Knave of Hearts

by Anton, Shari

  “The last time you told me you would be gone for a few weeks, you did not return for three months!” Carolyn rose from the bench. “I will not wait so long again, Stephen of Wilmont. Be too long gone and you may return to find another man has taken your place.”

  Stephen watched her flounce off, wondering if that would be so bad. Aye, it would. He’d made too much progress toward his goal to give up now.

  Stephen finished the list and then saw Donald out Branwick’s gate before he sought an audience with William, a courtesy he must perform to remain in his lordship’s good graces. He approached the bedside with resolve in place and court manners firmly in mind.

  William wore a frown, not a good omen. “I hear you are leaving on the morn, something about a friend gone missing.”

  Carolyn must have complained to her father. So be it.

  He sat down on the stool by the bedside. “Corwin is more than a friend. We grew up together, trained for knighthood with each other, have fought side by side in more battles than I care to remember. He is more brother to me than a friend.” Stephen smiled. “Truth to tell, we are now related. Corwin’s sister is the baron’s wife.”

  “A call of family duty, then.”

  “Somewhat.”

  William nodded. “’Tis important, duty to family. You have my leave to go, and godspeed.”

  Stephen chose not to comment that he hadn’t asked William’s leave. “My thanks.”

  “Can we here at Branwick assist you in some manner?”

  The offer took Stephen by surprise. Truly, he’d been prepared for William to simply bid him good riddance.

  “A gracious offer. A few days worth of victuals for myself and Armand would be appreciated.” Stephen rose, preparing to bid William good day, then thought of another task in need of attention before he left for York. “In his missive, Gerard mentioned that Richard has married. I should send a gift. Might there be a craftsman on your estate you might recommend?”

  William thought about it a moment. “Truly, lad, I leave such matters in Carolyn’s hands. You might have a word with her.”

  “Your daughter is not pleased with me at the moment. Mayhap I shall have a look around the merchant shops in York.”

  “If you do not wish to consult Carolyn, then you could ask Marian for advice. She would know what gifts are appropriate for a noble couple.” William’s eyes lit up. “Of course, Marian. Have you seen the lovely embroidery she does? Mayhap you could talk her into decorating table linens or some such.”

  Right now he didn’t think he could talk Marian into giving him the time of day.

  “I shall consider your suggestion.”

  “Well you should. Marian is truly gifted. Her designs are only exceeded by her exacting stitch.”

  “Talented, is she?”

  “By my word, none can compare. ’Struth, she is securing my place in heaven with her deft hand. If you speak with her this afternoon, she might have a design readied for your approval when you return. And while you are out there, tell her I believe another altar cloth is in order. A design in silver and dark green this time, I think.”

  Buying William’s way into heaven? With altar cloths? A strange notion, but Stephen didn’t inquire further, the possibility of a way to connect with Marian driving all else from his mind.

  Working together on a project tended to bring the people involved into frequent close contact, and most often fostered camaraderie. Could so simple a thing as having Marian embroider table linens help bring about the much longed for peace between them?

  While the girls napped, Marian used the quiet time to work with wax tablet and stylus. The storybook lay on the table, open to the illustration of the first story.

  Adam and Eve’s banishment from the garden.

  The painter had drawn forth a hiss from the snake. Marian was determined to learn how to do the same in needlework.

  Gads, ’twould make a beautiful tapestry. Her fingers fair itched for cloth and yarn. To do this picture justice, however, she’d need a large loom in a big room, and far more yarn in brighter colors than Branwick’s dyer could supply.

  Marian knew Carolyn would allow her the use of Branwick’s loom, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. ’Twould mean spending too many days at Branwick. ’Twas easier to ignore those who couldn’t accept the twins when not forced to face them every day for long hours.

  Yet the temptation lingered to weave a tapestry large enough to hang in the great hall of Branwick Keep, whether of the banishment or some other scene of William’s preference.

  If of the banishment, she’d also be tempted to make the snake hiss not in victory, but from failure. All human woes could be traced back to Eve listening to an evil snake. How much more pleasant the world would be if not for Eve’s weakness.

  Marian turned the book to view the snake at a different angle. He certainly was beautiful when colored in green, blue and black. Maybe that’s why her attempts to capture him in wax failed so miserably, lack of color.

  A knock drew her to her feet. Distracted by the snake she opened the door without first looking out the window. To her dismay, temptation had come knocking, clad all in black, from raven hair to leather boots.

  She resisted the urge to answer Stephen’s smile, to look too deeply into his bright-green eyes. Her heart beat too fast. She should close the door.

  “William sent me,” he said, his voice low and mellow and seductive. He looked behind her and saw the girls sleeping on their pallets. “Have I come at a bad time? I could return later.”

  Marian shook her head. “What does William want?”

  He leaned forward and wrapped his hand around the doorjamb. “Might I come in? On my word, I will ask you no more questions about the past and I will try not to wake the girls.”

  Marian backed up a step, away from the male scent of him she’d remember forever. He took her retreat as permission to enter the hut.

  What difference if he were within or without? If he kept to his promise she’d have no reason to throw him out, and she couldn’t send him away until learning of William’s request.

  Stephen walked over to the table and put his fingertips on the illustration she’d spent the past hour studying. He glanced toward the wax tablet, then looked up at her.

  “Your uncle said you possessed a deft hand, and I see he had the right of it. Even in wax your snake comes alive.”

  Alive, but not hissing. Leaving the door open so she might have air to breathe, Marian approached the table, irritated he’d seen the sketch. No one except her and the girls viewed her handiwork until completed in cloth and yarn, until Stephen.

  “William’s request?”

  Stephen’s brow furrowed. “He wishes you to make him another altar cloth. A design in dark green and silver, he said. What I find confusing is his belief you are somehow securing his place in heaven with altar cloths.”

  Marian could hardly believe William had sent a man of Stephen’s rank on such a simple errand. Any servant could have delivered the message. Then again, maybe Stephen had just proved the handier messenger.

  “The cloths are of a certain size, made to fit the altar in the cathedral in York. For each cloth sent, the archbishop grants William an indulgence.” Marian had to smile at William’s fanciful vision. “My uncle thinks of each indulgence as one thinks of a coin. He believes if he has enough of them in hand to pay Saint Peter, the saint will allow him unhindered passage into heaven.”

  Amused, Stephen shook his head. “I suppose, as one grows older, one thinks of such things. I imagine his ill health makes thoughts of the hereafter more immediate.”

  “One supposes.” With his message delivered Stephen could now leave, get out of her hut and take his overwhelming presence with him. “Tell William I will work up a design for his approval.”

  He nodded at what she thought a perfectly understandable dismissal, but made no move toward the door. He flipped the pages of the storybook to another illustration. Noah leading the animals
into the ark.

  Stephen’s smile widened as he pointed to the corner of the picture. “Now here is a snake of a different sort. No threat to him at all. I wonder if the same monk painted both?” He tilted his head, studying the picture. “Possible. Look here at Noah’s face and compare it to Adam’s. Very similar.”

  Taken aback, Marian stepped closer, noting Stephen’s acutely correct observation. “Similar, indeed. Yet this painting has a flavor of playfulness the other does not. Look at the lion. He seems to grin.”

  “As well he should, all considered.” Stephen turned slightly and perched on the edge of the table. “So, what types of designs do you stitch on an altar cloth? Not grinning lions, certainly.”

  He made himself far too comfortable to suit Marian. His comment on grinning lions hit a nerve.

  “The archbishop is partial to crosses evenly spaced between vinelike swirls. I dare not divert from the tried-and-true for fear he might withhold William’s indulgence.”

  “But you would like to.”

  Did he know her so well, or did he guess?

  “I would.”

  He nodded, as though he’d made some important point. “Then mayhap, while you stitch the tried-and-true for your uncle, you might design something more fanciful for me. Well, not truly for me but for my brother Richard, as a gift. He just got married.”

  Had she heard aright? “You think an embroidered altar cloth an appropriate gift for your brother?”

  He shook his head, slightly mussing his raven locks. A spark of mischief lit his eyes. She swallowed hard against the endearing countenance. Stephen wore his charm as naturally as his own skin, to devastating effect.

  “Perhaps table linens or towels or some such. Choose as you think best as a wedding gift. The design, however, must be fanciful. Richard’s new wife has led a hard life, without much humor or play. I should like my gift to her appropriate and practical, but bring a smile to her heart when she sees it. Is that possible?”

  Marian’s head whirled with possibilities. “Certes. Have you colors in mind? Any preferences?”

  He held out his hands, palms up. “None whatever. So long as the gift pleases the eye and heart, I leave the way of its making to the creator. I shall pay for all materials, of course, plus a bit extra for your time.”

  Marian bit her bottom lip to hold her excitement inside. To have free rein over such a project! Already she imagined bold, playful patterns hemming a table-size piece of pristine, tight-weave linen.

  “Indigo and saffron make for pleasing designs.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Your choice. Truth to tell, I shall need two gifts, the other a christening gift for Gerard’s as yet unborn child. A wool blanket, perhaps?”

  Table linens for Richard. A blanket for the baron’s child. Stephen paying the costs without restrictions. Near giddy, she crossed the room to a chest in the corner. From it she fetched two small, soft woolen blankets. After partially unfolding each, she spread them on the table.

  “I made these for the twins. Would a similar design do?”

  His expression changing to thoughtful, almost tender, he ran his fingertips reverently over the lambs on Lyssa’s blanket, then the kittens on Audra’s.

  Marian held her breath. Beyond reason, she wanted Stephen to like his daughters’ blankets, lovingly stitched toward the end of her pregnancy when she’d been too huge to move about comfortably.

  “Perfect,” he said softly. “How about lion cubs for the cub of the lion of Wilmont? A good choice?”

  Relieved, and embarrassed for coveting a compliment, she quickly folded the blankets. “Aye. When must it be done?”

  “The babe’s? Oh two, three weeks, I would guess. The table linens—whenever you complete them. Are we agreed?”

  “’Twill take me a day or two to work up designs.”

  “No need to rush. I leave in the morning for York. I doubt I will return for four days or so. Soon enough then.”

  Marian clutched the blankets. Stephen was leaving Branwick. “Why York?”

  He briefly told her of his missing friend.

  Stephen’s upset, his anger and frustration, rang clear if not loudly. He feared for Corwin as if a brother. Compassion lifted her hand to his shoulder.

  “I hope you find him, if not for his sake, for yours.”

  “Do you?”

  She couldn’t answer, the words stuck in her throat. The touch meant to comfort became a caress, her body tingling with awareness of the man she’d wanted to embrace ever since he’d come back into her life.

  Desire swirled in his eyes and her body answered with swift, painful longing. She recognized his intent, yearned for his lips on hers just once more.

  He stood, his hands sliding up her arms to caress her shoulders. His arms came around her, entrapping her within. His mouth sought hers, gently, persuasively. She needed no persuasion. She leaned into Stephen, the only man she’d ever kissed, had ever wanted to kiss.

  She craved more, far more, knowing what heights this man could take her to. Her knees went weak with the memory of a solitary moment of bliss. She wanted the pleasure again. She wanted Stephen.

  He broke the kiss, cradled her head against his shoulder. Even through her hard, unsteady breathing, she felt him shudder.

  Nothing had changed. Not in six years.

  “I have to go.” His voice was low and harsh.

  It took her a moment to remember he was leaving Branwick for York. But he’d be back, wouldn’t he?

  “You will come back?”

  “On my honor.”

  The second kiss nearly knocked her senseless. Foolishness beyond belief, but if not for the girls napping on their nearby pallets, she’d be sore tempted to pull him down in the dirt and strip him bare.

  She held on to that thread of sanity, the cord between mother and children. It pulled her up short of making a huge mistake.

  Marian suddenly understood Eve’s downfall. If she’d been alone with the snake, if he’d held out the promise of heavenly bliss, and spoken to her in the voice of an irresistible man—low, mellow, seductive—Eve hadn’t stood a chance.

  Nor did she if she didn’t end this kiss, send Stephen away. She pushed, he backed up. The kiss ended and ripped her apart. He looked as tortured as she felt.

  “I will be back,” he whispered, then hurried out of the hut.

  Marian sat on the stool and buried her face in the soft, woolen blankets now warm from heated bodies and scented with the dusky male scent of the girls’ father.

  Dear God, what have I done?

  She shook with the enormity of her mistake. She’d betrayed Carolyn as well as herself. Not only had she let Stephen into the hut, she’d let him back into her heart. And this time, when she lost him again, the heartache would be so much worse.

  Chapter Eight

  In the middle of a square of soft ivory wool, a lion cub snoozed, tired from chasing butterflies, stalking beetles and cavorting with his cub mates—the activities depicted along the blanket’s edges.

  Marian considered the blanket the most creative piece she’d ever done, as well as the most skilled. For the better part of two weeks she’d spent nearly every moment of her free time stitching the cubs, taking great care to keep the yarn smooth and the tension even. After all, the blanket was meant for the child of the baron of Wilmont, who could command the best. Marian meant her work to exceed that expectation.

  Even this morning she worked carefully, though she kept glancing at the chest in the corner which contained the fabric and thread the dyer’s helper delivered yesterday. The white table linen beckoned hard. To her request for indigo and saffron thread she’d added scarlet and forest green. The pattern she’d chosen, based on the beautiful scrollwork surrounding the picture of Noah and his animals, would be bright and fanciful, as Stephen wanted.

  She hoped Stephen approved, but considering what happened the last time he visited the hut, she wasn’t about to get close enough to him to ask. He’d returned from York
several days ago, apparently disappointed in not finding his friend. He’d returned to Branwick, but not to her hut. He, too, must have realized their kisses unwise, the temptation for more irresistible. Best he stay away.

  “Mama, Carolyn comes!” Audra called from outside.

  Through the doorway Marian saw Carolyn bend down to give each girl a brief hug, then shoo them back to play. A large basket containing Branwick’s healing herbs and medicinals hung from the crook of her arm. Someone in the hamlet must be sick enough to bring the lady of the keep out to attend the stricken peasant.

  Carolyn stepped through the doorway, waving a cooling hand in front of her face.

  “Who is ill?” Marian asked.

  Carolyn put the basket on the table and plopped down onto a stool. “Carla. From her husband’s description of her ailment, she merely needs a physic. Nothing serious.”

  “Then why did you not send a physic home with the blacksmith for his wife?”

  “Boredom and curiosity.” Carolyn leaned forward to touch the blanket. “Oh, my. This is precious, Marian. Almost done?”

  “I should finish it in a day or two. Tell Stephen I will send it in with one of the blacksmith’s lads after I finish.”

  “Why not bring it in yourself? Father is not pleased about your absence, even though he did recommend your work to Stephen. Your sending the girls to the keep is all that keeps him from summoning you.”

  Twice now she’d sent Audra and Lyssa with Dirk and Kirk on their way into Branwick of a morn. After their visit with William, one of Branwick’s guards brought the twins home. The arrangement gave Marian extra time to work on the blanket, and allowed her to avoid Stephen completely.

  “So long as your father sees the girls on occasion, he will be content. If I am to have this blanket done, I need to work on it. The baron’s wife is very near her time. Any word as yet?”

  “The last messenger from Wilmont merely brought news of the lack of progress on finding Corwin. Stephen is near distraught over the situation. I wish the man would show up so Stephen would get his mind back to the contest.”

  Thrice Marian had seen scarlet-and-gold-clad messengers ride past her hut. One of those messengers would soon bring word of the babe’s birth.