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Authors: Susan Sizemore
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depressed lines. "Yes," he said unhappily.
How bad could the girl be? Jane wondered. She was only fifteen. Even in this time fifteen had to be kind of unfinished. She touched his cheek sympathet-ically. "Tell me."
He brightened. "About the fight?"
About Sibelle, you . . . "So there was a fight," she coaxed agreeably.
He linked his arm in hers, leading her toward the castle door. The servants gave them a wide berth, but Melisande and her kids came bounding up as they neared the steps. This closeness with Stephan felt good after the uncomfortable proximity of the ride with Sir Daffyd. Stephan was safe.
He told her, "There's truth to the rumor Hugh har-bors Sikes and his men."
She hunted through her memory for the reference. "The outlaw leader?"
"Aye. At least Hugh must have let them know there was gold in it for them, even if he didn't actually send the brigands to set the ambush. Oh, he put on quite a show." He gave a delighted laugh. "We were attacked at a narrow turning of the road, and I was
burdened down with the girl and her women and her baggage."
He waved a long-fingered hand toward a row of three two-wheeled wooden carts and a box-shaped closed carriage, drawn up in a ragged line near the entrance steps. Jehane assumed the carriage, which was a springless monstrosity, had conveyed the baron's daughter from her home to Passfair. Riding pillion behind Stephan would have been more com-fortable, certainly more fun. Of course, a girl raised in a convent wouldn't have any experience of riding and might be shocked by the intimacy the position required. She turned her attention back to Stephan as he went on.
"We were set on by the outlaws first. They didn't fight very hard. They ran off, expecting me to give chase into the forest while Hugh and his men came up from behind to snatch the girl." He snorted derisively.
"It didn't work," Jane concluded.
"My liege would whip any first-year squire who fell into such a ruse."
"And who is your liege?" she asked.
He hesitated dramatically before saying, "You would have heard of him, even inJerusalem. Guillaume le Marechal." He preened, giving her a proud, expectant look.
She didn't disappoint him. "The Guillaume le Marechal! The man who trained King Richard? The perfect knight? The crusader? The man who was with King Henry when he died?" William the Mar-shal himself.
The man whose contemporary biogra-phy she had done the newest and most definitive translation of.
Her jaw dropped.
She forced herself to calm down and say, "Real-ly?" though the word came out high-pitched and none too steady.
He nodded and went back to his tale. "I've had better training than to be tricked by the likes of Lilydrake. He's a dull-witted, greedy fool with more ambition than sense. There was a small fight with very little blood. Hugh showed us his back-side fast enough. I brought the lass home. She's mine," he added as they entered the hall. "I sup-pose I really must keep her. But she'll have no joy of it," he declared miserably. His long, handsome face took on a determinedly stubborn expression, the wide, mobile lips pressed together in a thin line.
"Now, Sir Stephan," Jane coaxed gently. "That's not a chivalrous way to treat a lady."
His black eyes sparked with defiance. "She'll come to no harm," he promised. "But she must understand our arrangement from the first. It's a pity one can't expect more from marriage than just an arrange-ment,"
he added wistfully.
The poor boy was trapped by his own culture, she thought. It bothered her to see the charming young man unhappy. She reached up to pat his cheek sympa-thetically as they walked through the screen into the freshly cleaned main hall. The scent of dried herbs was stirred up as they trod across the layer of fresh straw. She noted the cleaned tapestry had been rehung on the back wall during her afternoon in the woods.
The room was empty but for three women clus-tered around the warmly glowing central hearth. All three were plump and
How bad could the girl be? Jane wondered. She was only fifteen. Even in this time fifteen had to be kind of unfinished. She touched his cheek sympathet-ically. "Tell me."
He brightened. "About the fight?"
About Sibelle, you . . . "So there was a fight," she coaxed agreeably.
He linked his arm in hers, leading her toward the castle door. The servants gave them a wide berth, but Melisande and her kids came bounding up as they neared the steps. This closeness with Stephan felt good after the uncomfortable proximity of the ride with Sir Daffyd. Stephan was safe.
He told her, "There's truth to the rumor Hugh har-bors Sikes and his men."
She hunted through her memory for the reference. "The outlaw leader?"
"Aye. At least Hugh must have let them know there was gold in it for them, even if he didn't actually send the brigands to set the ambush. Oh, he put on quite a show." He gave a delighted laugh. "We were attacked at a narrow turning of the road, and I was
burdened down with the girl and her women and her baggage."
He waved a long-fingered hand toward a row of three two-wheeled wooden carts and a box-shaped closed carriage, drawn up in a ragged line near the entrance steps. Jehane assumed the carriage, which was a springless monstrosity, had conveyed the baron's daughter from her home to Passfair. Riding pillion behind Stephan would have been more com-fortable, certainly more fun. Of course, a girl raised in a convent wouldn't have any experience of riding and might be shocked by the intimacy the position required. She turned her attention back to Stephan as he went on.
"We were set on by the outlaws first. They didn't fight very hard. They ran off, expecting me to give chase into the forest while Hugh and his men came up from behind to snatch the girl." He snorted derisively.
"It didn't work," Jane concluded.
"My liege would whip any first-year squire who fell into such a ruse."
"And who is your liege?" she asked.
He hesitated dramatically before saying, "You would have heard of him, even inJerusalem. Guillaume le Marechal." He preened, giving her a proud, expectant look.
She didn't disappoint him. "The Guillaume le Marechal! The man who trained King Richard? The perfect knight? The crusader? The man who was with King Henry when he died?" William the Mar-shal himself.
The man whose contemporary biogra-phy she had done the newest and most definitive translation of.
Her jaw dropped.
She forced herself to calm down and say, "Real-ly?" though the word came out high-pitched and none too steady.
He nodded and went back to his tale. "I've had better training than to be tricked by the likes of Lilydrake. He's a dull-witted, greedy fool with more ambition than sense. There was a small fight with very little blood. Hugh showed us his back-side fast enough. I brought the lass home. She's mine," he added as they entered the hall. "I sup-pose I really must keep her. But she'll have no joy of it," he declared miserably. His long, handsome face took on a determinedly stubborn expression, the wide, mobile lips pressed together in a thin line.
"Now, Sir Stephan," Jane coaxed gently. "That's not a chivalrous way to treat a lady."
His black eyes sparked with defiance. "She'll come to no harm," he promised. "But she must understand our arrangement from the first. It's a pity one can't expect more from marriage than just an arrange-ment,"
he added wistfully.
The poor boy was trapped by his own culture, she thought. It bothered her to see the charming young man unhappy. She reached up to pat his cheek sympa-thetically as they walked through the screen into the freshly cleaned main hall. The scent of dried herbs was stirred up as they trod across the layer of fresh straw. She noted the cleaned tapestry had been rehung on the back wall during her afternoon in the woods.
The room was empty but for three women clus-tered around the warmly glowing central hearth. All three were plump and
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