by Lynsay Sands
Sitting up in his arms, she reached around to pat his back solicitously. The next moment, she clutched at his shirt with both hands under his mantle as he suddenly lunged to his feet, dragging her with him until they both stood in the small clearing he had made in the snow while digging her out. Once she was standing, he immediately began brushing down her skirts, but Brinna couldn’t help noticing the way he avoided looking at her and the fact that his face was terribly red. She was trying to decide if this was from anger or embarrassment when he straightened and cleared his throat.
“Better?”
Brinna hesitated, gave her skirts a shake, then wiggled her bottom about a bit beneath them to allow the snow underneath to fall back out before allowing her skirts to drop back around her legs. Then she gave a wry shrug. “’Tis as good as ’tis likely to get ’til I can change, my lord.”
“Aye.” He sighed as he saw his plans to get her alone being dashed. “We had best head right back to see to that.”
Taking her arm, he led her to his horse, mounted, then bent to the side and down, grasped her beneath her arms, and lifted her onto the horse before him. Settling her there with one arm around her waist to anchor her, he reached with the other for the reins.
Clutching his arm nervously, Brinna tried to relax and get her mind off the fact that she was actually on a horse again. It was as he started to turn his mount back the way that they had come when she realized that one of the sounds that she was hearing didn’t quite belong. “What is that?”
Royce paused and glanced at her, then glanced around as he too became aware of the muffled sounds she had noticed just moments earlier. It sounded like someone cursing up a blue streak. After a brief hesitation, Royce turned his horse away from the castle again and urged his mount forward until they turned the bend and came upon a loaded-down wagon stopped at the side of the path. At first it looked abandoned, but then a man straightened up from the rear, shaking his head and muttering under his breath with disgust.
“A problem?” Royce asked, drawing the man’s startled gaze to them and bringing him around the wagon.
“I’m sorry, m’lord. Is my wagon in yer way?”
“Nay. There’s more than enough room to get by you should I wish to,” Royce assured him. “Are you stuck?”
“Aye.” He glanced back to his wagon with a sigh. “I was trying to stay to the side of the path to be sure there was room fer others to pass, but it seems I strayed too far. The wagon slid off to the side and now she won’t budge.”
Royce shifted behind her, and she glanced up just as a decision entered his eyes. “Wait here, my lady. I won’t be a moment,” he murmured, then slid from the mount.
Brinna hesitated, clutched the pommel of his mount as the animal shifted restlessly beneath her, then slid from the saddle and followed to where the two men examined the situation. “Can I help?”
Both men glanced up with surprise at her question, but it was Royce who answered with a surprised smile. “Nay, Lady Joan, just stand you over there out of the way. We shall have this fellow out and on his way in a moment.”
Biting her lip, Brinna nodded and moved aside, aware that ladies wouldn’t trouble themselves with such problems. She stayed there as the men decided on a course of action, and even managed to restrain herself when Royce put his shoulder to the cart while the wagon driver moved to the horse’s head to urge the animal forward. The wagon moved forward a bare inch or so, but then Royce’s foot slid on the icy path and the wagon promptly slid back into its rut. When they paused long enough for Royce to reposition himself, Brinna couldn’t restrain herself further. She wasn’t used to standing on the sidelines twiddling her thumbs when there was work to be done. Giving up her lady-like pose, she hurried forward, positioning herself beside Royce to add her weight and strength to the task at hand. Royce straightened at once, alarm on his face.
“Oh, nay, Joan. Wait you over there. This is no job for a lady.”
“He’s right, m’lady. ’Tis kind of ye to wish to assist, but yer more like to be a hindrance than a help. You might get hurt.”
Brinna rolled her eyes at that. A decade working in the kitchens carting heavy pots and vats around had made her quite strong. Of course they could hardly know that, and she could hardly tell them as much, so she merely lifted her chin stubbornly and murmured, “I am stronger than I look, sirs. And while I may not be of much help, it would seem to me you could use any little help you can get at the moment.” On that note, she put her shoulder to the cart once more and arched a brow at first one man, then the other. “Are we ready? On the count of three, then.”
After exchanging a glance, the two men shrugged and gave up trying to dissuade her from helping. Instead, they waited as she counted off, then applied their energies to shifting the wagon when she reached three. Brinna dug her heels into the icy ground and put all of her slight weight behind the cart, straining muscles that had been lax these last several days, grunting along with the men under the effort as the cart finally shifted, at first just an inch, then another, and another, until it suddenly began to roll smoothly forward and right back onto the path. She nearly tumbled to the ground then as the cart pulled away, but Royce reached out, catching her arm to steady her as he straightened.
“Whew.” Brinna laughed, grinning at him widely before turning to the wagon driver as he hurried back to them.
“Thank ye, m’lord, and you too, m’lady,” he gushed gratefully. “Thank ye so much. I didn’t know how I was going to get out of that one.”
“You are welcome,” Royce assured him. “Just stick to the center of the path the rest of the way to the castle.”
“Aye, m’lord. Aye.” Tugging off his hat, the fellow made a quick bow to them both, then hurried back around the wagon to mount the driver’s bench again and set off.
“Well—” Brinna straightened as the cart disappeared around the bend in the path, the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves fading to silence. “That was fun.”
“Fun?” Royce peered at her doubtfully.
“Well, perhaps not fun,” she admitted uncertainly. “But there’s a certain feeling of satisfaction when you get a job done well.”
He nodded solemn agreement, then frowned as his gaze slid over her. “Your dress is ruined.”
Brinna glanced down with disinterest, noting that aside from being soaked, it was now mud-splattered. “’Tis but mud. ’Twill wash out,” she said lightly, then glanced back up, her eyebrows rising at his expression.
“You are a surprise, Lady Laythem,” he murmured, then explained. “When you fell off the horse and were soaked, you did not cry that your gown was ruined, coif destroyed, or curse all four-legged beasts. You picked yourself up, dried yourself off, and said ’twas the best to be done until you could change.”
“Actually, you picked me up,” Brinna pointed out teasingly and he smiled, but continued.
“Then, when we came across the farmer with his wagon stuck in the snow, you did not whine that I would stop to help him before seeing you safely back to the castle, changed, and ensconced before the fire. Nay. You put your own shoulder to the man’s wagon in an effort to help free it.”
“Ah,” Brinna murmured on a sigh as she considered just how out of character her actions must seem for a lady of nobility. “I suppose most ladies wouldn’t have behaved so . . . um . . . hoydenishly.” She voiced the last word uncertainly, for while Aggie had often called her a hoyden as a child, Brinna wasn’t sure if “hoydenishly” was a word.
“Hoydenishly?” Royce murmured with a laugh that had Brinna convinced that it wasn’t a word until he added, “’Twas not hoydenish behavior. ’Twas unselfish and thoughtful, and completely opposed to the behavior I expected from a woman who was described as a snobbish little brat to me.”
“Who called me that?” Brinna demanded before she could recall that it wasn’t herself that had been described that way, but Joan.
“My cousin. Phillip of Radfurn.” When she peered at him blankly,
he added, “He visited Laythem some weeks ago.”
“Oh. Of course.”
“Aye, well, I fear he took your shyness and reticence as signs of snobbery and a . . . er, slightly spoilt nature. He had me quite convinced you were a terror.”
“Really?” she asked curiously. “Then why did you come to Menton?” Her eyes widened. “Did you come here to cancel the betrothal?” That would be a fine thing, wouldn’t it? If he had come to cancel it and she had put paid to his intentions with her actions.
“Oh, nay, I could never cancel it. My people are counting on your dower.” The last word was followed by silence as his eyes widened in alarm. “I mean—”
“’Tis all right,” Brinna assured him gently when he began to look rather guilty. “I already knew that you needed the dower.”
He sighed unhappily, looking not the least reassured. “Aye, well, without it I fear my people will not fare well through this spring.”
“And you will do your best to provide them with what they need? Whether you want to or not?”
“Well . . .” Taking her arm, he turned to lead her back toward his horse. “It is the responsibility we have as members of the nobility, is it not? Tending to our people, fulfilling their needs to the best of our ability.”
“Some of the nobility do not see it that way,” she pointed out gently, and he grimaced.
“Aye. Well, some of them have no more honor than a gnat.”
“But you are different.”
When he gave a start at the certainty in her tone, she shrugged. “Most lords would not have troubled themselves to offer aid to a poor farmer either.”
He smiled wryly. “I suppose not.”
“But then from what I have heard, you are not like other lords. I was told that you are trying to correct neglect and damage done by those who came before you.”
He remained silent, but grimaced, and she went on. “I was also told that you work very hard, even side by side with your vassals, in an effort to better things?”
His gaze turned wary, but he nodded. “I do what must be done and am not ashamed to work hard.” He hesitated. “I realize that some ladies would be upset to have their husbands work side by side with the servants, but—”
“I think it is admirable,” Brinna interrupted quickly, wishing to remove the worry from his face. It wasn’t until she saw his tension ease that she recalled that Lady Joan had not seemed to be at all impressed by it. Before she could worry overly much about that, Royce turned to face her, taking her hands in his own.
“I need the dower. My people need it desperately. And to be honest, I would have married you for it whether you were hag, brat, whore, or simpleton—just to see my people fed and safe.” He grimaced as her eyes widened incredulously at his words, then went on. “But you are none of those. You have proven to be giving and to be willing to do whatever is necessary when the need arises to help those less fortunate around you. And I want you to know that, the dower aside, I am beginning to see that I and my people will be fortunate to have you as their lady, Joan. I think we shall deal well together.”
Joan. Brinna felt the name prick at her like the sharp end of a sword. She too was beginning to think that they would have dealt well together. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the one he was going to marry. It was Joan. Her thoughts died abruptly as his face suddenly lowered, blocking the winter sun as his lips covered her own.
Heat. That was the first thing Brinna noticed. While her lips were chill and even seemed a bit stiff with cold, his were warm and soft as they slid across hers. They were also incredibly skilled, she realized with a sigh as he urged her own lips open and his tongue slid in to invade and conquer.
The kiss could have lasted mere moments or hours for all Brinna knew. Time seemed to have no meaning as she was overwhelmed with purely tactile sensations. She was lost in the musky scent of him, the taste and feel of him. She wanted the kiss to go on forever, and released an unabashed sigh of disappointment when it ended. When she finally opened her eyes, it was to find him eyeing her with a bit of bemusement as he caressed her cheek with his chill fingers.
“You are not at all what I expected, Joan Laythem. You are as lovely as a newly bloomed rose. Sweet. Unselfish . . . I never thought to meet a woman like you, let alone be lucky enough to marry her.” With that he drew her into his arms again, kissing her with a passion that fairly stole her breath, made her dizzy, and left her clutching weakly at his tunic when he lifted his head and smiled at her. “We had best return. Else they will wonder what became of us.”
“Aye,” Brinna murmured, following docilely when he led her by the hand back to his mount. She would have followed him to the ends of the earth at that moment.
“GOOD LORD!”
Brinna turned from closing the bedroom door to spy Joan pushing herself from the seat by the fireplace and rushing toward her. She was wearing Brinna’s own dress. The fact that Joan was there took Brinna a bit by surprise. The other girl had usually been absent until late at night, when she’d crept in like a thief and slid silently into bed to awake the next morning and act as if nothing were amiss. But then, Sabrina wasn’t usually around this room either, and that was the cause. Brinna supposed it was possible Joan had stuck around to keep an eye on the ailing girl. On the other hand, it was equally possible that she had stuck around to avoid having the fact discovered that she usually slipped out as soon as they were gone. The lady was up to something.
“Look at you!” Joan cried now, clasping her hands and taking in her sodden clothes with a frown. “You are soaked through. What did he do to you?”
“He didn’t do anything,” Brinna assured her quickly. “I fell off your horse and—”
“Fell off my horse!” Joan screeched, interrupting her. “You don’t ride. Do you?” she asked uncertainly.
“Nay. That is why I fell off,” Brinna said dryly, and pulled away to move to the chest at the end of the bed.
Joan took a moment to digest that, then her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t go out with him alone, did you?”
“Nay. Of course not. His man accompanied us,” Brinna assured her as she sifted through the gowns in the chest. Picking one, she straightened and turned to face Joan unhappily. “Mayhap you should play you from now on.”
Joan blinked at that. “Whatever for?”
“Well . . .” Brinna turned away and began to remove the gown she wore. “You are to be married. You really should get to know him.”
Joan grimaced at that. “Not bloody likely. I’ll not marry him. I shall join a convent before consenting to marry an oaf like that.”
“He’s not an oaf,” Brinna got out from between gritted teeth as she flung the dress on the bed. She turned to face Joan grimly. “He’s a very nice man. You could do worse than marry him.”
Joan’s eyes widened at her ferocious expression and attitude, then rounded in amazement. “Why, you are sweet on him.”
“I am not,” Brinna snapped stiffly.
“Aye, you are,” she insisted with amusement, then tilted her head to the side and eyed Brinna consideringly. “Your color seems a bit high and you had a dreamy expression on your face when you came into the room. Are you falling in love with him?”
Brinna turned away, her mind running rife with memories of his body pressed close to hers, his lips soft on her own. Aye, she had most likely looked dreamy-eyed when she had entered. She had certainly felt dreamy-eyed until Joan had started screeching. And she would even admit to herself that she might very well be falling in love with him. It was hard not to. He was as handsome as sin, with a voice like Scottish whiskey, and kisses just as intoxicating. But even worse, he was a good man. She had been told as much of course, or if not exactly told, she had heard Lady Joan and her cousin discussing what they considered to be his flaws. Which to her were recommendations of his character. The fact that he worked so hard to help his people, that he was determined to better things for them . . . He put their needs before his own, even in matters of ma
rriage. How could one not admire that?
Aside from that, he had been nothing but gentleness itself in all his dealings with her. He was no backward oaf or country idiot. Or at least, if he was, Brinna couldn’t tell. Nay, he had treated her sweetly and well, staying near her side during Mass and throughout every day since Christmas morning. Despite Sabrina’s interference, she had felt protected. And he had not taken advantage of her reaction to those kisses in the woods, though the Good Lord knows he could have. Brinna suspected that had he wished it, she would have let the man throw her skirts up and have her right there at the side of the path, and all it would have taken was a couple more kisses. She suspected he had known as much too, but he hadn’t taken advantage of that fact. Nay, he was a good man. A man she could easily love with her whole heart. But if she gave her heart to him, it would be lost forever, for he was engaged to Joan, and he had to marry her, else he would lose the dower that his people needed so desperately.
He couldn’t do that. She knew it. He wouldn’t do it. She had not known him long, but she knew already that he was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. His people needed that dower, so he would marry to attain it and Brinna had no hope of having him. She couldn’t go on with this charade. Couldn’t risk her heart so. Not even for Aggie and the possibility of seeing her comfortable. She would not do this anymore. She had to convince Joan to resign herself to this marriage, but to do that, she had to convince her that he wasn’t the backward oaf someone had led her to believe he was.
“Who is it that told you that Lord Thurleah was a country bumpkin and oaf?” Brinna asked determinedly, and Joan got a wary look about her suddenly.
“Who?” she echoed faintly, then shrugged. “It must have been Sabrina. She questioned people on the journey here to find out more about him for me.”