by Lori Wick
He walked on again, but slower, all anger draining from him. He and Stephen would be going home in a few days, and his mother would wish to know how he and Megan got along. Brice was prideful enough to want to report to his mother that he’d done everything within his power to befriend her, not that he believed it would do much good.
“Good morning, Megan,” Brice spoke when he was just five yards away.
“Oh,” Megan’s hand came up. “I didn’t hear you, Brice.”
He was in front of her now and sank to his knees some six feet away. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Megan shook her head and smiled slightly, her eyes on Brice for just an instant before she turned them back to her hands. She was most aware of his feelings toward her.
“’Twas not your fault,” she said graciously. “I was so focused on my work, I didn’t hear a thing.”
Brice watched her work a moment. “What is that?”
“Sorrel. It’s wonderful in soup.”
Brice watched her a moment more.
“Did you not care to send one of the kitchen maids for this work?” It was meant to be a dig, but Megan didn’t take it as such. Brice watched her look off into the distance and smile.
“This isn’t work, Brice. I love it out here. I love the way the air is perfumed with the aroma of pine and wildflowers, and I love the way the wind moves the trees.” Megan let her gaze roam until it landed back on Brice. His look embarrassed her though, and she swiftly dropped her eyes.
“I don’t know why I prattle on so, Brice. I’m sorry.”
Brice was overcome with shame. She had openly shared with him and he had made her feel a fool. His mind raced for a safe subject.
“My mother uses herbs for healing.” Brice blurted the words, but Megan did not seem to notice.
“Oh, how I would love to speak with her. I know of only a few. Most of these are for the kitchen.”
“She’ll be here for the wedding.”
Stark fear covered Megan’s face for just an instant, but she quickly schooled her features.
“Yes, the wedding. I look forward to meeting her.” Megan’s voice told Brice that he had shaken her. Why? What could she possibly fear? Brice was actually on the verge of asking her when he spotted Bracken approaching.
“Bracken comes,” Brice casually announced, and then watched in amazement at the change that came over Megan.
“Oh, I’m a mess,” she mumbled as she swiftly dusted her hands and came so awkwardly to her feet that she stumbled and fell back down. Brice was reaching to help her, but she regained her balance on her own and managed to put her chin in the air just before Bracken stopped in front of her.
“Aunt Louisa is looking everywhere for you,” he said without preamble.
“I could not find her,” Megan answered with quiet dignity.
“You could have told me.”
“I could not locate you, either.”
“So you just came anyway?”
“No. I told Arik.”
“But he came with you!”
Megan’s hands moved at her side in defeat. All fight was draining from her. Would she ever do what was right? This was as bad as living with her mother; worse, because there was no convent to return to. The thought made Megan tremble all over.
“I did as you asked, Bracken. I did not tell Arik to join me. I never thought—”
“That seems to be your problem,” he cut her off. “You don’t think of anyone but yourself.”
Megan’s eyes flashed with fury. That statement had been completely unfair. Megan turned from Bracken and lifted her basket. She left the men without word, her back straight, the basket handle over one arm. Megan had not gone ten yards when Arik moved to follow her. Bracken watched their progress for just an instant before transferring his gaze to the distance.
He was barely aware of his brother, so when he did look at Brice it made the younger man’s stunned face even harder to bear.
“She’s afraid of you,” Brice accused, and the pain in his voice surprised Bracken. “Stephen said as much, but I didn’t believe him. ’Tis true. She’s terrified of you. She trembled all over.”
Bracken had seen the trembling as well, but opened his mouth anyway to try to justify himself. Brice would allow no such thing; he cut him off with a downward slash of his hand.
“Don’t speak to me right now, Bracken. I can’t bear it. Mother is going to wish to know of your happiness and that of Megan, and I hate,” Brice spat the word, “to tell her what I’ve observed.”
Brice swung away, not toward the keep but back toward the woods. He still had his crossbow with him, and Bracken let him go, knowing he would be safe enough. Bracken took himself back to the keep. The noon meal would be served soon, and when they had eaten he would speak with Megan. He wasn’t entirely certain what he would say, but Brice had been correct—he did frighten her.
Bracken contemplated the reason he teased and antagonized her and could only come up with one lame answer. He desired to see some emotion on her face, even a scowl, rather than the cold, expressionless eyes she often turned to him.
Knowing this did not excuse his behavior; nevertheless, it helped him to know what he should do, and that was apologize. If the opportunity presented itself he would do so over the meal; if not, he would ask Megan to join him in the war room. He was not experienced in court manners or taken to gently wooing ladies, but he could tell Megan he was sorry for his actions because he sincerely was.
Bracken, so ready with his plan, fought disappointment when Megan failed to join him at the table. Indeed she did not make an appearance downstairs at all.
Megan, you can’t hide in here all day, the small redhead said to herself. But even though her stomach growled, she made no move toward the door. If only she didn’t have to face Bracken. She felt as if she must slip into armor every time she met the man, and right now she was too weary to fight.
Megan scowled when her stomach sounded again. She had just decided then and there to head down to the great hall when someone knocked on her door. Thinking it to be Louisa, Megan walked calmly toward the closed portal. She stood in stunned silence when she saw Bracken on the other side.
“May I speak with you, Megan?”
“Yes,” she answered, and was about to move into the hall when Bracken’s attention suddenly moved beyond her.
Without a word he stepped toward her. Megan was forced to retreat, but Bracken took little notice. He came fully into her bedchamber and just stared. The small room had been transformed. Tapestries and hangings were draped all over the walls. Carpets, thick and richly colored, covered the floor. The counterpane on her bed was a myriad of colors as well.
“You spoke the truth to me. You truly did not wish to leave this room.”
“I am more than content in here.” Megan’s voice was soft.
Bracken came and stood before her now. He looked down into her face and thought her skin looked like that of a child’s.
“I regret the way I treated you outside the wall today.”
Megan was so surprised and relieved she hardly knew what to say, but she did manage a small “Thank you, Bracken.”
He loved it when she left the “Lord” off his name, and for the first time he wished to hold her. She was often so stiff and prickly, but standing before him as she was now, her eyes soft and somehow vulnerable, he longed to take her into his arms.
Of their own volition, his eyes dropped to her lips. He was always amazed at their color. He knew that some women used tint to redden their lips, but looking at Megan’s he knew that the dark, dusky red he was seeing was all her own.
Megan noticed his look, but did not understand it. She was even more naive about men than Bracken was about women. And the fact that she did not find herself comely always played a part. After just a few seconds under Bracken’s scrutiny, Megan began to assume something was wrong with her appearance. Her mouth would have swung open in surprise had she understood that Bracken foun
d her so lovely he wanted to kiss her.
Fortunately for both of them, Megan’s stomach growled and broke the spell. Her manner became all at once brisk as Bracken’s presence in her room reminded her of something that had been on her mind. She turned away from him, slightly embarrassed and asked, “Bracken, are you barring my door at night?”
“No,” Bracken answered cautiously. “Why do you ask?”
“I think I must be walking in my sleep, because I have awakened occasionally in the chair by the fire. If that is true, I can’t think what is keeping me inside—unless the door has been barred from without.”
“Arik sleeps outside your door at night,” Bracken told her softly. Megan turned to face him. “Arik knows that I walk in my sleep?” Bracken nodded, his eyes studying her face, and Megan suddenly remembered the night she woke in the great room.
“How long?” Megan asked, referring to Arik’s sleeping arrangement.
“Since the first night after your father left.”
Megan took a deep breath. “And what of the time after we are wed? Will Arik continue to lie outside the door and give the castle folk even more reason for gossip?” Megan was not angry, just chagrined.
“I have given great thought to that,” Bracken told her. “I think we will bar your door. That way you’ll be forced to exit through my room.”
“And what good will that do?” Megan genuinely wished to know.
“I am a very light sleeper, Megan, and even if you did get past me, Lyndon would inform me.”
Megan nodded. It put a woman in a very vulnerable position to be wandering through a strange castle in her sleep, but try as she might to calm herself before slumber, she was still up and about. Maybe with time her heart would settle in this new place.
“We have no wish to make sport of you, Megan.” Bracken thought he needed to explain, and indeed, Megan was comforted by his words, enough to let the matter drop with a simple thank you.
“Have you eaten?” Bracken asked then, and Megan was again warmed by his sudden show of concern. She shook her head.
“Then come, Megan. Come below and eat.”
He offered his arm, and Megan took it. She did so praying that this new, kinder relationship would swiftly become the standard.
Twelve
BRICE WAS STANDING ON THE WALL of the keep, his eyes taking in the countryside, when he realized Bracken’s presence beside him. A glance to his side told him Bracken’s own eyes were also on the scape, but after a moment, he spoke.
“Stephen and I may look alike, Brice, but make no mistake, it is Stephen who is well practiced with the words ladies love.”
Brice nodded, his gaze now back over the land as he answered boldly. “You inherited Hawkings Crest and father’s title when you were still a young man. Your responsibility has been heavy; Stephen’s not near as much at White Hall. But that is still no excuse.
“Chivalry is dying all over England, but every time I see evidence of this fact, I think with pride, ‘Never Bracken. Bracken is a knight of highest honor, never him.’
“But yesterday I was shamed. I have seen with my own eyes that Megan’s fear is not of all men, but of you, and for this there is no excuse. As I watched her tremble I thought of how I would feel if a man treated Danella or Kristine in such a way. I would want to run him through with my sword.”
Brice finally looked at Bracken and found the older man watching him. Bracken’s pride was taking a beating, but Brice was correct. Bracken was supposed to be an example to his brother, and instead he’d incurred his rancor.
There weren’t many men from whom Bracken would take such words, but his brothers were beyond value to him, and for this, Bracken took heed.
“You are right, Brice,” he told him sincerely. “I have now committed myself to dealing more gently with Megan in the future, but there are times when I know not what to do with the woman.”
Bracken’s chagrined voice brought a smile to Brice’s face. He thumped his older brother on the chest.
“She does have a mind of her own.”
“Is that what you call it?” Bracken’s tone was now dry.
“She’ll surely match you wit for wit.” Brice’s voice was almost proud, a startling turnabout from just days previous, but Bracken’s brows rose as though Brice’s own words proved his case. Brice accurately read his thoughts.
“Come now, Bracken. You surely want more than a pretty face. Even when you are tempted to lock Megan in her room, you’ll have to admit that you do not want it any other way.”
Bracken stared at his younger sibling. It was true. He didn’t want a decoration for his castle, but a woman who could think and do for herself. Bracken felt a new sort of peace with this realization, a peace that would have been destroyed had he been able to see Megan right then.
“What is this entry?”
Bracken’s steward, Barton, whose face was starting to resemble a radish, stared at Megan, whose own countenance was a study in tranquility.
“It’s for wheat.”
“Wheat? For what purpose?”
Barton had to bite his tongue to keep from telling Megan to mind her own business. Instead, he said with false humility, “Why, food for the castle folk, my lady.”
“It costs this much?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Megan studied the small man’s face. He wasn’t much taller than Megan and very thin, and from Megan’s few encounters with him, she had also tagged him a liar. Indeed, Megan would have wagered her life on the fact.
“And how about this?” Megan pointed to another entry and Barton silently cursed this woman who had been raised in a convent and taught to read.
“Miscellaneous.”
Megan’s eyes narrowed, but her voice was still serene. “Twenty pounds of miscellaneous?”
Barton’s look was that of a child’s, but Megan was not taken in.
“Before the sun sets, I wish to see an itemized listing of what you consider to be miscellaneous.”
“Yes, my lady,” Barton spoke from behind gritted teeth.
Megan turned away from him then, the record book still in her hand.
“But, my lady,” Barton called to her, his voice in a panic. “I need the records book.”
Megan stopped and stared at the man. “If the items I seek are recorded in the book, then why did you list them under miscellaneous?”
Barton was so angry that he prayed for Megan’s death. Megan held his gaze before giving final orders and leaving.
“I am not through with the book, so I will keep it, and I will expect that list today.”
“Bracken, may I speak with you?”
Bracken, so delighted that she had sought him out, rose from his chair in the war room with a smile. The smile faltered when she drew close enough for him to see the records book.
“Bracken,” Megan began immediately, “I do not think your steward is being honest with you.”
“Megan,” Bracken replied, remembering what he’d told Brice and working to keep his voice patient, “you really don’t need to disturb yourself with such details. Barton is more than capable—”
“Of stealing you blind,” Megan cut him off. “Look at this entry for yard and cloth. My mother couldn’t spend that amount in five years.”
Bracken sighed, but did not reply. He was always made very comfortable within the walls of his castle and gave little regard as to how that came to be. His greater interest was his training fields and archery range, but he did not think it wise to say this to Megan.
“Can’t you see it?” She persisted.
“In truth, Megan, the account books have never been that important to me. Show me the exact place.”
Megan pointed with one small digit and Bracken bent low to inspect the entry. He turned his head after a moment to find Megan staring, their faces very close together.
“Don’t you check these books periodically, Bracken?”
“No,” he told her, feeling preoccupied with her nearness
and the smell of her hair. He was a knight, trained in self-control, so none of his emotions showed on his face.
“What about Aunt Louisa?” Megan brought him back to the matter at hand.
“She can’t read.”
Megan gazed absentmindedly into his dark eyes and then off into the distance, totally preoccupied with the castle accounts.
“There are too many inconsistencies,” Megan muttered, her mind still going over the pages of the book.
“Barton’s been with Hawkings Crest for years. He was my father’s steward.”
“Could your father read?”
“No,” Bracken admitted, and Megan’s brows rose. She obviously believed she’d made her point.
Bracken held onto his control with an effort. He knew that she needed to have a hand in the running of this castle, but why must she turn things into utter chaos? Bracken had no desire to fight with her, and so chose to distract himself by studying the loveliness of her face.
Megan saw instantly that she had lost him, but it was beyond her as to what he might be thinking. She found him studying her mouth once again and wondered if she had food on her lips from lunch. A swift lick with her tongue told her nothing was there, and she felt even more confusion when Bracken’s eyes narrowed. Megan thought he might be growing angry but when he spoke his voice was soft.
“Just handle it, Megan,” Bracken told her, thinking he had to get away. Megan watched in puzzlement as he turned abruptly and moved toward the door.
“So I may dismiss Barton?”
Bracken turned back at the door and told her simply, “No, you may not.”
“Then how am I to—”
Bracken’s raised hand forestalled her. He truly did not wish to fight, but neither could he remain.
“Just do your best, Megan.”
The small redhead stood still long after the portal closed. What in the world was she to do with the man? He was kinder this time than ever before, but he clearly couldn’t wait to be away from her. Megan was still standing in confusion when Aunt Louisa sought her out.