Knave Of Hearts. Shari Anton

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СКАЧАТЬ 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?

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