A Time for Love

by Lynn Kurland

  Nicholas had entertained her the whole of the afternoon.

  Robin had rescued her from a tumble on the floor.

  There had to be a good reason for both, but she had no stomach for divining what it was. Likely Robin was feeling some sort of fraternal sentiment toward her and Nicholas saw an opportunity to irritate his brother by thwarting the same as often as possible. She could hardly credit Nicholas for true interest and it was even more foolish to think Robin might have any but the most indifferent of feelings toward her.

  With a sigh, she threw her sewing into a basket at her feet and rose. It was dark and she was hungry. It was past time she descended to the warmth of the fire in the great hall.

  She stepped out into the passageway. The torches were out again. It wasn’t unusual, but it was unnerving. Anne peered into the dim passageway, but there was nothing to be seen. She turned and limped quickly to the stairwell, then started down the steps. She saw a glimmer of light around the corner and let out a sigh of relief.

  And then she heard a faint sound.

  It was the sound keys made when brushed together, or a chain of some sort.

  Before she could truly be frightened by the realization that she’d heard a like sound before, she lost her footing and stumbled, her hands flying out to catch her balance. It was hopeless. Her weak leg gave out from underneath her and she tumbled down the remaining stairs, crying out as the edges of them slammed into her body. She rolled to a heap at the bottom and remained motionless, almost afraid to move.

  “Anne!”

  She heard Nicholas’s shout and then the sound of his boots thumping down the passageway. Within moments he was kneeling next to her, gently running his hand over her arms and legs.

  “Don’t move,” he commanded as she started to sit up.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, pushing his hands away. It was only then that she noticed the pain in her wrist, pain that intensified as she moved it.

  Nicholas took her wrist in his hand and gently ran his fingers over it. “It isn’t broken,” he said, frowning over it. “We’ll bind it with stiff cloths and keep it immobile—”

  “By the bloody saints, what is happening here?” Robin bellowed from down the passageway. Anne lay back with a groan. The last thing she needed was to have Robin see her in such an undignified sprawl. She made a half-hearted attempt to toss her skirts back down over her knees.

  “Nick, you fool, move out of my way,” Robin growled, shoving his brother aside. “Anne, what’s befallen you? When will you learn to be more careful? These stairs are steep, much too steep for you to walk down them in the dark. Must I watch over your every move to see you do not kill yourself?”

  Anne could have borne his tirade in silence, but his strong hands roaming over her limbs, checking gently for further injuries was something she could not bear.

  And then she felt his hand on her ruined thigh. She shoved it away and sat up, backing away from him.

  “Don’t,” she gasped.

  “Anne—”

  She could hardly believe his actions. Had no one ever told him there were parts of a woman a man simply didn’t touch?

  “Leave me be,” she managed. “I’m perfectly sound.”

  “I see,” he said stiffly. “Nicholas can see to your injuries, but I cannot.”

  “He wasn’t pawing my leg!” she exclaimed.

  “Believe me,” Robin snapped. “I meant nothing by it.”

  She expected nothing less, but his words hurt her just the same. “My only injury is to my wrist and I can bind that well enough myself,” she said. “Favor some other wench with your impersonal touch.”

  Robin’s eyes flashed in the torchlight. “There are many who long for it, I can assure you of that.”

  “Then find one and avail yourself of her,” Anne said, turning her face away. “I can see to myself.”

  “Then see to yourself and trouble me no further with your accidents.”

  There was a grunt from Nicholas and Anne could only assume Robin had elbowed him out of his way. Robin’s curses trailed behind him as he left, then finally died away. Anne lay in silence, grateful for the pain in her wrist that numbed the pain in her soul. Robin would never want her. Why had she ever allowed such a dream to have a place in her heart?

  The most sensible thing to do would be to stay out of his way and pray he decided to return to the continent quickly. Perhaps once he was gone, she would rid herself once and for all of the foolish notions she had entertained. Even a simple man wouldn’t have wanted a maimed wife. Robin wasn’t a simple man, he was the future lord of Artane. He had little patience and even less heart. She would likely be better off with a man of her father’s choosing. At least she would know she was wanted for her dowry.

  The sound of cloth being torn distracted her and she looked up. Nicholas had stripped off his tunic and was currently tearing the latter into shreds. Anne averted her eyes from his bare chest. She continued to look away from him as he bound her wrist securely. Then he helped her to her feet.

  “I’ll have to feed you while you rest that wing for a bit,” he said with a smile. “Will you oblige me? It has been many months since I last had the honor of serving a maid so very fetching and sweet.”

  She sighed. “Nicholas, stop, please.”

  Nicholas put his arm around her shoulders and led her down the final set of stairs to the great hall. He sat her down and smiled at her. “I’ll run and clothe myself. Save my place. Or I’ll be forced to kill anyone who’s taken my seat,” he said with a mock frown. “Father wouldn’t approve of bloodshed at his dinner table.”

  Anne nodded absently, then frowned when Nicholas squatted down next to her chair.

  “Do you feel unwell, Anne?”

  She shook her head. “Nay. Why?”

  “I just wondered if you’d felt dizzy and lost your balance. You did lose your balance, didn’t you?”

  She nodded, forcing a smile to her lips. “Of course, Nicholas. I’m just clumsy. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

  He nodded and rose, seemingly content with her answer. Anne sighed in relief once he had gone. At least Nicholas wouldn’t ask any more questions she’d have to answer with a lie.

  Nay, she hadn’t lost her balance.

  She’d been pushed.

  9

  Edith stood in the alcove of the tower chamber and stared out the window. It soothed her to do the like. There was no sea near Sedgwick, and very little wind to take away the stenches of castle life. The sea here was so many things.

  Savage.

  Violent.

  Beautiful.

  It was the thing she loved best about Artane. It was also one of the reasons she never wanted to leave the place.

  Not that she had any intention of ever leaving, of course.

  The argument behind her increased enough in volume that she could no longer concentrate on her contemplation of the waves. The dispute had been going on for some time, far longer than Edith would have permitted. Perhaps ’twas that her brother and Maude were so ill-suited to a battle of words. ’Twas a certainty they were not equal to a battle of wits. Edith turned and listened to them scream at each other things that made little sense at all.

  “Enough!” she said loudly.

  Both Baldwin and Maude looked at her in surprise.

  “The entire keep can no doubt hear you,” Edith said in a quieter tone. “Perhaps you might consider that as you shout yourselves hoarse.”

  The other two settled for glares to express their displeasure. Edith looked at Maude first. The girl was wild-eyed and disheveled from her hasty flight up to the tower chamber. Baldwin looked just as disheveled, but that was from his recent return to the keep. Apparently his errands for Lord Rhys had been unsatisfying, for he had only been gone a pair of days. Edith suspected that her brother was relieved to be back. He was consumed by the thought of slaying Robin; any time away from the keep had no doubt been a burden.

  “And I say,” Baldwin said
, “that you should leave her be. Don’t give him a reason not to come to the lists.”

  “He doesn’t love her!” Maude exclaimed.

  “And he does you?” Baldwin said.

  Unkind, Edith mused, but true. She watched Maude’s temper flush across her face and knew that the time for silence was over.

  “Leave Anne to us,” Edith said, turning to her brother. “She won’t be a distraction.”

  “See that she isn’t,” Baldwin said. “And keep her,” he said, gesturing with his head toward Maude, “far from me. I can’t bear her screeching.”

  “And you’ll be in the lists?” Edith asked. “Honing your skills?”

  “Waiting for him to come timidly from the great hall to face me,” Baldwin said, starting for the door. “I’ll humiliate him immediately, of course.”

  “Better that than killing him too soon,” Edith agreed.

  Baldwin only grunted and left the chamber.

  Once he was gone, Edith turned to Maude.

  “Pushing her was foolish,” she said bluntly.

  Maude shrugged and pouted. “She was there. I was there. It seemed the best thing to do.”

  “You could have killed her.”

  “And if I had?” Maude challenged.

  “You are better off not knowing what would have become of you had you done so,” Edith said pleasantly. “Now, let us turn our minds to something of a happier nature. I think we should torment her, aye, but not kill her. Understood?”

  Maude looked unconvinced. Edith sighed. One more chance would she give the girl before she took action against her. She could afford no more disobedience. Her plans were carefully laid and she would allow no deviations.

  Edith handed Maude a leather envelope. “Put this in wine and see that she drinks it. But use it sparingly.”

  Maude blinked. “Poison?”

  “Very deadly. Use it sparingly,” she reminded her.

  Maude looked happier than she had in days. She clutched her treasure and departed the chamber without another word.

  Edith turned away and resumed her position at the window. The sea rolled in ceaselessly, patiently, with a roar that was ever just on the edge of what she could hear. She loved the sea. Odd how she’d never known of it until she’d come to Artane.

  Aye, ’twas right that now she’d found it, she never be forced to leave it. This pleasure would be hers for the rest of her life.

  That also was included in her carefully laid plans.

  10

  Robin strode purposefully from the great hall, his squire trotting along dutifully behind him. Robin’s mail shirt likely should have hampered his striding, but he was accustomed to the weight. What he wasn’t accustomed to, however, was the intense irritation and stung pride that threatened to sap all his powers of concentration.

  He strode to the lists, needing distraction more than he’d ever needed it before in his life. Though, in truth, how he could be more distracted than he was at present, he surely didn’t know. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept well, and his appetite was failing. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought himself suffering from some slow, lingering illness.

  Unfortunately, he knew exactly whence his frustration sprang and he fully intended to seek refuge in the lists and drive all thoughts of her from his mind. He would not think about her, nor about the fact that she had shunned him for the past two days, preferring the company of his lackwit younger brother. Anne’s preference in men was a sharp sting to his pride. Nicholas’s visage was no more pleasing than his!

  Nicholas’s skill in healing was nothing to sing praises over either. Robin would have sooner trusted his precious flesh to a scullery maid than to his bumbling younger brother. Nor was Nicholas’s disposition that tolerable. Fluff and prettiness was all his brother possessed. If Anne found that more appealing than a real man, then she was welcome to her folly and he sincerely hoped she earned stomach pains as reward from the sweetness.

  Robin stopped in the outer bailey and looked about him to see what sort of sport would appeal to him most at present. There was the quintain, as usual, as well as hand-to-hand combat. Robin wasn’t overfond of the bow, so he found himself not at all tempted by that.

  And then he spotted him. Baldwin of Sedgwick. His nemesis, the one man he hated with all his soul. So, the wretch had returned from whatever errand he’d been sent on. Robin had no doubt the lout had been lurking about in the countryside, robbing unwary travelers and stirring up like mischief wherever he could. But now he was home, and Robin was in the mood for sport. He smiled. The morn was shaping up nicely indeed.

  In the past, he’d cursed his father for keeping Baldwin at Artane, but Rhys had insisted. His theory was that it was far easier to watch an enemy at close range than it was to let him go and wonder where he would strike next. Patrick of Sedgwick was actually Rhys’s uncle, though no one at Artane would have any dealings with the whoreson. Rhys’s mother had fled Sedgwick to escape harsh treatment and ’twas very late in life that Rhys had even discovered he was kin with them.

  The hatred between Artane and Sedgwick ran deep, and truly nowhere did it run deeper than in Robin. Robin had the nagging suspicion it might be his undoing someday, but for now he was young and strong and Baldwin was nowhere near his equal. It was past time to repay Baldwin for a few of his insults.

  He strode over to the near end of the jousting field and took the reins of a horse away from a squire. He swung up into the saddle, snatched a shield out of the poor lad’s hands, and picked up a lance. Baldwin was at the opposite end of the field, leaning casually against the outer bailey wall. Robin stood up in the stirrups.

  “Sedgwick!” he shouted. “Are you man enough to come against me, or will you remain clinging to the wall like a woman?”

  Baldwin’s response was immediate. Robin settled himself in the saddle and smiled grimly, already planning his strategy.

  “Rob, your helmet!” Nicholas bellowed from near the wall.

  Robin waved his brother’s words away—foolishly no doubt, but he was past reason. Besides, Baldwin hadn’t the spine to put a lance through his eye, not with so many witnesses about. Robin waited until Baldwin was prepared, then put his spurs to the warhorse’s side. He guided the mount with naught but his knees as he positioned both the shield and his lance. He struck Baldwin full in the center of his chest, sending him toppling backward. Robin wheeled his mount around and dropped to the ground. Aye, this was the sport he longed for. He waited impatiently until Baldwin had risen, then waited for Baldwin’s attack.

  “Whoreson,” Baldwin spat, lashing out viciously.

  “That is my lord whoreson to you, Sir Baldwin. Ever you forget your manners. Perhaps I should teach you a few this morning.”

  Baldwin’s largest flaw, and a fatal one it was, was his temper. Robin had been too young to take advantage of it in his youth, but he had studied Baldwin long, marking all his weaknesses for future use. Now he was older and the future had come.

  “I’ll kill you this time,” Baldwin snarled, his eyes blazing.

  “Indeed,” Robin drawled. “And find yourself dangling from the end of a rope come nightfall, I’d imagine. But I wouldn’t worry over that possibility, Baldwin. My sisters could best you in a sword fight. I daresay I can manage the feat as well.”

  Robin heard Nicholas’s hearty laughter from behind him and knew that his brother and likely his father were looking on. Five years ago, having his father watch him would have unnerved him completely. Five years of warring had done much to work that unsurety out of him. He was confident in his skill and had no doubts that he could best anyone on the field. Except perhaps his sire. Even at two score and five, Rhys of Artane was still a master.

  But Robin was his father’s son and had learned well his craft. He continued to toy with Baldwin, pretending to fall back only to attack with parries that left Baldwin stumbling in surprise.

  And when Baldwin let his guard slip, Robin shunned his sword, stepped
in, and caught the man under the chin with his fist. His foe slumped to the ground, senseless.

  Robin felt wonderful. It was the first time in months he’d felt a genuine smile come to his face. He shoved his sword into the ground, cracked his knuckles with a happy snap, and came close to beating on his chest in a most victorious fashion.

  “A wrestle!” a young voice cried.

  “Aye, a wrestle!”

  Robin looked about to find his youngest brothers racing toward him. He smiled indulgently as he motioned for his squire to come relieve him of his mail shirt. Let the children come. It was the least he could do when he’d had such success already.

  So he took them on, two on one, and allowed them to win. Of course, it was a lengthy battle. No sense in giving the lads less than a full sense of victory.

  “We have you!” Montgomery cried, sitting on Robin’s chest and waving his fist over his head triumphantly.

  “And so easily done,” John agreed with a war cry that set Robin’s ears to ringing.

  Robin only lay in the mud with them sitting upon him, and laughed at their boasts. His own pride had been mightily assuaged and he was ready to concede almost any other battle. Robin put his hands behind his head and sighed in contentment.

  He suspected that life simply could not improve.

  His brothers were eventually pulled off him and a hand extended. Robin allowed his father to pull him to his feet.

  “Tolerable, for a whelp of your size,” Rhys said gruffly.

  Robin laughed and clapped his father on the shoulder. “Ah, such high praise, Papa. I think I might blush.”

  “Let us go sup, then perhaps you’ll indulge me this afternoon. I’ve yet to find a lad to stand against me and I find my swordplay has suffered because of it.” He grabbed Robin around the back of the neck and shook him. “I’m glad to have you home. Perhaps now I’ll have some decent sport.”

  There was simply no compliment higher than that. Robin had to cough to cover his grin of pleasure. Nicholas groaned.

  “Father, his arrogance is excessive as it is. I pray you, do not add to it more than necessary.”