by Lynsay Sands
"Aye, m'lord. Aye." Tugging off his hat, the fellow made a quick bow to them both, then hurried back around the wagon to mount the driver's bench again and set off.
"Well--" Brinna straightened as the cart disappeared around the bend in the path, the clip-clop of the horse's hooves fading to silence. "That was fun."
"Fun?" Royce peered at her doubtfully.
"Well, perhaps not fun," she admitted uncertainly. "But there's a certain feeling of satisfaction when you get a job done well."
He nodded solemn agreement, then frowned as his gaze slid over her. "Your dress is ruined."
Brinna glanced down with disinterest, noting that aside from being soaked, it was now mud-splattered. " 'Tis but mud. 'Twill wash out," she said lightly, then glanced back up, her eyebrows rising at his expression.
"You are a surprise, Lady Laythem," he murmured, then explained. "When you fell off the horse and were soaked, you did not cry that your gown was ruined, coif destroyed, or curse all four-legged beasts. You picked yourself up, dried yourself off, and said 'twas the best to be done until you could change."
"Actually, you picked me up," Brinna pointed out teasingly and he smiled, but continued.
"Then, when we came across the farmer with his wagon stuck in the snow, you did not whine that I would stop to help him before seeing you safely back to the castle, changed, and ensconced before the fire. Nay. You put your own shoulder to the man's wagon in an effort to help free it."
"Ah," Brinna murmured on a sigh as she considered just how out of character her actions must seem for a lady of nobility. "I suppose most ladies wouldn't have behaved so ... um ... hoydenishly." She murmured the last word uncertainly, for while Aggie had often called her a hoyden as a child, Brinna wasn't sure if "hoydenishly" was a word.
"Hoydenishly?" Royce murmured with a laugh that had Brinna convinced that it wasn't a word until he added, " 'Twas not hoydenish behavior. 'Twas unselfish and thoughtful, and completely opposed to the behavior I expected from a woman who was described as a snobbish little brat to me."
"Who called me that?" Brinna demanded before she could recall that it wasn't herself that had been described that way, but Joan.
"My cousin. Phillip of Radfurn." When she peered at him blankly, he added, "He visited Laythem some weeks ago."
"Oh. Of course."
"Aye, well, I fear he took your shyness and reticence as signs of snobbery and a ... er, slightly spoilt nature. He had me quite convinced you were a terror."
"Really?" she asked curiously. "Then why did you come to Menton?" Her eyes widened. "Did you come here to cancel the betrothal?" That would be a fine thing, wouldn't it? If he had come to cancel it and she had put paid to his intentions with her actions.
"Oh, nay, I could never cancel it. My people are counting on your dower." The last word was followed by silence as his eyes widened in alarm. "I mean--"
" 'Tis all right," Brinna assured him gently when he began to look rather guilty. "I already knew that you needed the dower."
He sighed unhappily, looking not the least reassured. "Aye, well, without it I fear my people will not fare well through this spring."
"And you will do your best to provide them with what they need? Whether you want to or not?"
"Well ..." Taking her arm, he turned to lead her back toward his horse. "It is the responsibility we have as members of the nobility, is it not? Tending to our people, fulfilling their needs to the best of our ability."
"Some of the nobility do not see it that way," she pointed out gently, and he grimaced.
"Aye. Well, some of them have no more honor than a gnat."
"But you are different."
When he gave a start at the certainty in her tone, she shrugged. "Most lords would not have troubled themselves to offer aid to a poor farmer either."
He smiled wryly. "I suppose not."
"But then from what I have heard, you are not like other lords. I was told that you are trying to correct neglect and damage done by those who came before you."
He remained silent, but grimaced, and she went on. "I was also told that you work very hard, even side by side with your vassals, in an effort to better things?"
His gaze turned wary, but he nodded. "I do what must be done and am not ashamed to work hard." He hesitated. "I realize that some ladies would be upset to have their husbands work side by side with the servants, but--"
"I think it is admirable," Brinna interrupted quickly, wishing to remove the worry from his face. It wasn't until she saw his tension ease that she recalled that Lady Joan had not seemed to be at all impressed by it. Before she could worry overly much about that, Royce turned to face her, taking her hands in his own.
"I need the dower. My people need it desperately. And to be honest, I would have married you for it whether you were hag, brat, whore, or simpleton--just to see my people fed and safe." He grimaced as her eyes widened incredulously at his words, then went on. "But you are none of those. You have proven to be giving and to be willing to do whatever is necessary when the need arises to help those less fortunate around you. And I want you to know that, the dower aside, I am beginning to see that I and my people will be fortunate to have you as their lady, Joan. I think we shall deal well together."
Joan. Brinna felt the name prick at her like the sharp end of a sword. She too was beginning to think that they would have dealt well together. Unfortunately, she wasn't the one he was going to marry. It was Joan. Her thoughts died abruptly as his face suddenly lowered, blocking the winter sun as his lips covered her own.
Heat. That was the first thing Brinna noticed. While her lips were chill and even seemed a bit stiff with cold, his were warm and soft as they slid across hers. They were also incredibly skilled, she realized with a sigh as he urged her own lips open and his tongue slid in to invade and conquer.
The kiss could have lasted mere moments or hours for all Brinna knew. Time seemed to have no meaning as she was overwhelmed with purely tactile sensations. She was lost in the musky scent of him, the taste and feel of him. She wanted the kiss to go on forever, and released an unabashed sigh of disappointment when it ended. When she finally opened her eyes, it was to find him eyeing her with a bit of bemusement as he caressed her cheek with his chill fingers.
"You are not at all what I expected, Joan Laythem. You are as lovely as a newly bloomed rose. Sweet. Unselfish ... I never thought to meet a woman like you, let alone be lucky enough to marry her." With that he drew her into his arms again, kissing her with a passion that fairly stole her breath, made her dizzy, and left her clutching weakly at his tunic when he lifted his head and smiled at her. "We had best return. Else they will wonder what became of us."
"Aye," Brinna murmured, following docilely when he led her by the hand back to his mount. She would have followed him to the ends of the earth at that moment.
"Good Lord!"
Brinna turned from closing the bedroom door to spy Joan pushing herself from the seat by the fireplace and rushing toward her. She was wearing Brinna's own dress. The fact that Joan was there took Brinna a bit by surprise. The other girl had usually been absent until late at night, when she'd crept in like a thief and slid silently into bed to awake the next morning and act as if nothing were amiss. But then, Sabrina wasn't usually around this room either, and that was the cause. Brinna supposed it was possible Joan had stuck around to keep an eye on the ailing girl. On the other hand, it was equally possible that she had stuck around to avoid having the fact discovered that she usually slipped out as soon as they were gone. The lady was up to something.
"Look at you!" Joan cried now, clasping her hands and taking in her sodden clothes with a frown. "You are soaked through. What did he do to you?"
"He didn't do anything," Brinna assured her quickly. "I fell off your horse and--"
"Fell off my horse!" Joan screeched, interrupting her. "You don't ride. Do you?" she asked uncertainly.
"Nay. That is why I fell off," Brinna said dryly, and pulled aw
ay to move to the chest at the end of the bed.
Joan took a moment to digest that, then her eyes narrowed. "You didn't go out with him alone, did you?"
"Nay. Of course not. His man accompanied us," Brinna assured her as she sifted through the gowns in the chest. Picking one, she straightened and turned to face Joan unhappily. "Mayhap you should play you from now on."
Joan blinked at that. "Whatever for?"
"Well ..." Brinna turned away and began to remove the gown she wore. "You are to be married. You really should get to know him."
Joan grimaced at that. "Not bloody likely. I'll not marry him. I shall join a convent before consenting to marry an oaf like that."
"He's not an oaf," Brinna got out from between gritted teeth as she flung the dress on the bed. She turned to face Joan grimly. "He's a very nice man. You could do worse than marry him."
Joan's eyes widened at her ferocious expression and attitude, then rounded in amazement. "Why, you are sweet on him."
"I am not," Brinna snapped stiffly.
"Aye, you are," she insisted with amusement, then tilted her head to the side and eyed Brinna consideringly. "Your color seems a bit high and you had a dreamy expression on your face when you came into the room. Are you falling in love with him?"
Brinna turned away, her mind running rife with memories of his body pressed close to hers, his lips soft on her own. Aye, she had most likely looked dreamy-eyed when she had entered. She had certainly felt dreamy-eyed until Joan had started screeching. And she would even admit to herself that she might very well be falling in love with him. It was hard not to. He was as handsome as sin, with a voice like Scottish whisky, and kisses just as intoxicating. But even worse, he was a good man. She had been told as much of course, or if not exactly told, she had heard Lady Joan and her cousin discussing what they considered to be his flaws. Which to her were recommendations of his character. The fact that he worked so hard to help his people, that he was determined to better things for them ... He put their needs before his own, even in matters of marriage. How could one not admire that?
Aside from that, he had been nothing but gentleness itself in all his dealings with her. He was no backward oaf or country idiot. Or at least, if he was, Brinna couldn't tell. Nay, he had treated her sweetly and well, staying near her side during Mass and throughout every day since Christmas morning. Despite Sabrina's interference, she had felt protected. And he had not taken advantage of her reaction to those kisses in the woods, though the Good Lord knows he could have. Brinna suspected that had he wished it, she would have let the man throw her skirts up and have her right there at the side of the path, and all it would have taken was a couple more kisses. She suspected he had known as much too, but he hadn't taken advantage of that fact. Nay, he was a good man. A man she could easily love with her whole heart. But if she gave her heart to him, it would be lost forever, for he was engaged to Joan, and he had to marry her, else he would lose the dower that his people needed so desperately.
He couldn't do that. She knew it. He wouldn't do it. She had not known him long, but she knew already that he was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. His people needed that dower, so he would marry to attain it and Brinna had no hope of having him. She couldn't go on with this charade. Couldn't risk her heart so. Not even for Aggie and the possibility of seeing her comfortable. She would not do this anymore. She had to convince Joan to resign herself to this marriage, but to do that, she had to convince her that he wasn't the backwards oaf someone had led her to believe he was.
"Who is it that told you that Lord Thurleah was a country bumpkin and oaf?" Brinna asked determinedly, and Joan got a wary look about her suddenly.
"Who?" she echoed faintly, then shrugged. "It must have been Sabrina. She questioned people on the journey here to find out more about him for me."
Brinna's gaze narrowed suspiciously. "But didn't she say the day I became your maid that she hadn't said that he was an oaf--just that he worked hard to improve his lot in life?"
Joan shrugged, avoiding her eyes. "Then someone else must have mentioned it."
"Could it have been Phillip of Radfurn?" Brinna asked carefully, feeling triumph steal up within her as the other girl gave a guilty start, her eyes wide with shock. "It was him, wasn't it? He is deliberately making trouble between the two of you. He visited you at Laythem, told you that Royce was a backward oaf, with no social graces, then went on to his cousin's to tell him that you were a--"
When she cut herself off abruptly, Joan's gaze narrowed. "To tell him that I was what?"
"Oh, well ..." Now it was Brinna's turn to avoid eye contact. "I don't really recall exactly."
"You are lying," Joan accused grimly. "What did he say?"
Brinna hesitated, then decided to follow one of Aggie's maxims. The one that went, If yer in a spot and don't know what to do or say, honesty is yer best option. "He told Lord Thurleah that you were a selfish, spoilt brat."
"What?" The blood rushed out of Joan's face, leaving her looking slightly gray for a moment, then poured back in to color her red with rage. "Why, that--" Her eyes, cold and flinty, jerked to Brinna. "Change and return below," she ordered coldly, moving to the door. "And no more riding or anything else alone with Lord Thurleah. His man is not a suitable chaperone." Then she slid out of the room, pulling the door closed with a snap.
Chapter 4
"I think you are improving."
"Oh, aye." Brinna laughed dryly as she clutched at the hands Royce held at her waist to steady her as they skimmed along on the lake's frozen surface on the narrow-edged bones he had insisted she try. Royce called them skates, and claimed that what they were doing was skating. It was something he had picked up while on his travels in the Nordic countries. Brinna called it foolish, for a body was sure to fall and break something trying to balance on the sharp edge of the bones that he had strapped to her soft leather boots and his own.
He had been trying for days to convince her to try skating. Ever since the afternoon they had gone for the ride. The day Sabrina had felt under the weather. But it wasn't until today that she had given in and agreed, and that was only because she had wanted to please him. She caught herself doing that more and more often these days; doing things to try to please him. It was worrisome when she thought about it, so she tried not to.
"Nay, he is right, you are improving," Sabrina called. Having overheard his comment and Brinna's answer as they had skated past where she stood on the edge of the frozen lake, Sabrina had called out the words cheerfully. "At least you have stopped screaming."
Brinna laughed good-naturedly at the taunt. Sabrina had relaxed somewhat during the past several days. She had recovered quickly from her illness and returned to her chore as chaperone the morning after the ride. But she had taken a different approach on her return. She still accompanied Brinna everywhere, but no longer bothered to try to keep her from talking to everyone, Royce included. She had also stopped forcing herself between the two of them when they walked about or sat for a bit. Brinna supposed she had decided it wasn't worth the trouble when they had already spent a day together without her interference.
"You are starting to shiver," Royce murmured by her ear. "We have been out here quite a while. Mayhap we should head back to the castle to warm up."
"Aye," Brinna agreed as he steered them both back toward Sabrina. "Mayhap we should. 'Tis almost time to sup anyway."
Sabrina seemed to greet the decision to return with relief. She herself had refused to be persuaded to try the "sharp bones" as she called them, so she had stood on the side, watching Brinna's antics instead. While it had been amusing, her lack of activity meant that she was a bit chill and so was eager to return to the warmth of the castle. She waited a bit impatiently as they removed the bones from their feet, then accompanied them back to the castle, teasing "Lady Joan" gently about her ineptitude on the ice.
As it turned out, it was later than any of them had realized, and the others were already seated at table
when Brinna, Royce, and Sabrina entered. They were laughing over Brinna's less-than-stellar performance on skates that afternoon, but fell silent as they realized that they were late. Not that most people noticed their entrance--the great hall was abuzz with excited chatter and laughter--but Lady Menton spotted them arriving.
Casting apologetic glances toward their hostess, the three of them hurried to the nearest spot with an opening and managed to squeeze themselves in. It meant they ended up seated among the knights and villeins at the low tables, but such things couldn't be helped--besides, the high table seemed quite full even without them.
"It looks like a celebratory feast," Brinna murmured as the kitchen doors opened and six women filed out, each bearing a tray holding a succulent roast goose on it.
"Aye," Sabrina agreed with surprise. "I don't recall Lady Menton saying anything this morning about--"
Brinna glanced at the brunette sharply when her unfinished sentence was interrupted by a gasp. Spotting the alarm on Sabrina's face and the way she had blanched, Brinna frowned and touched her hand gently. "What is it? Are you not feeling well again?"
Sabrina turned to her, mouth working but nothing coming out.
"Joan? My lady?"
Brinna glanced distractedly at Royce when he touched her arm. "Aye?"
"Is that not your father?"
"My father?" she asked blankly, but followed his gesture to the head table. Her gaze slid over the people seated there, and she suddenly understood why the table was full even without them. William of Menton and an older man now helped fill it. Her gaze fixed on the older man. He was handsome with blond hair graying at the temples, strong features, and a nice smile. Brinna would have recognized him anywhere. He was Lord Edmund Laythem, a good friend of Lord Menton's and a frequent visitor at Menton. He was also Joan's father.
Brinna's gaze was drawn to Lady Menton as the woman leaned toward her husband to murmur something. Whatever it was made the two men glance across the room toward Brinna. For a moment she felt frozen, pinned to her seat like a bug stuck in sticky syrup as her heart began to hammer in panic and her breathing became fast and shallow. What if he stood and came to greet her? He would know. They would all know. But he didn't rise. Edmund Laythem merely smiled slightly and nodded a greeting.
