Knave Of Hearts. Shari Anton

their acquaintance either. He didn’t particularly want to know Edwin any better than necessary to assess his rival’s strengths and weaknesses where Carolyn was concerned.

      ’Twas obvious from their easy ways at supper to see William favored Edwin. Stephen had already decided the battle must be won through Carolyn, to so thoroughly capture the lady that her older suitor would despair of hope. He’d made progress to that end with the gift of the chest at supper. She liked the gift, had even made a point to show it to Edwin.

      Unfortunately, Edwin didn’t seem the sort to despair easily.

      ’Twould probably be best to prod Edwin into a conversation about their mutual quest to win Carolyn, but his curiosity over Marian wouldn’t leave Stephen alone.

      “Adorable girls,” Stephen commented.

      Edwin didn’t even glance sideways. “They are.”

      “A shame about Lyssa’s headache.”

      “She suffers them often, I hear.”

      Stephen digested the news with a pang of sympathy for both daughter and mother. A wee one should not suffer so, and it must be hard on Marian to see her daughter pained.

      Marian’s daughters.

      His suspicion that the twins might be William’s had come to an end at evening meal. Those little faces matched Marian’s too well to be other than her own offspring, but not until seeing them sitting together did he notice the resemblance. Too, Carolyn had made a remark about the twins being her nieces.

      Why did the family live in the hamlet? Marian’s kinship to William certainly warranted residence in the keep, unless he thoroughly disapproved of Marian’s husband.

      Where was the girls’ father, who should have been at evening meal with his family? Obviously off somewhere.

      Stephen kicked at a rock, sending it far down the road, beyond the light of the torch. “Has no cure for the girl’s headaches been found?”

      “Not for want of trying. Marian took Lyssa into London to see a physician. ’Twould seem his potions cannot prevent or ease the headaches.”

      Then Lyssa had been the blanket-wrapped bundle on Marian’s bed in the palace bedchamber. Audra must have remained behind at Branwick while Marian visited a physician with Lyssa.

      “You have known Marian for some time, then?”

      Edwin finally graced him with a glance. “For some years. Why so curious?”

      “I knew Marian as a girl, but have not seen her in recent years. My concern—” Stephen stopped and looked back toward the hut, now out of sight, and put to words what bothered him ever since closing Marian’s door. “I do not like leaving Marian and her children alone like this. ’Tis not wise. What if some knave decides to take advantage of her husband’s absence? She and the girls should have remained at the keep for the night.”

      “Marian is a widow. She and the girls have lived alone in that hut for several years.”

      A widow? No husband. No protector for the girls.

      “All the more reason she should live in the keep.”

      “I hear she prefers living in the hamlet. ’Tis odd William allows it, but then the whole tale of how she came to Branwick is odd.”

      “How so?”

      “Carolyn brought her to Branwick after her husband died. The girls were born here, and a few months later William allowed her to live in the hut.” Edwin paused before adding. “I often wondered why she did not return to Murwaithe. Must have been some bad feelings with her family, I suppose.”

      He remembered Hugo de Lacy as a proud, rather pompous man, and his wife as pleasant enough. He’d not sensed any animosity between parents and daughter.

      “Something must have happened to cause a rift between Marian and her parents around the time of her marriage, then. I remember them as being fond of one another.”

      “An old friend is she?”

      Something in the way Edwin asked brought the swirling questions in Stephen’s head to a halt. Stephen doubted Marian wanted anyone at Branwick to know how friendly they’d been—nor did he. Certainly not Carolyn. Especially not his rival.

      “Marian’s father bought horses from mine.”

      ’Twas all the explanation Stephen intended to give. He resumed the walk, anxious now to return to the keep and find out what tidbits Armand might have gathered.

      When Edwin didn’t follow, Stephen halted. “Something amiss?”

      “You cannot win, you know. You might as well pack up your belongings and take them back to wherever you brought them from.”

      Stephen had fought in enough battles, on English soil and Norman, to recognize the strategy—dispirit the enemy by breeding doubt of success.

      “Beg pardon, Edwin, but I am in no hurry to be on my way. I believe I shall leave my bed where it is until Carolyn makes her decision.”

      “’Tis not merely Carolyn’s decision. She cannot marry where her father does not approve.”

      Stephen shrugged with what he hoped showed unconcern. “I will grant you the advantage of having known William longer, and you seem to be in his good graces. But I have youth on my side.” He smiled and ruffled his hair. “See Edwin? Not one strand of gray.”

      Edwin laughed and shook his head, then resumed walking. Stephen fell into step within the torch’s light, acknowledging once more that Edwin wouldn’t fall into despair easily.

      “A strand or two of gray would serve you well.”

      “With Carolyn? Not so.”

      “Believe as you will.”

      Stephen had reason to believe as he did, for Carolyn made quite clear her preference for a young man as her third husband. Yet, Edwin seemed to think his age made no difference. The man could go on thinking so, to his detriment.

      After turning over the torch to a guard, they entered the great hall to find the trestle tables folded up and stacked against the walls for the night. Stephen spotted Harlan and a few of Wilmont’s soldiers seated on the floor with a group of Branwick’s guards, cups of ale in hand and tossing dice.

      William was yet strapped into his chair, now settled near the hearth. Carolyn sat on a nearby bench, an open book in her hands.

      A place of peace, quiet—boredom.

      The place wanted for music, or games, or a wrestling match. At least Harlan had found entertainment with his dice. Stephen looked around for Armand, and not seeing him, guessed his squire must have found more interesting amusement, too.

      “What is this?” Edwin complained, the words snapping Carolyn’s head up. “I had thought to come back to sweets, at the least.”

      “Do not be churlish, Edwin. You must know I set several aside for the two of you as well as for Marian’s girls.” Carolyn waved a hand in the air, hailing a serving wench. “Tarts and ale for our guests.”

      The wench bobbed a curtsey and scurried off.

      Stephen slid onto the bench beside Carolyn, ignoring Edwin’s raised eyebrow.

      “How very thoughtful of you, my lady. As I told your father earlier, I find Branwick’s hospitality most noteworthy.”

      “My thanks.”

      The compliment garnered him a half smile. ’Twas progress from her ill humor at supper.

      He glanced down at her book—a prayer book—one to be admired.

      “Your psalter is beautifully illustrated,” he said, the comment genuinely meant. The lettering was both simple and graceful, and the picture of the Holy Mother, surrounded by cherubs, had been drawn