be true.”
She got up and went to take the flagon off the brazier, using a thick cloth to shield her hand from the bottle’s heat.
He watched her for a while in silence.
Then, “Did your father tell you that I can’t remember anything of my first seven years?” he asked.
“Aye,” she said. Her back was to him as she carefully placed the hot flagon on a tile that stood next to the brazier. Her braids were bound by scarlet ribbons that matched her undertunic. The nape of her neck looked as tender as a child’s.
“Have you ever heard of such a thing before?”
She turned around to face him. “Many people have little memory of their early childhood.”
He didn’t reply, just regarded her steadily.
“You must have remembered that your name was Hugh,” she said.
“Perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps it was something else. Perhaps I am not this Hugh de Leon after all.”
“There is always that possibility,” she agreed.
Her large brown eyes were luminous as she regarded him.
“I think you need to find out,” she said. “I think that’s why you came here.”
His face was bleak. “I think perhaps you are right.”
Nigel stood in front of the blacksmith’s hut holding the lead line of a large brown stallion, his eyes on Hugh and his daughter as they crossed the bailey together. As he watched, Cristen glanced up at the boy next to her and said something. Hugh flashed her a smile in response.
Nigel stared in amazement at that brilliant, youthful look and shook his head.
Cristen was working her magic again.
His daughter was another reason that Nigel would be happy to see Lord Guy replaced as Earl of Wiltshire. Three times in the last two years Guy had proposed matches for Cristen and three times Nigel had refused them.
All of Guy’s choices had been men at least twenty years older than Cristen. More importantly, they had been men whom Nigel did not like, men who were Guy’s followers, whom Guy had wanted to reward with the desirable honor of Somerford.
Cristen was seventeen and she should be wed, but she was his only child and Nigel was not going to handher over, along with her dowry of Somerford, to a man he did not trust.
It was not always easy these days to find a suitable match for a daughter. Because of the Norman custom that decreed that all of a family’s holdings be passed down to the eldest son, it was only the eldest son in a family who was eligible to marry. Penniless younger sons usually remained bachelors. This left a limited number of potential husbands for the daughters of the nobility, and competition was fierce. The convents were filled with girls whose families had not been able to give them a good enough dowry to purchase a husband.
But Cristen would eventually have Somerford, so Nigel knew he should have little trouble finding a husband for her. The trouble lay in securing the agreement of his overlord, Guy, to Nigel’s choice.
If Hugh became Earl of Wiltshire, he would owe his position to Nigel. Under such circumstances, Nigel didn’t think that Hugh would object to Nigel’s choice of a husband for his daughter.
Cristen had seen him and now she changed course and began to walk in his direction. Hugh and the dogs followed her lead.
The forge was going and the sound of the smith’s hammer rang out in the warm summer air. Nigel’s favorite horse was being shod this morning and he had come to see that the shoeing went well. Byrony had been becoming increasingly more difficult for the blacksmith to handle.
As Cristen and Hugh came up to the forge, the big, dark brown stallion snorted and aimed a kick right at the smith’s head.
With a sharp curse, the smith leaped out of the way.
“Oh dear,” Cristen said. “Is Byrony up to his tricks again?”
“He hates getting shoes, especially on his hind feet,” Nigel said. He looked at Hugh. “He’s been this way ever since I bought him and it seems that every time we shoe him he gets worse.”
Hugh watched for a few
She got up and went to take the flagon off the brazier, using a thick cloth to shield her hand from the bottle’s heat.
He watched her for a while in silence.
Then, “Did your father tell you that I can’t remember anything of my first seven years?” he asked.
“Aye,” she said. Her back was to him as she carefully placed the hot flagon on a tile that stood next to the brazier. Her braids were bound by scarlet ribbons that matched her undertunic. The nape of her neck looked as tender as a child’s.
“Have you ever heard of such a thing before?”
She turned around to face him. “Many people have little memory of their early childhood.”
He didn’t reply, just regarded her steadily.
“You must have remembered that your name was Hugh,” she said.
“Perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps it was something else. Perhaps I am not this Hugh de Leon after all.”
“There is always that possibility,” she agreed.
Her large brown eyes were luminous as she regarded him.
“I think you need to find out,” she said. “I think that’s why you came here.”
His face was bleak. “I think perhaps you are right.”
Nigel stood in front of the blacksmith’s hut holding the lead line of a large brown stallion, his eyes on Hugh and his daughter as they crossed the bailey together. As he watched, Cristen glanced up at the boy next to her and said something. Hugh flashed her a smile in response.
Nigel stared in amazement at that brilliant, youthful look and shook his head.
Cristen was working her magic again.
His daughter was another reason that Nigel would be happy to see Lord Guy replaced as Earl of Wiltshire. Three times in the last two years Guy had proposed matches for Cristen and three times Nigel had refused them.
All of Guy’s choices had been men at least twenty years older than Cristen. More importantly, they had been men whom Nigel did not like, men who were Guy’s followers, whom Guy had wanted to reward with the desirable honor of Somerford.
Cristen was seventeen and she should be wed, but she was his only child and Nigel was not going to handher over, along with her dowry of Somerford, to a man he did not trust.
It was not always easy these days to find a suitable match for a daughter. Because of the Norman custom that decreed that all of a family’s holdings be passed down to the eldest son, it was only the eldest son in a family who was eligible to marry. Penniless younger sons usually remained bachelors. This left a limited number of potential husbands for the daughters of the nobility, and competition was fierce. The convents were filled with girls whose families had not been able to give them a good enough dowry to purchase a husband.
But Cristen would eventually have Somerford, so Nigel knew he should have little trouble finding a husband for her. The trouble lay in securing the agreement of his overlord, Guy, to Nigel’s choice.
If Hugh became Earl of Wiltshire, he would owe his position to Nigel. Under such circumstances, Nigel didn’t think that Hugh would object to Nigel’s choice of a husband for his daughter.
Cristen had seen him and now she changed course and began to walk in his direction. Hugh and the dogs followed her lead.
The forge was going and the sound of the smith’s hammer rang out in the warm summer air. Nigel’s favorite horse was being shod this morning and he had come to see that the shoeing went well. Byrony had been becoming increasingly more difficult for the blacksmith to handle.
As Cristen and Hugh came up to the forge, the big, dark brown stallion snorted and aimed a kick right at the smith’s head.
With a sharp curse, the smith leaped out of the way.
“Oh dear,” Cristen said. “Is Byrony up to his tricks again?”
“He hates getting shoes, especially on his hind feet,” Nigel said. He looked at Hugh. “He’s been this way ever since I bought him and it seems that every time we shoe him he gets worse.”
Hugh watched for a few
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