by Anton, Shari
He gave the horse’s cinch a hard tug. The stallion protested with a toss of his head and an irritated snort, as he always did.
“Problem?” Edwin asked from two stalls away, where he prepared his own mount for an outing.
“Nay. He is simply peevish.”
“Ah. Then the two of you make a suitable pair this morn.”
Stephen heard Edwin’s amusement, didn’t appreciate it, but didn’t fault the man for making the remark. He might have taunted Edwin with a similar comment if their moods had been reversed.
The list Carolyn had given both men consisted of twenty items, some within Branwick’s walls but most without. A few items required long rides and an overnight stay at two of William’s lesser holdings. None of the items seemed beyond the ordinary repairs or improvements regularly necessary or much desired on any holding of good size.
The only item to pique his interest was the repair of the thatched roof on Marian’s hut. Surely William would agree to the repair without a qualm or thought for cost. Or William might not, forcing Marian to reside in the keep where she belonged.
Irritating woman.
Edwin backed his horse out of the stall. “Where shall we begin?”
“We?”
Edwin sighed. “We must inspect the same places and you have no notion of where most of them are. Why not go together if only to keep you from getting lost?”
“I should think you would rather I got lost.”
“Nay, I would rather win this contest fairly, not because you rode over a cliff.”
Damned if the man didn’t sound sincere, and damned if Edwin didn’t know Branwick well enough to act as a novice’s guide.
Still wary, Stephen asked, “Just you and me?”
“On my word, Stephen, you have naught to fear. I will not help you, but neither will I hinder you. The sooner over, the sooner you are gone.”
Stephen relented. This would be a good opportunity to observe Edwin, though he’d still watch his own back. Edwin seemed an honorable man, but was a rival. One didn’t trust one’s enemy to adhere to honor when the prize was great.
“I had planned to begin at whatever site is farthest from Branwick yet reachable within the day. Agreeable?”
Edwin smiled. “A good hard ride should work the peevishness out of both rider and mount. Ready?”
“Lead on.”
Edwin wound his way through the crowded inner bailey, picked up speed in the outer bailey, then dashed out the gate, Stephen at his heels. Once out, Stephen gloried at the freedom of flying over the countryside, at a speed that tasked the horses’ stamina and the riders’ ability. By the time Edwin slowed to spare the horses, Stephen’s mood was much improved.
He pulled up alongside Edwin. “Where do we go?”
“The bridge.”
Stephen recalled Carolyn’s list. “Carolyn deems one of the supports rotted and in need of replacement. Is the bridge heavily traveled?”
Edwin hesitated before answering. “At times.”
Stephen chided himself for asking the question. ’Twasn’t Edwin’s intention to give further aid than ensuring Stephen didn’t get lost. Fair enough. What information he couldn’t glean from observation, he’d ask of Branwick’s steward.
For the better part of the next hour, they rode in silence over a decently kept road which wound through well-tended fields and dense woodlands. He observed the wealth of game, from fluttering doves to an elegantly racked buck. A hare scampered across the road and into the wheat field, safely hidden now within the tall sheaves of gold.
“Ah, for a falcon,” Stephen said, drawing a wistful smile from Edwin.
“Aye, ’twould be a good day for a hunt if we had not another task before us. I hear tell Wilmont’s mews are beyond compare.”
“My brother does love his hunting birds. To my great fortune, he is also willing to share. ’Tis a rare occasion to visit Wilmont without him pressing to fly the hawks at least once.”
“Have you a preference in birds?”
Stephen did. “Peregrines. At least Wilmont’s peregrines. My sister-by-marriage has them trained to such a degree they might hunt on their own.”
Edwin raised a doubting eyebrow. “The baron’s wife has charge of the mews?”
“Nay, not truly. Gerard’s falconer oversees the hunting birds care and training for the most part. Ardith, however, has a great love of peregrines and enjoys the training. The birds respond so well to her methods that Gerard allows Ardith her way with them.” He chuckled. “Of course, one must understand that Gerard allows Ardith her way in most things.”
Gerard did deny Ardith on occasions when he thought his wife tasked her strength and endurance, like as now when she was carrying. For the next few weeks, until after the birth of her babe, Ardith would find it harder to elude her protective husband’s dictates to rest.
Edwin shook his head. “’Tis not wise for a husband to allow a wife to run roughshod.”
Stephen leaned back and laughed. “Nobody runs roughshod over Gerard. He is the most obstinate, overbearing, strong-willed man I know. When he gives an order, all obey immediately. He can be reasonable, but once he has made up his mind over something, then arguing with Gerard is tantamount to butting one’s head into a stone wall.” His amusement died, knowing to what lengths Gerard would go to protect Wilmont and those he loved. “Nay, one does not cross Gerard without paying a severe penalty. The last man who tried lost all, including his life.”
“Basil of Northbryre. The tale of his treachery against Wilmont and the king is well-known.”
Mention of the man’s name still made Stephen’s stomach churn. Basil had nearly caused Richard’s death, schemed to overrun one of Gerard’s keeps, then tried to escape the king’s justice by leaving the country—using Ardith and Gerard’s eldest son as a shield. Stephen refrained from rubbing at his ear, at the chunk of lobe lost during the kidnapping, an event he yet blamed himself for. If harm had come to his two charges…but none had. Ardith and Daymon had survived unscathed.
“When Gerard received Northbryre’s English lands, I went out to inspect the holdings, not so much to see how they fared but to judge any resistance to new lordship. Richard holds a small manor not too distant from here. ’Twas the last time I was in the area, over three years past now.”
“Truly? Which holding?”
Stephen searched his memory. “Snelston?”
“Hmm. Not familiar.”
“Not surprising. If I remember correctly, the manor’s entire fee is three hares and three sacks of grain per year.”
Edwin pointed off to his left. “There, beyond the copse of trees is the bridge.”
Stephen noted the faint sound of rushing water and the continued good condition of the dirt road, so likely the bridge crossed a stream where fording wasn’t possible.
The conjecture proved partially correct. At this bend the stream wasn’t wide, nor deep, but made up for the lack in vigor. Water bubbled and churned merrily over the rock bed and the scattered large boulders. A man on horseback could negotiate the steep banks, but not a cart.
The bridge, however, was a sorry sight.
Stephen urged his horse down the bank into the water and crossed over to the other side, where one bridge support in particular appeared ready to give way. Edwin chose to cross the bridge. The beam groaned, but held. Stephen wouldn’t wish to test it with two men on horseback.
Edwin rode down the bank and entered the water.
Stephen waved at the beam. “’Twould appear Carolyn has the right of it.”
Edwin inspected the underside of the bridge and the support in question, then grunted. “So it seems.”
Stephen followed Edwin back across the stream and up the sloped bank. “Where to next?”
“The forester’s dwelling.”
An important man on any estate, the forester ensured the game in his lord’s woodlands wasn’t overhunted, mostly by keeping watch for poachers. Any peasant caught taking game on his overl
ord’s land would be severely punished, just as any noble who dared hunt the king’s preserves risked censure. The Forest Laws were absolute and unforgiving, and the men who enforced those laws were well cared for.
According to Carolyn’s list, the forester’s hut should be torn down and replaced.
As they left the road and took a narrow path into the dense, cool woods, Stephen noted the abundance of trees useful for planks. Did Branwick boast a good carpenter, or must he be hired from a nearby town? Stephen made a mental note to ask Branwick’s steward. ’Twould make a difference in the cost.
Settled comfortably in the saddle, he followed Edwin down the meandering path. In places, sunbeams pierced the thick canopy overhead. Stephen watched one wide beam dim and then disappear, a warning of clouds traveling the sky.
Edwin pulled up in a grassy glade. In the middle of the glade stood a hut which tilted hard to the side.
Stephen winced at the thought of going inside the dwelling. “Someone lives in there?”
“Nigh on a fortnight ago Carolyn bid the forester to move his family into the keep. Degan still comes out here daily, to do his job properly, but no one sleeps within.”
Stephen turned in his saddle to stare at Edwin. “Just how much time do you spend at Branwick that you know the name of the forester?”
“Enough.”
“Apparently. Do you not have lands of your own to oversee?”
Edwin shrugged a dismissive shoulder. “The border of Tinfield marches with Branwick on the north. Should I be needed, a messenger will come for me. I can be there and back in the space of a day.”
No wonder William favored Edwin. A marriage between Carolyn and Edwin would join neighboring estates, a highly desirable event. Stephen wondered which Edwin coveted more, Carolyn or Branwick—the affairs of which the man knew too much about for Stephen’s peace of mind. Which did Carolyn desire less, Edwin himself, or bowing to her neighbor’s rule over lands she wished to rule on her own?
Stephen drew a long breath. “Where to next?”
“Back to Branwick. Storm coming up.”
Stephen glanced up at the sky over the glade. Indeed, clouds gathered, but he had one more place to visit before the storm broke and he’d rather do it without Edwin.
Marian’s. To inspect the roof.
“Lyssa, ’ware the carrots. Ah, the onions are not ready for picking yet, Audra. Put it back in the ground, if you please.”
Marian’s voice carried over the stone wall and out onto the road, competing with the rumble of distant thunder. Stephen reined in, hearing but not seeing the three ladies of the house who must be in the garden, hidden by the wall.
“Hurry, girls, before the rain comes or you will be up to your knees in mud.”
“Then we could stand out in the rain and wash it off!”
Lyssa’s voice, with an imp’s response.
“I think not,” her mother answered, amused. “Come, a few more weeds and then we are done.”
Stephen dismounted and led his horse toward the wall, glad to hear Lyssa’s voice. If she was still hurting, she’d not be out in the garden pulling weeds.
“What shall we do with the afternoon, Mama?” Audra asked.
“Mayhap lessons are in order. We have neglected them of late.”
“Can we do letters, then? I dislike numbers,” Lyssa commented, bringing a smile to Stephen’s face. Everart, his nephew, disliked numbers, too. Then Everart was merely three summers old, so his mother only gave him lessons he liked. Not for a few more years yet would he join six-year-old Daymon in earnest lessons with Wilmont’s priest.
Marian’s twins were a bit taller than Everart, but nowhere near the size of Daymon. About four, he’d guessed at their age.
Stephen tied the reins to a nearby bush and rested his arms on the chest-high wall. Marian and her girls knelt at the edge of the garden where Marian pulled weeds from around a patch of turnips and the girls, by turns, tugged at greenery and played in the dirt.
The sight warmed him clear through, though he was at a loss to explain why. He’d seen other mothers with their children without being so affected.
“You could read to us from your new book,” Audra suggested to her mother, then looked his way. “Oh, good morn, my lord!”
Lyssa nearly tumbled into the carrots as she rose and spun around. Marian’s head turned. Her gaze locked with his. The warmth turned to heat and settled in his loins. Not even her unwelcoming expression could chill his body’s reaction, and he was thankful for the barrier of the wall to hide his physical response.
“Good morn, my ladies,” he said. “You tend a lovely garden, Marian.”
The slight nod of her head acknowledged the compliment.
Lyssa scampered over to the wall. “We helped!”
Stephen could imagine how much help the girls had been, but he kept his amusement hidden. “So I saw. I am sure your mother appreciates your efforts.”
The girls beamed.
Marian stood stoic. “’Tis about to rain, my lord. Surely you should return to Branwick before the storm lets loose.”
He probably should. Marian didn’t want him here. Still, there was the matter of her roof.
“Your roof is one of the items on Carolyn’s list of repairs. How better to judge the extent of the repair than during a rainstorm?” he asked, surprising himself. He hadn’t planned to wait out the storm here, simply have a look at the thatch.
“One need only look at the corner to see it needs repair.”
Rightly so.
“True, but how much repair? Would you have me lose this contest from lack of thorough knowledge?”
Marian pursed her lips.
Audra tilted her head. “Will you fix the roof?”
Stephen couldn’t imagine himself doing so. “Nay, merely inform William of the extent of the damage so he can hire a thatcher to make the repair. For that I need to know how much rain falls into the hut.”
“Lots,” Audra commented seriously. “Mama puts a pot under the leak so our dirt floor does not become mud.”
“So bad as that?”
“Aye. Come, I will show you.”
Both girls took off for the hut, eager to aid his cause. Stephen willed his body into obedience and passed through the gate. Marian looked most unhappy.
“’Tis unnecessary, Stephen. My uncle knows—”
“Does Edwin?”
“Aye, but—”
“Then I must know, too.”
Marian’s chest expanded during the deep breath she took. He tried not to stare at the rise and fall of her breasts, knowing well what rosy-tipped treasures her worn, gray work gown hid.
She brushed dirt from her hands. “Very well. Mayhap the storm will not last long.”
She strode toward her hut. Stephen followed, noting the stiffness of her spine and how the tip of her long braid swayed to and fro, brushing against her bottom in rhythm with her steps.
If he didn’t stop noticing Marian’s every enticing movement, the day would be long indeed, no matter the duration of the storm. Resolved to attend the chore at hand, he ducked through the doorway.
Inside the hut, the girls stood in the far corner, looking up at the roof. A large, black iron pot lay at their feet. Stephen dutifully walked over to inspect the roof. He couldn’t see light through the thatch, but ’twas obvious from the girls’ placement of the pot that the rain dripped in here.
Stephen poked at the underside, disturbing a beetle that burrowed deeper into thatch. “Getting thin here.”
“How observant of you,” Marian commented.
He ignored her sarcasm.
“Why was this not repaired before now?”
“’Twas not bad before now.”
’Twas perverse of him, he knew, but he looked to Audra for confirmation. “Is that so?”
Her little head nodded. “We did not need Mama’s biggest pot until the last storm.”
The next logical step would be to inspect the roof from above. If
he used his horse as a ladder he’d be able to get up on the roof. Stephen headed for the door.
“Finished?” Marian asked.
He dashed her hope. “I thought to go up on the roof.” The words no more than left this mouth when booming thunder shook the hut and the rain fell with deluge force. “Or mayhap not.”
Marian’s shoulders slumped, pricking Stephen’s anger. Must she make it so clear she wished him gone? There had been a time she’d joyously welcomed his company, craved his presence as he craved hers.
Audra handed Marian a book, bound in black leather. “Read to us, Mama?”
Marian forced a smile for her little one. “Which story?”
“Jonah!”
“The whale again?” Both girls nodded. “Very well, then, the whale it is.”
Marian sat on a rug, her back pressed against the wall. The girls cuddled into her sides. Marian opened the gild-edged pages to a place already marked and began to read.
Stephen settled on a stool near the table. Soon a steady drip of water into the kettle accompanied the melodic lull of Marian’s voice. The girls paid neither the rain nor the occasional clap of thunder any heed.
The whale had no sooner swallowed up Jonah when Audra stuck her thumb in her mouth, her long eyelashes fluttering in an effort to stay awake. Lyssa struggled, too.
Stephen shook off his own languor. The warmth of the closed-up hut combined with the patter of rain and lure of Marian’s voice were making him drowsy, too. Unwilling to succumb, he rose to gaze out the window. His stallion looked none too pleased for taking a soaking. A long, hard rubdown and special treat were in order later.
“Stephen?” Marian whispered. He turned to see both tykes fast asleep, Marian trapped between them. “Move Lyssa, please?”
Pleased to be of some use to her, Stephen knelt beside the girl whose head rested against her mother’s breast. To move Lyssa, he must touch Marian. Well, she’d asked for his aid, so must realize she must tolerate his touch, if only briefly.
Stephen slid his hand between mother and daughter, concentrating on not waking Lyssa, on controlling the wayward direction of his thoughts. He didn’t dare look at Marian’s face when the back of his hand pressed against the pliancy of her breast, fearing he’d see revulsion. Gently, but swiftly, he moved Lyssa to her pallet.