Norwyck's Lady. Margo Maguire

to me when you’ve decided what you want,” he’d said, as if there was no question that she’d want to become his mistress.

      A tremulous sigh escaped her. She could not deny the attraction that pulled so strongly between them. She craved the sensual pleasures of Bartholomew’s promise, but knew she could not engage in such intimacies without involving her heart.

      And she knew Bartholomew Holton would never do the same. He guarded his heart like the fiercest sentry at the castle gates.

      She would be no more to him than his leman, a woman who gave her favors to the lord in exchange for her keep, and any other gifts he might bestow. ’Twas an arrangement that would crush her spirit.

      The sound of a child’s song interrupted Marguerite’s deliberations, and she turned to see Eleanor, skipping and singing as she made her way up the path. Marguerite stepped away from the shed and greeted her.

      “Do you feel better now?” Eleanor asked.

      Marguerite smiled. “Aye, I do. Especially now that you’re here to show me all the best places in the garden.”

      “I know a much better place,” Eleanor said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She took Marguerite’s hand and pulled her in the opposite direction from which she’d come. “Shall we go and watch the men who are building our wall?”

      “Nay,” Marguerite said. “First you must tell me about the jewelry you left in the shoes in the trunk.”

      “Jewelry?”

      Marguerite looked askance. “Aye. You knew very well that I would find those necklaces and rings among the clothes in the trunk.”

      “I thought you would like them,” Eleanor said, clearly aware that further denials would achieve naught.

      “That is not the question,” Marguerite replied as she walked along beside Eleanor. “Whose jewelry is it, and where does it belong?”

      “They are the Norwyck jewels,” she said. “Bartie keeps them in a casket in his chamber.”

      “Then you must take every bit of it back to your brother’s room when we return to the keep.”

      “Very well,” Eleanor said petulantly, but she quickly brightened. “But shall we go and see the wall now?”

      Marguerite followed along in good humor. She had seen very little of Norwyck through the tower windows and wished to see more. “What wall?”

      “Around the village,” Eleanor said as she hiked up her skirts and pulled herself up onto a low branch of a tree. “Bartholomew says that is the only way to protect the village from the Armstrongs.”

      “Ah, and ’Tis a good idea, too.”

      “He just hasn’t figured a way to keep the Armstrongs from stealing the sheep and cattle from the hills,” Eleanor said as she climbed higher.

      “Aye, but keeping the village safe is of greater importance,” Marguerite remarked as she watched Eleanor swing her legs from the limbs overhead, wondering at the same time where the girl’s nurse was.

      “Still, our wealth comes from the sheep.”

      “You’re quite informed for one so young,” Marguerite said. In truth, the child was an amazing dichotomy of youthful mischief and a mature understanding that seemed beyond her years.

      “Aye,” Eleanor replied breezily as she reached up and climbed to a higher branch. “Someday I will grow up and be the lady of a grand demesne. Nurse Ada says I must learn all that I can here at Norwyck before I marry a great lord.”

      Marguerite stifled a smile. “Why don’t you come down here and tell me who you have in mind?”

      “No one.” Eleanor sighed. “But Bartie will find a suitable husband for me.” She climbed down and jumped to the ground, then took Marguerite’s hand and continued up the path. “Kathryn will wed first, but Bartie will find a much better husband for me after he learns how with Kathryn.”

      Marguerite laughed and asked Eleanor to tell her about Norwyck’s wall.

      “Bartie says that every cottage must be within the wall. We’ll even have two wells inside, one in the castle and one in the center of the village!”

      That was a definite advantage. Norwyck could withstand a siege as long as they had a water source. Food would be another problem altogether, but if the villagers stored their grain and kept chickens and pigs in their yards, ’twould not be quite so bad.

      Marguerite had no idea how she knew all that, but did not question it when they reached the site where masons were erecting a gatehouse, using large stones gathered from the hills and fields. She was amazed by the extent of Bartholomew’s project, but knew it made perfect sense to defend Norwyck this way.

      It seemed to Marguerite that he was a prudent and vigilant overlord, actively working toward the safety and well-being of all who lived within his realm.

      There was a great deal of activity here. Dust flew and tools clanged as voices carried across the site. Men pulled carts laden with the stones that would make up the wall, and tipped them out on the ground near the masons. Others stood on ladders, laying rock and patching small holes with mortar.

      Eleanor took great delight in showing Marguerite around, dashing here and there, speaking to some of the men at work. Marguerite had to direct the child away from potential hazards several times, but Eleanor continued to scamper everywhere, running on both sides of the wall. She tipped over one bucket of water, and stuck her foot in a mass of wet mortar.

      “Eleanor!” Marguerite cried. Though she had no real authority over the child, she knew she had to get the girl away from the work site before she caused a serious disaster.

      A burly man in a coarse brown tunic caught Eleanor’s arms before she could fall into the mess.

      “I am duly impressed with the wall, Eleanor,” Marguerite said, looking up gratefully at the giant who’d rescued the child. She grasped her hand and pulled her away. “But we should take ourselves back to the keep.”

      “Aye,” said the burly man, wiping Eleanor’s shoe, “your brother wouldn’t want ye here, m’fine young lady. Besides, we’ve got some problems.”

      But an exuberant Eleanor slipped away again.

      “M’lady.” The man turned to Marguerite. “Lord Norwyck has been sent for, and he’ll be on his way in a moment. ’Twould be better if he did not find his sister here.”

      Nor did Marguerite want him to find her here, either. She gave a quick nod to the fellow and turned to go after Eleanor. She would insist that they return to the keep before Bartholomew arrived.

      But Eleanor delighted in her game, running away from Marguerite and attempting to hide behind a precariously stacked pile of rocks. Marguerite worried that the child might upset the pile and injure herself. ’Twas obvious Eleanor was not going to come away easily, so Marguerite had to think of some way to entice her.

      “I’ll wager I can beat you back to the keep,” she called. “I’ll even give you a head start.”

      Eleanor laughed aloud and came away from the rock pile, allowing Marguerite to breathe again. “Nay! I’ll make it there first!” the girl cried, then ran away through the village lanes toward Norwyck Keep, while Marguerite watched her.

      “I’ll give ye due credit, m’lady,” the big man said behind her. “Ye handled her better than most.”

      Marguerite turned to face the man, and saw that Bartholomew had arrived and stood beside him. He still wore the sweat-stained tunic and hose she’d last seen him in, and he remained silent, quietly observing. Marguerite did not know how long he’d been standing there, but he said naught.

      She gave a slight bow, hoping he could not hear the wild beating of her heart, then turned and walked away.

      Bart