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Authors: Michele Sinclair
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friend to discuss escort arrangements with his soldiers at the gatehouse. It was obvious Ranulf was not going to change his mind about evicting the three women—including his bride-to-be—from their home and without so much as a hello.
Tyr had known Ranulf for almost five years and was one of the very few who knew him well, but Tyr would never say fully. He doubted Ranulf ever let anyone know him completely. Then again, Tyr felt the same about keeping his own privacy and had found that Ranulf was one of the minority who respected that. Still, it was hard to keep silent about Ranulf’s unexpected decision to order the three women away and right before the holiday season.
Ranulf’s decision had not been out of character, and yet Tyr had been surprised at the vehemence behind it. Ranulf had not even been willing to listen to alternative ideas or even hear the old woman complete her request for an audience. And when Tyr had made a veiled attempt to ask Ranulf about his reasons, his friend had been gruff, almost severe, stating that once Laon’s daughters saw him, they wouldn’t want to stay. He was doing them a favor.
Tyr had heard Ranulf’s justification, he just didn’t believe it. His longtime comrade was not insecure and Tyr could not recall a single instance of his friend being concerned if someone was uncomfortable around him. Not his soldiers, other commanders, ladies of the court—not even the queen.
When Tyr had first met Ranulf, he had believed the scarred commander’s detachment to be a front, that Ranulf was secretly bothered by people’s reactions to him, for no one could be that emotionally remote. But after watching Ranulf’s cold demeanor for years, Tyr had come to actually believe it. Ranulf didn’t care…and yet, whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was compelled to protect these women, even if it was from himself. The man was acting like a fool, and if his friend was standing in front of him, Tyr would probably say so again.
Ranulf stood mute for several seconds after Tyr left. If the insult had come from anyone else, he would have struck him, but he and Tyr had fought and led large numbers of men in several victorious battles. They both had accumulated sizable fortunes. Ranulf had let his build unknowing what else to do with it, but Tyr’s wealth had mysteriously disappeared.
Most believed that he wasted it on women, clothes, and drink, but Ranulf was never one of them. Whatever his seemingly playful and flirtatious friend was doing with his money, it was not unconscious or without forethought. Tyr’s riches had gone somewhere, but Ranulf knew better than to ask where or why. Tyr very rarely revealed anything about himself, and what Ranulf had learned about his friend came from deduction.
Tyr was Scottish and Ranulf suspected a Highlander due to his fluent use of Gaelic. He was also educated, making him from either wealth or a prominent family—most likely both. And while he was not nearly as lecherous rumors made him to be, Tyr was quite comely and consequently, could—and did—enjoy the ladies. But not a one would ever land his friend in any type of commitment. Tyr Dequhar was the only man Ranulf knew who was even more against the idea of marriage than himself. And the reasons why were a mystery.
Secrets, however, did not bother Ranulf. Every man had them. If he didn’t, then he was either still a boy and had not lived long enough to accumulate them, or was a braggart who could not be trusted to keep them. And besides, Ranulf had several of his own. His most recent, he had almost unwittingly exposed.
He hadn’t meant to stare at Bronwyn. But her dark penetrating eyes prevented him from looking away. Even at a distance they seemed to be able to peer behind his mask and see inside his soul. She wanted answers, reasons, the truth. He had forced himself to break their connection, glad she couldn’t see the details of what he really looked like. And based upon his latest
Tyr had known Ranulf for almost five years and was one of the very few who knew him well, but Tyr would never say fully. He doubted Ranulf ever let anyone know him completely. Then again, Tyr felt the same about keeping his own privacy and had found that Ranulf was one of the minority who respected that. Still, it was hard to keep silent about Ranulf’s unexpected decision to order the three women away and right before the holiday season.
Ranulf’s decision had not been out of character, and yet Tyr had been surprised at the vehemence behind it. Ranulf had not even been willing to listen to alternative ideas or even hear the old woman complete her request for an audience. And when Tyr had made a veiled attempt to ask Ranulf about his reasons, his friend had been gruff, almost severe, stating that once Laon’s daughters saw him, they wouldn’t want to stay. He was doing them a favor.
Tyr had heard Ranulf’s justification, he just didn’t believe it. His longtime comrade was not insecure and Tyr could not recall a single instance of his friend being concerned if someone was uncomfortable around him. Not his soldiers, other commanders, ladies of the court—not even the queen.
When Tyr had first met Ranulf, he had believed the scarred commander’s detachment to be a front, that Ranulf was secretly bothered by people’s reactions to him, for no one could be that emotionally remote. But after watching Ranulf’s cold demeanor for years, Tyr had come to actually believe it. Ranulf didn’t care…and yet, whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was compelled to protect these women, even if it was from himself. The man was acting like a fool, and if his friend was standing in front of him, Tyr would probably say so again.
Ranulf stood mute for several seconds after Tyr left. If the insult had come from anyone else, he would have struck him, but he and Tyr had fought and led large numbers of men in several victorious battles. They both had accumulated sizable fortunes. Ranulf had let his build unknowing what else to do with it, but Tyr’s wealth had mysteriously disappeared.
Most believed that he wasted it on women, clothes, and drink, but Ranulf was never one of them. Whatever his seemingly playful and flirtatious friend was doing with his money, it was not unconscious or without forethought. Tyr’s riches had gone somewhere, but Ranulf knew better than to ask where or why. Tyr very rarely revealed anything about himself, and what Ranulf had learned about his friend came from deduction.
Tyr was Scottish and Ranulf suspected a Highlander due to his fluent use of Gaelic. He was also educated, making him from either wealth or a prominent family—most likely both. And while he was not nearly as lecherous rumors made him to be, Tyr was quite comely and consequently, could—and did—enjoy the ladies. But not a one would ever land his friend in any type of commitment. Tyr Dequhar was the only man Ranulf knew who was even more against the idea of marriage than himself. And the reasons why were a mystery.
Secrets, however, did not bother Ranulf. Every man had them. If he didn’t, then he was either still a boy and had not lived long enough to accumulate them, or was a braggart who could not be trusted to keep them. And besides, Ranulf had several of his own. His most recent, he had almost unwittingly exposed.
He hadn’t meant to stare at Bronwyn. But her dark penetrating eyes prevented him from looking away. Even at a distance they seemed to be able to peer behind his mask and see inside his soul. She wanted answers, reasons, the truth. He had forced himself to break their connection, glad she couldn’t see the details of what he really looked like. And based upon his latest
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