Chapter 2

Hugh’s expression turned as near to serious as she had seen on him in many years. “Father is staying for good, or so he claims. He says he has left his holdings in Reginald’s haphazard care far too long. You should have seen him fuming and tossing all manner of items about the great hall.”

Tears formed in Gwen’s eyes as haunting scenes from her father’s brief and infrequent visits flashed through her mind. She blinked them back and pulled herself up tall like a warrior, as Gerald and Hugh had taught her.

Hugh gazed down at her with naked sympathy in his eyes. With a tenderness reserved for these moments of dealing with their father, he tugged her to his chest. The clink of his chain mail beneath her cheek comforted her, as did the soft kiss he placed upon her forehead.

’Twas an old, familiar dance. She, Gerald, and Hugh fancied themselves so strong and valiant—until their father came along to dash their illusions. Of course Gerald and Hugh had grown into men, knights in their own right. But what of her?

Who would stand on her side? Mother? Certainly not. Reginald? Not likely.

Gwen could almost pity Reginald. The youngest three siblings had grown up free and wild in the fields surrounding their castle. Ever outrunning nursemaids, tutors, and when the mood pleased, even the knights who trained the boys at warfare. Their childhoods had been filled with humor, imagination, and adventure.

Only Reginald had lived under the heel of his father’s boot, and learned to treat others—most of all his unfortunate bride—likewise. At only twenty-five, her sister-in-law, Katherine, appeared weighed down with a burden none should have to bear. She seemed little more than a specter as she trailed her rambunctious passel of children about their small manor home just to the west. Would such be Gwen’s fate as well? She could never allow that to happen.

“Hugh, whatever shall I do?” She hid her face against his chest. Gwen felt small and vulnerable in his arms. Only her mammoth brothers could dwarf her so and make her feel a fragile woman.

He nuzzled her hair with his gruff chin. “First, you shall run home and take a bath. Father shall explode if he finds you smelling of sweat and horseflesh.” He bent down to sniff her, then shoved her away again in his playful manner, shaking them both free from their doldrums.

Gwen could not hold back a wry grin. “And whose fault is that?”

“I admit that as lads Gerald and I found it the greatest joke to teach you to fight.” Again seriousness overtook him. “But I would not want the joke to be upon you, Gwennie. Perhaps it was a youthful error.”

“Never say so!” Gwen protested. “I have become precisely who I wish to be. My nursemaids tried to turn me a lady. It was my choice to defy them.”

“You had best remember their training now.” He turned to include Rosalind in the conversation.

Gwen had nearly forgotten her presence. At Gwen’s encouragement, Rosalind oft defied her prescribed role as lady’s maid. But in such a poignant moment, she had apparently chosen to tuck herself between the horses and fade into the background as a proper maid should.

“Rosalind, you must be her ally now. See her groomed and dressed on all occasions. There shall be no more jaunting to the countryside. And no more battle training. You know what is expected of a proper lady, and you must help her appear one.”

“As you wish.” Rosalind batted her long black lashes at Hugh.

Gwen harrumphed. “Not likely.”

Hugh detached his stare from Rosalind and swiveled toward Gwen. “Come now. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, you are a lovely lady when you try.”

“Do not be ridiculous.” Gwen’s own mother had told her how ugly she was. Repeatedly.

“Surely you know ’tis true.” Hugh winked her way. “You would blush if I told you the things I have overheard the soldiers say about you.”

Rosalind stepped forward. “I have told her as much.”

Of course Rosalind must say such things, but Gwen winced every time she observed Rosalind’s slim form and fair skin next to her own hulking mass and dun-colored complexion.

Hugh took Gwen’s hand in his much larger one. “Please do not make me argue that you are beautiful. There are some things a brother simply should never do. And you can play the pipe, embroider, and dance quite well. Do what you must to keep the peace. Soon enough you shall be married and out of his grasp.”

“And what good shall that do me?” Anger welled within Gwen. A reviving sort of anger that helped her find her strength. “Out of his grasp and into the stranglehold of a husband. Would you resign me to a life like our mother’s? To the drudgery Katherine suffers at Reginald’s hand? You did not train me for such a dreary existence.”

“Oh, Gwennie, you were never mine to train. Of course you must marry and bear children. There are good men in the world. I shall talk to Randel Penigree on my way out and convince him to offer for your hand. He would treat you kindly. Perhaps even let you dally with a sword when you are not expecting a child.”

“Randel? That silly boy?” Gwen could not imagine taking him to husband. While she might dread a domineering man, she could never respect a weakling either. In their youth he had oft joined in the fun of training Gwen in the warrior arts, but it had not taken her long to best him.

“Well, you must marry someone. Better a friend since childhood who understands your nature.”

Her mouth fell open. “I could never.” She knew little of marital intimacies. Only what she had heard whispered amongst the maids. But still, she could not submit to such indignities at Randel’s bumbling hand. As she further considered, she could not imagine submitting to that with any man. He might just find her dagger to his throat.

“Have you a better plan?” Hugh stood with his feet wide and crossed his arms over his chest as he awaited her reply.

Perhaps she had lived in the moment too long. She had no plans. No contingencies for her future. She grabbed hold of Hugh’s huge arms. “Take me with you!”

He pulled away. “Father would never permit it. ’Tis clear he has plans for you now that he has returned.”

“Then I must run away.”

“To where?” He tapped his foot impatiently.

“To . . . to . . .” She scanned the sky for ideas. “To a nunnery!”

“A nunnery, you say.” His features twisted in disbelief. “Because you have always been a religious sort?”

She could hardly lie to this brother who knew her like his very shadow. She had no wish to dedicate her life to God. She still resented Him for creating her a second-rate woman when she would have rather been a knight. “Fine then, I shall run to the forests and become an outlaw. You will come with me, Rosalind—will you not?”

Rosalind gasped. “I . . . well . . . of . . . it would only be . . .”

Hugh caressed Rosalind’s shoulder and put an end to her stammering. “Do not give way to her foolishness. If you wish to serve my sister, convince her that all men are not like my father. As well you know.” His gaze turned soft as he ran his hand down Rosalind’s arm and up again.

Rosalind shivered under his touch and appeared to lose herself in his tender gaze. Her pale cheeks stained to a pretty shade of pink.

For the briefest moment during their exchange, a touch of longing flared to life in Gwen’s breast. No man had yet looked at her in such a way. But she doused that flame just as quickly, for she would never allow herself to be as vulnerable, as powerless, as Rosalind seemed to be.

At last Rosalind rallied herself. “I’m sure I have no idea what you are referring to, good sir.”

Hugh tossed back his head and chuckled. “If you insist. Just promise to keep my sister out of trouble.”

Rosalind looked to Gwen, and Gwen silently pleaded with her maid. “I will serve Lady Gwendolyn’s best interest. That is all I can promise.”

“Hmm . . .” Hugh swung onto his giant destrier with ease. “That is not what I asked of you, but as I must away soon, I suppose I have no choice but to accept it.”

“How soon?” Gwen’s voice sounded small to her own ears.

“In an hour or so, and I still have many tasks to accomplish before I leave. You, my wayward sister, must be there to see me off and appear every inch the young noblewoman. So I suggest you hurry as well.”

“Of course.”

“Take the back route past the kitchen. And be careful,” Hugh said over his shoulder as he trotted off.

Together, Gwen and Rosalind headed toward the stables. So many thoughts swirled through Gwen’s mind that she could hardly make sense of them. She had lived in denial of the future for too long, and now it would catch up with her.

Rosalind hid in the shadows of the upper hallway, waiting for Hugh to emerge from his chamber. The family was already collecting outside to see him off, but he had run upstairs to gather a few last items. Though her distraught mistress would no doubt be needing her soon, she could not pass up her only opportunity to bid Hugh farewell in private.

Her heart ached at the prospect, but surely it was for the best that Hugh should be departing so soon after his father’s arrival. While a man like Lord Barnes wouldn’t give much thought to a dalliance between his son and a servant girl, if he took note of how attached they had grown over the past months, Rosalind might well be tossed out upon her ear.

Hugh’s door crashed open, and he flew down the hallway, but Rosalind was ready for him. She stepped out of her hiding place and caught his arm just as he rushed past.

Hugh pulled to a stop and pressed his hand to his chest. “Gracious, Rosalind! You gave me a fright.”

She tugged him into the shadows of a small alcove. “Shh! I merely wished to say farewell.” Now that she had him in her grasp, she felt uncertain what to do with him. “Have you any idea how long you might be gone?”

“I wish I knew, but I do know I shall miss you, my pretty little Rosebud.” He gathered her to him and cupped her cheek in his hand, stroking it with his battle-roughened thumb.

Even in such dim light, she could stare at his chiseled face and blue eyes for all eternity and never grow weary. There was so much she wished to say, but truly, she should not. He was a noble, she a serving girl. She had known from the beginning that this could be nothing more than a dalliance.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “You have been . . . quite special to me.”

Rosalind’s heart fluttered at those words, but she bid it to settle, for surely he would offer no more than that. “You must know I feel the same.” She bit her lip as she continued to stare into his eyes.

He glanced down the hall and back again. His thumb slid to her lips, brushing across them before he claimed them with his own. But just as quickly, he pulled back. “I would love nothing more than to hide away kissing you all day, but I can delay no longer. Please tell me you understand.”

“I suppose I do.” Her head understood, but her heart simply would not be convinced.

“Farewell, Rosalind.”

“Farewell, Sir Hugh.”

As he backed away a sad little sigh escaped her mouth. She pressed her hand against it.

With one last hungry look, he strode down the hall.

Rosalind attempted to quiet her raspy breathing and still the rapid pounding of her heart, both familiar consequences of kissing Hugh in shadowy corners. She knew that Hugh could never be hers, but she had not expected to talk with him for hours upon end about nothing in particular and to be happy just to hold his hand while watching the clouds roll overhead. Though she could no sooner deny Hugh’s impish grins and kisses than she could stop the sun from turning about the earth, she had tried to hold back a part of herself.

’Twas for the best that he was leaving. She must keep telling herself that. She could not afford to displease the baron. Though Rosalind’s own father had once been a reasonably prosperous miller, after his death her family had been left in the most terrible position. Rosalind’s income had put them back on a steady path. Her mother and younger siblings still depended upon her for their daily bread.

She could not let them down.

After a few moments she managed to gather herself and went in search of her mistress. As she passed by the great hall she noted that Lord and Lady Barnes had already come inside. Rosalind continued through the grand front portal and found Lady Gwendolyn standing forlornly in the courtyard, waving to Hugh’s back as he headed down the lane with a small retinue.

Through the shimmer of unshed tears, Rosalind watched her first love depart, but it simply would not do to let Gwendolyn see her crying over her noble brother.

She slipped quietly next to her mistress. As Hugh rounded the corner and disappeared into the rustling green trees, she reminded herself that he was meant to be the first of many men in her life. There would be plenty of love in her future, and she would find a way to endure this parting.

However Gwendolyn, despite her brave stance, appeared upon the verge of shattering. Rosalind had spent the last hour dissuading her from dressing up as a squire and following Sir Hugh, for she would be found out and sent back before the sun set. But she understood Gwendolyn’s distress. Hugh and Gerald had always protected her from the harsher realities of life, and now both were gone, leaving her alone to face the father she dreaded.

Rosalind placed a gentle hand upon Gwendolyn’s shoulder. “Come, m’lady. We shan’t do any good standing here all day.”

They linked arms and leaned upon one another for support as they trudged through the courtyard.

“Ugh! I am being such a girl. Enough of these blasted tears.” Gwendolyn pressed thumb and forefinger against her eyes. “They will do me no more good than staring at an empty lane.”

Despite her heavy heart, Rosalind determined to lighten the moment. “You are right, my lady. Besides which, you look like a swine with the pox when you cry.”

“Oh, shut up,” Gwendolyn said, but she gave Rosalind a shove and began to chuckle just as she had hoped.

Rosalind pasted a false smile upon her face. “We must appear pleasant for your father. I do hope to please him.”

“No one pleases Father. The best you can wish for is anonymity.”

Rosalind sucked in a sharp breath. The servants had been telling her horror stories of Lord Barnes ever since she arrived, but she had assumed them to be exaggerated. Gwendolyn rarely spoke of the man, but when she did an edge of fear tinged her voice, which Rosalind would not have thought possible in her mistress had she not heard it with her own ears. “Perhaps now that the war is over, he might be in a better mood.”

“Father creates his own wars.”

As they made their way up the broad stone steps, a booming voice emerged from the portal. “Gwendolyn! Where is that ungrateful chit? Gwendolyn, join us at once.”

Gwendolyn jumped.

Rosalind took Gwendolyn’s hands in her own. She inspected the gorgeous concoction of braids and curls she had devised for Gwendolyn’s thick, golden hair. The rich green gown with gold edging clung to her mistress’s enviable curves to perfection. Its long flowing sleeves nearly swept the floor. She looked every inch the lady.

Pleasure surged through Rosalind at the realization that she had served her mistress well. “You are no longer a little girl. There is nothing to fear.”

“You do not know him.” Gwendolyn’s voice sounded breathy.

Rosalind gave her hands a squeeze. “But I know you. You are strong and courageous. Think of your father as an opponent on the jousting field and face him with all the confidence I know you possess.”

Gwendolyn nodded but did not seem convinced.

“And I shall go with you.” Rosalind offered an encouraging smile.

Gwendolyn shook her head. “Father will not want extra servants about. You will only put yourself in harm’s way.”

“Are you certain?”

“Completely.”

Perhaps Gwendolyn was correct. Rosalind would not wish to anger the baron upon their very first meeting. Much as she wished to support her mistress, she had her family to consider as well.

At that moment, a lone rider crashed into the courtyard, flinging himself from his horse and dashing up the stairs, thrusting Rosalind aside in the process.

“Hello to you too, Reginald,” Gwendolyn muttered to the retreating back of her dark-haired eldest brother. He offered half a wave without turning to look at her.

“I hate to leave you thus, Lady Gwendolyn,” Rosalind said, looking from the great hall to her mistress and back again.

Gwendolyn seemed to gather some of her fighting spirit. “I insist. Go.”

With a backward glance over her shoulder, Rosalind headed down the passage that skirted the great hall and led up the stairway to the bedchambers. In their hurry this afternoon, they had left Gwendolyn’s room looking like a tempest had struck. Gowns in rainbow shades of silk and linen festooned the furniture. Pots of paint sat scattered upon the table. Jewels dripped from a wooden chest.

And Gwendolyn had no use for any of it.

Rosalind picked up a burgundy gown and shook it out.

In the early days Rosalind had resented Gwendolyn over her lack of appreciation for the many blessings she had been afforded, but now Rosalind understood. Her mistress wanted only to be free.

Rosalind was her own woman. She would have her fun, enjoy her life in the castle, live out romantic adventures with a few handsome knights, and someday settle down to her own husband and family. Perhaps she would even marry a wealthy merchant or a castle steward, as her mother hoped.

But Lady Gwendolyn was a commodity to be bought and sold.