Knave of Hearts (7 page)

“Lots,” Audra commented seriously. “Mama puts a pot under the leak so our dirt floor does not become mud.”

“So bad as that?”

“Aye. Come, I will show you.”

Both girls took off for the hut, eager to aid his cause. Stephen willed his body into obedience and passed through the gate. Marian looked most unhappy.

“’Tis unnecessary, Stephen. My uncle knows—”

“Does Edwin?”

“Aye, but—”

“Then I must know, too.”

Marian’s chest expanded during the deep breath she took. He tried not to stare at the rise and fall of her breasts, knowing well what rosy-tipped treasures her worn, gray work gown hid.

She brushed dirt from her hands. “Very well. Mayhap the storm will not last long.”

She strode toward her hut. Stephen followed, noting
the stiffness of her spine and how the tip of her long braid swayed to and fro, brushing against her bottom in rhythm with her steps.

If he didn’t stop noticing Marian’s every enticing movement, the day would be long indeed, no matter the duration of the storm. Resolved to attend the chore at hand, he ducked through the doorway.

Inside the hut, the girls stood in the far corner, looking up at the roof. A large, black iron pot lay at their feet. Stephen dutifully walked over to inspect the roof. He couldn’t see light through the thatch, but ’twas obvious from the girls’ placement of the pot that the rain dripped in here.

Stephen poked at the underside, disturbing a beetle that burrowed deeper into thatch. “Getting thin here.”

“How observant of you,” Marian commented.

He ignored her sarcasm.

“Why was this not repaired before now?”

“’Twas not bad before now.”

’Twas perverse of him, he knew, but he looked to Audra for confirmation. “Is that so?”

Her little head nodded. “We did not need Mama’s biggest pot until the last storm.”

The next logical step would be to inspect the roof from above. If he used his horse as a ladder he’d be able to get up on the roof. Stephen headed for the door.

“Finished?” Marian asked.

He dashed her hope. “I thought to go up on the roof.” The words no more than left this mouth when booming thunder shook the hut and the rain fell with deluge force. “Or mayhap not.”

Marian’s shoulders slumped, pricking Stephen’s anger. Must she make it so clear she wished him gone?
There had been a time she’d joyously welcomed his company, craved his presence as he craved hers.

Audra handed Marian a book, bound in black leather. “Read to us, Mama?”

Marian forced a smile for her little one. “Which story?”

“Jonah!”

“The whale again?” Both girls nodded. “Very well, then, the whale it is.”

Marian sat on a rug, her back pressed against the wall. The girls cuddled into her sides. Marian opened the gild-edged pages to a place already marked and began to read.

Stephen settled on a stool near the table. Soon a steady drip of water into the kettle accompanied the melodic lull of Marian’s voice. The girls paid neither the rain nor the occasional clap of thunder any heed.

The whale had no sooner swallowed up Jonah when Audra stuck her thumb in her mouth, her long eyelashes fluttering in an effort to stay awake. Lyssa struggled, too.

Stephen shook off his own languor. The warmth of the closed-up hut combined with the patter of rain and lure of Marian’s voice were making him drowsy, too. Unwilling to succumb, he rose to gaze out the window. His stallion looked none too pleased for taking a soaking. A long, hard rubdown and special treat were in order later.

“Stephen?” Marian whispered. He turned to see both tykes fast asleep, Marian trapped between them. “Move Lyssa, please?”

Pleased to be of
some
use to her, Stephen knelt beside the girl whose head rested against her mother’s breast. To move Lyssa, he must touch Marian. Well, she’d
asked for his aid, so must realize she must tolerate his touch, if only briefly.

Stephen slid his hand between mother and daughter, concentrating on not waking Lyssa, on controlling the wayward direction of his thoughts. He didn’t dare look at Marian’s face when the back of his hand pressed against the pliancy of her breast, fearing he’d see revulsion. Gently, but swiftly, he moved Lyssa to her pallet.

Marian did the same with Audra, then stood up, her back to him. She crossed to the table and put the book down, then put her face in her hands and rubbed at her eyes. Tired? Repulsed? Whichever, she regained her stoic look before turning back to face him.

She wanted him out of her hut; he longed to take her in his arms and kiss her so thoroughly she’d beg him to stay. He grasped for a common thread, some nonthreatening topic. He picked up the book and opened it to the marker—to a splendid illustration of a wave-tossed boat bearing a white-haired man in terror of a wide-jawed whale.

The book was new and obviously purchased from the same monastery as Carolyn’s. Edwin not only plied Carolyn with costly gifts, but had seen fit to enjoin Marian’s favor, too.

“A gift from Edwin?” he asked, foolishly wanting to know how much she liked the book.

She shrugged. “I admired Carolyn’s psalter, so William asked Edwin to purchase one for me. I refused the psalter but relented to a story book of biblical tales.”

Stephen felt better about it, but not much. He tossed the book on the table. “How nice of him.”

“He is a nice man.”

“But old.”

“Not so old as one would notice.”

A horrific notion struck his brain and came out his mouth before he could stop it. “You fancy Edwin?”

She took one of those sense-muddling long breaths. “Do not be daft. Besides, Edwin has been in love with Carolyn for so long he would not think to look another woman’s way.”

Edwin wanted Carolyn for herself, then, not to expand his interests or secure further alliance with his neighbor.

“Does Carolyn know?”

“Of course.”

“And yet she rejects him.”

Marian looked about to answer, then thought better of whatever she was about to say. Stephen guessed at her feelings on the matter.

“You think Carolyn should accept Edwin. Indeed, you wish I would leave Branwick, give up mine own plans so Edwin might yet win Carolyn, do you not?”

“’Twould be best for all.”

“All but me, and apparently not Carolyn. She favors my suit. All I must do is win this contest and her father will relent. You had best become resolved to calling me cousin.”

With that horrible thought in mind, Stephen left the hut before his temper rose higher, thus raising his voice and waking the girls.

Marian slumped onto a stool, her insides churning.

Whatever made her think she could allow Stephen entry to the hut without suffering consequences? What perverse part of her made her ask for his help with Lyssa? Countless times she’d managed to move both girls to their pallets without waking either one. Still, she drew Stephen near quite unnecessarily, even knowing he would need to slide his hand beneath Lyssa’s head.

Merely being in his presence was dangerous, for she
tended to disregard the warnings in her head. It had always been thus, from the very first time she’d laid eyes on Stephen of Wilmont. Why in six years had no other man drawn her as powerfully as Stephen did?

Heartsick, Marian rose and went to the window, looked out to where Stephen’s horse had been tied. Gone. ’Twas still raining, though no longer as hard, yet enough so he’d be soaked through by the time he reached Branwick, and Carolyn.

Would Carolyn take advantage? Order Stephen a hot bath to ease his chills? Attend him as he bathed? And after?

Marian closed her eyes against the vision of Carolyn and Stephen together. Yet it played through her mind vividly, for Carolyn had gloated over Stephen’s prowess as a lover. There’d been no issue from that coupling, but if Stephen and Carolyn married, there certainly might be. Then her girls and Carolyn’s children would not only be cousins but half siblings.

Dear God in heaven, could she keep such a secret? She might have to, unless Stephen lost this contest, as he well might. Edwin knew Branwick nearly as thoroughly as Carolyn, so had the advantage to win and banish Marian’s fears in the process.

She fostered that small spark of hope. Edwin stood a good chance of winning the lady he loved, the woman who cared for him enough she’d chosen not to marry him. If Carolyn would only let go of her foolish fears…but she remained adamant.

Marian came away from the window, taking small comfort in having not told Stephen of Carolyn’s worst fears where Edwin was concerned. ’Twould be foolish in the extreme to hand Stephen a weapon against Edwin.

Her best hope of preventing the marriage would be to convince Carolyn to accept Edwin. She’d tried before and failed, but it might be worth another attempt. She would do so the next time she went into Branwick.

T
he beefy blacksmith’s lads took up most of the room in the small hut. Marian felt dwarfed.

“His lordship says you are to come first thing this morn, my lady,” Dirk stated, then swung Lyssa up onto his broad-as-a-plank shoulders. “Did not say why, just to come.”

His younger brother by a year, Kirk, hoisted Audra up in similar fashion.

She knew why William had ordered the lads to fetch her and the girls on their way into Branwick this morning. She’d avoided going to the keep for nearly a full sennight, far too many days for William’s peace of mind. Truly, she was rather surprised he hadn’t commanded her attendance earlier.

Marian relented to the inevitable. “Very well. Girls, watch your heads on the way out.”

’Twas an unnecessary motherly warning. The boys bent forward and the girls ducked, a maneuver they’d perfected through frequent practice. Marian glanced at the wooden bowls on the table, where the last scrapings of morning porridge began to dry and harden. The vigorous chore of cleaning the bowls awaited her return—
whenever that might be. For her neglect of him, William might well insist she stay for evening meal whether she wished to or not.

The small fire she’d built to cook porridge was already out. The girls had fed the chickens and tied the goat. Nothing of import held her here, no excuse to delay going into Branwick any longer. Marian closed the door behind her and joined the others on the road.

Walking briskly between Dirk and Kirk, she barely kept up with the boys’ long strides. The girls bounced along on their high perches, chatting away over her head. ’Twas inevitable Lyssa would suggest a race. Ever amenable, the boys took off, carrying their merrily giggling charges off toward the keep.

Marian laughed and slowed her steps, not bothering to try to match the boys’ speed. They would take Audra and Lyssa to the smithy and watch over the girls until Marian fetched them.

’Twas one of the few times she found herself alone. Since the girls’ birth, she’d not often been parted from them for more than a few minutes at a time. Rare and precious as gems were these moments to herself.

Not that she didn’t love her daughters beyond life itself, but there were times when Marian wished her life had taken a slightly different path, or that someone had been around to share the joys and tribulations of raising the twins. How often, when the girls were infants, had she wished for an extra pair of hands to hold one tyke while she fed or fussed with the other? Even now, though the girls’ dispositions ran toward pleasant, both could be demanding and rub hard at a mother’s temper. Discipline sometimes suffered for lack of firmness on those days when ’twas easier to yield than enforce a rule or command.

Still, all in all, she’d not done so badly. The girls led a happy life and, except for Lyssa’s headaches, enjoyed good health. Marian doubted they’d be any happier or healthier if their lives had been different—if their father had been around to influence their upbringing.

She’d struggled with the notion for most of the week while avoiding further contact with Stephen.

Every time she saw Stephen ’twas becoming harder to keep her hands off him, or inviting his hands on her. Not good. Every time she saw her daughters with Stephen, she wondered if she grievously erred in keeping the father and his children in ignorance of their relationship. Worse.

She’d made the decision six years ago to give up Stephen, to raise the girls on her own. Had she been wrong?

If she told Stephen about his daughters, would he give up his quest to marry Carolyn? Perhaps, or mayhap not. One thing she was sure on—if the people of Branwick learned the girls were base born, the twins would suffer further shunning. Nor would the people be pleased that they’d been misled. They could turn her pleasant life into a living hell.

Marian crossed the drawbridge leading up to the keep’s gate. As always, the outer bailey teemed with people going about their morning tasks. Her life within Branwick’s sphere could continue on as pleasantly as ever if she kept her secrets and if Carolyn didn’t marry Stephen.

Marian quelled a shiver. She’d heard nothing of how the contest went, but was sure someone would have informed her if a winner had been declared or if William agreed to a betrothal bargain with either man.

She passed through the gate to the inner bailey and
nearly bumped into Carolyn, who looked none too happy.

Marian didn’t bother with greetings. “What makes you frown so?”

Carolyn crossed her arms and jerked her head to the right. “The pair of them. One would think them friends, not rivals.”

Marian glanced over to see Stephen and Edwin, both intently studying a section of the stone wall. With his fingers, Edwin dug a chunk of mortar from between two stones, then called Stephen’s attention to it.

“How goes the contest?”

“This contest is a farce,” Carolyn declared, then spun around and headed for the keep. Marian followed. “The two of them rise with the sun, attend Mass, break their fast, then set out to inspect an item or two on my list. After nooning, Stephen consults with Ivo, and Edwin has taken to joining them.”

“Who is winning?”

“I have no notion. Father will not allow me to discuss the contest with them for fear I will influence the results. Is your roof repaired properly?”

“Aye. The thatcher appeared at my door nearly as soon as the rain stopped, and the roof has not leaked since.”

“Good. Father was most distressed when Stephen told him you were using your biggest pot to catch rain. You should have told me the leak had worsened.”

“I knew you planned to have it repaired, so must be on your infamous list. ’Twas rather a surprise to have Stephen stop to inspect it.”

Carolyn shoved open the door, never losing stride as she crossed the great hall, heading for the ale barrel. “I am amazed Stephen did not haul Edwin over there with
him. ’Struth, those two spend more time with each other than they do with me! For suitors, they neglect the object of their suit in most grievous fashion. I should tell them both to go to the devil and choose someone else.”

Marian accepted the cup of ale Carolyn offered.

“I see. Have you another suitor interested?”

“Nay, thank the Fates. Truth to tell, Marian, I am not sure I could survive the humiliation of yet another contest. ’Tis bad enough Father tests my judgment against whatever Edwin or Stephen will advise.”

Marian knew she treaded treacherous ground, but dared Carolyn’s ire anyway.

“You could end the contest. All you need do is accept Edwin’s marriage bargain.”

Carolyn closed her eyes briefly. When they opened, they reflected such profound sadness Marian almost wished she’d refrained. Almost.

“You know I cannot,” Carolyn said.

Marian looked about the hall. Satisfied no one could overhear if they spoke softly, she disagreed with her cousin.

“You can. Carolyn, Edwin is not that old. He is neither ill nor frail nor—”

“Nay. I will not take the risk.”

“Is the risk not Edwin’s to decide to take or not?”

Horrified, Carolyn pleaded, “Marian, you must never tell him. You made me an oath.”

“An oath I will keep.” Marian placed a comforting hand on Carolyn’s shoulder. She leaned closer. “You should tell Edwin all you have told me. If he is afraid, then he will drop his suit. Truly, I believe he will declare—nay,
prove
to you that you have naught to fear.”

“I could never live with myself if Edwin succumbed.” Carolyn shook off Marian’s hand. “Besides,
Edwin wants full control over Branwick and my dower lands if we should marry. He is much too set in his ways. Best for all concerned if I marry Stephen.”

All, perhaps, except for two little girls.

Marian put down her ale cup. “I still think you make too much of Edwin’s age.”

Carolyn’s rejoinder came as a whisper. “I will not have a third husband die in my bed, especially not a man I care for. I will
not
marry Edwin.”

Marian couldn’t imagine waking up to find someone dead in her bed, not once but twice. Carolyn blamed herself because on both occasions her husbands had claimed their marital rights only hours before. Marian blamed the husbands for overexerting themselves.

“Oh, Caro, I just want you to be happy, and I do not think you will find happiness with Stephen.”

Carolyn must have sensed the truth and concern in Marian’s voice, for her hard manner softened. “I know you do, just as I have always wished for you to be happy. We have both made hard choices, then made the best of things. I shall find a measure of happiness with Stephen, you will see.” Carolyn flashed a wicked smile. “There is something to be said for taking a young man to one’s bed.”

Marian forced a smile against the sharp pain. Carolyn teased, having no way of knowing how much the teasing hurt.

“So you told me.”

Carolyn tilted her head. “What of you, Marian? You chide me for my choice of husband, yet you shy from every man who comes near you. Many here would dearly love to have you as wife.”

“Hah! They want workers for their fields and mothers for their children. I am content as I am.” Marian suddenly
thought of another way to bring Carolyn to her senses. A bit cruel, perhaps, but to the point. “Of course, if you do not marry Edwin, mayhap the man will need comfort. Edwin looks sturdy enough to me to withstand the rigors of
my
bed.”

As Carolyn’s jaw dropped, Marian hurried off to fetch her girls from the smithy.

Stephen climbed the narrow spiral stairway in the guard tower at the north corner of the outer bailey. The farther up, the riper the stench. No wonder the four guards assigned to reside here had abandoned the tower, preferring to lay their sleeping pallets out on the archers’ walk of the curtain wall.

He opened the door to the garderobe then swiftly slammed the door shut. “I say we recommend an immediate flushing of the shaft. ’Twill need twenty buckets of water, at the least.”

Edwin shook his head. “Already been tried. Whatever blocks the shaft did not budge.”

Then whatever blocked the shaft must be big and solid. The tower’s garderobe was on the highest level, its shaft running straight down the outer wall to empty into the moat.

“Has anyone confessed to losing his breeches down the hole?”

Edwin smiled. “Nay. Everyone’s best guess is that some stupid animal climbed up in there to make his home—and died.”

“Well, I am not about to stick my face over the hole to confirm the speculation.”

“You intend to forgo a thorough inspection this time?”

At Edwin’s mock horror, Stephen stepped back and
reopened the garderobe’s door. “Care to have a look Edwin?”

Waving a hand before his face, Edwin turned around and headed back down the stairs. Stephen shut the door and followed, his eyes stinging from the smell.

Edwin chuckled. “I suppose ’twill need cleaning from the bottom up. I pity the poor man given the task.”

“On that we can agree.”

As they’d agreed on so many things over the past week, though until now Stephen hadn’t uttered the words aloud. In a more companionable fashion than Stephen had thought possible, he and Edwin made steady progress on Carolyn’s list. He spent so much time in his rival’s company that he could now tell from Edwin’s expression if they agreed immediately on some item or if Edwin was undecided.

For the most part, Edwin resisted confirming the immediate need for some repair simply because Carolyn thought it necessary. The man was having a hard time believing a woman could have such foresight and knowledge, enough to properly oversee a holding as large as Branwick.

Stephen stepped out of the tower and into the outer bailey, leaving the stink behind, encountering other odors no more pleasant but at least tolerable.

Craftsmen’s shops lined the curtain wall. From the tanner, the smithy, the cloth dyer and the charcoal maker came the malodorous scents distinct to those various trades. As in every holding of good size, among the pungent odors mingled sweet aromas—bread baking in the common oven, the herbs in the apothecary, fresh cut wood at the carpenter’s shed.

Marian walked out of the smithy, a daughter on either side of her, hands clasped and swaying gently as the
three made their way across the outer bailey toward the keep. People stepped aside to allow her to pass by. Stephen compared the parting crowd to those he’d seen move aside for nobility—until he saw a woman sneer down at the twins and cross herself.

Ignorant bitch
.

The condemnation came hard and fast on a lightning bolt of anger. The crowd parted for fear of two adorable little girls, mistrusted and thus avoided because they were twins.

“Superstition runs deep,” Edwin commented, frowning.

Stephen didn’t trust himself to answer. His ire yet roiled. If he opened his mouth, he’d be tempted to berate the entire crowd, at the top of his voice, for their lack of wits and cruelty. Perhaps he should. Perhaps ’twas time someone did.

Except it wasn’t his place to tell the people of Bran-wick how they should think or act. William or Carolyn or Branwick’s priest must do so for the scolding to have impact. Even then, many would hold on to their deep-seated fears.

Had Corwin and Ardith faced the same shunning as children? Stephen was ashamed to admit he had no notion if his best friend had suffered simply because he’d been born at the same time as his sister.

Not all at Branwick treated Audra and Lyssa as less than human. William fair doted on the girls, and Carolyn accepted them. Even Edwin spoke fondly of them, displayed nary a qualm of picking up Lyssa on the night he’d been asked to assist Marian.

Calmer now, Stephen noted that not everyone in the bailey shunned the girls, either. Here and there a hand raised in greeting, a voice called out a good morn. Marian
passed through the gate into the inner bailey without mishap.

Perhaps he’d overreacted.

Still disturbed, he turned to Edwin. “How long has it been since you have taken to the practice yard?”

“Several days. Think to end our contest at sword point?”