Knave Of Hearts. Shari Anton

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      If Lyssa felt well enough to walk along the fence this morn, Marian wouldn’t call her down until necessary.

      She slid the needle into the pristine white linen, wishing she could set the altar cloth aside and join her girls out of doors. Unfortunately, the altar cloth she decorated—a gift from her uncle, William de Grasse, to the Archbishop of York—must be completed and taken to Branwick Keep today.

      So she’d comply. Uncle William asked so little of her in return for his protection. ’Twas the least she could do for the man who’d seen to her welfare when she’d desperately needed shelter and succor.

      “Do not fret, Audra. Lyssa will come down from the fence when she is ready. You have finished your chores?”

      Audra’s head bobbed. “Aye. I fed the chickens and Lyssa tied the goat to graze. Truly, Mama, when you finish the altar cloth we can leave for the keep. Shall I tell Lyssa to come in to make ready?”

      “Not quite yet.” Marian again stifled a smile, this time at Audra’s sigh. “Go out and enjoy the sunshine. I shall call you both when I am finished.”

      Audra got up and slowly headed for the door. Then she stopped and turned. “Mayhap we should gather eggs for his lordship. He enjoys them, does he not?”

      Audra knew very well William did, and Marian thought her daughter’s ploy to get Lyssa down from the stone fence just might work. That William would be delighted with the gift of the eggs only made the offer more appealing.

      “He will be well pleased, Audra.”

      The girl wasted no time in grabbing a basket and scurrying out of the hut, calling her sister’s name.

      Marian gave in to both her mirth and curiosity. She set aside the altar cloth and took the few steps necessary to see out the open door, yet not be noticed easily.

      Lyssa took the bait of an egg hunt and scrambled down off of the fence. Their black braids bouncing on the backs of their brown tunics, the girls hurried toward the long grass beyond the garden where an egg or two would likely be found.

      Sweet heaven, how she adored the tykes, despite the trials of raising them on her own. Now, she couldn’t imagine life without them, when once, as a young and naive girl, she’d envisioned her life far differently.

      Marian shook her head. What was past was past. She usually managed to get through weeks on end without thinking of those days before the twins were born—until lately. The memories came more often, she knew, because she’d seen Stephen again.

      Stephen—standing before her in the palace bedchamber, partially disrobed, his arms outstretched.

      The knave. He’d fully expected her to step into his embrace as if the years gone by had never happened, as if they’d parted on the best of terms. Knowing full well the impact of his charms, and having heard tales of his recent amorous exploits from Carolyn, Marian didn’t doubt Stephen simply accepted female adoration as his normal due.

      Thankfully, she’d been too shocked at seeing him and too concerned over protecting Lyssa that she hadn’t done his bidding. Under other circumstances…No, never again would she willingly court such heartbreak.

      Marian took a steadying breath, fetched the altar cloth and resumed stitching. The last gold cross was nearly done.

      The motions she was sure she could do in her sleep soon lulled her into a familiar calm, heedless of all but the slip of needle and slide of thread through linen. So intent was she on finishing the cross she didn’t hear the jangle of horses’ tack until the travelers were nearly at the front gate.

      The girls called a greeting to whoever was passing by. The altar cloth put aside, Marian got up to observe.

      Stunned, her feet rooted to the floor when she saw him. Panic swelled and threatened to clog her throat. Breathe! her body shouted. She could barely obey.

      Stephen of Wilmont, mounted on a magnificent black horse, smiled down at the twins who gave him their rapt attention.

      Marian squelched the urge to scream at the girls to come into the safety of the hut, or to shout at Stephen to be on his way. Neither the girls nor Stephen would understand her panic at seeing the three of them together.

      The threat he presented nearly overwhelming her, Marian took refuge in glancing over his escort.

      Two chain-mail-clad knights rode horses of brownish red, of the same renowned Wilmont stock as Stephen’s. Six helmeted foot soldiers, carrying spears and shields, flanked two wagons pulled by teams of sturdy oxen. As did most nobles when traveling to a keep where they intended to visit a long while, Stephen arrived bearing crates and barrels—filled with his belongings, extra food, gifts for his hosts—and furniture. Above the sides of the last wagon she spied the half moon of a round table. Towering above it all were the thick, unmistakable four posts of a huge bed. Stephen’s bed.

      The girls giggled. Lyssa climbed up onto the wall, the better to talk to the man who beamed down at her. Audra dared a couple of stones to rise higher, to get a better view of the noble lord who, for whatever reason, stopped to speak with them.

      Marian remained rooted, not daring to go outside until she brought her fears under control. Stephen had no reason to harm the girls, or to suspect they were other than the daughters of a peasant. The realization calmed her some.

      She wished she could hear clearly what they spoke of, but all that reached her ears was Stephen’s deeply timbered tone and the girls’ high trills.

      Why couldn’t he have found some other adventure to pursue to keep him away longer, or better yet forever? After a month had passed, then two, she’d been sure another woman had caught his fancy, enticing him to forget about marrying Carolyn.

      Now, a full three months after their meeting in Westminster, Stephen arrived in full splendor, apparently intent on winning Carolyn, so sure of his welcome he planned on a prolonged stay and brought along his bed.

      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.

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