“So, you are interested in marrying as well?” asked Charlotte, almost hoping the girl’s parents would change their minds and wait another year to betroth Claire.
“Aye, I’m going to have all the men fighting over me,” said Claire, brushing a speck off her sleeve.
“Claire, what did I tell you about acting haughty?” asked her mother.
“I’m not haughty,” said Claire. “I’m just in a hurry to marry because I don’t want to end up old and single. I want to have lots and lots of babies.” Claire looked at Charlotte when she said it, only making Charlotte feel worse.
“Oh, look. Here come Dominick and the baby now,” said Summer, glancing across the great hall. “Lady Regina is with them. You three girls will have a good time sharing a room during the length of the festivities.”
“Mother,” said Claire, rolling her eyes. “I’m not sharing a room with . . . them,” she said in a soft voice.
“Claire, Lady Charlotte is our guest,” Summer reminded her. “Her mother will be staying in my chamber during their visit, and Charlotte and Regina will be with you.”
“Fine,” said Claire, letting out a frustrated breath. “But can’t Regina sleep with the servants where she belongs? After all, sharing a room with a nun is bad enough.”
“Claire! That’s enough from you. Now let’s go and greet your brother. Excuse us,” said Lady Summer, nodding to her guests. She took her daughter by the arm and led her away, reprimanding her quietly as they walked.
“Who is Lady Regina and why does Claire want her to sleep with the servants?” asked Charlotte.
Her mother leaned over and whispered behind her hand. “Regina was raised as Summer’s stepdaughter at the death of the girl’s mother. Rumor has it that Regina’s father was the late Baron Mowbray, and her mother was naught but Lady Summer’s handmaid. Can you believe it?”
Charlotte peered across the hall perusing Lady Regina. She looked to be a few years older than Claire and a few years younger than herself. The girl seemed shy and also overweight. She wasn’t comely at all. Charlotte’s heart went out to her. She knew how it felt to be unwanted. After all, she’d heard the rumor that the whole reason she was sent to a nunnery, to begin with, was that her father thought she wasn’t his child. She’d asked her mother about it, but the woman swore it wasn’t true.
“I’d like to meet Lady Regina,” said Charlotte, picking up her skirts and heading across the hall. Perhaps, her own situation wasn’t nearly as bad as she thought. After all, Regina wasn’t married either, and no one said a word about finding her a husband. Mayhap, Charlotte would have a chance to wed again after all.
Chapter 3
With a dreary gray sky overhead, Alex rode his steed over the snow-laden ground as he approached Framlingham Castle. He wasn’t at all sure why he was here. Sitting atop an old nag he’d found out in a field, he had everything he owned in travel bags tied to the horse. He’d never stolen anything in his life but needed a steed to get here. With his bad leg, there was no way he could walk this distance.
He’d buried his father two days ago, using a pickaxe to break the frozen ground and only managing to dig a shallow grave. All the while, thoughts filled his head of the last words the man told him. Alex considered Crandell his father and always would even if it proved not to be true. He already missed the man dearly and felt isolated and alone.
Alex pulled the hood of his cloak lower, trying to block out the cold. He felt chilled to the bone from the journey and welcomed the thought of sitting by a warm fire. Stopping just before the drawbridge, he took in his surroundings. Framlingham Castle was enormous in size and outlandishly impressive. Long, colorful banners of the lord’s crest fluttered in the breeze from the battlements. The castle had four round turrets, a massive keep, and high walls around the inner bailey. There was even a gatehouse with a long ramp over a moat that led to the drawbridge.
His heart raced thinking that there was a woman inside who might be his mother. He’d never had a mother of any kind growing up and thought he hadn’t missed it. That is, not until now. With Crandell’s demise creating a void in his life, he needed someone to fill it.
It had always been just Crandell and him and no one else. Without the man at his side, Alex felt empty and lost. He looked down to his twisted leg, wondering what Lady Summer would think of him. Would she reject him, not wanting a lame son? Or would she pity him and treat him like a child? He wanted neither. Actually, he wasn’t even sure he would tell her the story he’d heard from Crandell. After all, if it weren’t true, he would feel like a fool. Aye, he decided, he would just keep silent about it until he found out more.
If he really were Lady Summer’s son, would she even want him after all this time? Perhaps her husband would send him away. No man wanted a son who was naught but a crippled mercenary, no matter how well he fought.
Alex’s stomach clenched in a hard knot. He suddenly felt as if he didn’t want to go inside at all. He’d made a promise to Crandell, but did it even matter anymore? The man was dead now. If Alex, indeed, was Peter, everyone thought he was dead, too. Mayhap, it was better left this way.
Looking down to the gold signet ring on his finger, he caressed it with his thumb, hoping it would give him strength. He had wanted a remembrance of Crandell, so he didn’t bury the ring with the man. Besides, Alex had very little to live on and might end up having to sell it just so he could eat.
He was turning around when, out of nowhere, a horse approached behind him at high speed. The rider caused his horse to rear up. Alex was taken by surprise and thrown to the ground.
“Get outta my way,” growled the man. “Keep this road clear for the knights and other nobles. You commoners have gotten much too bold. Now go back to your hovel where you belong.”
Alex looked up to see an angry man about his age with oaken hair, staring down at him. He was dressed like a knight but certainly didn’t act like one. Dark stubble covered his face, and his clothes were dirty. There was a crest on his tunic, but Alex couldn’t make it out from his position, prone on the ground.
“Here come the ladies. Now, get out of the way.”
Alex pushed up to his knees but wasn’t moving fast enough for the man. The knight slid off his horse and trudged through the ankle-deep snow, stopping right in front of him. “Did you hear me? Get up, you sorry excuse for a man.”
Alex struggled to stand in the snow, not being able to hide the fact he was lame.
“Oh, you’re a cripple,” said the man, kicking snow in his face. Alex’s fury grew. He wished right now that he had two good legs so he could kick the man in the teeth for treating him this way.
“What’s this?” asked the man, reaching out to take the swords tied to Alex’s horse. Alex had his father’s sword tied to the horse and also the one his father had bought him on his eighth birthday. He’d been raised with a blade in his hand and could use it just as well as anyone. “I like this,” said the man, pulling Alex’s sword from the sheath. The horse whinnied and stomped its foot.
“Put it back,” said Alex, getting to his feet, not wanting to lose one of the last things he owned.
The man chuckled. “And what the hell are you going to do about it?” Then he called out for his squire as he raised the sword in the air. His squire rode up to join them. “Get the other sword and let’s get to the castle. I want to be one of the first ones there so I can eye up the wenches. After all, if they’re rich enough, I might want to marry one of them.”
“Aye, Sir Dreyfis,” said the boy. But before the boy could get to Alex’s horse, Alex reached out and drew his father’s sword.
“Drop the sword,” Alex commanded, holding it pointed at the man called Sir Dreyfis.
Dreyfis looked up and started laughing. “Squire, look at that,” he said. “The lame one is foolishly threatening me.” The squire started laughing as well.
“Don’t make me fight you, because I will,” Alex warned him, probably sounding too docile since he very rarely ra
ised his voice.
“You dare threaten a knight?” asked the man. “That is punishable by death, coming from a commoner.”
Dressed in a tunic and breeches and wearing a traveling cape, Alex looked like a commoner. He didn’t own chain mail, or spurs or armor like a knight would have. That was reserved for the nobles and quite expensive.
“Where does a man like you get swords like this?” Dreyfis inspected Alex’s sword.
“It’s none of your business,” said Alex.
“On the contrary, it is. I want to know all I can before I kill you and take from you that which you have probably stolen from a noble to begin with.”
“I don’t steal,” said Alex. His eyes roamed over to the horse, realizing it was a lie. He felt pretty low right now even if the only thing in his life he’d stolen was a broken-down nag. He planned on taking the horse back once he made his visit, so it didn’t really matter, he told himself.
“Let’s see if you can even hold that thing.” The man swung the sword at him. Alex instinctively raised his blade, clashing with that of his attacker’s. He had sparred constantly with his father ever since childhood. Crandell had taught him everything the late baron had taught him when he worked as a guard at the castle. Alex’s skill in handling a weapon was the one thing that he prided himself on. He was just as good as any knight when he had a blade in his hand. That is, as long as he could stay on his feet.
“My lord, he seems to know how to handle the weapon,” said the man’s squire.
“I see, but I don’t understand it,” said Dreyfis. He lunged at Alex a few more times and, each time, Alex rose to the challenge, blocking and keeping the man at bay. Alex’s leg hurt like hell from the fall, but he bit back the pain and continued to spar. Every job he and Crandell had as mercenaries during his life had made Alex that much stronger.
“Come and get me,” taunted Dreyfis, backing away, wanting Alex to attack. Of course, with his leg, he couldn’t chase him, and neither did he want to. What he needed to do was get on his horse. From atop his horse, Sir Dreyfis would be no match for him. He reached out to pull himself up into the saddle. When he did, Dreyfis rushed forward and kicked Alex’s bad leg out from under him. Alex grabbed for the saddle, accidentally dropping his sword as he fell to the ground in the snow.
“Now let’s see how well you handle a weapon from the ground.” Dreyfis held the tip of the sword up to Alex’s throat.
“What is going on, here?” came the low voice of a man on horseback. He was followed by a woman riding her horse sidesaddle, and two younger women on horses of their own.
“Lord Mowbray,” said Dreyfis, lowering the sword and nodding his head. “I was just clearing the road of undesirables to make room for you and the ladies.”
Lord Mowbray frowned. “Sir Dreyfis, no one treats anyone with such disrespect while on my lands, no matter if they are a commoner or not. Certainly, as a knight, I would expect better from you.”
“What is your name?” asked the woman who accompanied Lord Mowbray, looking straight at Alex. Suddenly, he felt tongue-tied. He pushed up to his knees and then to his feet, embarrassed that all the women were watching him, seeing that he had a bad leg.
“Lady Mowbray asked a question. Answer her,” snapped Dreyfis.
Alex’s head snapped up at hearing Dreyfis call the woman Lady Mowbray. He drank in the sight of the mature but beautiful woman who looked like a goddess atop her horse. Her long, blond hair was pulled back and atop her head was a small hat. She wore a long, purple, velvet cloak that stretched out and covered the back of the horse. She looked to be mayhap twenty years his senior but did not show her age with wrinkles or gray hair. If she was Lady Mowbray . . . Alex realized he could be staring at his own mother. Now, he found it impossible to answer.
“Sir Dreyfis, I do not like your tone. And I warned you to hold your tongue while on my lands.” Lord Warren Mowbray sat majestically tall atop his steed. He was dressed in fine clothes that looked very expensive. Even his horse had elaborate tack trailing down the sides. “Now please, give the man back his sword and go to the castle and wait for me there.”
“He doesn’t need two swords. He can’t possibly use them both,” complained Dreyfis. “He probably stole them, because no commoner would have swords like these.”
“Don’t make me tell you again,” warned Warren.
Dreyfis snarled and threw the blade down on the ground at Alex’s feet and left with his squire following.
Alex collected both his swords and proceeded to wipe them down on his cloak and sheath them. All the while, he focused on his weapons, not having the nerve to look up at Lady Summer again.
“Is there something wrong with your leg?” asked the young, blond girl from atop her horse. She stretched her neck to peruse him.
“Claire, that is inappropriate for you to ask him that,” warned Lady Mowbray.
“Mother, I simply asked a question.”
“I’m sorry, I should be going.” Alex mounted his horse, keeping his eyes away from the traveling party.
“Why are you here and who are you?” This time, it was the other woman that spoke. She seemed much more mature than the blond girl, and not nearly as haughty. She looked to be a few years older than him. The woman wasn’t as adorned with jewels and elegant clothes like Claire. Somehow, this made Alex feel more comfortable.
“I was just passing through,” he said, not wanting to tell them more. He started thinking about the situation. If Claire called Lady Mowbray, Mother, then Claire could very well be his sister. He wondered if the other woman was a sister of his, too. Then again, he didn’t really believe Crandell’s story, so why was he even giving it any thought?
“Are you here for the Christmas festivities?” asked the woman.
“What festivities?” He looked up in question.
“Lady Charlotte, you have to be jesting,” said Claire. “He’s obviously not a knight or a nobleman, so he’s not invited.”
“Why not?” said Lady Mowbray.
“Summer, what are you saying?” asked her husband. Hearing him call her Summer hit Alex hard. Everything Crandell had told him swarmed in his head at once. It was too much to think about at a time like this. He needed to get out of here, now. He should never have come. What had he been thinking?
“I saw the way he handled a sword, and it is apparent he can fight as well as any titled man,” said Summer.
“Are you a knight?” asked Charlotte.
“Nay,” he said, looking down at his ring. “I’m not a knight.”
“Are you a noble?” Charlotte continued with her questions.
Once again, he didn’t know how to answer.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Summer, causing him to breathe a sigh of relief. “You are here, and you will at least join us for a meal. Right, Warren?”
“Whatever my lady wants,” said Warren, leading the way back to the castle.
Not wanting to be rude, Alex turned and rode to the castle at the back of the procession. The girl named Charlotte slowed her horse and sidled up next to him.
“You never told us your name,” she said. This girl was a curious one. Perhaps too curious for her own good.
It was easier to find his tongue when he wasn’t staring at the lord and lady of the castle. For some odd reason, he felt comfortable around Lady Charlotte. “I’m Alexander Masterson.” He noticed Summer glance over her shoulder when he said his name. He cursed under his breath, realizing he should have used a different surname. Too late now.
“Masterson?” asked Summer. “I once had a guard at the castle with that surname. Perhaps you know him. His name is Crandell.”
Alex swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Aye. I know him,” he answered, not wanting to lie to a woman who might be his own mother. He had to tell her about Crandell now. “He was my father.”
“Your father?” This time Lord Mowbray looked over his shoulder as he spoke. “I didn’t know Crandell had any living children. Where is
the man now?” He and his wife exchanged an odd glance between them that Alex didn’t understand. Talking about Crandell seemed to make them uptight.
“I buried him two days ago.”
“Oh! Crandell is dead? I am so sorry,” said Summer in surprise.
“I would love to hear about your late father,” said Charlotte. “I lost my father recently, too.”
“I’m sorry,” said Alex, being sincere. “Were you close to him?”
“Nay,” said Charlotte with a shake of her head. “I grew up barely knowing him at all.”
“Why not?”
“Because she was raised in a nunnery,” answered Claire, giggling.
“I was not.” Charlotte’s brows dipped as she answered. “I just stayed there for a few years after my husband died.”
“I am sorry about your husband,” Alex told her.
“Seven years is not a few years,” Claire said under her breath.
“You were there seven years?” Alex asked in surprise.
“My father wanted me to stay there, but my mother brought me back to the castle after my father’s death,” explained Charlotte.
“How long were you married?” he curiously asked as they rode.
“Not long. I’ve been a widow much longer than I was married.”
“What happened to your children when you went to live at the convent?” he asked, finding this woman fascinating.
Charlotte froze up, not seeming as if she wanted to answer.
“She’s barren,” piped up Claire.
“Claire!” scolded Lady Summer. “Ride up here with me and never mind what is going on behind you.”
Charlotte could have died from embarrassment when Claire shouted out that she was barren. It was the last thing she wanted the handsome man named Alex to know.
“I – I’m not barren,” she stuttered. “Not really. I am sure if I were married longer I would have had children.”
“Of course,” answered Alex, not trying to get away from her like she expected him to do once he found out her story. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t even seem to care. That got her wondering if he had a wife at home.
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