DeCorte went forward to meet his liege before he reached the gate. Jane followed after. She scanned the group of riders. Stephan had left with only a groom and a few guards. He'd returned with a few extra people in tow. Several servant types were bringing up the rear of the column. Up front, riding abreast with Stephan, were two well-dressed strangers.
One was a scrawny boy of about ten, with a round face and masses of brown curls, straddling a horse someone had probably told him he'd grow into. He was looking about him with a combination of curiosity and eagerness. His gaze kept returning expectantly to Sir Stephan. She guessed Sir Stephan was bringing home some noble's son to train as his squire. The other new arrival sat his horse with long-limbed ease. His yellow hair was cut unfashionably short. A sky-blue, hooded tunic covered a powerful form. A well-worn broadsword sheath hung across his saddlebow, and one arm supported a round, crested shield. The device on the shield was of a mailed hand grasping a gold ball. Their eyes met, and he gave Jane a pleasant smile. She quickly focused her attention on Sir Stephan.
Stephan's dark eyes took in the guards and the tensely waiting DeCorte. He got down from the stallion. "What news?" he asked, towering over his guard sergeant.
Jane tucked her hands in her sleeve, grasping her elbows tightly, as DeCorte explained about the fair and the outlaw attack.
The young man's fine, pale skin flushed with anger as the story unfolded. "Such pickings were bound to draw the brigands out," Stephan pointed out. "Why only five guards on patrol?"
DeCorte ran a hand through his short gray hair. "Three of my men were hunting poachers who've been taking deer in the forest. I didn't want to leave the castle defenses short of men."
"Quite right," Stephan acknowledged with a short
nod. "What about Sturry? And where was the Welsh Wolf and his men?"
"The patrol from Reculver was delayed by a messenger," DeCorte explained. He went on to add a part of the story new to Jane. "Sir Daffyd returned after chasing the outlaws until nightfall. He had news of Sturry's men. They were waylaid at Stourford. Riders set on them at the river crossing. They drove the attackers off, but turned back to Sturry Castle with their wounded. The riders wore no device, but Sir Daffyd assumes they were from Lilydrake."
"A diversion while the outlaws attacked the town?"
"Just so, my lord."
Stephan rubbed his long jaw, which was stubbled with a day's growth of dark beard. His wide mouth was set in a hard line. "With Hugh getting a share of the spoils? I should have killed the man the last time we met."
DeCorte nodded. "The castle," he went on, "was never in danger. It was Lady Sibelle who first noticed the outlaws. She was just going down to the fair, but ran back with word of the attack. Ran like the wind despite having hurt her foot earlier in the day," DeCorte added for emphasis.
Stephan looked at the guard sergeant in astonishment. "Lady Sibelle? My Lady Sibelle?"
"Yes, my lord. It was the lass who got the archers up to the walls as soon as we knew there was trouble. And she was up on the walls with us," he went on, praising the girl enthusiastically. "She's turning into a fine archer. And fierce in protection of her lord's lands," he concluded, throwing a quick, conspiratorial glance Jane's way.
She was grateful for the sergeant's fervent praise of the lady. Stephan clearly didn't know what to make of DeCorte's words. Instead he turned to her. "I'm glad to see you well."
"Thank you." She thought it was better not to tell him she was anything but well. Besides, how could she be completely unwell when a smile was threatening to erupt at the consternation she saw on Stephan's face?
The lad and the knight got down from their horses. The solidly built man was about her own height. The boy was small for the age she estimated, probably undergrown even for this time.
Sir Stephan introduced them. "My good friend, Jonathan Citrom, and Michael of Wilton, here to begin knightly training. My chatelaine."
"The nut-brown Jehane," Jonathan said with a winning smile. "Stephan has praised your name to me all the way from Striguil."
Oh, yeah? she thought. "Welcome to Passfair," was all she said.
"Michael," Stephan said, one hand resting lightly on the boy's thin shoulder. "Listen well to Lady Jehane."
Michael ducked his head shyly. "I will, my lord," he answered.
Stephan called for grooms to see to the horses. The group started through the bailey on foot, the two men side by side, Michael loyally dogging Stephan's steps. Jane followed a bit behind, beginning to feel a warm glow of anticipation mixed with hope. Stephan was home. His lady was a heroine. Maybe things were going to work out.
They came through the inner gate, and the castle
steps came into view across the courtyard. Jane glanced toward the castle door as Stephan faltered to a halt in front of her. He looked back at her in puzzlement. She just smiled. He blinked and turned to stare.
Waiting demurely on the top step was a delicately lovely girl, dressed in gracefully draping silks of peach and green. She held a silver cup clasped to her rounded breasts, a tribute of wine to welcome home the lord of the manor. Her thick gold hair was unbound, flowing about her like a river of wheat and honey.
Good move, Jane thought at this maidenly sight. Always hit 'em with your best feature. Sibelle had been listening to all those love poems she'd been reciting. She almost wished she'd been in the hall when news of Sir Stephan's return was brought to the castle. Witnessing the quick change and primp act in the bower would have been priceless.
Jonathan bent his head close to the dumbfounded Stephan's, whispering a quick question.
Close enough to overhear, Jane had to suppress a delighted laugh. Jonathan spoke in the flowery language of the troubadours. But what he said could loosely be translated, she decided, as, "Who's the babe?"
16
Stephan looked as if he were in a trance as he took the goblet from the girl. Sibelle's soft blue eyes were shining up into his through the veil of her long lashes. Her lower lip trembled, her cheeks were colored with agitation. Stephan took a sip, the politeness seeming more automatic than conscious, then held the cup awkwardly, perhaps not even remembering it was in his hand. Jane, staying firmly in the background with Jonathan and the boy, looked on with detached amusement. She did not rush forward to relieve the lord of the manor of either his silver or his embarrassment.
The two young people stood transfixed, discovering each other with their eyes, until those around them began to shuffle restlessly. Marguerite finally came forward from where she and Alais stood near the door. She pried the goblet from Sir Stephan's hand while murmuring some words into Sibelle's ear.
"God be with you, my lord," Sibelle recited timidly. "Welcome to your home."
He leaned forward, his impossibly long black lashes almost touching the girl's face as he peered closely at her. "Sibelle?" he asked, their noses—his long and pointed, hers upturned and pert—almost touching.
"I am Sibelle, my lord," she assured him in soft, gentle tones.
He straightened, squaring his narrow shoulders. He turned in a slow circle, eyeing Jane curiously in passing. There was a glint of pleased gratitude to her in his glance. Then he forgot her and concentrated on Sibelle. "Things—you've—changed."
Sibelle ducked her head demurely, but there was an upturned hint of a smile playing about her lips. "If it pleases, my lord."
Jonathan gave Jane a curious look when she made a small, smug sound and crossed her arms.
He leaned close and whispered, "You have the look of one satisfied with their labor. Lady Jehane."
"If I've done my duty to my liege, I am content," she replied primly. Besides, she added to herself, it was Sibelle who did the work. She just had a little stage management.
Stephan came up the two steps to stand beside Sibelle. His fingers briefly brushed through her hair. He offered her his arm. They made a strikingly contrasting couple, one so tall, slender, and dark, the other small and gold and lushly curved. After only a
moment's becoming hesitation, Sibelle breathed a happy sigh and placed two delicate fingers on Stepan's wrist. She swayed close to him as they entered the hall together.
Mentally giving Sibelle a perfect ten for her performance, Jane prepared to follow. Jonathan Citrom gallantly offered her his hand, but she smiled politely at him and kept her hands tucked under her arms.
Stephan led Sibelle to stand beneath the dais windows. Jonathan grabbed the back of Michael's tunic to keep the boy from following after the couple. Jane was grateful for the man's amused tact. He and the boy lingered by the hearth. Melisande and her pups, with no knowledge of tact, came bounding into the hall, making a raucous beeline for their master. Stephan and Sibelle ignored them completely. After a few minutes the dogs came down to the hearth. They began weaving in and out between the legs of the people standing by the glowing embers, shamelessly fawning for attention. Both Jane and Jonathan began automatically to rub rough coats and heads.
Jane called for ale for the guests. When Bertram brought the full tankards she caught his eye, tilting her head significantly toward the pair standing close enough to share a sunbeam falling through one of the narrow windows.
The old man's wrinkled map of a face lit happily for an instant. Then he gave Michael a serious look. "New page?" Michael nodded. "Good. Come along. We'll start with teaching you how to serve at table."
Michael gave Jane a wretched, hopeful look. He reminded her of one of the puppies. He was little, and tired from a long ride. The longing in his eyes told her he was lonely as well.
"Perhaps Michael can join us at table tonight," she said, placing her hand on the boy's curly head. "And start his duties in the morning."
The boy looked at her with gratitude that told her he was hers forever. It couldn't hurt to spoil a kid a
little, she thought. Bertram sighed disapprovingly and shuffled off. Michael slipped away and began curiously to explore the mysteries of the dimly lit room. Melisande peeled herself away from where she was leaning against fane's thigh, and followed after the boy.
"You're kindhearted, lady," Jonathan said. "Stephan said you were."
Stephan knew her well enough to know she was softheaded, she thought tartly. Whether that was the same as kindhearted, she wasn't sure.
"Practical," she responded. "I didn't see any reason why everyone at Passfair should be miserable. The solution wasn't hard to find."
He glanced significantly at the young couple. Jane found herself wondering at this man's age. He had a great deal of presence and an air of authority. She found herself comparing this knight with Sir Daffyd.
Jonathan was tan beneath his yellow hair, his skin weathered. She thought the lines around his clear blue eyes might be from good humor and laughter. It was a very different face from the brooding, hawk visage presented by Sir Daffyd. What was it Stephan had called him? The Welsh Wolf? Hawk or wolf, the man was a dangerous hunter.
She wondered what brought Jonathan Citrom back to Passfair with Stephan. He was smiling at her amiably, but she didn't feel it was her place to pry into the business of her liege's guest. As long as he didn't get in the way of the romance, she didn't begrudge him a place in the castle.
After an eternity of about an hour of gazing limpidly into Sibelle's eyes and having her return his gaze with equal adoration, Stephan seemed to recall his duty. He led Sibelle down to the hearth and introduced her formally to his guest.
Jonathan gave her a charming smile. "We hear you were very brave yesterday," he complimented her. "It seems Stephan's found himself a beautiful lioness to guard his home."
Sibelle's pink cheeks took on rosy spots of color. Her eyelashes fluttered. Stephan's adoring sigh was audible.
Jane took several steps back into the shadows, covering her mouth with her h'and. This morning her world had been nothing but gray ashes. Now she was fighting not to laugh. Perhaps her reaction was as much lingering hysteria as it was relief at Stephan's response to a pretty girl. She knew the fear was still part of her, lurking beneath her daily concerns, but she took fierce joy in knowing she could laugh. Perhaps she appreciated laughter more today than she had yesterday.
You're never going to be quite the same, but you will be all right. Who had said that? Then she remembered. Daffyd ap Bleddyn—the Welsh Wolf—had come to her room to comfort her. She shook her head in confusion. First the man killed, then he showed concern. What was he?
The tables were being set up. DeCorte came in with several of the guards. He joined the group by the hearth as Stephan was saying, "I didn't know you knew how to use the bow."
"She's a quick student," he asserted before Sibelle could answer. Jane thought the girl looked relieved to have someone do the talking for her. She didn't blame Sibelle her shyness. She didn't think it would
last long after she got to know Stephan a little better. And for now Stephan was certainly finding her maidenly diffidence charming.
"She's learning to ride as well," Jane chimed in, happy to help laud the girl's virtues. Happy to get her mind off her own confusion.
"An Amazon," Jonathan said. He eyed Jane with speculative amusement. "Is it true there are Amazons among the infidels, lady?"
Only the ones they import, she thought, reminded of her mother's two tours in the desert theater of operations. "Oh, no," she said. "Their women are kept completely in seclusion."
"You must "tell me all about the Holy Land," Jonathan urged her.
She gave him a stiff smile. "Yes. Of course." She considered looking for something she could supervise.
Stephan drew reluctantly away from Sibelle's side. He gathered up Michael with a look, and the two of them went upstairs. Jane made for the kitchen, returning only after the cook informed her furiously that she was interfering in his artistry. The kitchen smelled of onion and lamb and the first green vegetables of the summer. She discovered she had an appetite.
When she returned to the hall it was to find everyone still waiting on their young lord. Fortunately it was only a few more moments before he came bounding down the stairs, shaved and wearing a fresh tunic. Jane caught a distinct scent of rose oil combed into his blue-black locks as he passed her to reach Sibelle's side.
"This is truly serious," Jonathan murmured to Jane as they took seats side by side at the high table.
Michael was given the chair to her left, the blond knight on her right. Stephan and Sibelle sat close together, sharing one trencher, one wine cup, dipping their fingers in one washing bowl.
"Serious indeed," she agreed with the visiting knight. She picked at the meat and vegetables on her own trencher, sipping slowly at a cup of ale, eyes on her plate but her attention on nothing.
Jonathan ate in silence for a while. "You've been a widow for how long?" he asked, startling her out of her thoughtless reverie.
"I'm not—" she managed to catch herself and end, "—exactly sure. Much of the journey to England after Geoffrey's death is unclear in my memory."
He nodded understandingly. "A brave journey." He concentrated on a large portion of lamb and onions for a while. Then he looked up and gave her one of the most winning smiles she'd ever seen. "Stephan doesn't think you were meant for the abbey. I've told him I'd offer him my opinion on the matter."
For a moment Sir Jonathan's startling words made no sense to her, then she felt her eyes go wide as she stared at him in shock. She gulped. Her mind was full of tumbling thoughts, but her tongue was completely frozen. Jonathan just gave her a benign nod and went back to his dinner.
Her own meal was forgotten. She stared at the meat congealing on her wooden trencher while nervously picking a hunk of heavy bread into tiny crumbs. She didn't notice what she was doing. Jonathan was a warm and solid presence beside her. A presence she wanted very much to go away. She was tempted to run, but running simply was no solu-
tion. She'd found that out the hard way with Pwyll chasing close on her heels. Men in this society took what they wanted. There was no running away.
She had thought s
he was exempt from the iron will of men that circumscribed women's lives. She had thought her choices were her own to make. She had thought her status of widow and chatelaine was a safe haven. She knew now it was a trap. She'd ridden into it pillion on the back of a black charger.
She'd accepted Stephan's protection and given him her service. She was a woman under his command; he was her liege. By law, if he wanted to bring home a friend for her to marry, she had no choice but to marry that friend. It was up to Sir Stephan DuVrai, hardly more than a boy himself, to decide what was best for her good. She was only a woman, after all. It was his duty to take care of her.
She was also a marketable commodity, just as much a piece of propertied goods as little Sibelle. She had wealth; she could bear offspring. Her body and belongings would make a perfect reward for anyone Stephan chose to favor. Sir Jonathan Citrom, perhaps?
She was being ridiculous, she told herself firmly after the speculation had buzzed in her head long enough to give her a headache. Stephan wasn't going to just give her away. He might be thinking about it, might have brought Jonathan home to see if they'd both be interested. But he wouldn't just throw her into any man's bed. Would he? She could talk him out of it, she was sure. She wouldn't worry just yet. But what did Jonathan mean about "offering an opinion"? She decided it was best not to think about it.
Stephan waited scarcely a moment after the meal was ended before rising from his chair. All eyes turned to him, speculation and ribald amusement on many faces as he once more offered Sibelle his hand. There was only one bedroom in the castle. Sibelle slept there, but the room belonged to the lord of the manor. So did Sibelle. She was his formal betrothed, living under his roof. She belonged in his bed if he chose to take her there.
It was a simple matter of property rights, Jane thought acidly, but her opinion softened as she gazed at the couple. Stephan was looking at Sibelle with almost reverent tenderness. Sibelle's eyes on him held the same awe as when he brought her, a maiden rescued from a monster, to Passfair Castle. To them law and custom and formality no longer had any meaning. They wanted to be alone together. To discover each other. To make love as a man and woman.
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