but out of disdain for such unladylike behavior. Lyssa inevitably forswore dignity when a fence wanted climbing, a mud puddle must be run through, or a twin sister needed irritating.

Most often the twins balanced each other. Lyssa sometimes heeded Audra’s cautions, which prevented the bold twin from courting disaster. Audra sometimes got caught up in Lyssa’s gleeful view of life, which kept the solemn twin from becoming dour.

Usually, as happened last night, when Lyssa’s headaches stole away the sparkle in her eyes, Audra sat next to her twin’s pallet, quietly holding her sister’s hand.

With an inward sigh, Marian acknowledged that the long, vexing trip to Westminster with Lyssa had proved a failure. They’d endured the journey’s physical hardships, the sorrow of leaving Audra behind and the annoyance of Carolyn’s almost constant company, all for naught. Marian had so hoped the London physician would provide a cure for Lyssa’s headaches. Though Lyssa obediently downed the powders and herb mixtures the physician claimed would help, the headaches still struck hard and without warning. In the three months since returning home, Lyssa had suffered two bouts of pain no treatment seemed to ease.

If Lyssa felt well enough to walk along the fence this morn, Marian wouldn’t call her down until necessary.

She slid the needle into the pristine white linen, wishing she could set the altar cloth aside and join her girls out of doors. Unfortunately, the altar cloth she decorated—a gift from her uncle, William de Grasse, to the Archbishop of York—must be completed and taken to Branwick Keep today.

So she’d comply. Uncle William asked so little of her in return for his protection. ’Twas the least she could do for the man who’d seen to her welfare when she’d desperately needed shelter and succor.

“Do not fret, Audra. Lyssa will come down from the fence when she is ready. You have finished your chores?”

Audra’s head bobbed. “Aye. I fed the chickens and Lyssa tied the goat to graze. Truly, Mama, when you finish the altar cloth we can leave for the keep. Shall I tell Lyssa to come in to make ready?”

“Not quite yet.” Marian again stifled a smile, this time at Audra’s sigh. “Go out and enjoy the sunshine. I shall call you both when I am finished.”

Audra got up and slowly headed for the door. Then she stopped and turned. “Mayhap we should gather eggs for his lordship. He enjoys them, does he not?”

Audra knew very well William did, and Marian thought her daughter’s ploy to get Lyssa down from the stone fence just might work. That William would be delighted with the gift of the eggs only made the offer more appealing.

“He will be well pleased, Audra.”

The girl wasted no time in grabbing a basket and scurrying out of the hut, calling her sister’s name.

Marian gave in to both her mirth and curiosity. She set aside the altar cloth and took the few steps necessary to see out the open door, yet not be noticed easily.

Lyssa took the bait of an egg hunt and scrambled down off of the fence. Their black braids bouncing on the backs of their brown tunics, the girls hurried toward the long grass beyond the garden where an egg or two would likely be found.

Sweet heaven, how she adored the tykes, despite the trials of raising them on her own. Now, she couldn’t imagine life without them, when once, as a young and naive girl, she’d envisioned her life far differently.

Marian shook her head. What was past was past. She usually managed to get through weeks on end without thinking of those days before the twins were born—until lately. The memories came more often, she knew, because she’d seen Stephen again.

Stephen—standing before her in the palace bedchamber, partially disrobed, his arms outstretched.

The knave. He’d fully expected her to step into his embrace as if the years gone by had never happened, as if they’d parted on the best of terms. Knowing full well the impact of his charms, and having heard tales of his recent amorous exploits from Carolyn, Marian didn’t doubt Stephen simply accepted female adoration as his normal due.

Thankfully, she’d been too shocked at seeing him and too concerned over protecting Lyssa that she hadn’t done his bidding. Under other circumstances…No, never again would she willingly court such heartbreak.

Marian took a steadying breath, fetched the altar cloth and resumed stitching. The last gold cross was nearly done.

The motions she was sure she could do in her sleep soon lulled her into a familiar calm, heedless of all but the slip of needle and slide of thread through linen. So intent was she on finishing the cross she didn’t hear the jangle of horses’ tack until the travelers were nearly at the front gate.

The girls called a greeting to whoever was passing by. The altar cloth put aside, Marian got up to observe.

Stunned, her feet rooted to the floor when she saw him. Panic swelled and threatened to clog her throat. Breathe! her body shouted. She could barely obey.

Stephen of Wilmont, mounted on a magnificent black horse, smiled down at the twins who gave him their rapt attention.

Marian squelched the urge to scream at the girls to come into the safety of the hut, or to shout at Stephen to be on his way. Neither the girls nor Stephen would understand her panic at seeing the three of them together.

The threat he presented nearly overwhelming her, Marian took refuge in glancing over his escort.

Two chain-mail-clad knights rode horses of brownish red, of the same renowned Wilmont stock as Stephen’s. Six helmeted foot soldiers, carrying spears and shields, flanked two wagons pulled by teams of sturdy oxen. As did most nobles when traveling to a keep where they intended to visit a long while, Stephen arrived bearing crates and barrels—filled with his belongings, extra food, gifts for his hosts—and furniture. Above the sides of the last wagon she spied the half moon of a round table. Towering above it all were the thick, unmistakable four posts of a huge bed. Stephen’s bed.

The girls giggled. Lyssa climbed up onto the wall, the better to talk to the man who beamed down at her. Audra dared a couple of stones to rise higher, to get a better view of the noble lord who, for whatever reason, stopped to speak with them.

Marian remained rooted, not daring to go outside until she brought her fears under control. Stephen had no reason to harm the girls, or to suspect they were other than the daughters of a peasant. The realization calmed her some.

She wished she could hear clearly what they spoke of, but all that reached her ears was Stephen’s deeply timbered tone and the girls’ high trills.

Why couldn’t he have found some other adventure to pursue to keep him away longer, or better yet forever? After a month had passed, then two, she’d been sure another woman had caught his fancy, enticing him to forget about marrying Carolyn.

Now, a full three months after their meeting in Westminster, Stephen arrived in full splendor, apparently intent on winning Carolyn, so sure of his welcome he planned on a prolonged stay and brought along his bed.

Stephen had obviously taken great care in his choice of garments today, wanting to impress, and impress he did. Over a bloodred, long-sleeved sherte he wore a gold-trimmed, black silk tunic. A girdle of gold links wrapped twice around his waist. Impressively noble garb on a magnificently formed male.

He possessed coin aplenty, or so Carolyn claimed. His brother, the baron, had gifted both Stephen and their half brother Richard with several holdings apiece from which to draw income. Enough coin for Uncle William to take Stephen’s suit for Carolyn’s hand seriously, though Marian suspected Stephen’s being the sibling of a powerful baron was more a factor in William’s acceding to Carolyn’s pleas to hear Stephen’s offer.

Carolyn, on the other hand, cared little for the coin or Stephen’s rank. A gifted Adonis, Carolyn had dreamily termed the young man with the comely face, exquisitely formed body, and lack of desire to interfere with her wish to be sole overlord of Branwick when she inherited.

Truly, Marian’s youthful lover had most definitely come into the fullness of his manhood. Stephen had grown tall, wide across the chest and narrow in the hips. Unlike most Norman nobles, he wore his hair long in Saxon fashion, the wind-tossed black tips skimming his broad shoulders.

No boyish innocence remained in his striking features. His clean-shaven jaw jutted forward at a determined but not arrogant angle. A noble brow hooded his deep-set eyes of sparkling, spring green—both predatory and mesmerizing—that darkened to nearly emerald when lust reached feverish heights. His mouth, so quick to smile, with lips full and warm and mobile—

Marian’s heart stuttered, an unwanted reminder that those lustful bouts with Stephen remained so vivid and affected her so forcefully, even from across the full length of the yard. Even over the passing of years. She thought she’d been fully prepared to see him again if necessary, had steeled her heart and mind against his appeal. ’Twas galling to admit she’d failed so utterly.

Audra swept a hand behind her, palm up, stopping when her fingers pointed at the hut. Inviting Stephen inside?

Dear Lord, have mercy, no!

Stephen glanced at the doorway. Marian stepped back. A foolish gesture. He couldn’t see this far inside the hut from the road.

Coward, a niggling voice chided her. If Stephen were here to stay, if he married Carolyn, he would learn where Marian lived, that the girls were hers. What sense putting off what couldn’t be avoided?

Her secret was safe. She’d told no one, and no one could guess merely by noting that the girls and Stephen shared but the one physical trait of shining, raven-hued hair.

Marian took a step forward.

Stephen shook his head, an aggrieved smile on his face. With a courtly bow to the girls, he backed his horse from the fence, signaled to his escort, and resumed his journey to Branwick Keep.

Marian sank down on the stool and covered her face with her hands, so relieved that she moaned.

The twins came into the hut at a run.

“Mama, he is here!” Lyssa cried. “Stephen of Wilmont has come to marry Carolyn!”

“He comes to ask Lord William’s permission to marry her, you mean,” Audra corrected Lyssa, once again proving that Audra missed none of the servants’ gossip. She set the basket of eggs on the table. “Will William like Stephen over Edwin, Mama, as Carolyn does?”

To Marian’s bewilderment, Carolyn preferred to marry Stephen of Wilmont over Edwin of Tinfield. True, Stephen was young, unlike Carolyn’s first two husbands. Stephen had no wish to usurp Carolyn’s place as ruler of her dower lands and eventually Branwick, as she feared Edwin might try to do. Stephen pleased Carolyn in bed, a fact Carolyn had been eager to point out to Marian, if not to her father.

That Carolyn had the chance to marry Edwin, a man she’d been fond of for years, held no sway with Carolyn in her choice of husbands.

William was inclined to allow his daughter some say in her third marriage. He’d chosen both of her first two husbands and saw how miserably and quickly those marriages had ended!

“’Tis for William to decide,” Marian finally answered.

“Can we go now, Mama? We have the eggs!” Lyssa said proudly.

Marian glanced at the altar cloth. “Not yet,” she said, grateful for the short reprieve.

Mayhap, if fate proved kind, she could slip in and out of Branwick Keep later today without hardly a soul, especially Stephen, knowing she was there. No sense flirting with further distress when it would likely find her soon enough.

With Branwick Keep in view, Stephen shifted in the saddle, the better to swipe at the road dust on his tunic and breeches. There wasn’t any hope for his boots, so he didn’t bother with them.

“Nervous?”

The question came from the man who rode at Stephen’s right, Armand, one of Gerard’s favorite squires and a pleasant companion on a long journey.

Stephen shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “Not unduly.”

After all, one Norman noble thought and acted much like another. He usually handled himself well around the likes of barons and earls, and King Henry—the most headstrong Norman in the kingdom. ’Struth, his last encounter with the king hadn’t gone at all well. Still, William de Grass, lord of Branwick, shouldn’t present a challenge.

“I would be, knowing I was minutes away from confronting and being judged by the father of the woman I hoped to marry,” Armand admitted with a shiver.

William was also ill and quite frail, which had kept him from accompanying Carolyn to Westminster. Stephen saw no difficulty in having his way with Carolyn’s father.

“I doubt the proceedings will lead to a confrontation, rather to a meeting of the minds.”

“His lordship might be of a mind to deny you. You are late.”

Long overdue, by several weeks. He’d been stuck in Normandy longer than planned. Then he’d spent several more weeks helping Richard. Then he’d stopped at Wilmont to report to Gerard. The four to six weeks he’d planned to be gone had stretched into three full months. Carolyn might not be pleased by his extended absence, but Stephen didn’t see how he could have done anything differently and still do right by Richard.

And he’d done right by Richard—now settled at Collingwood, playing lord of the manor, getting along well with his ward and perhaps a bit too well with his ward’s mother. Stephen withheld judgment on that affair—’twas Richard’s decision to make the woman his bed mate or not.

Still, Carolyn’s reaction to his tardy arrival might be a problem.

“Then I shall have to placate his lordship somehow. Mayhap the keg of Burgundy wine will prove an acceptable bribe for forgiveness.” Stephen smiled. “Or perhaps I should have accepted Audra’s offer of refreshment in her parents’ hut. They might have told me how to best treat their lord.”

Armand answered with a wry smile. “Can you imagine the reaction of the parents if a Norman noble deigned to grace their hut? The poor peasants might have died of heart failure!”

Harlan, the white-bearded, crusty old knight on Stephen’s left, huffed. “Unnatural, I say, for a peasant tyke to make such an offer, and with the manners of the high born, too. Girl is headed for trouble if her parents continue to allow such behavior.”

A valid observation, Stephen acknowledged. A peasant who forgot his or her place was most often severely reprimanded if caught by one of high rank who took offense. Audra’s actions had amused him, but another lord might have backhanded the girl, or worse, for her presumption. ’Twasn’t his problem, yet the thought of anyone mistreating the little girl didn’t sit well.

Seeking a reason for Audra’s unusual behavior, Stephen wondered aloud. “Mayhap the girls are being trained for service in a noble household, and so are taught such manners?”

Armand let out a laugh. “If so, then Lyssa is not taking to her lessons well. What a scamp!”

Harlan shook his head. “’Twould never happen, not with twins. What noble household would have them?”

Stephen knew of one. “Gerard would take them at Wilmont.”

“Name me another.”

Stephen conceded the point. The superstitions people held about twins would prevent their acceptance in most noble households. People feared what they considered an abomination of nature, so much so that dispensing of one of the twins at birth wasn’t unheard of among high and low born alike. Apparently, Audra and Lyssa’s parents didn’t fear the girls might become pawns of the devil and had allowed both girls to live.

As had the parents of another set of twins. Corwin, Stephen’s best friend, was twin to Ardith, who had married his brother Gerard. No one at Wilmont would dare accuse either of consorting with the devil, at least not to their faces. The little girls might not be so fortunate.

Cute tykes, destined to be lovely women. Their father would need to keep his wits about him as they grew up, to protect them from the randy bucks sure to come around, not caring if the object of their fancy was a twin or not.

“We are spotted,” Armand said, ending Stephen’s musings.

An imposing timber palisade surrounded Branwick Keep. Near the gate, several guards gathered to observe his company’s arrival.

“Harlan, have the wagon drivers stay tight to each other,” Stephen commanded. “Once inside, halt the soldiers and wagons in the outer bailey. Armand and I will go up to the keep and send someone down to you with further instructions.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Stephen gave his tunic a last, quick brushing. He’d dressed the part he must play, the wealthy noble come courting. Gold thread sparkled on his tunic. Silver studs shone bright on the leather of his steed’s bridle and saddle. Enough show of wealth to make an impression without being pompous.

Stephen far preferred to travel on his own, or with one other companion, yet conceded when Gerard insisted on providing this escort and the wagonloads of goods. Though he truly hated it when his brother acted the baron, at times Gerard knew best how to approach an uncertain situation.

Little could be more uncertain than a woman’s reaction if she felt insulted, and Carolyn could well bear him ill will for taking so long to come to Branwick.

Only look how angry Marian had been because he hadn’t bid her farewell, and that six years ago! Even with three months to mull over her reaction to him, he still didn’t understand how she could hold harsh feelings against him for so long. Over the lack of a fare-thee-well. Over that which hadn’t been his fault.

Pushing aside the vision of Marian’s beauty, even in her anger, Stephen crossed the bridge over the deep ditch surrounding the palisade. The guards waved him through the gate.

“A good sign, do you not think?” Stephen asked Armand. “I had a moment’s dread that Carolyn might have left instructions for the guards to deny us entry.”

“We have only gained the outer bailey,” Armand said in a droll tone. “Do not count yourself welcome until the lady allows you entry to the hall.”

Stephen heard the creaks and groans of the wagons fall silent. Harlan would keep the soldiers and wagons in hand until told where to send them.

Much as in any Norman keep in England, Branwick’s outer bailey teemed with people. Merchants’ shops, a smithy and the stables all lined the palisade, with guards patrolling the plank walk fastened high on the timbers. Men-at-arms practiced with swords, maces or lances in the tiltyard.

Stephen passed through the gate of the second curtain wall into the inner bailey, noting the mouth-teasing aroma of roasting meat wafting out of the kitchen. Servants scurried about, in the midst of morning chores, a few of them taking note of the new arrivals.

On a high, earthen motte sat a three-story, stone keep, the home and refuge to the lord of Branwick and his daughter. Though Carolyn possessed dower lands from her first two husbands, she preferred to live at Branwick Keep, which she would one day inherit and then pass along to her children. Stephen’s children, if all went well.

He rode to the stairway that led up to the great hall on the second floor. As he dismounted, a short, thin, gray-haired man came scurrying down the stairs.

William de Grasse? Probably not. According to Carolyn, her father was too frail to leave his bed, had been ill since last winter.

The man bowed slightly. “I am Ivo, steward of Branwick. You are Stephen of Wilmont?”

Stephen handed his horse’s reins to Armand. “I am, but how did you know?”

“Oh, my lord, Lady Carolyn was most exacting in her description of you, so accurate the guards at the gate knew your identity immediately and sent word to us.”

“Ah, I see. Then Carolyn knows I am here.”

“Most certainly, my lord. She awaits you in the hall.”

The steward’s words were given graciously, but something in the man’s tone warned of something amiss, and Stephen feared he knew what it was.

He glanced over at Armand who, having relegated their horses to a stable lad, pushed his mail cowl back from his head. He ran his fingers through his sandy-colored hair, only half attempting to hold back a knowing grin.

“Then we should not keep her ladyship waiting,” Stephen told the steward and took to the stairs, Ivo and Armand following close behind.

Stephen opened the huge oak doors at the top of the stairway, stepped into the great hall and searched for Carolyn. She sat at a table on the dais at the far end of the hall, sipping from a silver goblet, paying scant heed to the man sitting next to her on the bench. Upon seeing him inside the doorway, she rose and came around the table, then stood statue still, waiting for Stephen to come to her.

His intended’s beauty would take any man’s breath away. Regal in her bearing, Carolyn’s gown of sapphire showed both her coloring and figure to great advantage. Braids of shining auburn hung forward, over her breasts, down to beyond her waist. A stiffened band of sapphire stitched with gold hugged her forehead. Stephen waited for her bow mouth to curve into a smile, and was disappointed.

If she was angry, however, she hid it well behind a mask of indifference. Not until he reached her did Stephen notice a tinge of annoyance surface.

“You came, finally,” she said.

Stephen grasped her dainty hand and brought it to his mouth. “I rushed to your side the moment my duty was done. My apologies for having worried you.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Worried? Nay, Stephen. I have found worrying over any man a useless waste.” She pulled her hand away. “You and your company will wish to get settled.”

Annoyed by her formality, striving for a charm that usually came naturally, Stephen tilted his head and gave her his most engaging smile. “Once done, you and I shall renew our acquaintance—”

“Mayhap after evening meal,” she said. Carolyn beckoned forth the man she’d been sitting next to at the dais.

The man, whose dark hair was quickly succumbing to gray, took his time answering her summons. Norman, Stephen judged the man from both his self-assured demeanor and elegant tunic. Old, but not soft of mind or body.

Carolyn smiled up sweetly at the older man. “Edwin and I were about to go riding, were we not, your lordship?”

Edwin shrugged, giving Stephen the impression this was the first Edwin had heard of the plan but wasn’t inclined to refuse her.

Carolyn’s smile disappeared. “I hope you find your chamber to your liking, Stephen. Ivo will see to your needs.”

Incredulous, Stephen watched the pair leave the hall, Edwin trailing in Carolyn’s wake.

“An interesting turn of events,” Armand said lightly.

Stephen agreed. “Who is Edwin?”

Ivo didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Edwin of Tinfield, your rival for Lady Carolyn’s hand.”

Chapter Two

Stephen slowly recovered from hearing another man competed with him for Carolyn, and a man nearing his dotage at that. Granted, Edwin of Tinfield was well preserved, but going gray nonetheless.

Knowing Carolyn loathed the thought of marrying an older man, Stephen doubted she seriously considered Edwin’s suit. Or did she? She’d smiled at him rather prettily. Because she liked the man—or to display her annoyance with her tardy suitor?

More importantly, did Edwin of Tinfield have William de Grasse’s favor and blessing?

“I require an audience with his lordship,” he told Ivo.

The steward waved a hand toward the farthest corner of the room where stood a drapery-enclosed bed. “William is resting. Mayhap you can have a word with him before evening meal. Until then, we shall settle you into a chamber. If you will permit, my lord, I shall have your possessions brought up to the keep.”

Stephen bit back his vexation at having an order shunted aside. Though he outranked everyone at Bran-wick, including its lord, ’twould not further his cause to berate the steward. One never knew when an underling’s goodwill might be needed.

Stephen nodded his consent for Ivo to send for the supply wagons still waiting in the outer bailey.

Studying the bed in the corner of the hall, Stephen wondered why the man preferred to have his bed down here in the hall instead of his upstairs chamber. Apparently, William still suffered mightily from whatever illness had prevented him from accompanying his daughter to Westminster.

The lack of parental presence there had afforded Stephen rare freedoms in pursuing Carolyn. Her only familial companion at court, and not a hindrance to his pursuit of Carolyn, had been Marian.

Marian had revealed her relationship to Carolyn as cousins, and Stephen knew enough of the family lines of England’s nobles to conclude they must be related through their mothers. Still, William must hold Marian, or possibly her husband, in high enough regard to have allowed his daughter to travel in the couple’s care.

After leaving Marian, Stephen didn’t have the time or the inclination to inquire after Marian’s husband. He’d barely had time to find Carolyn. She’d been so high flown on the king’s wine he hadn’t pressed his advantage, simply escorted her to her chamber, all the while explaining his need to leave for Normandy. She’d been sober enough to agree to pass along his intention to secure a betrothal bargain to her father.

’Struth, he’d been relieved to find Carolyn in no condition for a tryst. Memories of Marian, her sweet charms and eager body, had refused to leave his head. He might have seriously blundered if he tried to make love to one woman while thinking erotic thoughts of another.

Here at Branwick, knowing Marian was far from sight and out of reach, safely ensconced with her child and husband in some distant manor or castle, he would have no such trouble. If Carolyn wasn’t too angry. If Edwin didn’t interfere.

“Now what?” Armand asked.

Very aware he hadn’t been received at Branwick in the manner he hoped to be, Stephen had half a notion to tell Armand to ready the company to leave, but dismissed the idea. True, Carolyn insulted him by going off riding with Edwin, but marriage to a woman who needed little tending suited his needs too perfectly. Besides, how could he go home and tell his brothers that Carolyn preferred the company of a man nearly double his age and of lower rank? Wouldn’t they have a good laugh?

“We wait for William to wake up or for Carolyn to return from her ride,” he said, seeing no choice in the matter.

“You are taking this setback rather well.”

Stephen didn’t see much choice in that, either. He couldn’t very well go chasing after Carolyn, nor shove the bed curtains aside and shake his future father-by-marriage awake.

“Where would be the fun in life if there were no challenges?” he chided Armand. “Keeps boredom at bay. Come, I hear wagons arriving.”

Harlan, indeed, arrived with the baggage carts. Under Ivo’s direction, Wilmont’s soldiers and Branwick’s servants hauled Stephen’s belongings up the narrow, winding stairway to a bright, large bedchamber on the third and top floor of the keep. A slight musty odor hinted that the chamber hadn’t been occupied in some time. Considering the tapestries lining the walls, the huge brazier and ornate furnishings—with no bed in evidence—Stephen guessed this must be the lord’s bedchamber.

His mood brightened. Only an honored guest would be granted the privilege of using William de Grasse’s chamber. Mayhap Carolyn wasn’t taking him lightly after all.

Harlan assured Stephen that he and Wilmont’s soldiers had been assigned quarters in the armory with Branwick’s guards. The horses and oxen would be cared for in the stables. The food had already been taken to the kitchen, and the kegs of fine Burgundy wine hauled into Branwick’s cellar.

Acting as Stephen’s squire, Armand would sleep on a pallet on the floor, a pallet easily moved out of the bedchamber if—when—Stephen required privacy.

Soon only he and Armand and a young maid remained in the chamber. Armand squatted down and drew bed linens and fur coverlets from a trunk to hand over to the maid. Stephen peered over Armand’s shoulder into the open trunk.

“Are the gifts packed in here?”

Armand moved several of Stephen’s tunics aside.

“Thinking to give them to Lady Carolyn already?”

“Only one, and not the best, which she does not get until our betrothal is agreed to.” He pulled out a wooden chest with delicate brass hinges and clasp, its top beautifully carved with a floral design. “This chest should prick Carolyn’s curiosity about what I might have brought along to put into it.”

“A shrewd maneuver.”

“I hope so.”

Armand rose and closed the trunk. The maid wandered over, finished with making up the bed.

“Will there be aught else, my lords?” she asked.

Stephen recognized the invitation on her face. He’d seen it countless times on the faces of women of low and high birth alike. Odd thing was, the pretty little maid looked forthrightly at Armand, whose cheeks colored slightly.

Well, how interesting! Stephen surmised that if on some night he asked Armand to sleep elsewhere, the squire need not sleep alone.

“Nothing now,” Stephen answered, drawing the maid’s attention. “To be sure, if your services are required, I shall send Armand to you straightaway.”

The maid curtsied. “You need only seek me out,” she said, then sauntered saucily across the chamber to the door, where she shot Armand a half shy, half seductive look before leaving.

Such an invitation shouldn’t be ignored. The lass was certainly pretty enough, and just about the right age to give Armand a rousing tumble. About the same age as Marian had been when Stephen gleefully answered her enticing smile.

She’d been so ripe and eager, and he so randy and ready. Only Marian hadn’t been a maid, but the daughter of Hugo de Lacy, a Norman knight.

Armand cleared his throat. “I wonder what gifts Edwin has already given Carolyn?”

Jerked back to thoughts of his intended, Stephen said, “Much the same as I will gift her with, I would think. Delicacies for her table, baubles for her to wear. I can only hope Carolyn prefers my baubles over Edwin’s.”

“Carolyn cannot help but love the brooch. For a woman who does not wear many baubles, my lady Ardith has exquisite taste.”

“No argument there,” Stephen agreed, thinking of the shiny silver brooch his sister-by-marriage had unmercifully nagged him into buying.

Ardith, sister of his best friend, Corwin, and now three years married to Gerard, was a gem of a woman. Gerard had never been forced to ply her with gifts, for she considered Gerard’s love beyond price and all she required for her happiness.

The two of them, to Stephen’s way of thinking, challenged the norm of noble marriages. Loving couples were a rarity. More normally marriages were arranged to bind alliances or secure wealth. Long ago, Stephen had concluded that his own marriage would be for convenience sake, as his parents’ marriage had been.

His parents’ marriage hadn’t been joyful. Indeed, they’d barely tolerated each other. The problem lay, or so Stephen had concluded, within expectations. His parents had married extremely young, had met on the day of their wedding, neither knowing what to expect of the other.

His marriage to Carolyn might not be based on love, but each knew what to expect. There would be no misunderstandings, and therefore no disappointments. He’d give Carolyn the security of a marriage, sire her children, then make himself scarce, just as she wanted.

Best that way, at least for him. It simply wasn’t within him to do as his brothers did—spend the bulk of his time in one place with one woman, doing the same things day after day, season after season.

The bedchamber suddenly seemed smaller, containing less air.

Stephen put the ornate chest on top of the trunk. “Let us go down and see if William has awakened, shall we?”

With her girls at her side and the altar cloth over her arm, Marian entered Branwick Keep. During a quick perusal of the great hall she determined Stephen was elsewhere. Relieved, she hoped if she hurried her chore she might escape the keep without seeing him.

Marian approached Branwick’s steward. “Good day, Ivo. Is his lordship awake?”

“Aye, my lady, he is, and your visit is well-timed. He is in want of cheering.”

The consternation on Ivo’s face said William’s mood needed lifting beyond the normal frustrations of his illness.

“What troubles him?”

“Carolyn behaved in less than gracious manner earlier. His lordship is not pleased she went riding with Edwin instead of showing proper deference to our guest.”

The guest must be Stephen. Marian bit back questions over what had transpired upon his arrival. ’Twasn’t her place to question Carolyn’s actions. Nor did she wish to become involved, in any manner, in Carolyn and Stephen’s situation. Though the thought occurred to Marian that Carolyn’s inattention didn’t bode well for Stephen’s suit. Not a displeasing thought.

“And the guest?”

“Stephen of Wilmont.” Ivo glanced at the stairs. “He wishes an audience with his lordship. When your visit is done, I will fetch him.”

Grateful for the inadvertent information and reprieve, Marian hurried toward the bed where her uncle spent the bulk of his days, garbed only in white linen shertes, propped up by bolsters. She paused at the foot of the bed.

“Uncle William?”

“Ah, Marian. Come.”

She pushed aside the curtain at William’s right side, the side less affected by his apoplexy. His blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and curiosity beneath eyebrows as bushy white as his hair.

“What brings you?” he asked, as was his habit, making Marian feel a bit guilty for not visiting more often. He knew her reasons and accepted them.

“The altar cloth, of course. Did you not wish to have it in your possession today?”

Marian didn’t wait for an answer, just snapped the cloth open and let it drift down over the woolen blanket that covered his legs. He ran the fragile fingers of his good hand over the cloth.

“’Twill do,” he said.

“’Twill do?” Marian rejoined. “Uncle, if you hope to bribe your way into heaven, your gifts to the archbishop had best be of better quality than a mere ’twill do.”

“’Tis beautiful, Mama,” Audra proclaimed.

Lyssa elbowed her sister hard enough to jostle the eggs in the basket Audra held. “Tsk. Uncle knows that, Audra. He jests with Mama.”

William raised a bushy eyebrow at Lyssa. “Do I now?” he asked gruffly, to which Lyssa answered a confident, “Aye.”

He leaned over slightly and whispered none too softly, “Mayhap you are right, child, but do not tell your mother. If I praise her work too highly, she may become lax in her efforts on my behalf and I shall never get into heaven.” Lyssa giggled. He waved Audra closer. “What have you in the basket?”

Audra set the basket on the bed. “Eggs, six of them,” she said proudly.

William leaned back, his expression aghast. “Six! Whoever shall help me eat so many?”

Audra’s smile was sly as she glanced at her twin. “If the cook boils them hard, we can help you eat them, my lord.”

“Ha! Off to the kitchen with you then. Be sure to tell the cook we want them well boiled.”

Marian gave credit where credit was due. William treated her daughters as well as he knew how. Even now, as the girls celebrated their fifth summer, he didn’t often use their names for fear of getting them wrong. He accepted the twins where others didn’t. The girls had been born in Branwick Keep, and everyone should be used to them by now. Yet, many kept their distance, fearful of getting too close to two such identical little beings.

’Twas hard to fight superstition, so mostly she and her daughters kept to themselves and ignored those whose fear overruled their sense.

“What think you of Stephen of Wilmont, my lord?” Lyssa asked.

The tyke’s question surprised Marian as well as William.

“I do not know,” he answered. “I have not yet talked to the man. Since you asked, I gather you have formed an opinion.”

Lyssa’s head bobbed. “He stopped to greet us at our stone wall. He is ever so handsome and has a kind smile.”

“He also minds his manners,” Audra added. “He must be wealthy, too. He wears a silk tunic and his horse’s bridle is studded with silver.”

Marian pursed her lips to hold her peace. William had asked the girls to express their opinion. If she tried to shoo her daughters on their way too soon, William would wonder why. His body might be frail, but his mind was as sharp as ever.

William glanced from one girl to the other. “I see. I will take your observations into consideration. Now, see to our eggs if you please.”

The girls dipped into quick curtsies then hurried out to do William’s bidding. Marian picked up the altar cloth to fold it.

“I should be away, too. Now that you have approved of the cloth, I will have it wrapped for transport.”

“You know of the family of Wilmont?”

Marian saw no sense in denying it. She could too easily be found out a liar.

“My father once purchased horses from Wilmont’s stock.”

“Fine stock.”

“That it is.” The lords of Wilmont bred quality horseflesh, the finest in the kingdom. Those who could afford the steep price settled for no less. “’Tis nearly time for evening meal, my lord. Shall I have your meal brought to you?”

“When the eggs are done. Sit a moment, Marian.”

Until William gave her leave to go, she must remain. Hoping Ivo wouldn’t fetch Stephen until after she left, as he’d said, she perched on the edge of the bed.

“I have noted,” William said, “that in the months since you returned from Westminster, you have never expressed an opinion of Carolyn’s desire to marry this Stephen of Wilmont. Surely you, too, must have one.”

She did, but one she chose not to share. In the end, only Carolyn’s wishes mattered. So Marian had made peace with her inner turmoil, hoping if the marriage came to pass Stephen would take Carolyn off to some distant manor of his, so she wouldn’t be forced to witness their union for very long.

“The matter of who Carolyn marries is truly none of my concern. That choice is hers, with your approval.”

“Did you see him in Westminster?”

Marian hoped the rush of warmth coursing through her didn’t manifest on her cheeks. She’d seen far too much of Stephen’s smooth, bare chest. Been close enough to notice his arousal, ready for a romp in bed with a woman. With Carolyn.

“I did.”

“And?”

“And, my lord, I think you should form your own opinion without hearing mine to influence you.”

“You do not like him.”

I loved him—desperately.

Marian rose from the bed, turning aside to hide what pain might inadvertently show. Her memories of Stephen and their time together came in quick, vivid flashes.

She’d mistaken his male lust for love. After all they shared, or rather what she’d believed they shared, Stephen left her without a word of farewell and never returned. Abandoned her to face disgrace and shame—

Marian silenced a young maiden’s outrage at the injustice, for she’d passed by her chance for justice. When she’d found herself with child, she refused to name her lover. If she had, her father would have demanded a marriage. By then, she had come to realize that putting Stephen to harness would be as like to capturing the wind. His free spirit would balk at the forced marriage.

He might marry her, but he would never be a true and steady husband, one who would gladly share life’s joys and sorrows.

Better no husband at all than one who resented being a husband. Better no father for her children at all than one who wouldn’t be there when needed.

She’d never regretted her decision, not even when her father banished her for wanton behavior and insolence. Thankfully, Carolyn had witnessed the sorry debacle and intervened, and brought a rebellious and very pregnant Marian home to Branwick.

Here at Branwick, only Carolyn and William knew the whole of the story, but neither of them knew who’d sired her girls. They’d never asked and she never told.

Marian turned back to the uncle who’d given her succor, her expression indifferent—she hoped.

“I met Baron Everart of Wilmont and his son, Stephen, when they came to Murwaithe to deliver horses. At the time, I considered Stephen brash, something of a scoundrel, and suffering from wanderlust.”

William’s smile covered only half of his face. “A rogue, hmm? ’Tis what Carolyn says she wants.” His expression turned thoughtful. “I met Stephen’s father a time or two, a powerful yet decent man. The brother, Gerard, is well respected. I know little of Stephen. Dare I hope he possesses some sense?”

Marian kept her peace, unwilling to offer more of an opinion on Stephen’s character. She doubted Stephen had changed over the years, but ’twas not her place to belittle him. Nor did she wish to rouse William’s curiosity over just how well Marian knew Stephen of Wilmont.

“You will have to judge for yourself, William.”

“I suppose I shall.” He shifted against the bolster. “Have Ivo send in my body servants. I wish to dress for evening meal. You will stay, of course.”

Marian fought a flash of panic, realizing William intended to be carried to the table to preside over supper, likely in honor of Stephen. Sweet mercy, she wanted no part of it.

But the girls were off having the eggs boiled and would be greatly disappointed if not allowed to eat them with William, and she had neglected her uncle of late.

Though she determined earlier she couldn’t completely avoid Stephen, she wished as little contact with him as possible. Perhaps he’d be preoccupied with charming Carolyn and impressing William, too busy to notice her or the girls. Highly unlikely. Still, she could hardly refuse William’s simple request.

Resigned to an uncomfortable evening, Marian took leave of William. “I will inform Ivo.”

Marian closed the curtain, came around the foot of the bed, and stopped abruptly.

Near the high table, standing beside Ivo, looking every bit the handsome, high-born noble, stood Stephen.

Marian hoped her dismay didn’t show as readily as Stephen’s surprise. His spring-green eyes widened. He cut short whatever he’d been saying to Ivo.

She dismissed the fluttering around her heart as simply recognition by a healthy woman of an attractive man. Once, she’d thought herself in love with Stephen, but no longer. She now knew the difference between lust and love. No matter that his body drew hers, like iron to lodestone, she’d not give him the chance to once again ruin her life.

Best she get this first encounter done and over, keeping in mind that this Norman lord could destroy the life and peace she and her girls had found at Branwick.

Chapter Three

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.

Chapter Four

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.”

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