by Lynsay Sands
Brinna’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “But didn’t she say the day I became your maid that she hadn’t said that he was an oaf—just that he worked hard to improve his lot in life?”
Joan shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “Then someone else must have mentioned it.”
“Could it have been Phillip of Radfurn?” Brinna asked carefully, feeling triumph steal up within her as the other girl gave a guilty start, her eyes wide with shock. “It was him, wasn’t it? He is deliberately making trouble between the two of you. He visited you at Laythem, told you that Royce was a backward oaf, with no social graces, then went on to his cousin’s to tell him that you were a—”
When she cut herself off abruptly, Joan’s gaze narrowed. “To tell him that I was what?”
“Oh, well . . .” Now it was Brinna’s turn to avoid eye contact. “I don’t really recall exactly.”
“You are lying,” Joan accused grimly. “What did he say?”
Brinna hesitated, then decided to follow one of Aggie’s maxims. The one that went, If yer in a spot and don’t know what to do or say, honesty is yer best option. “He told Lord Thurleah that you were a selfish, spoilt brat.”
“What?” The blood rushed out of Joan’s face, leaving her looking slightly gray for a moment, then poured back in to color her red with rage. “Why, that—” Her eyes, cold and flinty, jerked to Brinna. “Change and return below,” she ordered coldly, moving to the door. “And no more riding or anything else alone with Lord Thurleah. His man is not a suitable chaperone.” Then she slid out of the room, pulling the door closed with a snap.
Chapter Four
I think you are improving.”
“Oh, aye.” Brinna laughed dryly as she clutched at the hands Royce held at her waist to steady her as they skimmed along on the lake’s frozen surface on the narrow-edged bones he had insisted she try. Royce called them skates, and claimed that what they were doing was skating. It was something he had picked up while on his travels in the Nordic countries. Brinna called it foolish, for a body was sure to fall and break something trying to balance on the sharp edge of the bones that he had strapped to her soft leather boots and his own.
He had been trying for days to convince her to try skating. Ever since the afternoon they had gone for the ride. The day Sabrina had felt under the weather. But it wasn’t until today that she had given in and agreed, and that was only because she had wanted to please him. She caught herself doing that more and more often these days; doing things to try to please him. It was worrisome when she thought about it, so she tried not to.
“Nay, he is right, you are improving,” Sabrina called. Having overheard his comment and Brinna’s answer as they had skated past where she stood on the edge of the frozen lake, Sabrina had called out the words cheerfully. “At least you have stopped screaming.”
Brinna laughed good-naturedly at the taunt. Sabrina had relaxed somewhat during the past several days. She had recovered quickly from her illness and returned to her chore as chaperone the morning after the ride. But she had taken a different approach on her return. She still accompanied Brinna everywhere, but no longer bothered to try to keep her from talking to everyone, Royce included. She had also stopped forcing herself between the two of them when they walked about or sat for a bit. Brinna supposed she had decided it wasn’t worth the trouble when they had already spent a day together without her interference.
“You are starting to shiver,” Royce murmured by her ear. “We have been out here quite awhile. Mayhap we should head back to the castle to warm up.”
“Aye,” Brinna agreed as he steered them both back toward Sabrina. “Mayhap we should. ’Tis almost time to sup anyway.”
Sabrina seemed to greet the decision to return with relief. She herself had refused to be persuaded to try the “sharp bones,” as she called them, so she had stood on the side, watching Brinna’s antics instead. While it had been amusing, her lack of activity meant that she was a bit chill and so was eager to return to the warmth of the castle. She waited a bit impatiently as they removed the bones from their feet, then accompanied them back to the castle, teasing “Lady Joan” gently about her ineptitude on the ice.
As it turned out, it was later than any of them had realized, and the others were already seated at table when Brinna, Royce, and Sabrina entered. They were laughing over Brinna’s less-than-stellar performance on skates that afternoon, but fell silent as they realized that they were late. Not that most people noticed their entrance—the great hall was abuzz with excited chatter and laughter—but Lady Menton spotted them arriving.
Casting apologetic glances toward their hostess, the three of them hurried to the nearest spot with an opening and managed to squeeze themselves in. It meant they ended up seated among the knights and villeins at the low tables, but such things couldn’t be helped—besides, the high table seemed quite full even without them.
“It looks like a celebratory feast,” Brinna murmured as the kitchen doors opened and six women filed out, each bearing a tray holding a succulent roast goose on it.
“Aye,” Sabrina agreed with surprise. “I don’t recall Lady Menton saying anything this morning about—”
Brinna glanced at the brunette sharply when her unfinished sentence was interrupted by a gasp. Spotting the alarm on Sabrina’s face and the way she had blanched, Brinna frowned and touched her hand gently. “What is it? Are you not feeling well again?”
Sabrina turned to her, mouth working but nothing coming out.
“Joan? My lady?”
Brinna glanced distractedly at Royce when he touched her arm. “Aye?”
“Is that not your father?”
“My father?” she asked blankly, but followed his gesture to the head table. Her gaze slid over the people seated there, and she suddenly understood why the table was full even without them. William of Menton and an older man now helped fill it. Her gaze fixed on the older man. He was handsome with blond hair graying at the temples, strong features, and a nice smile. Brinna would have recognized him anywhere. He was Lord Edmund Laythem, a good friend of Lord Menton’s and a frequent visitor at Menton. He was also Joan’s father.
Brinna’s gaze was drawn to Lady Menton as the woman leaned toward her husband to murmur something. Whatever it was made the two men glance across the room toward Brinna. For a moment she felt frozen, pinned to her seat like a bug stuck in sticky syrup as her heart began to hammer in panic and her breathing became fast and shallow. What if he stood and came to greet her? He would know. They would all know. But he didn’t rise. Edmund Laythem merely smiled slightly and nodded a greeting.
It took an elbow in her side from Sabrina to make Brinna nod back and force what she hoped was a smile to her own lips.
“Mayhap we should go greet him,” Royce murmured beside her and started to rise, but Brinna clawed at his arm at once.
“Oh, nay! Nay. I—there is no sense disrupting Lady Menton’s feast. Time enough to greet him afterward.”
Royce hesitated, then settled in his seat reluctantly. “As you say, my lady,” he murmured, then smiled wryly. “Well, now we know the reason behind the feast. Lady Menton must have put it on to welcome your father and her son.”
“Aye,” Brinna murmured faintly, then tore her eyes away from the high table and swiveled abruptly toward Sabrina.
“What are we going to do?” Sabrina asked in a panic before she could say a word, and Brinna’s heart sank as she realized the brunette would be of little help.
“Are you not going to eat?”
Forcing a smile, Brinna turned to face forward at Royce’s question. “Of course. Aye. We shall eat,” she murmured, casting Sabrina a meaningful sideways glance.
Nodding, Sabrina set to her meal, but there was a frown between her eyes as she did, and she was still as tense as the strings on a harp as she cast nervous glances toward the head table. Brinna was aware of her actions, but avoided looking at the head table herself at all costs. She kept her head bowed, eyes fastened on he
r meal as she ate, and slowly began to shrink in her seat.
It was the most excruciating meal Brinna had ever sat through. Worse even than her first night as Joan’s fill-in. She wasn’t even sure what she ate. It all tasted like dust in her mouth as her mind raced about in circles like a dog chasing its tail, desperately searching for a way out of this mess. An excuse to hurry upstairs right after the meal and avoid Lord Laythem was needed, but her mind seemed consumed with the fact that this was the end of the road for her. She had thought she had a couple more days at least to bask in the warmth of Lord Thurleah’s attention, but this was it. The end. These were her last moments with him. If only—
She cut the wish off abruptly. It was no good. She could not have Royce. He was a lord and she just a scullery maid. He needed a large dower such as Joan could provide. She had nothing but the ragged clothes presently on Lady Joan’s back. Still, he had come to her on Christmas Day like a gift from God that had brightened her life and made her experience things she had never thought to feel. It broke her heart that he was a gift meant for someone else and that she could not keep him.
“Are you done?” Royce asked after finishing off the last of his ale. The meal was coming to a close. Several people at the lower tables around them had already risen to return to their chores, or to find a place to relax and listen to the minstrel, who was even now preparing to torture them some more with his version of music. Even Brinna had finished off what Royce had served her with, though she couldn’t recall actually eating a thing. “Shall we go greet your father now?”
“Oh, I-I should . . . er . . .”
“Aye, we should,” Royce agreed, misunderstanding her stammering and taking her arm as he rose to his feet.
Brinna remained silent, following reluctantly as he led her toward the head table where most of the guests sat chatting over their ales, her mind still squirming about in search of escape. Luck lent a hand as the others began to rise in groups now to leave the tables, slowing them down and making Royce and Brinna proceed in single file as they weaved through the crowd. Royce let go of her hand then, and Brinna walked behind him for a couple of steps, then simply turned on her heel and made a beeline for the steps that led upstairs.
She had to get to Joan’s room. She had to find Joan, and the only place she could think to look was the room. Not that she would normally be there at this hour. Joan didn’t even sleep in her own room anymore. She had fallen into the pattern of leaving as soon as Brinna departed with Royce for Mass, then not returning until just ere dawn on the next morning. She had been doing so since the day Brinna had told her what Royce’s cousin, Phillip of Radfurn, had said. The girl had stormed out in a fury, been absent through the night, then returned just moments before Royce had arrived to escort the woman he thought was Lady Joan to Mass. The fact that Lady Joan had been out all night had been worrisome enough to Brinna, but the fact that she had returned in a fabulous mood, and had actually glowed with satisfaction and happiness as she had insisted that they continue with the charade, had made Brinna fear that whatever was going on did not bode well for Royce.
Now, Brinna just hoped that the girl, wherever she normally spent her time, had heard about her father’s arrival and had returned to the room, prepared to take over her role as a member of nobility.
ROYCE STEPPED ONTO the dais directly behind Lord Laythem and tapped the man on the shoulder, offering a polite smile when he turned on his seat to glance at him.
“Royce. Greetings, son.” The older man stood at once, as did Lord Menton and his son, William. “I hope you are having a good Christmas here with Robert and his family? I am sorry I haven’t been here from the beginning, but I fear the ague and chills felled me where many men have failed.”
Royce smiled at his wry words and nodded reassuringly. “I was told that you were ill. I hope you are recovered now?”
“Aye, aye. I’m still regaining my strength and I’ve a stone or two to put back on, but I feel much better.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Your daughter and I—” He turned slightly to gesture Joan forward as he spoke, then paused, blinking in surprise as he saw that she was no longer with him. “Where did she—” he began in bewilderment, and Lord Laythem clapped a hand on his shoulder and smiled wryly.
“I think she slipped away when you moved through that one group halfway up the room,” Edmund Laythem told him dryly, revealing that he had watched their approach.
Royce’s eyes widened at this news. “Why would she—”
“She was none too pleased with me when last we met,” the older man confessed, then shrugged. “I fear I handled things badly. I never really bothered to mention the betrothal agreement until she arrived at court on her way here. It was all a great surprise to her and she was understandably upset by my neglect.”
“I see,” Royce murmured thoughtfully.
“Aye, well, I am sorry if she has caused you any trouble because of it?” It was a question as well as an apology, and Royce reassured him quickly.
“Oh, nay. She has been delightful. Of course, Lady Sabrina was another matter at first. She would not even let me talk to Joan for the first few days.”
Lord Laythem’s eyebrows rose at that, but he shrugged. “Sabrina can be a bit overeager when a task is set to her. No doubt that is all that was.” He smiled wryly, his gaze moving to the brunette, who still sat in her seat at the table, watching them anxiously. “Actually, I must have a word with her. Her father was at court over the holidays and arranged a marriage for her. He sent some men with me to retrieve her back to prepare for it. If you will excuse me?”
“Of course.” Royce stepped aside to allow the man past him, then took a moment to greet William of Menton and compliment Lord and Lady Menton on the feast he had just enjoyed before turning to survey the room in search of Joan. Catching a glimpse of her disappearing up the stairs, he excused himself and hurried after her.
BRINNA OPENED THE door to enter Joan’s room, and found herself pushed back out by a hand on her chest.
“I just have to check on something,” Joan trilled gaily before allowing her body to follow her arm out of the room.
“What—” Brinna began in confusion as the girl pulled the door closed, but Joan waved her to silence, then glanced quickly up and down the hall before dragging her to the shadows near the top of the stairs to keep an eye on the people below.
“My father arrived today,” Joan said.
“Aye, I know. ’Tis why I came up here. To avoid him.”
Joan nodded at that, but frowned as she rubbed her forehead. “This complicates things.”
“Complicates things?” Brinna goggled at her, but Joan didn’t notice.
“Aye. My maid came with him. That is who I was talking to in our room.”
“Your room,” Brinna said firmly. “And to my mind this doesn’t complicate things. It ends them. You shall have to go back to being you. ’Tis for the best anyway.”
Joan did not appear to see the sense behind the suggestion as she shook her head grimly. “Nay. I cannot. I need to—” Her expression closed as she caught herself, then said more calmly, “There is no need to end it now. I shall insist my maid rest for the remainder of my stay to recover from her recent illness and the journey here. That way you will not be expected to return to the kitchens, she will not get in the way, and we can continue with our agreement.”
“What of your father?”
“Oh, damn, here comes Lord Thurleah.”
Brinna glanced down the stairs at Joan’s anxious tones, her heart skipping a beat as she saw him start up the stairs toward them. Her gaze returned to the other girl in a panic. They were both dressed as Lady Joan at the moment. It would not do to be seen together. “What—”
Joan cut her off by giving her a shove toward the stairs. “Get him out of here. He must not see us together.”
“But your father!” Brinna cried in dismay, resisting her push.
“Just avoid him,” Joan snapped impatiently. �
�Now, get going.”
The shove she gave her this time nearly sent Brinna tumbling down the stairs. Catching herself at the last moment, she cast a glare back toward the shadows that hid Joan, then hurried down the stairs to meet Royce.
“Where did you go?” were his first words. “One moment you were behind me and the next you were gone.”
“Oh . . . I . . . I went to my room to greet my maid,” she lied lamely, not surprised when Royce arched one eyebrow doubtfully.
“Before greeting your father?”
“Well, she was very ill when I left her at court.”
“As was your father,” he pointed out dryly, and Brinna grimaced.
“Aye, but—”
“Your father told me that you were angered with him for keeping the news of our betrothal to himself and not giving you warning,” he interrupted before she could say something else stupid.
“Aye, well . . .”
“And while he should have perhaps given you more warning, he seems to regret the rift between you.”
“Yes, well—”
“Besides, you do not mind so much, do you? About marrying me, I mean?”
“Nay, of course not,” she assured him quickly.
“There you are then. ’Tis only polite to greet him. Now, where has he got to?” Pausing halfway up the stairs, he peered about until he spotted Lord Laythem below talking to Sabrina. “Oh. He is still with your cousin. He is passing on a message from her father, your uncle.” Hesitating, he glanced back at Brinna, smiling wryly. “Mayhap we should leave them in peace until they finish. Would you care for a beverage while we wait?”
“Aye,” she murmured, then continued down the stairs with him until they reached the bottom and she spied a knight and one of the kitchen girls slipping outside. An idea springing to mind, Brinna stopped abruptly, tugging on his hand. “Nay.”
He turned to her in surprise. “Nay?”
“Nay.” She paled slightly as her gaze slid past him to see that Lord Laythem had finished speaking to Sabrina and was now rising, his gaze on where she and Royce stood. “I-I need . . . air.”