Knave Of Hearts

Chapter Four

Edwin carried the torch, leaving Stephen to walk alongside with no more to do than avoid the ruts in the road and ponder his growing puzzlement over Marian.

Dare he question Edwin?

Upon Edwin and Carolyn’s return to Branwick, William had presented the two rivals for his daughter’s hand to each other, then chastised Carolyn for not doing so earlier. From then on Carolyn had been the model of a proper, if sullen, chatelaine of her father’s keep.

Edwin hadn’t said a word to Stephen since, not that Stephen attempted to further their acquaintance either. He didn’t particularly want to know Edwin any better than necessary to assess his rival’s strengths and weaknesses where Carolyn was concerned.

’Twas obvious from their easy ways at supper to see William favored Edwin. Stephen had already decided the battle must be won through Carolyn, to so thoroughly capture the lady that her older suitor would despair of hope. He’d made progress to that end with the gift of the chest at supper. She liked the gift, had even made a point to show it to Edwin.

Unfortunately, Edwin didn’t seem the sort to despair easily.

’Twould probably be best to prod Edwin into a conversation about their mutual quest to win Carolyn, but his curiosity over Marian wouldn’t leave Stephen alone.

“Adorable girls,” Stephen commented.

Edwin didn’t even glance sideways. “They are.”

“A shame about Lyssa’s headache.”

“She suffers them often, I hear.”

Stephen digested the news with a pang of sympathy for both daughter and mother. A wee one should not suffer so, and it must be hard on Marian to see her daughter pained.

Marian’s daughters.

His suspicion that the twins might be William’s had come to an end at evening meal. Those little faces matched Marian’s too well to be other than her own offspring, but not until seeing them sitting together did he notice the resemblance. Too, Carolyn had made a remark about the twins being her nieces.

Why did the family live in the hamlet? Marian’s kinship to William certainly warranted residence in the keep, unless he thoroughly disapproved of Marian’s husband.

Where was the girls’ father, who should have been at evening meal with his family? Obviously off somewhere.

Stephen kicked at a rock, sending it far down the road, beyond the light of the torch. “Has no cure for the girl’s headaches been found?”

“Not for want of trying. Marian took Lyssa into London to see a physician. ’Twould seem his potions cannot prevent or ease the headaches.”

Then Lyssa had been the blanket-wrapped bundle on Marian’s bed in the palace bedchamber. Audra must have remained behind at Branwick while Marian visited a physician with Lyssa.

“You have known Marian for some time, then?”

Edwin finally graced him with a glance. “For some years. Why so curious?”

“I knew Marian as a girl, but have not seen her in recent years. My concern—” Stephen stopped and looked back toward the hut, now out of sight, and put to words what bothered him ever since closing Marian’s door. “I do not like leaving Marian and her children alone like this. ’Tis not wise. What if some knave decides to take advantage of her husband’s absence? She and the girls should have remained at the keep for the night.”

“Marian is a widow. She and the girls have lived alone in that hut for several years.”

A widow? No husband. No protector for the girls.

“All the more reason she should live in the keep.”

“I hear she prefers living in the hamlet. ’Tis odd William allows it, but then the whole tale of how she came to Branwick is odd.”

“How so?”

“Carolyn brought her to Branwick after her husband died. The girls were born here, and a few months later William allowed her to live in the hut.” Edwin paused before adding. “I often wondered why she did not return to Murwaithe. Must have been some bad feelings with her family, I suppose.”

He remembered Hugo de Lacy as a proud, rather pompous man, and his wife as pleasant enough. He’d not sensed any animosity between parents and daughter.

“Something must have happened to cause a rift between Marian and her parents around the time of her marriage, then. I remember them as being fond of one another.”

“An old friend is she?”

Something in the way Edwin asked brought the swirling questions in Stephen’s head to a halt. Stephen doubted Marian wanted anyone at Branwick to know how friendly they’d been—nor did he. Certainly not Carolyn. Especially not his rival.

“Marian’s father bought horses from mine.”

’Twas all the explanation Stephen intended to give. He resumed the walk, anxious now to return to the keep and find out what tidbits Armand might have gathered.

When Edwin didn’t follow, Stephen halted. “Something amiss?”

“You cannot win, you know. You might as well pack up your belongings and take them back to wherever you brought them from.”

Stephen had fought in enough battles, on English soil and Norman, to recognize the strategy—dispirit the enemy by breeding doubt of success.

“Beg pardon, Edwin, but I am in no hurry to be on my way. I believe I shall leave my bed where it is until Carolyn makes her decision.”

“’Tis not merely Carolyn’s decision. She cannot marry where her father does not approve.”

Stephen shrugged with what he hoped showed unconcern. “I will grant you the advantage of having known William longer, and you seem to be in his good graces. But I have youth on my side.” He smiled and ruffled his hair. “See Edwin? Not one strand of gray.”

Edwin laughed and shook his head, then resumed walking. Stephen fell into step within the torch’s light, acknowledging once more that Edwin wouldn’t fall into despair easily.

“A strand or two of gray would serve you well.”

“With Carolyn? Not so.”

“Believe as you will.”

Stephen had reason to believe as he did, for Carolyn made quite clear her preference for a young man as her third husband. Yet, Edwin seemed to think his age made no difference. The man could go on thinking so, to his detriment.

After turning over the torch to a guard, they entered the great hall to find the trestle tables folded up and stacked against the walls for the night. Stephen spotted Harlan and a few of Wilmont’s soldiers seated on the floor with a group of Branwick’s guards, cups of ale in hand and tossing dice.

William was yet strapped into his chair, now settled near the hearth. Carolyn sat on a nearby bench, an open book in her hands.

A place of peace, quiet—boredom.

The place wanted for music, or games, or a wrestling match. At least Harlan had found entertainment with his dice. Stephen looked around for Armand, and not seeing him, guessed his squire must have found more interesting amusement, too.

“What is this?” Edwin complained, the words snapping Carolyn’s head up. “I had thought to come back to sweets, at the least.”

“Do not be churlish, Edwin. You must know I set several aside for the two of you as well as for Marian’s girls.” Carolyn waved a hand in the air, hailing a serving wench. “Tarts and ale for our guests.”

The wench bobbed a curtsey and scurried off.

Stephen slid onto the bench beside Carolyn, ignoring Edwin’s raised eyebrow.

“How very thoughtful of you, my lady. As I told your father earlier, I find Branwick’s hospitality most noteworthy.”

“My thanks.”

The compliment garnered him a half smile. ’Twas progress from her ill humor at supper.

He glanced down at her book—a prayer book—one to be admired.

“Your psalter is beautifully illustrated,” he said, the comment genuinely meant. The lettering was both simple and graceful, and the picture of the Holy Mother, surrounded by cherubs, had been drawn by a skilled and loving hand. “From where did you purchase it?”

“’Tis a gift from Edwin.”

A costly gift, surely, but not a gift a man gave a woman he was wooing. Did Edwin know nothing about women? Maybe he knew something about one particular woman that Stephen didn’t.

He would never have guessed Carolyn preferred to read a psalter for her leisure, yet Carolyn sat in the great hall reading instead of taking to her solar to choose which baubles to place in her new wooden chest.

“The Swiss monastery at St. Gall is renowned for beautifully illustrated books,” Edwin commented.

“Never been there,” Stephen admitted. “Mayhap one day I should visit.”

“In need of a psalter, Stephen?”

“Nay, but it would account a fine gift for my mother. She cherishes fine works of a religious nature.” He refrained from voicing his belief she cherished them overmuch.

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.