Knave Of Hearts. Shari Anton

even if William didn’t force Carolyn to marry Edwin, he could certainly refuse to allow his daughter to marry Stephen of Wilmont—all because of this damn contest.

      Stephen rubbed his eyes, thinking about the list he’d receive on the morn. Gad, he’d left his estates under his stewards’ and Gerard’s direction for too long to know costs of materials and labor readily. ’Twould pose a problem, though not an insurmountable one. William couldn’t expect him to know the price of goods and services in this area, for costs differed greatly depending upon ready availability. Ivo could supply figures.

      His greatest problem was getting to know Carolyn better. He needed to know what pleased her outside of the bedchamber—which he already knew.

      She obviously liked to ride over the countryside, but did she also like long walks? Did she prefer bold colors to pale, ale to wine, a psalter to a wooden chest?

      Not William, nor Edwin, nor Ivo would be of help on that front. Nor would Armand’s Dena, for servants often saw their betters in a different light than would those of closer rank and status.

      He knew of only one other person at Branwick who matched Carolyn’s status and could supply the answers he needed. Marian.

      Marian of the pewter eyes and sable hair. The widowed mother of adorable twins, who lived in a hut on the edge of the hamlet. He still didn’t like the arrangement, the three of them out there alone and unprotected, no matter how long they’d lived on their own.

      Marian’s continued vexation at him rubbed a raw spot on his innards, more troubling than he should allow. He hadn’t meant to seem indifferent to her all those years ago; there simply hadn’t been time when leaving Murwaithe for fare-thee-wells or a parting kiss. Yet she still held him in contempt for that one act of discourtesy.

      Could he somehow make it up to her now? Would she then soften her manner toward him, talk to him without an edge to her voice? Grace him with a smile?

      ’Twasn’t as if Marian had pined for him overlong. Judging by the size of her girls, they must be somewhere around the age of four, so Marian she must have wed within a year or so after their affair and given her husband children.

      Had Marian’s husband known she wasn’t a virgin before they married?

      Stephen frowned.

      If Marian had confessed her lack of virginity to her father, she might have had to settle for a less than suitable husband. Could it be she blamed Stephen of Wilmont for some degradation he knew nothing about? ’Twould certainly explain her high vexation, and also explain Edwin’s comment about the possibility of hard feelings in Marian’s family. Perhaps she’d come to Branwick after her husband’s death because she couldn’t return to Murwaithe for some reason.

      “What plan for the morrow, my lord?”

      Armand’s question jolted Stephen back to the immediate problem of William’s challenge. He briefly related the conditions to Armand.

      “Should not be a difficult task,” Armand commented. “You did a similar study several years ago for Gerard, did you not?”

      The king had settled a large grant of land—confiscated from a traitor to the crown—on Gerard for bringing the miscreant to justice. Gerard kept only one holding, then gifted Stephen and Richard with the rest. Seeing the opportunity to be off on an adventure, Stephen offered to inspect all the newly gained holdings and report back on their condition. He’d taken Corwin along, and the two of them enjoyed a grand time visiting one estate after the other. Some of the estates had suffered greatly under their former overlord.

      “Similar, but different. Wilmont’s coffers run deep, and Gerard was willing to borrow funds, if necessary, to make urgent repairs. William is neither so wealthy nor so broad-minded.”

      “Broad-minded enough to allow Carolyn the freedoms he does. Mayhap he will be easier to please than you fear.”

      ’Twas possible. Unfortunately, since arriving at Bran-wick he hadn’t been able to please anyone except one little girl who’d smiled brightly at him before coming down with a severe headache.

      Despite Marian’s obvious wish not to, he’d like to make amends with the girl’s mother. Not because Marian could influence William’s opinion of him, if she chose, but for his own peace of mind.

      Except, given Marian’s hostility, returning to her good graces might prove more difficult than winning William’s contest.

      Marian couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d cracked opened the shutters to judge the time by the rising sun, then wondered if her wits had fled.

      ’Twas just past dawn, yet Stephen sat on her stone wall, staring at her hut. Garbed in a dark-green tunic, brown breeches and boots, he looked like a man of the forest, a wanderer—or a brigand.

      Stephen hadn’t been out there all night, had he? Surely not. Then he must have left the keep before the chapel bell pealed to bid all to morning Mass.

      She gave a moment’s thought to staying safely within the hut before she pulled on her boots and tossed a hooded cloak over her unbound hair and gray gown. The girls would sleep awhile yet, and she wanted Stephen gone before they woke.

      He slid off the wall as she slipped out the door. She walked toward him, getting only close enough to talk quietly so they’d not wake the girls.

      “How fares Lyssa?”

      His inquiry tugged at Marian’s heart. Stephen didn’t know he asked after the health of his own daughter. Then again, the inquiry might not be truly Stephen’s, but William’s. ’Twould be like her uncle to send someone out at dawn to ask after Lyssa.

      “She was up twice in the night, but has slept steadily for the past few hours. The worst has passed.”

      “Poor tyke. ’Tis not right a little one should suffer so. On our way back to Branwick last eve, Edwin told me you had taken her to a London physician to seek a cure. That was Lyssa in your bed that night, was it not?”

      She’d tried very hard to put that night in Westminster Palace out of her mind, as well as other nights in Stephen’s company, and certainly didn’t want to talk about any of them now.

      “Aye, ’twas Lyssa. She had finally fallen asleep and I did not want you to wake her.” Marian glanced back at the hut, her refuge. “I should go back in now, and you had best be on your way or you will miss Mass.”

      He smiled, a hint of mischief in the upward curve. “I suppose I should, or William will have one more thing to hold against me.”