Knave Of Hearts

Stephen had obviously taken great care in his choice of garments today, wanting to impress, and impress he did. Over a bloodred, long-sleeved sherte he wore a gold-trimmed, black silk tunic. A girdle of gold links wrapped twice around his waist. Impressively noble garb on a magnificently formed male.

He possessed coin aplenty, or so Carolyn claimed. His brother, the baron, had gifted both Stephen and their half brother Richard with several holdings apiece from which to draw income. Enough coin for Uncle William to take Stephen’s suit for Carolyn’s hand seriously, though Marian suspected Stephen’s being the sibling of a powerful baron was more a factor in William’s acceding to Carolyn’s pleas to hear Stephen’s offer.

Carolyn, on the other hand, cared little for the coin or Stephen’s rank. A gifted Adonis, Carolyn had dreamily termed the young man with the comely face, exquisitely formed body, and lack of desire to interfere with her wish to be sole overlord of Branwick when she inherited.

Truly, Marian’s youthful lover had most definitely come into the fullness of his manhood. Stephen had grown tall, wide across the chest and narrow in the hips. Unlike most Norman nobles, he wore his hair long in Saxon fashion, the wind-tossed black tips skimming his broad shoulders.

No boyish innocence remained in his striking features. His clean-shaven jaw jutted forward at a determined but not arrogant angle. A noble brow hooded his deep-set eyes of sparkling, spring green—both predatory and mesmerizing—that darkened to nearly emerald when lust reached feverish heights. His mouth, so quick to smile, with lips full and warm and mobile—

Marian’s heart stuttered, an unwanted reminder that those lustful bouts with Stephen remained so vivid and affected her so forcefully, even from across the full length of the yard. Even over the passing of years. She thought she’d been fully prepared to see him again if necessary, had steeled her heart and mind against his appeal. ’Twas galling to admit she’d failed so utterly.

Audra swept a hand behind her, palm up, stopping when her fingers pointed at the hut. Inviting Stephen inside?

Dear Lord, have mercy, no!

Stephen glanced at the doorway. Marian stepped back. A foolish gesture. He couldn’t see this far inside the hut from the road.

Coward, a niggling voice chided her. If Stephen were here to stay, if he married Carolyn, he would learn where Marian lived, that the girls were hers. What sense putting off what couldn’t be avoided?

Her secret was safe. She’d told no one, and no one could guess merely by noting that the girls and Stephen shared but the one physical trait of shining, raven-hued hair.

Marian took a step forward.

Stephen shook his head, an aggrieved smile on his face. With a courtly bow to the girls, he backed his horse from the fence, signaled to his escort, and resumed his journey to Branwick Keep.

Marian sank down on the stool and covered her face with her hands, so relieved that she moaned.

The twins came into the hut at a run.

“Mama, he is here!” Lyssa cried. “Stephen of Wilmont has come to marry Carolyn!”

“He comes to ask Lord William’s permission to marry her, you mean,” Audra corrected Lyssa, once again proving that Audra missed none of the servants’ gossip. She set the basket of eggs on the table. “Will William like Stephen over Edwin, Mama, as Carolyn does?”

To Marian’s bewilderment, Carolyn preferred to marry Stephen of Wilmont over Edwin of Tinfield. True, Stephen was young, unlike Carolyn’s first two husbands. Stephen had no wish to usurp Carolyn’s place as ruler of her dower lands and eventually Branwick, as she feared Edwin might try to do. Stephen pleased Carolyn in bed, a fact Carolyn had been eager to point out to Marian, if not to her father.

That Carolyn had the chance to marry Edwin, a man she’d been fond of for years, held no sway with Carolyn in her choice of husbands.

William was inclined to allow his daughter some say in her third marriage. He’d chosen both of her first two husbands and saw how miserably and quickly those marriages had ended!

“’Tis for William to decide,” Marian finally answered.

“Can we go now, Mama? We have the eggs!” Lyssa said proudly.

Marian glanced at the altar cloth. “Not yet,” she said, grateful for the short reprieve.

Mayhap, if fate proved kind, she could slip in and out of Branwick Keep later today without hardly a soul, especially Stephen, knowing she was there. No sense flirting with further distress when it would likely find her soon enough.

With Branwick Keep in view, Stephen shifted in the saddle, the better to swipe at the road dust on his tunic and breeches. There wasn’t any hope for his boots, so he didn’t bother with them.

“Nervous?”

The question came from the man who rode at Stephen’s right, Armand, one of Gerard’s favorite squires and a pleasant companion on a long journey.

Stephen shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “Not unduly.”

After all, one Norman noble thought and acted much like another. He usually handled himself well around the likes of barons and earls, and King Henry—the most headstrong Norman in the kingdom. ’Struth, his last encounter with the king hadn’t gone at all well. Still, William de Grass, lord of Branwick, shouldn’t present a challenge.

“I would be, knowing I was minutes away from confronting and being judged by the father of the woman I hoped to marry,” Armand admitted with a shiver.

William was also ill and quite frail, which had kept him from accompanying Carolyn to Westminster. Stephen saw no difficulty in having his way with Carolyn’s father.

“I doubt the proceedings will lead to a confrontation, rather to a meeting of the minds.”

“His lordship might be of a mind to deny you. You are late.”

Long overdue, by several weeks. He’d been stuck in Normandy longer than planned. Then he’d spent several more weeks helping Richard. Then he’d stopped at Wilmont to report to Gerard. The four to six weeks he’d planned to be gone had stretched into three full months. Carolyn might not be pleased by his extended absence, but Stephen didn’t see how he could have done anything differently and still do right by Richard.

And he’d done right by Richard—now settled at Collingwood, playing lord of the manor, getting along well with his ward and perhaps a bit too well with his ward’s mother. Stephen withheld judgment on that affair—’twas Richard’s decision to make the woman his bed mate or not.

Still, Carolyn’s reaction to his tardy arrival might be a problem.

“Then I shall have to placate his lordship somehow. Mayhap the keg of Burgundy wine will prove an acceptable bribe for forgiveness.” Stephen smiled. “Or perhaps I should have accepted Audra’s offer of refreshment in her parents’ hut. They might have told me how to best treat their lord.”

Armand answered with a wry smile. “Can you imagine the reaction of the parents if a Norman noble deigned to grace their hut? The poor peasants might have died of heart failure!”

Harlan, the white-bearded, crusty old knight on Stephen’s left, huffed. “Unnatural, I say, for a peasant tyke to make such an offer, and with the manners of the high born, too. Girl is headed for trouble if her parents continue to allow such behavior.”

A valid observation, Stephen acknowledged. A peasant who forgot his or her place was most often severely reprimanded if caught by one of high rank who took offense. Audra’s actions had amused him, but another lord might have backhanded the girl, or worse, for her presumption. ’Twasn’t his problem, yet the thought of anyone mistreating the little girl didn’t sit well.

Seeking a reason for Audra’s unusual behavior, Stephen wondered aloud. “Mayhap the girls are being trained for service in a noble household, and so are taught such manners?”

Armand let out a laugh. “If so, then Lyssa is not taking to her lessons well. What a scamp!”

Harlan shook his head. “’Twould never happen, not with twins. What noble household would have them?”

Stephen knew of one. “Gerard would take them at Wilmont.”

“Name me another.”

Stephen conceded the point. The superstitions people held about twins would prevent their acceptance in most noble households. People feared what they considered an abomination of nature, so much so that dispensing of one of the twins at birth wasn’t unheard of among high and low born alike. Apparently, Audra and Lyssa’s parents didn’t fear the girls might become pawns of the devil and had allowed both girls to live.

As had the parents of another set of twins. Corwin, Stephen’s best friend, was twin to Ardith, who had married his brother Gerard. No one at Wilmont would dare accuse either of consorting with the devil, at least not to their faces. The little girls might not be so fortunate.

Cute tykes, destined to be lovely women. Their father would need to keep his wits about him as they grew up, to protect them from the randy bucks sure to come around, not caring if the object of their fancy was a twin or not.

“We are spotted,” Armand said, ending Stephen’s musings.

An imposing timber palisade surrounded Branwick Keep. Near the gate, several guards gathered to observe his company’s arrival.

“Harlan, have the wagon drivers stay tight to each other,” Stephen commanded. “Once inside, halt the soldiers and wagons in the outer bailey. Armand and I will go up to the keep and send someone down to you with further instructions.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Stephen gave his tunic a last, quick brushing. He’d dressed the part he must play, the wealthy noble come courting. Gold thread sparkled on his tunic. Silver studs shone bright on the leather of his steed’s bridle and saddle. Enough show of wealth to make an impression without being pompous.

Stephen far preferred to travel on his own, or with one other companion, yet conceded when Gerard insisted on providing this escort and the wagonloads of goods. Though he truly hated it when his brother acted the baron, at times Gerard knew best how to approach an uncertain situation.

Little could be more uncertain than a woman’s reaction if she felt insulted, and Carolyn could well bear him ill will for taking so long to come to Branwick.

Only look how angry Marian had been because he hadn’t bid her farewell, and that six years ago! Even with three months to mull over her reaction to him, he still didn’t understand how she could hold harsh feelings against him for so long. Over the lack of a fare-thee-well. Over that which hadn’t been his fault.

Pushing aside the vision of Marian’s beauty, even in her anger, Stephen crossed the bridge over the deep ditch surrounding the palisade. The guards waved him through the gate.

“A good sign, do you not think?” Stephen asked Armand. “I had a moment’s dread that Carolyn might have left instructions for the guards to deny us entry.”

“We have only gained the outer bailey,” Armand said in a droll tone. “Do not count yourself welcome until the lady allows you entry to the hall.”

Stephen heard the creaks and groans of the wagons fall silent. Harlan would keep the soldiers and wagons in hand until told where to send them.

Much as in any Norman keep in England, Branwick’s outer bailey teemed with people. Merchants’ shops, a smithy and the stables all lined the palisade, with guards patrolling the plank walk fastened high on the timbers. Men-at-arms practiced with swords, maces or lances in the tiltyard.

Stephen passed through the gate of the second curtain wall into the inner bailey, noting the mouth-teasing aroma of roasting meat wafting out of the kitchen. Servants scurried about, in the midst of morning chores, a few of them taking note of the new arrivals.

On a high, earthen motte sat a three-story, stone keep, the home and refuge to the lord of Branwick and his daughter. Though Carolyn possessed dower lands from her first two husbands, she preferred to live at Branwick Keep, which she would one day inherit and then pass along to her children. Stephen’s children, if all went well.

He rode to the stairway that led up to the great hall on the second floor. As he dismounted, a short, thin, gray-haired man came scurrying down the stairs.

William de Grasse? Probably not. According to Carolyn, her father was too frail to leave his bed, had been ill since last winter.

The man bowed slightly. “I am Ivo, steward of Branwick. You are Stephen of Wilmont?”

Stephen handed his horse’s reins to Armand. “I am, but how did you know?”

“Oh, my lord, Lady Carolyn was most exacting in her description of you, so accurate the guards at the gate knew your identity immediately and sent word to us.”

“Ah, I see. Then Carolyn knows I am here.”

“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.