Knave of Hearts

by Anton, Shari

  “Most certainly, my lord. She awaits you in the hall.”

  The steward’s words were given graciously, but something in the man’s tone warned of something amiss, and Stephen feared he knew what it was.

  He glanced over at Armand who, having relegated their horses to a stable lad, pushed his mail cowl back from his head. He ran his fingers through his sandy-colored hair, only half attempting to hold back a knowing grin.

  “Then we should not keep her ladyship waiting,” Stephen told the steward and took to the stairs, Ivo and Armand following close behind.

  Stephen opened the huge oak doors at the top of the stairway, stepped into the great hall and searched for Carolyn. She sat at a table on the dais at the far end of the hall, sipping from a silver goblet, paying scant heed to the man sitting next to her on the bench. Upon seeing him inside the doorway, she rose and came around the table, then stood statue still, waiting for Stephen to come to her.

  His intended’s beauty would take any man’s breath away. Regal in her bearing, Carolyn’s gown of sapphire showed both her coloring and figure to great advantage. Braids of shining auburn hung forward, over her breasts, down to beyond her waist. A stiffened band of sapphire stitched with gold hugged her forehead. Stephen waited for her bow mouth to curve into a smile, and was disappointed.

  If she was angry, however, she hid it well behind a mask of indifference. Not until he reached her did Stephen notice a tinge of annoyance surface.

  “You came, finally,” she said.

  Stephen grasped her dainty hand and brought it to his mouth. “I rushed to your side the moment my duty was done. My apologies for having worried you.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Worried? Nay, Stephen. I have found worrying over any man a useless waste.” She pulled her hand away. “You and your company will wish to get settled.”

  Annoyed by her formality, striving for a charm that usually came naturally, Stephen tilted his head and gave her his most engaging smile. “Once done, you and I shall renew our acquaintance—”

  “Mayhap after evening meal,” she said. Carolyn beckoned forth the man she’d been sitting next to at the dais.

  The man, whose dark hair was quickly succumbing to gray, took his time answering her summons. Norman, Stephen judged the man from both his self-assured demeanor and elegant tunic. Old, but not soft of mind or body.

  Carolyn smiled up sweetly at the older man. “Edwin and I were about to go riding, were we not, your lordship?”

  Edwin shrugged, giving Stephen the impression this was the first Edwin had heard of the plan but wasn’t inclined to refuse her.

  Carolyn’s smile disappeared. “I hope you find your chamber to your liking, Stephen. Ivo will see to your needs.”

  Incredulous, Stephen watched the pair leave the hall, Edwin trailing in Carolyn’s wake.

  “An interesting turn of events,” Armand said lightly.

  Stephen agreed. “Who is Edwin?”

  Ivo didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Edwin of Tinfield, your rival for Lady Carolyn’s hand.”

  Chapter Two

  Stephen slowly recovered from hearing another man competed with him for Carolyn, and a man nearing his dotage at that. Granted, Edwin of Tinfield was well preserved, but going gray nonetheless.

  Knowing Carolyn loathed the thought of marrying an older man, Stephen doubted she seriously considered Edwin’s suit. Or did she? She’d smiled at him rather prettily. Because she liked the man—or to display her annoyance with her tardy suitor?

  More importantly, did Edwin of Tinfield have William de Grasse’s favor and blessing?

  “I require an audience with his lordship,” he told Ivo.

  The steward waved a hand toward the farthest corner of the room where stood a drapery-enclosed bed. “William is resting. Mayhap you can have a word with him before evening meal. Until then, we shall settle you into a chamber. If you will permit, my lord, I shall have your possessions brought up to the keep.”

  Stephen bit back his vexation at having an order shunted aside. Though he outranked everyone at Bran-wick, including its lord, ’twould not further his cause to berate the steward. One never knew when an underling’s goodwill might be needed.

  Stephen nodded his consent for Ivo to send for the supply wagons still waiting in the outer bailey.

  Studying the bed in the corner of the hall, Stephen wondered why the man preferred to have his bed down here in the hall instead of his upstairs chamber. Apparently, William still suffered mightily from whatever illness had prevented him from accompanying his daughter to Westminster.

  The lack of parental presence there had afforded Stephen rare freedoms in pursuing Carolyn. Her only familial companion at court, and not a hindrance to his pursuit of Carolyn, had been Marian.

  Marian had revealed her relationship to Carolyn as cousins, and Stephen knew enough of the family lines of England’s nobles to conclude they must be related through their mothers. Still, William must hold Marian, or possibly her husband, in high enough regard to have allowed his daughter to travel in the couple’s care.

  After leaving Marian, Stephen didn’t have the time or the inclination to inquire after Marian’s husband. He’d barely had time to find Carolyn. She’d been so high flown on the king’s wine he hadn’t pressed his advantage, simply escorted her to her chamber, all the while explaining his need to leave for Normandy. She’d been sober enough to agree to pass along his intention to secure a betrothal bargain to her father.

  ’Struth, he’d been relieved to find Carolyn in no condition for a tryst. Memories of Marian, her sweet charms and eager body, had refused to leave his head. He might have seriously blundered if he tried to make love to one woman while thinking erotic thoughts of another.

  Here at Branwick, knowing Marian was far from sight and out of reach, safely ensconced with her child and husband in some distant manor or castle, he would have no such trouble. If Carolyn wasn’t too angry. If Edwin didn’t interfere.

  “Now what?” Armand asked.

  Very aware he hadn’t been received at Branwick in the manner he hoped to be, Stephen had half a notion to tell Armand to ready the company to leave, but dismissed the idea. True, Carolyn insulted him by going off riding with Edwin, but marriage to a woman who needed little tending suited his needs too perfectly. Besides, how could he go home and tell his brothers that Carolyn preferred the company of a man nearly double his age and of lower rank? Wouldn’t they have a good laugh?

  “We wait for William to wake up or for Carolyn to return from her ride,” he said, seeing no choice in the matter.

  “You are taking this setback rather well.”

  Stephen didn’t see much choice in that, either. He couldn’t very well go chasing after Carolyn, nor shove the bed curtains aside and shake his future father-by-marriage awake.

  “Where would be the fun in life if there were no challenges?” he chided Armand. “Keeps boredom at bay. Come, I hear wagons arriving.”

  Harlan, indeed, arrived with the baggage carts. Under Ivo’s direction, Wilmont’s soldiers and Branwick’s servants hauled Stephen’s belongings up the narrow, winding stairway to a bright, large bedchamber on the third and top floor of the keep. A slight musty odor hinted that the chamber hadn’t been occupied in some time. Considering the tapestries lining the walls, the huge brazier and ornate furnishings—with no bed in evidence—Stephen guessed this must be the lord’s bedchamber.

  His mood brightened. Only an honored guest would be granted the privilege of using William de Grasse’s chamber. Mayhap Carolyn wasn’t taking him lightly after all.

  Harlan assured Stephen that he and Wilmont’s soldiers had been assigned quarters in the armory with Branwick’s guards. The horses and oxen would be cared for in the stables. The food had already been taken to the kitchen, and the kegs of fine Burgundy wine hauled into Branwick’s cellar.

  Acting as Stephen’s squire, Armand would sleep on a pallet on the floor, a pallet easily moved out of the bedchamber
if—when—Stephen required privacy.

  Soon only he and Armand and a young maid remained in the chamber. Armand squatted down and drew bed linens and fur coverlets from a trunk to hand over to the maid. Stephen peered over Armand’s shoulder into the open trunk.

  “Are the gifts packed in here?”

  Armand moved several of Stephen’s tunics aside.

  “Thinking to give them to Lady Carolyn already?”

  “Only one, and not the best, which she does not get until our betrothal is agreed to.” He pulled out a wooden chest with delicate brass hinges and clasp, its top beautifully carved with a floral design. “This chest should prick Carolyn’s curiosity about what I might have brought along to put into it.”

  “A shrewd maneuver.”

  “I hope so.”

  Armand rose and closed the trunk. The maid wandered over, finished with making up the bed.

  “Will there be aught else, my lords?” she asked.

  Stephen recognized the invitation on her face. He’d seen it countless times on the faces of women of low and high birth alike. Odd thing was, the pretty little maid looked forthrightly at Armand, whose cheeks colored slightly.

  Well, how interesting! Stephen surmised that if on some night he asked Armand to sleep elsewhere, the squire need not sleep alone.

  “Nothing now,” Stephen answered, drawing the maid’s attention. “To be sure, if your services are required, I shall send Armand to you straightaway.”

  The maid curtsied. “You need only seek me out,” she said, then sauntered saucily across the chamber to the door, where she shot Armand a half shy, half seductive look before leaving.

  Such an invitation shouldn’t be ignored. The lass was certainly pretty enough, and just about the right age to give Armand a rousing tumble. About the same age as Marian had been when Stephen gleefully answered her enticing smile.

  She’d been so ripe and eager, and he so randy and ready. Only Marian hadn’t been a maid, but the daughter of Hugo de Lacy, a Norman knight.

  Armand cleared his throat. “I wonder what gifts Edwin has already given Carolyn?”

  Jerked back to thoughts of his intended, Stephen said, “Much the same as I will gift her with, I would think. Delicacies for her table, baubles for her to wear. I can only hope Carolyn prefers my baubles over Edwin’s.”

  “Carolyn cannot help but love the brooch. For a woman who does not wear many baubles, my lady Ardith has exquisite taste.”

  “No argument there,” Stephen agreed, thinking of the shiny silver brooch his sister-by-marriage had unmercifully nagged him into buying.

  Ardith, sister of his best friend, Corwin, and now three years married to Gerard, was a gem of a woman. Gerard had never been forced to ply her with gifts, for she considered Gerard’s love beyond price and all she required for her happiness.

  The two of them, to Stephen’s way of thinking, challenged the norm of noble marriages. Loving couples were a rarity. More normally marriages were arranged to bind alliances or secure wealth. Long ago, Stephen had concluded that his own marriage would be for convenience sake, as his parents’ marriage had been.

  His parents’ marriage hadn’t been joyful. Indeed, they’d barely tolerated each other. The problem lay, or so Stephen had concluded, within expectations. His parents had married extremely young, had met on the day of their wedding, neither knowing what to expect of the other.

  His marriage to Carolyn might not be based on love, but each knew what to expect. There would be no misunderstandings, and therefore no disappointments. He’d give Carolyn the security of a marriage, sire her children, then make himself scarce, just as she wanted.

  Best that way, at least for him. It simply wasn’t within him to do as his brothers did—spend the bulk of his time in one place with one woman, doing the same things day after day, season after season.

  The bedchamber suddenly seemed smaller, containing less air.

  Stephen put the ornate chest on top of the trunk. “Let us go down and see if William has awakened, shall we?”

  With her girls at her side and the altar cloth over her arm, Marian entered Branwick Keep. During a quick perusal of the great hall she determined Stephen was elsewhere. Relieved, she hoped if she hurried her chore she might escape the keep without seeing him.

  Marian approached Branwick’s steward. “Good day, Ivo. Is his lordship awake?”

  “Aye, my lady, he is, and your visit is well-timed. He is in want of cheering.”

  The consternation on Ivo’s face said William’s mood needed lifting beyond the normal frustrations of his illness.

  “What troubles him?”

  “Carolyn behaved in less than gracious manner earlier. His lordship is not pleased she went riding with Edwin instead of showing proper deference to our guest.”

  The guest must be Stephen. Marian bit back questions over what had transpired upon his arrival. ’Twasn’t her place to question Carolyn’s actions. Nor did she wish to become involved, in any manner, in Carolyn and Stephen’s situation. Though the thought occurred to Marian that Carolyn’s inattention didn’t bode well for Stephen’s suit. Not a displeasing thought.

  “And the guest?”

  “Stephen of Wilmont.” Ivo glanced at the stairs. “He wishes an audience with his lordship. When your visit is done, I will fetch him.”

  Grateful for the inadvertent information and reprieve, Marian hurried toward the bed where her uncle spent the bulk of his days, garbed only in white linen shertes, propped up by bolsters. She paused at the foot of the bed.

  “Uncle William?”

  “Ah, Marian. Come.”

  She pushed aside the curtain at William’s right side, the side less affected by his apoplexy. His blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and curiosity beneath eyebrows as bushy white as his hair.

  “What brings you?” he asked, as was his habit, making Marian feel a bit guilty for not visiting more often. He knew her reasons and accepted them.

  “The altar cloth, of course. Did you not wish to have it in your possession today?”

  Marian didn’t wait for an answer, just snapped the cloth open and let it drift down over the woolen blanket that covered his legs. He ran the fragile fingers of his good hand over the cloth.

  “’Twill do,” he said.

  “’Twill do?” Marian rejoined. “Uncle, if you hope to bribe your way into heaven, your gifts to the archbishop had best be of better quality than a mere ’twill do.”

  “’Tis beautiful, Mama,” Audra proclaimed.

  Lyssa elbowed her sister hard enough to jostle the eggs in the basket Audra held. “Tsk. Uncle knows that, Audra. He jests with Mama.”

  William raised a bushy eyebrow at Lyssa. “Do I now?” he asked gruffly, to which Lyssa answered a confident, “Aye.”

  He leaned over slightly and whispered none too softly, “Mayhap you are right, child, but do not tell your mother. If I praise her work too highly, she may become lax in her efforts on my behalf and I shall never get into heaven.” Lyssa giggled. He waved Audra closer. “What have you in the basket?”

  Audra set the basket on the bed. “Eggs, six of them,” she said proudly.

  William leaned back, his expression aghast. “Six! Whoever shall help me eat so many?”

  Audra’s smile was sly as she glanced at her twin. “If the cook boils them hard, we can help you eat them, my lord.”

  “Ha! Off to the kitchen with you then. Be sure to tell the cook we want them well boiled.”

  Marian gave credit where credit was due. William treated her daughters as well as he knew how. Even now, as the girls celebrated their fifth summer, he didn’t often use their names for fear of getting them wrong. He accepted the twins where others didn’t. The girls had been born in Branwick Keep, and everyone should be used to them by now. Yet, many kept their distance, fearful of getting too close to two such identical little beings.

  ’Twas hard to fight superstition, so mostly she and her daughters kept to themselves and ignored tho
se whose fear overruled their sense.

  “What think you of Stephen of Wilmont, my lord?” Lyssa asked.

  The tyke’s question surprised Marian as well as William.

  “I do not know,” he answered. “I have not yet talked to the man. Since you asked, I gather you have formed an opinion.”

  Lyssa’s head bobbed. “He stopped to greet us at our stone wall. He is ever so handsome and has a kind smile.”

  “He also minds his manners,” Audra added. “He must be wealthy, too. He wears a silk tunic and his horse’s bridle is studded with silver.”

  Marian pursed her lips to hold her peace. William had asked the girls to express their opinion. If she tried to shoo her daughters on their way too soon, William would wonder why. His body might be frail, but his mind was as sharp as ever.

  William glanced from one girl to the other. “I see. I will take your observations into consideration. Now, see to our eggs if you please.”

  The girls dipped into quick curtsies then hurried out to do William’s bidding. Marian picked up the altar cloth to fold it.

  “I should be away, too. Now that you have approved of the cloth, I will have it wrapped for transport.”

  “You know of the family of Wilmont?”

  Marian saw no sense in denying it. She could too easily be found out a liar.

  “My father once purchased horses from Wilmont’s stock.”

  “Fine stock.”

  “That it is.” The lords of Wilmont bred quality horseflesh, the finest in the kingdom. Those who could afford the steep price settled for no less. “’Tis nearly time for evening meal, my lord. Shall I have your meal brought to you?”

  “When the eggs are done. Sit a moment, Marian.”

  Until William gave her leave to go, she must remain. Hoping Ivo wouldn’t fetch Stephen until after she left, as he’d said, she perched on the edge of the bed.

  “I have noted,” William said, “that in the months since you returned from Westminster, you have never expressed an opinion of Carolyn’s desire to marry this Stephen of Wilmont. Surely you, too, must have one.”

  She did, but one she chose not to share. In the end, only Carolyn’s wishes mattered. So Marian had made peace with her inner turmoil, hoping if the marriage came to pass Stephen would take Carolyn off to some distant manor of his, so she wouldn’t be forced to witness their union for very long.