by Lori Wick
Bracken gained the great hall. As always his heart swelled with fulfillment. This had been his childhood home. His parents had run the castle well, and now that it was his, he took great pride in the way he had continued to work at its beauty and efficiency.
Many elaborate tapestries hung from the walls, and Hawkings Crest shields graced the stones over both of the massive fireplaces. The trestle tables and benches were of the finest wood, and Bracken knew that his staff could have a feast on those tables with an hour’s notice.
Many knights and servants alike spoke to Bracken, nodding their heads in respect as he made for the wide, main staircase. By the time Bracken entered his bedchamber, a hot bath waited before a freshly laid fire in the hearth. Steam rose from the copper tub, and Bracken spoke to his vassal, Kent, as he undressed.
“Have you been on the field much?”
“Yes, sir,” the ten-year-old replied proudly. “Every afternoon you were gone.”
Bracken smiled. “Your father will be proud to hear it. I saw your parents while I was in London, and they asked after you.”
Kent was bent over, scrubbing Bracken’s back with a hard-bristled brush, and did not immediately answer.
“How is my mother?” he said with a slight pant.
“She is well. I would say the baby is due soon.”
Kent nodded, his small face serious. “She promised to send word when the time came.”
“Would you rather be with her? I’m sure I could arrange it.”
The boy thought. He didn’t know any man, not even his father, whom he admired more than Bracken. Bracken was huge and black as a bear, but when Kent had overcome his initial fear of Bracken’s size, he had found a man with a heart of gold. He then realized his great fortune in his father’s sending him to Hawkings Crest to serve as vassal. He cared more deeply about his mother than he could express in words, but even though he had only been there a few months, he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Hawkings Crest and its lord.
“I’ll stay here.”
“Very well.”
The subject was dropped then, but Bracken made a mental note to keep Kent just busy enough to leave him no time to think. Kent was one of many young vassals Bracken had had in the years he had been lord, and as with many of the other boys, he’d come to care deeply for him. He was certain that as soon as the infant was born, all would be well.
Back in the creamery the first churns were ready to be delivered, and for the first time all week, Megan stepped forward and spoke.
“I’ll take this for you,” she said softly, gesturing to the churn she had been working.
Eddie had not heard her speak since the first day and had forgotten the husky quality of her voice. The quiet authority he heard gave him pause, but he was still going to refuse her. Megan, however, had other ideas. She lifted the churn and held his eyes with her own.
“Thank you, Eddie,” she said softly, and before he could utter a word, she moved out the door.
Eddie glanced around, but no one else had heard the exchange, so he lost no face. He went after her then, but only to watch. He was not at all surprised to see Arik following her at some distance.
Bracken, bathed and now well-breakfasted, sat surrounded by his men in what was known as the war room of the castle. They had ridden for days, accomplishing a small job for King Henry without thought of personal comforts, and now that all were clean and well fed, they spoke of all they had seen. Arik was not among them. Bracken had sent for him, but he had not as yet made an appearance.
Hunting trophies of every size and type, as well as archaic weapons of war, lined this large room. It was a place where Bracken felt most comfortable. The men had been talking for the better part of 20 minutes when Megan opened the door, left it open, and took several steps inside the huge room.
Bracken did not recognize this servant and sighed gently. All too often new female servants sought him out, out of sheer curiosity. He was large and dark, and the sooner they saw him, the sooner they could put their minds to rest that he was not half bear as so many claimed.
“We do not need anything at this time,” he said kindly to this scruffy-looking maid. “We’ll send someone if we do.”
“I need to speak with you, Lord Bracken.”
Bracken’s brow lowered. It was to be one of these; a servant girl who worked on her voice and mannerisms and who had visions of attracting the attention of the lord of the keep.
“Please leave us.” Bracken’s voice was hard this time, enough to put anyone off. To his amazement, this impertinent chit moved farther into the room. Each one of his men had turned now, and Bracken felt anger kindle within him.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lord Bracken,” Megan began, her voice humble and soft, her stance respectful. “I have wanted to see you for several days. I am Megan of Stone Lake. My father is Vincent. I did not know that you would be away, and I was uncertain what to do, so I stayed on here in your keep.
“While coming to you, my father’s men were attacked some miles back. They were killed while protecting me. I came here with a group of peddlers, but I fear that no one was expecting me. I would seek your counsel, my lord, as to what to do next. I will stay on here if that is what you wish. If not, then may it please my lord to provide an escort for me to return to my father’s castle.”
Bracken sat in stunned silence for a full minute. His men, including Arik, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway behind this girl, had been watching the maid in their midst. Now they turned their gaze to their lord and waited his reaction. It wasn’t long in coming.
He stood, his face a stony mask, and pointed a finger at Megan.
“Remove this creature from my presence.” Bracken’s voice was coldly furious, telling of his insult that she would attempt such duplicity. Bracken refused to believe that this scullery maid could be his future bride.
Unfortunately for Bracken, Megan’s anger matched his own. All humility fell away like a cloak, and her eyes shot daggers at the men approaching.
“Do not touch me,” she commanded with enough authority to stop the men in their tracks. Her eyes raked them before turning like hot coals onto Bracken.
“I am treated like a servant in your keep for five days, and if that isn’t bad enough you now treat me like a dog! There is no need for your men to see me out; I shall leave on my own.” Megan paused then, but even in her present filthy state she was magnificent. “You, Lord Bracken, can explain to King Henry why we will not be wed.”
With that Megan swept from a room that was so silent Bracken could hear his men breathing. He had judged her a fake, but now he doubted his own eyes and ears. He glanced up to see Arik still in attendance.
“Has she been here for five days?”
Arik’s head barely dipped one time in affirmation.
Bracken drew breath between clenched teeth. “I will check this story myself. We ride in five minutes.”
Five
NO ONE AT HAWKINGS CREST could have missed Bracken’s departure with his men, but Megan gave it little heed. Not knowing how she would get there, or even if she would be welcome, Megan was going home. For the moment that was all she could think of.
Deep in thought, Megan was standing near the smithery, her mind preoccupied, when she suddenly spotted Arik coming from the castle. Megan started. She had assumed he’d gone with Bracken. She darted around the side of the building, knowing somehow that he must not see her. The area inside the walls of Hawkings Crest was like a small village or Megan would never have gotten away with what she did next.
At the rear of the smithery an old cloak of substantial size had been discarded, and Megan bent to pick it up. Her own stench had been most offensive to her senses for days now, but the oversized cloak made her dress smell like a blossom.
Nevertheless, she was determined. Having to choke down a small gag, she placed the cloak around her, covering her head and letting the garment dangle on the ground. She then moved like an old woman from arou
nd the side of the building, walking an irregular path toward the main gate. She had been praying all the while and now sent up a word of thanks when the gate opened for a small group of merchants that included a shoemaker and several women. Megan didn’t know what the women did, but she hung behind them and as the door opened, adopted a gait that looked almost painful, and moved forward.
Arik had been standing stock still for many minutes and still hadn’t spotted Bracken’s lady. He knew well that Bracken didn’t see her as his own, but she was. He had known from the moment he laid eyes on her. Now she had managed to disappear. Arik had learned over the years that one found something much faster by thoughtful looking rather than mad dashing-about. On this occasion, however, it was getting him nowhere.
He was turning for the smithery and the creamery when he saw the gate open. No one stood out, in fact he’d have sworn Bracken’s lady was not among those leaving, but she had said she was going and something compelled him to follow this assorted group. He reasoned that if she was in the keep, he would lose nothing. If she was a part of this band, she was heading out into unprotected territory where no lady belonged.
With tremendous ground-covering strides, Arik started after the group. It wasn’t long before he had to shorten his steps in an effort not to overtake them. A woman in an ancient cloak stood out to him, but he made sure to watch each one. With an occasional glance to the rear, Arik walked on. If Megan was in this group, he would not let her from his sight.
Bracken found that animals had already been at the dead bodies of Vincent’s men. He eyed the scene with a combination of remorse and anger. He was sorry for such a brutal loss of life, but his anger stemmed from the fact that Vincent had sent only three men to escort his daughter to Hawkings Crest. From the letter, Bracken had been expecting a most cherished young woman, but this act on Vincent’s part would speak otherwise.
At least he knew she had been telling the truth about the attack. Bracken began to wonder whom he’d seen at court so many years ago. Surely the blonde was not now a redhead. Bracken shook his head. Not even with the dirt removed would Megan match the beauty of the other girl. His own eyes told him that.
Bracken suddenly ground his teeth. A redhead! Since talking to his aunt he had been picturing a beautiful blonde, but the woman who had stood before him was most definitely a redhead. Bracken was not pleased. He had not liked red hair since a young vassal had come to Hawkings Crest many years earlier to serve under his father. The boy had had a shock of red hair almost orange in color, and by the time he’d returned to his family, Bracken was more than relieved to see him go.
Bracken realized that Megan’s hair was not orange, but he had never found redheaded women attractive. And why had she been dressed like a beggar and working in his keep like a serf? Bracken’s frown was so fierce that one of his men, approaching with Megan’s trunk, hesitated in his stride.
“What is it?” Bracken asked calmly, having accurately read the other man’s thoughts and quickly schooled his features.
“A small trunk. It’s almost empty, but the trunk itself is not damaged.”
Bracken lifted the lid and pulled out a garment. It appeared to be much like the one Megan had been wearing when she had come to the war room. Bracken suddenly understood. These were clothes from the abbey. One more dig into the trunk and Bracken found another dress. This was cut from fine cloth, but it was not overly fancy. Again Bracken frowned. He would have thought Vincent could have done better for the girl. Maybe he expected Bracken to dress her. The thought did not please him. Bracken was not a miserly man, but he did not know this girl and seriously doubted at the moment if she truly was Vincent’s daughter. That being the case, there would be no wedding, at least not before he had some answers.
Bracken shook his head to dispel his tempestuous thoughts. Right now he needed to return to Hawkings Crest. Men needed to be sent to bury these guards, as well as the dead thieves, and someone must be sent to London for Aunt Louisa. Megan may not be who she claimed to be, but if she was the daughter of a duke, things were looking bad, very bad indeed.
From his place behind the travelers, Arik watched the “old woman” drop farther and farther back. She still hobbled along, but when the last of the group turned at a small bend in the road, she suddenly darted into the trees. Arik came to a swift halt before taking his own place in the foliage.
He stood patiently and was not disappointed. That red head poked out after just a few minutes, and with a glance in all directions, Bracken’s lady started back down the path, this time with the cloak thrown over her arm, her back straight and feet swift.
Arik moved out to follow her, but it was many yards before she noticed him. She came to such a sudden halt when she did that she nearly fell over.
Megan’s heart plummeted at the sight of the giant man, but she was determined to go home and no one, not even this Goliath, was going to stop her.
“There is no need to follow me,” she spoke from a distance, her voice uncompromising. “I don’t know why you pursue me, but I wish to be left alone.”
Megan, used to having her orders followed, turned on her heel and walked away. It didn’t take long before she realized she had not been heeded. This time she decided to ignore him. It was only minutes after she’d made this resolve that she heard the riders.
There was no place to hide on this section of road, or Megan would have made herself scarce. She was quite sure it would be Bracken and his men, but she continued on her course, refusing to even glance at the horses when they came into view.
She would have learned something of Bracken’s men had she looked. The men did not take her presence as calmly as she took theirs. They stared in horror at how far out on the road this young noblewoman had come without an escort. That she did not desire Arik’s protection was obvious, and this concerned them as well.
Megan glanced back to see that the men had come abreast of the giant and were speaking to him. Seeing the giant idle, she picked up her pace but still heard Lord Bracken’s words.
“Bring her.”
Megan waited only a moment before she began to run. Even with the sound of her own feet pounding in her ears and the horses’ hooves receding behind her, it became obvious to her that she was not being pursued by a rider, only an enormous man. He caught her in ten yards.
Arik took care not to harm her, but with the ease of snaring a hare he captured her wrist and turned her back to Hawkings Crest.
“Let me go,” Megan ordered and found herself ignored. “My father will have your head for this, do you hear me?”
Arik continued to walk.
Megan tried digging her heels in, but it was of no use. Arik only walked on, and Megan was forced to follow or be dragged. She did follow but began to work on the hand holding her wrist. She tried prying his fingers up and, when she couldn’t manage that, tried biting him. Nothing worked.
“You’re hurting me,” Megan said, changing tactics. It didn’t work. Arik walked on. Megan was feeling positively violent just then, but thought better of kicking the man or lashing out with her small fists. She opened her mouth to offer the threat of violence, but Arik came to an abrupt halt. Thinking she had gone too far, Megan’s heart slammed against her ribs as he turned and looked at her, but a glance behind him showed that they were already back at the castle.
Megan’s heart calmed when she understood his intent. He was giving her the option of walking into the inner courtyard on her own. Something in her face must have indicated her willingness, because Arik dropped her wrist and stood back for her to precede him. Megan did just that, Arik falling into a respectful pace behind.
It never occurred to Megan to enter the castle through anything but the main door, but the guards had other ideas. She was stopped like a common serf, humiliation covering her until Arik evidently signaled from his lofty position. Megan wasn’t sure what he did, and she was too upset to look, but the eyes watching her changed from aversion to speculation and the way was made cle
ar.
Once inside the great hall, Megan held her head high with an effort. The room seemed to be teeming with people, and in the midst of them was Bracken, his size and look as ferocious as a great beast.
Why, Megan asked herself, did I not notice how dark and menacing he is?
“Come here,” Bracken ordered before Megan could form an answer. Megan, as much as she wanted to run, felt her feet propel her forward.
Megan of Stone Lake was afraid of no one. At least this had been true up to now, but this man caused her to tremble with dread. She wanted to run home, throw herself into her father’s arms, and cry her heart out, something she hadn’t wanted to do in years.
Fortunately for Megan, none of her thoughts showed on her face. She stood before her betrothed, back straight and head high, and told Bracken in that instant that she was no commoner. However, this revelation did not soften Bracken’s heart. There were too many unanswered questions for him to be at ease.
“I wish to have some answers from you.” Bracken turned away then and spoke over his shoulder. “Come here and sit down.”
“No.”
The word was not spoken loudly or with much force, but it stopped the young lord in his tracks. Megan’s trembling increased when he turned slowly and pierced her with his eyes, but she kept her head high when she spoke.
“I have not eaten since last evening, and I wish to bathe.”
“And I wish to question you.” Bracken’s voice told Megan that this was the end of the argument.
“Is this the hospitality I am to expect from Hawkings Crest? You give no thought to my well-being in your desire for an inquisition.”
Megan had unwittingly hit the mark. Hawkings Crest was known for its hospitality, something in which Bracken took great pride. Megan couldn’t have chosen more appropriate words.