Knave of Hearts

by Anton, Shari

  The tarts and ale arrived. Edwin assured William that Marian and girls were settled for the night. Stephen contemplated drawing Carolyn away for a private talk, then decided it too soon, for she hadn’t yet let go completely of her sulks. ’Twould also be too obvious a ploy for privacy to commit in front of Edwin.

  “You look tired, my lord,” Edwin commented to William.

  The old man waved the concern away. “I spend too much of my day abed as it is. Besides, Carolyn and I were discussing the improvements she wishes to make to Branwick.”

  Carolyn closed her psalter. “My suggestions are quite sound, Father. I believe you should approve every one.”

  “And again I ask, where would the coin come from to pay for all of these improvements?”

  “I know how you abhor moneylenders—”

  William huffed. “Thieves. Every one.”

  “—but many of the repairs must be made before winter. We can delay some until after we sell our stock of fleece. The price should rise soon and—”

  “If it does not, then with what will we repay the moneylenders?”

  Carolyn pursed her lips, and for a moment Stephen thought she would end her argument. He silently urged her on, cheering her persistence. How many times had he stood before Gerard, arguing a point, striving to make his brother see reason? At times, it worked. To his delight, Carolyn’s chin rose.

  “Father, I realize you find it hard to make decisions based on others’ observations and opinions. If you were able to take to horse and ride the estate, you would agree that all of the items on my list deserve immediate attention.”

  “Surely not all.”

  “Ivo agrees with me.”

  “My poor steward likely gave in to you to save his wits. But you are right, since I cannot see for myself I must depend upon the opinion of others. Edwin and I have discussed—”

  “Without telling me? You would heed Edwin’s opinion over mine?”

  William didn’t answer, simply stared hard at Carolyn. She noticeably reined in her temper. Stephen knew the feeling and was tempted to defend Carolyn. Truly, though, she didn’t yet need help, had held her own quite admirably.

  “I see,” she finally said, her voice calm now yet strained. “Am I to assume you have made a final decision then?”

  “Not as yet. I thought to seek yet one more person’s opinion.” William’s challenging gaze swung around. “What of you, young Stephen? Have you the knowledge of land use and husbandry to offer an opinion?”

  ’Twas a challenge, insultingly delivered. The old lord wanted to know how, as a husband to his daughter, Stephen would council Carolyn. ’Twas also clear William thought Stephen incapable of a knowledgeable opinion, just as he thought Carolyn’s knowledge faulty.

  Stephen knew perfectly well how to manage an estate, several of them in fact. All of his holdings were doing quite well, too.

  “On what matter would you like an opinion, William?”

  “What might be your view on moneylenders?”

  The answer placed Stephen squarely between Carolyn, who urged obtaining a loan, and William, who wanted nothing to do with those he considered thieves. No simple yea or nay would suffice if he wished to please both daughter and father.

  “I have not had occasion to use their services, however, I believe if the need for ready coin is urgent, a lender should be considered. I know two London Jews who my family has dealt with in times of dire need. Both are forthright in their bargaining and are content with a modest return on their loans.”

  William’s eyes narrowed. “So you would risk the loss of Branwick?”

  “Never. A lender should only be consulted if Bran-wick is already at risk from want of ready coin. Without knowing the particulars of the improvements Carolyn has suggested, nor having any notion of the health of your coffers, I would not presume to judge Branwick’s state of need.”

  Stephen thought he’d slipped from a dangerous situation neatly, until William continued.

  “As I was about to say before Carolyn’s outburst, Edwin and I discussed the replacement of the millstone. Apparently the stone is cracked so badly it cannot be trusted through harvest. ’Tis a heady expenditure, but must be done lest we be short of flour for winter. On the remaining items I am undecided.” William turned to Carolyn. “On the morn, give Edwin and Stephen copies of your list. Mayhap one or the other can find a way to give you all you wish at a price I am willing to pay.”

  In so few words, casually delivered, William had declared a contest. Stephen clearly understood that whichever suitor presented the best overall plan at the least cost would be highly favored as Carolyn’s next husband.

  Armand entered the bedchamber with a smug, satisfied look about him that even the dim candle glow didn’t diminish.

  Lounging on the bed, stripped down to sherte and breeches, Stephen didn’t have to ask where and with whom Armand had found amusement.

  “So how is the little maid?” Stephen asked.

  “Her name is Dena, and she is lovely.”

  At the hint of defensiveness, Stephen abandoned the urge to tease the squire further.

  William’s audacity yet rankled. ’Twasn’t fair to take his ire out on Armand. Though it annoyed him, he’d participate, if only because Edwin hadn’t protested the contest, thus making Stephen look peevish if he did.

  “Was Dena also informative?”

  “Somewhat.” Armand threw the bolt on the door and began to shrug out of his tunic. “The twins are not Carolyn’s half sisters, but her cousin’s daughters.”

  “So I learned for myself. I also learned that their mother is a widow. Did Dena say how Marian came to be at Branwick?”

  “Nay, but then I did not ask. Shall I?”

  Stephen thought to say yes, then changed his mind. The mystery was still there, but would keep for the nonce. More urgent matters pressed on his mind.

  “No need.”

  Armand shrugged a shoulder. “As you wish. Anyway, I did ask Dena about Edwin of Tinfield, thinking you would wish to know about your rival. On that score, she was most informative.” He tossed his tunic down onto his pallet at the foot of the bed, then lowered onto a stool to dispose of his boots. “Edwin’s prime holding is not far from here, so he has known William de Grasse and his family for a long time. Apparently Edwin lost his first wife about the time Carolyn lost her first husband. He applied to her father for a marriage bargain, but William had already pledged Carolyn to another.”

  “So now Edwin tries again.”

  “Only this time Carolyn pleaded with her father to let her choose her third husband, or at least have some say. William must have felt some pang of sympathy because he agreed. He has, however, allowed Edwin to spend much time at Branwick, even though Carolyn balks at Edwin’s age.” Armand grinned. “Dena says the arguments between the pair are spectacular, most of them over how much freedom a woman should be granted within the bounds of marriage. Edwin taunts Carolyn with her unladylike beliefs. Carolyn taunts Edwin about his gray hair. A mismatched pair, I would say.”

  Another mark against Edwin. Still, even if William didn’t force Carolyn to marry Edwin, he could certainly refuse to allow his daughter to marry Stephen of Wilmont—all because of this damn contest.

  Stephen rubbed his eyes, thinking about the list he’d receive on the morn. Gad, he’d left his estates under his stewards’ and Gerard’s direction for too long to know costs of materials and labor readily. ’Twould pose a problem, though not an insurmountable one. William couldn’t expect him to know the price of goods and services in this area, for costs differed greatly depending upon ready availability. Ivo could supply figures.

  His greatest problem was getting to know Carolyn better. He needed to know what pleased her outside of the bedchamber—which he already knew.

  She obviously liked to ride over the countryside, but did she also like long walks? Did she prefer bold colors to pale, ale to wine, a psalter to a wooden chest?

  Not William, nor Edwin
, nor Ivo would be of help on that front. Nor would Armand’s Dena, for servants often saw their betters in a different light than would those of closer rank and status.

  He knew of only one other person at Branwick who matched Carolyn’s status and could supply the answers he needed. Marian.

  Marian of the pewter eyes and sable hair. The widowed mother of adorable twins, who lived in a hut on the edge of the hamlet. He still didn’t like the arrangement, the three of them out there alone and unprotected, no matter how long they’d lived on their own.

  Marian’s continued vexation at him rubbed a raw spot on his innards, more troubling than he should allow. He hadn’t meant to seem indifferent to her all those years ago; there simply hadn’t been time when leaving Murwaithe for fare-thee-wells or a parting kiss. Yet she still held him in contempt for that one act of discourtesy.

  Could he somehow make it up to her now? Would she then soften her manner toward him, talk to him without an edge to her voice? Grace him with a smile?

  ’Twasn’t as if Marian had pined for him overlong. Judging by the size of her girls, they must be somewhere around the age of four, so Marian she must have wed within a year or so after their affair and given her husband children.

  Had Marian’s husband known she wasn’t a virgin before they married?

  Stephen frowned.

  If Marian had confessed her lack of virginity to her father, she might have had to settle for a less than suitable husband. Could it be she blamed Stephen of Wilmont for some degradation he knew nothing about? ’Twould certainly explain her high vexation, and also explain Edwin’s comment about the possibility of hard feelings in Marian’s family. Perhaps she’d come to Branwick after her husband’s death because she couldn’t return to Murwaithe for some reason.

  “What plan for the morrow, my lord?”

  Armand’s question jolted Stephen back to the immediate problem of William’s challenge. He briefly related the conditions to Armand.

  “Should not be a difficult task,” Armand commented. “You did a similar study several years ago for Gerard, did you not?”

  The king had settled a large grant of land—confiscated from a traitor to the crown—on Gerard for bringing the miscreant to justice. Gerard kept only one holding, then gifted Stephen and Richard with the rest. Seeing the opportunity to be off on an adventure, Stephen offered to inspect all the newly gained holdings and report back on their condition. He’d taken Corwin along, and the two of them enjoyed a grand time visiting one estate after the other. Some of the estates had suffered greatly under their former overlord.

  “Similar, but different. Wilmont’s coffers run deep, and Gerard was willing to borrow funds, if necessary, to make urgent repairs. William is neither so wealthy nor so broad-minded.”

  “Broad-minded enough to allow Carolyn the freedoms he does. Mayhap he will be easier to please than you fear.”

  ’Twas possible. Unfortunately, since arriving at Bran-wick he hadn’t been able to please anyone except one little girl who’d smiled brightly at him before coming down with a severe headache.

  Despite Marian’s obvious wish not to, he’d like to make amends with the girl’s mother. Not because Marian could influence William’s opinion of him, if she chose, but for his own peace of mind.

  Except, given Marian’s hostility, returning to her good graces might prove more difficult than winning William’s contest.

  Marian couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d cracked opened the shutters to judge the time by the rising sun, then wondered if her wits had fled.

  ’Twas just past dawn, yet Stephen sat on her stone wall, staring at her hut. Garbed in a dark-green tunic, brown breeches and boots, he looked like a man of the forest, a wanderer—or a brigand.

  Stephen hadn’t been out there all night, had he? Surely not. Then he must have left the keep before the chapel bell pealed to bid all to morning Mass.

  She gave a moment’s thought to staying safely within the hut before she pulled on her boots and tossed a hooded cloak over her unbound hair and gray gown. The girls would sleep awhile yet, and she wanted Stephen gone before they woke.

  He slid off the wall as she slipped out the door. She walked toward him, getting only close enough to talk quietly so they’d not wake the girls.

  “How fares Lyssa?”

  His inquiry tugged at Marian’s heart. Stephen didn’t know he asked after the health of his own daughter. Then again, the inquiry might not be truly Stephen’s, but William’s. ’Twould be like her uncle to send someone out at dawn to ask after Lyssa.

  “She was up twice in the night, but has slept steadily for the past few hours. The worst has passed.”

  “Poor tyke. ’Tis not right a little one should suffer so. On our way back to Branwick last eve, Edwin told me you had taken her to a London physician to seek a cure. That was Lyssa in your bed that night, was it not?”

  She’d tried very hard to put that night in Westminster Palace out of her mind, as well as other nights in Stephen’s company, and certainly didn’t want to talk about any of them now.

  “Aye, ’twas Lyssa. She had finally fallen asleep and I did not want you to wake her.” Marian glanced back at the hut, her refuge. “I should go back in now, and you had best be on your way or you will miss Mass.”

  He smiled, a hint of mischief in the upward curve. “I suppose I should, or William will have one more thing to hold against me.”

  The question that skittered through her head must have shown on her face.

  “He does not like me,” Stephen said. “William thinks me too young and not worth my daily bread, to hear him tell it. Certes, not worth the hand of his daughter.”

  William could be blunt, but he was rarely outright rude.

  “My uncle told you this?”

  “Not only did he say he considered me an unsuitable match for his daughter, but he has devised a contest designed to prove his belief.” Stephen turned around and placed his hands on the wall, his head turning as he perused the view of Branwick’s fields and woodlands before him. “Edwin and I will each receive a list of improvements to be made to Branwick. We are to inspect the holding and devise a plan to make the most improvements at the least cost. He did not say so but he expects me to make a muck of it.”

  Hoping her uncle might be right, which meant Stephen would be on his way soon, she asked, “Will you?”

  He spun around. “Oh, nay. In truth, I am not overly worried over the contest, merely annoyed. I am concerned, however, over you.”

  Her confusion heightened when he took two steps toward her and grasped her shoulders. She could feel the heat of his hands through her cloak, enjoy the pressure of the familiar squeeze of his fingers.

  “I was up a time or two myself last night,” he said. “After we left here last eve, I worried over leaving you and the girls out here, unprotected. Edwin told me you have lived as such for several years, yet I do not understand why you do not live in the keep, as you should.”

  She wished his fingers would be still, that her own arms didn’t yearn to wrap around him. She locked her arms firmly across her chest to muffle her pounding heart.

  “I prefer the hut to the keep. Truly, we are in no danger.”

  He looked skeptical, so she pointed toward a hut not far down the road.

  “In yon hut lives the blacksmith, whose two lads are nigh as big as bulls. If I scream, you had best prepare to defend yourself.”

  A smile touched the edge of Stephen’s mouth. “I am a Wilmont trained knight. I do believe I can manage against the blacksmith’s lads.” His amusement disappeared. “Marian, I must confess the ill will you bear me sits heavy on my mind. I had hoped we could make amends. At Westminster, I tried to apologize for whatever heartache I might have caused you. Will you listen now?”

  This was why Stephen had come. Not to inquire about Lyssa or relay concern over their safety. Marian backed up a step; Stephen’s hands fell away.

  “’Twas a long time ago. You need have no concern
—”

  “I believe I do.” He waved a hand at the hut. “You deserve far better than a hut outside the walls of your uncle’s keep. I remember a girl filled with gaiety and a sense of adventure, but the woman barely smiles. I fear our liaison caused your downward change of fortune. What happened after I left you?”

  Marian quelled the panic before it could rise. Stephen didn’t know about the twins. He begged answers she refused to give.

  “The life I now have is of mine own choosing. Let it be, Stephen. Best you go back to the keep before you are missed.”

  She fled the man and the memories. Not until she opened the door did he call out her name. The urge to turn around nearly overcame her good sense, but she closed the door behind her and threw the bolt.

  Marian leaned against the door, trembling, listening for the sounds of his footsteps. Not hearing them, she dared a peek out the shutters. Stephen had vanished, as if he’d never been there.

  But he had been and he’d be back. As sure as she drew her next breath, she knew Stephen wouldn’t let the matter be.

  Her daughters, Stephen’s daughters, yet slept. How angelic they looked in their sleep. Audra with her thumb in her mouth; Lyssa without the furrow of pain on her forehead.

  She’d been up most of the night holding a cold rag on Lyssa’s brow and wished she could do more for the darling who’d given her so much joy. Somewhere in the wee hours, with her eyes heavy and guard down, the thought had crept in that she’d denied Stephen the joy of watching the girls take their first steps, hearing their first words.

  Heaven help her, she still couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a grievous mistake in keeping them apart.

  Chapter Five

  Needing a long, hard ride after his unsatisfactory talk with Marian, Stephen decided to begin his inspection of Branwick at the farthest reaches of the estate. All he need do is have someone point him in the right direction.

  All through Mass he’d reviewed his talk with Marian and realized he went about it wrong. He should have apologized first, then tried to find out what he apologized for. She couldn’t still be angry with him over a discourtesy; it had to run deeper, much deeper.