Lord Of Lyonsbridge. Ana Seymour

and surcoat indicated peasant garb.

      His chin went up a notch. “Milady,” he said, without being addressed. “Welcome to Lyonsbridge.”

      Ellen’s eyes widened and she hesitated a moment, but then seemed to recover herself, placed one foot in his cupped hand and put her arm on his shoulder to dismount.

      As she stepped nimbly to the ground, she made no reply to his welcome, but turned once again to the priest. “We’re not expected until the morrow, Father. Sir William will need to be informed of our arrival.”

      William Booth had been serving as bailiff since the awarding of Lyonsbridge to Lord Wakelin the previous year. Booth had recently been knighted by the king for bringing order to what had been considered an unruly part of the country. No one questioned what his efforts had cost the people he had subdued.

      Father Martin looked at Connor, waiting to see if his normally outspoken brother would protest the slight by the Norman beauty. But Connor merely took hold of her horse’s reins and stepped back, watching her with an amused smile on his face.

      “Certainly,” the priest answered. “But, my child, where are the others in your party?”

      “Lagging behind, as usual,” she said breezily. “My cousin is not known for his horsemanship.”

      “Perhaps your cousin has more sense than to ride a tired mount at full gallop on a frozen path,” Connor said.

      Father Martin and Ellen both turned their heads toward him. The priest’s expression was a combination of amusement and reprimand, but there was instant outrage on Ellen’s pretty features.

      “How dare you?” she gasped.

      Connor shrugged. “As the good friar has told you, milady, I’m horse master here. ‘Tis my business to see that the mounts are not ill used.”

      As if to reinforce his words, he put a hand on her horse’s muzzle. Instantly, it dropped its head and stood stock-still. Ellen looked surprised, but her voice was still angry as she snapped, “I’ve ridden Jocelyn these past five years, and I know a deal more about her abilities than some bondsman.”

      Connor’s temper would have risen at the slur if he hadn’t been so fascinated by the way her anger heightened the winter red of her cheeks. By the rood, he’d never seen such a beauty. And her hair! Unlike the gentle Saxon maidens of Lyonsbridge, she wore no wimple over the thick black tresses. They hung in unruly waves, held in place only by a simple circlet of hammered gold.

      Connor tried to keep his gaze casual as he said, “I owe no bond to your family, milady. I work as a freeman.”

      “Then you’d best have a mind to your position, horse master, for you stay here at my sufferance.”

      Connor kept his expression impassive. He had no intention of letting Lady Ellen or any of the other Normans know of his family’s former status at Lyonsbridge. At his father’s death, the estate had been taken over by the Conquerer’s son, William. It had passed through a number of hands before the younger William’s successor, King Henry, had bestowed Lyonsbridge on Ellen’s father. “I’ll try to remember that, milady,” Connor said after a moment.

      Ellen nodded and turned back to Father Martin, who was watching the exchange with interest. “Will you escort me inside, Father?” she asked.

      Father Martin looked over at Connor, who spoke in a voice thick with irony. “By all means, Father,” he said. “Escort the lady into the castle. We’d not have our Norman visitor take a chill in the cool English air, now would we?”

      Father Martin shook his head at his brother’s dangerously impudent tone, but Ellen appeared to pay no attention and was already walking briskly toward the castle gates. He leaned toward Connor and whispered, “Mind your tongue, brother. Never forget that it’s a Norman world now.” Then he bustled off to catch up with the estate’s new mistress.

       Chapter Two

      Unlike the highly fortified castles in some parts of Europe, Lyonsbridge had no moat, no defenses. In addition to the stables, a number of other outbuildings were outside the low walls that surrounded the castle bailey. A small bridge crossed a token trench to the big wooden gates. As they approached, Ellen observed, “He’s a strange manner of man, the horse master.”

      Father Martin looked at her sharply.

      Ellen bit her tongue, realizing that after the way she’d dismissed the stableman, her sudden observation about him seemed odd.

      “I believe you’ll find that Connor is a valuable servant, milady,” the priest replied after a moment. “You would do well to take advantage of his experience here.”

      “Experience with the horses?”

      Once again Father Martin seemed to hesitate. “With everything—the animals, the people, the estate itself.”

      “He’s been here long, then?”

      “All his life.”

      Ellen looked back down the gently sloping hill that led to the stables, but the tall blond man was nowhere in sight. “All his life, yet he’s not a bondsman?” she asked.

      “Nay, milady. You’d not likely see Connor Brand in bond to any man.”

      “He does seem to have an obdurate nature.”

      Father Martin smiled, but all he said was, “Mayhap.”

      “Well, he’d best not show it with my cousin. Sebastian does not have the easiest of tempers.”

      “I shall pass your warning on to Connor.”

      Two yeomen had swung open the gates to admit them into the castle yard. One of the men carried a torch, as it was fast growing dark. Ellen nodded at him, then swept past to get her first look at the home she’d be inhabiting for the next several months.

      Though the stone building had made an imposing sight from the road, she quickly realized that her fears about coming to this uncivilized part of the world were likely to be realized. She sighed. “Is this the central courtyard?” she asked the friar.

      “This is the only courtyard,” he replied.

      There was scarcely room to walk, so filled was the space with all manner of clutter. Logs for the fireplace lay in a haphazard pile, half blocking the small stairway at the far end of the bailey. A heap of what looked to be rusty armor lay scattered around to the left of the front gates, and to the right was a ramshackle wooden hut that reeked of stale urine.

      Ellen wrinkled her nose as they passed it. “Who has been keeping house for Sir William?” she asked.

      Father Martin kicked at a pile of bones being scavenged by two of the castle hounds. “He has no wife, milady.”

      Ellen watched as the two dogs scampered off into the dusk. “That’s well evident,” she said softly.

      “Here’s Sir William now,” Father Martin said, pointing to a low arched entryway on their left.

      The man who appeared there was stocky and short of stature, not as tall as Ellen herself. Almost at once she sensed a belligerence in his nature that she didn’t like. But her father had spoken highly of his bailiff, and she knew Lord Wakelin was exceedingly grateful for the way Sir William had been able to put some structure into the estate with very little help from Normandy.

      She’d be wrong to judge his efficiency by the appearance of the castle, particularly if he’d had no woman to help. Indeed, the neglect of this aspect of the estate justified her father’s wisdom in sending her here. Ellen felt a sudden sense of mission, which warmed her voice as she greeted the man approaching her.

      “Well met, Sir William,” she said in response to his murmured