by Anton, Shari
“How goes the contest?”
Carolyn gave an aggrieved sigh. “Nearly done. All that remains are the three items which require Edwin and Stephen to visit Father’s other estates. Stephen balks at leaving Branwick in case his friend should show up.” She crossed her arms. “What drives me witless is Father’s easy acceptance of the delays. According to him, there is no need for haste.”
Marian wished the contest over with, too. Depending upon who won, she would either stay or leave.
The decision hadn’t come easily, but all considered, she saw no choice except to leave Branwick if Stephen married Carolyn.
Oddly enough, ’twas Stephen who gave her the means to leave. With the coin he paid for the gifts, she and the girls could set up residence in a town, possibly near a cathedral or abbey. If Stephen was willing to pay for her handiwork, so might others, giving her income to keep the girls fed and clothed.
“Mayhap the next messenger from Wilmont will bring better news about Stephen’s friend.”
“Either that or word of the babe’s birth. Stephen is sure his brother will call him home for the child’s christening. Then he would be off again and only heaven knows when he’d return.”
Assuming he returned. If Stephen must leave Bran-wick for an extended period, would he then give up the contest? Or might Carolyn give up on Stephen? Either was possible. Then Edwin might stand a better chance of marrying Carolyn and Marian’s worries would be over.
On that bright thought, Marian asked, “How is Edwin?”
Carolyn worried her bottom lip. “Marian, you were not serious when you said you might take up with Edwin if I do not marry him, were you?”
Marian felt a twinge of triumph, but hid the reaction from her cousin. “Any reason why I should not? If you do not want him, he is bound to marry another. Why not me?”
“Because I would hate it if the two of you made a match. I know he must marry again. He needs an heir. I think I could bear his marrying a stranger. But you?” Carolyn shook her head. “’Twould make me miserable. He already likes you so could grow to love you.”
Not in an age, but telling Carolyn so served no purpose.
“He could also grow to love a stranger. ’Twould be easy, I think, to become fond of someone who shares one’s table and bed every day. You were fond of your husbands, were you not?”
Carolyn shrugged. “Perhaps. Sharing meals and bed play does not necessarily lead to love. Stephen says his parents barely tolerated each other.”
“They must have shared something in common. They produced three sons.”
“Nay, only two. The middle son, Richard, is base born. His mother was a peasant.”
Base born? She’d heard Stephen speak of Richard and he’d never made the distinction. Knowing the advantage and standing Richard enjoyed, she could only conclude Stephen’s father hadn’t made the distinction either, but acknowledged his bastard and raised him as his own.
Apparently Stephen’s mother had been forced to endure her husband’s infidelity, and perhaps his parents’ intolerance of each other influenced Stephen’s view of marriage. But then most nobles married for many reasons other than affection, as Stephen proposed with Carolyn.
Still, Marian wasn’t about to let Carolyn get comfortable over Edwin’s fate if she let him go, not when her cousin had the unusual chance to marry for love.
“I will take your feelings into consideration, Carolyn, but I must say Edwin is certainly a fine catch for any woman.”
“How can you be so horrid?”
Marian looked pointedly at her cousin. “I have a good tutor. Are you not being most horrid to Edwin?”
Thoroughly miffed, Carolyn rose and grabbed her basket. “By the by, I meant to tell you about Father. He improves. He can now flex the fingers of his left hand, which you would have seen had you bothered to visit.”
Marian gasped. “Carolyn, that is wonderful news!”
“Perhaps,” Carolyn commented, then left on her errand.
Stunned by both the good news and Carolyn’s reaction, Marian put aside the blanket. Why wasn’t Carolyn overjoyed with William’s progress?
If William regained mobility, then he could resume his duties and…oh dear…then Carolyn would be forced to give up the duties to her father, duties she thoroughly enjoyed.
She’d been acting in her father’s stead for months. If William could act on his own, Carolyn would again be relegated to the status of mere chatelaine, in charge of only the household. The duty her father thought her most fitted for. The duty Edwin believed the only duty a woman should have charge of. Of all the men in Carolyn’s life, only Stephen thought her fit for more than overseeing the cooking and cleaning and weaving.
If William recovered, Carolyn would fight all the harder to marry Stephen.
’Twas after evening meal when Stephen approached Marian’s hut with a mixture of excitement and dread. Ardith had delivered of a healthy baby boy two days ago, and Gerard called Stephen home to attend the christening, adding an invitation to Carolyn if Stephen wished to bring her along.
Carolyn readily accepted the invitation. Unfortunately William, in the guise of being helpful, suggested Edwin accompany them as escort. Stephen protested the necessity. Edwin thought it a grand idea. William insisted—and so Edwin was going, too.
But at the moment, nearing Marian’s door, none of that seemed to matter overmuch. He’d come to collect the present for the babe, which Carolyn told him was near completion and utterly adorable. Problem was he found the blanket’s creator adorable and damn near impossible to resist.
Resist he would, however.
He’d given the matter a great deal of thought while in York. His strong attraction to Marian was the result of memories of their brief affair so long ago. She’d been his first lover, and he hers, the trysts sweet and illicit. Naturally, his curiosity urged him to learn if bedding her now would be as memorable.
Their kisses should never have happened, the first sweet and tender, the second hot enough to burn the hut down around them. He’d taken advantage of her effort to give comfort and nearly gone up in flames. Hellfire, he even promised her to return, at her prompting.
He couldn’t trust himself alone with her. Marian must have come to her senses, too, for she’d not sought him out.
From here on he’d treat Marian as an old and dear friend, and get on with winning the contest and Carolyn. Away from Marian, he might even work up a wisp of lust for his intended.
Faint candlelight flickered behind the shutters. He need only knock on the door, collect the blanket and pay Marian, and be back in the keep before full night descended.
Stephen took a resolved breath and raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles landed, from within he heard a young voice shout a defiant “Nay!”
Audra? Sweet little Audra?
“’Tis all there is.” Even through the closed door Stephen heard Marian’s weariness. “If you choose not to eat the porridge then you go to sleep hungry.”
“Hate porridge!”
“You do not.”
“Do, too!”
“That will be quite enough, young lady.” A pause. “Audra, I warn you, put that down or—”
Stephen winced at the clatter that interrupted Marian’s scolding, picturing pots and bowls scattered over the floor. Now might not be the best time to visit. However, he intended to leave on the morrow at first light, so needed to collect the blanket now. Mayhap his arrival might help cool tempers.
“To your pallet!”
“Nay!”
Stephen knocked firmly, wondering if either mother or daughter heard. One did. The inside bolt slid.
“Audra, wait!”
The door flung open. Before him stood the most forlorn child he’d ever seen. Tears streamed down Audra’s cheeks, her frown deep and desperate.
He held out his arms. “Come here, little one.”
She stood still, studying him with glistening eyes, likely wondering if he were truly fri
end or foe.
He wiggled his fingers. “Come,” he said again, still gently but with a bit more command.
Audra’s bottom lip trembled. He couldn’t stand it. He picked her up. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and buried her wet face against his shoulder. She breathed hard, an effort to hold back sobs.
Wonderful. Now what did he do with her?
He closed the door and sought out the mother for guidance. Marian sat on the floor between the girls’ pallets, cradling Lyssa, a wet rag pressed to the girl’s temple. Headache, he realized. Marian looked both angry enough to spit and weary to the bone. No help there.
He’d never seen the hut in less than neat order. The place was a mess, to say the least. Apparently Audra had decided to wreak havoc while her mother was occupied with Lyssa. She’d done an excellent job of it.
Still at a loss, Stephen rubbed Audra’s back, wondering what it must be like for Marian, trapped in one room with two young children. He’d go mad. What would one do if both girls went on a rampage at the same time?
The incident reinforced his belief that Marian shouldn’t be living in this hut without help. Without protection. Audra shouldn’t have opened the door before asking who was without.
He cradled Audra’s head. “You know better than to open the door without first asking who is on the other side, do you not?”
She nodded against his shoulder.
“Swear me an oath you will ask next time, no matter how angry you are.”
Audra took a deep breath. “I swear.”
An oath too easily given by one too young. Stephen could only hope she’d remember to have a care.
“I assume you came for your blanket,” Marian commented.
Her anger had cooled somewhat, which only allowed her weariness to come to the fore.
“Aye.” He righted the pot on the table but ignored the pool of porridge dripping off the edge into the rushes. “Carolyn told me it was near finished.”
“’Tis done. I will get it.” She removed the rag from Lyssa’s head, shifted as if to put the girl down.
“Stay where you are.” Stephen tugged Audra’s thick, black braid. “Audra can show me.”
“In the chest,” she said, not raising her head.
Stephen suspected she wasn’t yet ready to face her mother. He squatted down by the chest and lifted the lid. There, on a field of ivory, a lion cub chased a butterfly. ’Twas a stunning piece of work.
“Upon my word, Marian, you have outdone yourself. Look, Audra, is he not the cutest cub you have ever laid eyes on?”
Audra’s arm lifted. She dared a peek beneath. “I like the one in the middle best.”
“Do you? Let us have a look then.” Stephen flipped open the blanket far enough to discern the pattern. Another cub stalked a beetle with humorous ferocity. Next to him, two cubs tumbled in rough play in a patch of grass. In the center, amid a halo of flowers, a cub slumbered, near angelic in countenance.
He’d done well to listen to William’s recommendation. This gift would put him in Ardith’s good graces for years.
He glanced over at Lyssa, snuggled against Marian. Her eyes were open and more alert than he’d expected.
“Which is your favorite?”
“My lambs. Did you see them?”
“Aye, and Audra’s kittens, too. Your mother was rather proud of both when she showed them to me, with good reason.”
Audra’s hold loosened. She sniffed and ran a hand across her eyes. “If you move the blanket, you can see the table linen she started.”
Stephen did as instructed. Marian had completed only a few stitches in indigo. He picked up a wax tablet from beside the batch of colorful thread.
“Is this the design?” he asked, thinking it looked familiar but couldn’t say from where.
Audra’s forefinger traced the swirls as she related which colors would go where. “Mama got the idea for it from our storybook.”
“Wonderful idea, from wherever it came.”
Stephen put the tablet down, handed the blanket to Audra to hold, then put everything back neatly. He closed the lid, then stood up.
Tension yet thrummed between Marian and Audra, but not as heated as before. The two had unfinished business. From experience with his own mother, he knew the faster done the better, no matter who won.
“What say we trade?”
Marian mulled over his suggestion, glancing from Lyssa up to Audra and back again. “The headache eases. You must keep her still with this cold rag on her head.”
“Easy enough duty.”
Marian smiled wryly. “So you think.” With a grace that bespoke of long practice, she rose from the floor without jostling Lyssa. She handed over one daughter while reaching for the other. “Come, you, we have porridge to clean up.”
Audra went easily enough, and as the two went about setting the hut to rights, Stephen settled on the floor with Lyssa, a wet rag and the new baby blanket. He set his back hard against the wall and crossed his booted ankles. Lyssa wiggled about to get comfortable, too. Then she wiggled some more. He finally clamped the rag to her head and pressed her head against his shoulder.
She ran a finger over a cub. “Is the baby borned yet?”
“Aye. Two days ago.”
She tried to look up at him; he held her still.
“Has he a name?”
“Matthew. Your mother said you must remain still. Does that also mean no talking?”
“It does,” Marian answered from near the hearth.
“Ah. Then, little one, I suggest you close your eyes and go to sleep before you get us both into trouble.”
Lyssa giggled, but her eyes closed.
Stephen watched Marian move about the hut, putting things away. She gave the task of sweeping up the porridge-coated rushes to Audra, who swept slowly and held fast to her sulks.
Then Marian bent over to pick up a bowl and Stephen forgot all about little girls and baby blankets in favor of admiring the woman’s beautifully molded bottom.
Friends. Old friends. Nothing more. Except his dear old friend possessed a beautifully molded bottom. She straightened and put the bowl on the table, abruptly halting the beginnings of an erotic fantasy.
“I saw a messenger come this morn,” she said. “He brought news of the babe’s birth?”
“Aye.” He didn’t trust himself to say more.
“Carolyn said you would likely be called to Wilmont for the christening.”
“We leave on the morn.”
She turned to face him, an eyebrow raised. “We?”
“Carolyn is going with me to meet my family.”
“Oh.” She turned away. “How nice.”
“Not very. William insists Edwin go, too, as escort—or rather watchdog.”
“I wish you all a nice journey.”
Stephen barely discerned she truly didn’t when she reached up on the mantel for a stoppered brown bottle. Audra dropped the broom and covered her nose and mouth with both hands. Despite his hold on Lyssa, the girl managed to turn her face into his shoulder.
Marian put a hand on her hip. “Oh, come now you two, ’tis not that bad.”
“Bleech!” Lyssa commented into his shoulder
A potion, Stephen realized as Marian headed toward him. He fought the urge to protect Lyssa from her mother. ’Twas a potion she meant to give the girl, not poison.
Marian knelt on the floor. “A sip, Lyssa, that is all.”
“Mama, must I? ’Tis terrible stuff.”
“Would you rather hurt all the night long?”
“Aye!”
Marian pulled the cloth stopper from the bottle and Stephen understood the girls’ reactions. The medicine stank, a wholly wretched odor. He was a seasoned warrior, a veteran of many a campaign and encampments. He’d smelled worse without his stomach heaving, but not much worse.
“What the hell is that?”
Marian rolled her eyes. “If Lyssa does not take the potion, then her headache will return ful
l force within hours. ’Tis either this or sit up the greater part of the night, and I have not the strength or patience tonight.”
“Fine, then I shall.”
Marian’s eyes went wide, and Stephen realized what he’d offered. One look at Lyssa’s worshipful expression prevented him from taking the words back. Marian’s expression was anything but worshipful.
“You cannot stay the whole night!”
“Why not? I have nothing better to do.”
“People will talk.”
“No one knows I am here.” Well, only Armand and Harlan who he’d left checking the supply wagons. They’d not tell.
“Oh, Stephen—”
“Please, Mama? I hate that medicine.”
Lyssa’s plea apparently caught Marian in the heart. She brushed her daughter’s loose hair back. With a sad smile, she relented. “For a few hours then, until the pain is completely gone. And you must lie very still. Understood?”
“Still as stone,” Lyssa said, but didn’t relax until Marian stoppered the bottle. “My thanks,” she whispered to him, then closed her eyes.
’Twas utterly foolish to feel so much the hero. He was going to pay for his heroism dearly with sore muscles come morn.
Lyssa lay as quite as was possible for Lyssa. Marian and Audra finished cleaning the mess. Mother and daughter shared a light repast of bread and cheese, which they offered to share with him but he declined. Afterward, when Audra shyly asked for a story, Marian gave the girl a hug and agreed.
All was right within this tiny hut—all but Lyssa’s headache and an increasing numbness at the base of his spine.
’Twas far past nightfall when Marian finished reading the last of three stories and insisted Audra bed down. Lyssa had fallen asleep in the middle of the first story.
Marian sank down beside him, on Lyssa’s pallet.
“Sore yet?” she asked. He ignored her amusement.
“Not too.” Not that he’d admit, anyway. Truly, Lyssa wasn’t terribly heavy and fitted nicely on his lap. “’Tis better than having to pour that wretched potion down her.”
“Except the potion helps and allows us all to sleep.”