lys ran, certain that she would not be fast enough to evade Burke. She scrambled over the low wall, knowing he would have to ride all the way to the gate, yet doubting ’twould be time enough to give her much advantage.lys ran, certain that she would not be fast enough to evade Burke. She scrambled over the low wall, knowing he would have to ride all the way to the gate, yet doubting ’twould be time enough to give her much advantage.
Hearing Moonshadow’s hoofbeats as the beast rounded the wall, she raced to reach the kitchen portal without looking back. Burke swore and Alys glanced back to see him leap from his saddle. She lunged for the door and was snatched up just as her foot brushed the threshold, a strong arm locked around her waist.
“Put me down!” Alys wriggled and found herself deposited with her back against the wall. Burke glared, then leaned closer. “Do not even think of kissing me!” she insisted wildly, and the knight stiffened, then retreated slightly.
“What is this?”
“Do not kiss me, do not lay a hand upon me, do not so much as touch me again!”
Burke exhaled as if regaining his even temper. “But whyever not?” He smiled with all his usual charm and his voice dropped low. “You savor my kisses as much as I savor yours, my Alys.”
’Twas not comforting how readily his smile melted her defenses, and her own weakness made Alys more angry. “I do not!” she retorted. “Your touch addles my wits.”
“There is no need to think overmuch when all proceeds well between us,” he said, and eased closer.
Alys planted her hand in the middle of Burke’s chest to halt his advance and fought to ignore the thunder of his heart. Oh, he was far too experienced at seduction! “Kisses make me forget that you are not the man for me.”
Now Burke frowned. “Of course I am.”
“Of course you are not.” Alys folded her arms across her chest and struggled to catch her breath.
Burke leaned his weight against the hand he braced over Alys’s shoulder, clearly intent on not letting her escape, but not touching her either. She refused to feel satisfied that he ceded to her request.
He propped his other hand upon his hip and considered her. “Your heart belongs to another?” The very idea clearly displeased him. “Who is this man?”
Alys straightened proudly. “I do not know.”
Burke chuckled and shook his head. “Alys, you would spurn me for a man you have yet to find?”
“I know you are not the man for me, because you do not care for me in truth.”
His eyes flashed anew. “What is that to mean?”
“Oh, you desire me, that much cannot be misconstrued.” Alys spoke quickly, before she could consider the wisdom of what she did. “You cloud my thinking with kisses and compliments fall so readily from your lips that I know you have used them oft before. Your intent to seduce is more than clear.”
Alys looked into Burke’s eyes, her heart stirring at how avidly he listened. “But I would have more than desire between myself and the man of my dreams.”
“But …”
“But naught! You pursue me in every corner of this hall …”
“I seek to persuade you of my sincerity.”
“You intend to compromise me.”
“Never!” Burke looked grim. “Determination yields results, Alys, as I have seen over and over again. Determination won you before and ’twill win you again.”
“I am not a gate to be besieged,” Alys retorted. “And my desire is of import in this. You are concerned to see your desire fulfilled and naught more than that.”
“That is not true! I would treat you with honor, and you know it well.”
“I know no such thing. Indeed, your pursuit has won me naught but trouble from my aunt and no doubt prompted endless gossip in the hall.”
Burke growled something under his breath. “Only because you are too cursed stubborn to leave this place!”
“Why should I leave?”
Burke flung out his hand. “Why should you stay?”
“Kiltorren is no paradise, that much is true, but at least I am fed.” Alys folded her arms across her chest, refusing to meet the knight’s perceptive gaze. “And there are those who rely upon me.”
Burke’s brow darkened dangerously. “Surely you imagine I would offer you more than a regular meal.”
“Aye, pleasure abed, as long as it suited you.”
“My affections would not fade!”
“How can you know?” Alys challenged. “You are much concerned with chivalry, Burke, and that is telling.” She shook a finger beneath his nose, certain she had hold of the truth. “Indeed, if I were not in such dire circumstance, would I attract your eye?”
The knight scowled. “Of course! You are my lady fair!”
“Why, Burke? I have naught to offer a man like yourself. I have no dowry, no inheritance, not even an influential but penniless family. There is no reason for you to court my affections.”
Burke visibly gritted his teeth. “Save that I love you.”
The words made Alys’s heart skip a beat but she knew better than to believe him. “How can you love me?” She spread her hands in appeal. “What truly do you know about me, save that you desire me?” Burke paused and Alys knew she had named it aright.
“Nonetheless I do,” he insisted.
“Aye?” Alys lifted her chin. “Then tell me three things you love about me. And not a one of them some compliment that could be granted to any woman hungering for your attention.”
Burke looked completely flummoxed. His gaze fell to her lips, then swept over her figure, lingering oddly upon her bare feet. He frowned, then met her gaze again.
Quite uncharacteristically and most tellingly, this man with his quick praise seemed at a complete loss for words.
Alys would not consider how disappointed that left her.
Instead, she tapped Burke on the chest. “One day a man will come to this hall as Aucassin came for Nicolette—he will love me, he will court me, and he will wed me. I will leave with him, secure in the certainty that he will not abandon me when his desire wanes, but love me for all his days and nights.” She met Burke’s gaze steadily. “No less than that will do.”
And Alys ducked beneath the astonished knight’s arm, leaving Burke de Montvieux to ponder that.
And ponder it, Burke did.
He stared after Alys, stunned that his pursuit could have gone so amiss. Stolen kisses and ready compliments had won the affections of more than one lady in Burke’s experience.
Trust Alys to be immune to his charm.
Burke scowled and kicked at the stones in the bailey, glowering at his surroundings. Curse his facile tongue for abandoning him in a moment of need! All would have come aright if he had been able to summon the right words, but Burke had not been able to see beyond Alys’s many charms.
And he knew that two graceful insteps and the sweet softness of her kiss would not satisfy those three qualifications for his love. Alys spoke aright—she was not a tower to be besieged but a quest that proved most challenging to win.
Even as Burke paced the stables, another knight rode far, far to the east of Kiltorren. His party closed upon Warwick, a last stop before returning to Normandy, the keep’s silhouette rising against the darkness of the sea. The sun was sinking low in the west, the first stars beginning to twinkle overhead.
Millard de Villonne doffed his helmet and let the warm breeze ruffle his hair. He deliberately dropped back from the group of knights, abandoning the rumble of their conversation, as he tipped back his head to study those stars.
He needed a moment to call his own, a moment to face his disappointment. His nephew looked after him, but Millard deliberately ignored the boy.
Yet again Millard had gone abroad, yet again he had sought some glimpse of the woman who still held his heart. Yet again Millard had found naught of her. Each time his feet touched upon a new shore, his hope was rekindled and his love seemed to burn with a new flame. This time had been no different—either in that kindling or the fact that he had found naught of his lady.
Millard closed his eyes, the starlight an unbearably vivid reminder of one magical night, a night some twenty years in the past.
She had whispered to him that night as they lay together and watched the stars wheel overhead, and he could still hear the soft conviction of her words. She had confided, with the trust of a young first love, that a world with such marvels as those stars could only be a perfect place.
A lump rose in Millard’s throat at the recollection, for their world had proven far less than perfect.
Millard had never imagined, especially not that night while he was caught in the fullness of the lady’s love, that he would live out his days alone. He had never imagined that the starlight would grant his last glimpse of his lady, that the dawn would steal her away from his side.
Forever.
Millard frowned and forced his eyes open, determined not to dwell upon his loss, and did so just in time to see a star shoot across the heavens.
Like an impulsive child, he dared to wish upon it.
Millard wished with all his heart that he would find some hint of his Isibeal’s fate, some sign of what had become of her. No less, he wished for that sign before he returned once more to the hollow echo of his own massive hall.
’Twas nonsense, yet just the act of wishing made Millard feel younger than he had these many years. ’Twas unlike him to be impulsive, unlike him to indulge in foolishness.
Perhaps his lady love was closer than he thought. Isibeal had been a great one for whimsy. Millard shook his head at that and gave his steed his spurs, bracing himself for his nephew’s anxious and irritating demands.
Nay, Millard’s world was a far cry from perfect.
’Twas best he reconcile himself to the truth of it.
By the evening repast, Burke had devised his new line of attack. Alys had, after all, told him that the truth of a man’s character lay in his deeds.
’Twould be deeds then she would witness in plenty.
“Burke!” Deirdre cooed when he first set foot in the hall. “I have not laid eyes upon you all of this day.” She hastened to his side, casting a sharp glance to Malvina. That girl smiled and scampered to Burke’s other side. Deirdre laughed, the sound high and false. “Indeed, I feared you had abandoned our hospitality.”
Burke saw his opening and did not intend to waste it. He looked to the lady of the keep and let his eyes narrow. “Indeed, I must admit I had considered it.”
“What?” Malvina choked.
“What?” Deirdre squawked. “You said you came to Kiltorren for a bride. You have yet to choose either of my daughters!”
“Aye, but matters here have changed, and I must reconsider my position.”
Burke seated himself at the board and—intent on letting Deirdre panic as long as possible—smiled a greeting at shy Brigid. She was already seated, though she said naught to him. Her eyes widened at this fleeting attention, then she went back to staring at her entangled hands.
“Reconsider?” Deirdre repeated, looking most distressed.
Cedric made his entry at that point, booming a greeting to one and all. “Ah, Burke! You join us again. Deirdre was most concerned about you.”
“So she has said,” Burke acknowledged.
Deirdre crossed the floor and seized her husband’s elbow. That man looked alarmed when she nearly dragged him toward Burke, no less when her voice dropped to a hiss. “He means to reconsider his suit,” she confided. “For once in your life, do something!”
Cedric granted his wife a surprisingly harsh look and she flushed slightly. Then he coughed, smoothed his tabard, frowned, went to the board, and took his seat. The women hastily dropped into their places, Deirdre all ears. The wine was poured, the meat and bread served. Burke decided, for the moment, to leave the issue of Alys’s attendance aside.
Indeed, his plan should see all set to rights.
Finally Cedric looked to Burke when it seemed he had no other options for delay. “Why would you reconsider?”
Burke smiled, nodding when a servant offered him a chalice of wine. He acted supremely unconcerned, knowing full well that it would drive Deirdre to a frenzy. She was already tapping her fingers upon the board with impatience.
’Twas a kind of vengeance, Burke thought, for all that woman had done to Alys.
“I must think of progeny,” he said carefully.
“Both of my daughters are young and healthy,” Deirdre asserted. She snapped her fingers. “Stand up, girls, turn around! We shall call a physician, if need be, to satisfy your concerns.”
“Mother!” Malvina protested, Brigid naturally so appalled at the very idea that she was scarlet-faced and silent.
But Burke frowned in thought. “ ’Tis not what troubles me,” he confessed, waiting until the whole family leaned closer. “I worry that there may be a taint in the lineage of Kiltorren, a weakness that could pass to my own sons.”
“Alys!” Deirdre muttered through gritted teeth.
Burke looked up, as if surprised. “Nay, Alys seems to be the only one spared of this trouble.”
All four looked blank.
“What do you mean?” Cedric asked, Deirdre’s piercing glance no doubt prompting his question.
“ ’Tis most odd, for there seems no good reason for the ailment at all.” Burke scanned the hall at his leisure, as if he sought the proper words, knowing that the entire family hung on his every breath. “Has your family ever been cursed?”
Cedric frowned, but Deirdre shook her head. She fired a glance at her spouse and he shook his head in turn.
“Has any forebear died unshriven?”
They shook their heads in unison, their expressions perplexed.
“Heretics in the family?” Nay again, much as Burke had suspected. “Pagans? Any who broke a pledge before the Lord?” They were completely puzzled by this point, but Burke leaned back and fingered his chin like a man powerfully concerned. “Yet there ’tis, all the same. Most troubling.”
And he began his meal.
“There WHAT is?” Deirdre demanded shrilly. “What is it that you see?”
Burke glanced up, considering each of them in turn. “ ’Tis astonishing that you all are completely unaware of it,” he murmured, knowing full well they all would hear his words. “Nay, it can be no good omen.”
They waited with bated breath.
Burke sipped his wine, then set his chalice down firmly. “Perhaps I erred in coming to Kiltorren,” he pronounced. “Perhaps I should not have sought a bride here.”
“Nay!” Deirdre cried. “There can be no mistake, there is no mistake. You have but to tell us of our omission and we shall see it set to rights, I grant to you my word.”
Burke shook his head. “Nay, it cannot be fixed so readily as that.”
“We shall see it repaired, whatever it is!” Deirdre insisted.
“Aye, your will shall be done!” Cedric assured Burke. He patted the younger man’s shoulder. “Any matter of import between men of honor can be resolved.”
Burke tried to look surprised. “Indeed? You would endeavor to set my concerns at ease?”
“Of course!” Cedric boomed. “You have but to tell us of the trouble.”
Burke toyed with his food, admitting in his heart just how much he was enjoying this. ’Twas doubly pleasing in that it might benefit Alys.
He sighed, then slanted a glance to Cedric, lowering his voice as he leaned toward that man. “I am concerned at the import of a family that shuns their own blood.”
Cedric blinked. “We shun no one.”
A flicker of anger lit within Burke that they still could not see their omission, but he forced himself to remain calm. “Indeed? And I had thought Alys your niece.”
“Alys!” Deirdre laughed in her relief and sat back. “Alys hardly counts!”
Burke frowned at his trencher and pushed it away. ’Twas no lie that he had lost his appetite. “You see?” he murmured to Cedric, not managing to veil the anger in his tone. “There ’tis again.”
Cedric’s eyes widened in alarm. “It is true that the child is blood,” he admitted heavily. “But—but …”
“But she requests the labor,” Deirdre interjected.
“She expects it,” Malvina added.
“Indeed, Alys understands that ’tis only fitting she toil to earn her keep within Kiltorren,” Deirdre said. “ ’Twas beyond good of us to take her in, and the girl understands the cost of that. ’Tis her willing contribution to the prosperity of the keep.”
Burke was stunned that the woman could make such arguments without hesitation.
The very fact made him burn with fury to see Alys’s circumstance changed. “ ’Tis unfitting for a child of the house to labor like a serf—and yet more unfitting that none of you finds the matter troubling.”
Burke shoved to his feet as they stared at him in stunned silence, and his words were briskly spoken. “ ’Tis clear I erred in coming to Kiltorren. My apologies for wasting your hospitality.” He bowed to his host and hostess. “I shall leave at first light.”
Of course Burke had no intention of doing any such thing, at least not without his Alys—who admittedly seemed somewhat disinclined to accompany him as yet.
But the family of Kiltorren did not even guess his true intent.
Burke made it halfway across the floor before most of the shocked foursome behind him leapt to their feet.
“Wait!” Deirdre cried.
“Aye, halt,” Cedric echoed.
“Do not leave me, Burke,” Malvina cried.
Deirdre found her feet when Burke hesitated, and she fairly flew across the floor to his side. Her features were drawn with anxiety, her smile that of one eager to please.
“I must thank you,” she declared breathlessly. “You are right, we have been wrong. I cannot imagine how we failed to see our error! We shall restore Alys to her rightful position. Please, sir, will you reconsider your departure?”
Burke barely managed to hide his smile of satisfaction. He frowned deeply to cover his response and scanned the four hopeful faces. “I do not know. ’Tis so unseemly …”
“I shall cease Alys’s labor,” Deirdre promised. “Save as a maid, of course.”
Burke arched a brow and that woman recanted.
“Of course you speak aright. She shall have only such duties as are fitting.”
“Duties like Malvina’s,” Burke suggested softly.
Hatred flashed through Deirdre’s eyes. She smiled hastily, though the light of her smile did not reach her eyes. “Duties such as Malvina’s,” she agreed through teeth Burke guessed were gritted.
“I have never seen a servant garbed so poorly,” he commented. “Even the beggars of Paris have more to call their own.”
Deirdre’s nostrils fairly pinched shut, she inhaled so sharply. “She shall have a new kirtle.”
“Shoes and other frippery,” Burke supplied with a winning smile. “As befits a lady of the house.”
Deirdre eyed him coldly. “We shall do what we can in our reduced circumstance.”
He let his smile broaden. “Of course, ’twould be most unfitting for a lady of lineage to slumber on the kitchen hearth.”
Deirdre lifted her chin. “We have not another chamber.”
“ ’Twould be my pleasure, then, to cede the chamber granted to me to the lady’s comfort. As a man of war, I am much used to simple accommodations and shall take to the stables.”
Burke turned his smile upon the entire family. “Indeed, it does my heart good to see this trouble so readily dismissed. Perhaps there is indeed prospect of a bride at Kiltorren.”
He pivoted and made to leave the hall, then paused as if struck by a thought. “There is, of course, one other small concern.”
“What?” Deirdre snapped.
“I hear tell of an anchorite living on the perimeter of Kiltorren, an aged woman once in your employ.”
“Aye, Heloise.” Cedric stepped forward. “She is most pious.”
“Ah, and an honor ’tis to have a woman pledged to God upon your holding.”
“What of it?” Deirdre demanded.
Burke shrugged easily. “Perhaps ’tis my natural inclination to be concerned for the plight of women”—he smiled with all his charm—“but it seems to me unfitting that an elderly religious woman would be left to the wind and the rain.”
“ ’Tis her pledge, to endure adversity for her love of God,” Deirdre said coldly.
“Indeed?” Burke met Cedric’s gaze. “Though what misfortune might her demise bring upon Kiltorren if the Lord perceived that passing to be untimely? The hand of God does work in mysterious ways.”
He waited to see the flash of fear in Cedric’s eyes before stepping away. “ ’Tis not my concern, of course, and Lady Deirdre has already noted the differences between Irish estates and those French. No doubt my sensibilities are unwelcome.”
“Of course not!” Cedric boomed. “I have long been concerned for Heloise’s welfare.”
But Deirdre turned on her husband in fury. “We have no accommodation suitable for a religious.”
“We shall make do,” that man insisted with rare vigor. “The knight speaks aright and surely we have no need of further misfortune at Kiltorren.”
“We shall discuss this matter privately.” Deirdre turned a dark glance upon Burke, and he was glad he had assured Alys’s welfare first. The Lady of Kiltorren was not taking well to his interference in her plans.
Burke bowed deeply and left the hall, sensing that he had pressed his fortunes far enough this night.
Alys had scarce abandoned the storeroom in pursuit of a bit of food than Aunt appeared in the kitchen. Alys took a wary step back, but Aunt continued on her course undeterred.
She clucked her tongue over the state of her niece’s kirtle. “Alys, where do you find such rags?” she chided. “Truly, you must think of presenting yourself more fittingly. Do you mean to shame us all?”
Alys frowned at this unexpected accusation. “You granted it to me but a month past, and ’twas not in much finer condition then.”
“Such impertinence!” But there was no heat in Aunt’s words. Cook and Alys exchanged a puzzled glance. “And why, Alys, do you insist upon slumbering here? ’Tis somewhat beneath your station and makes us look less than honorable.”
Cook snorted and earned himself a sharp glance from his lady that had him turning back to his labor.
Alys folded her arms across her chest, not trusting her aunt’s new manner. “I had thought you wanted me to sleep here.”
“Oh, Alys, where do you find such nonsense? I will hear naught of your protests, nor any tales of the friends you harbor in the kitchen. Truly, what has seized your thoughts that you fraternize only with the servants?” Aunt leaned closer. “They are common-born, Alys. You forget yourself.”
“I forget naught!” Alys began to argue at the injustice of that, but Aunt seized her arm and hauled her from the kitchen.
“Come along, come along. God’s blood, Alys, but you have need of a bath.” She wrinkled her nose, then roared at the steward to summon a bath.
Alys fought her aunt’s grip, wondering what the woman intended for her now.
“Do not even think to return to your labor,” Aunt chided. “We shall find some embroidery to occupy your time. Perhaps Malvina will teach you.”
That halted Alys’s struggles. “Embroidery?”
“Aye, embroidery, Alys. I would think you might have heard of such noble pursuits.” Aunt called for that bath to be hastened as they crossed the threshold of the room that had been Burke’s. Alys noted immediately that the knight’s saddlebags were gone.
Before she could blink, Malvina—who surrendered naught to anyone—presented her with a plain yet fairly new kirtle. ’Twas the shade of goldenrod.
“ ’Twas cut too cheaply for me by that fool seamstress,” she declared. “But you are all bones, Alys, ’twill no doubt suit you well enough.”
Alys blinked. Someone had infested Kiltorren with strangers who looked as her family but did not act as them.
“Bathe yourself,” Aunt declared with a gracious smile. “Indeed, Alys, I cannot believe you have let matters go for so very long. And do teach this Edana child all that you know. ’Tis time enough you learned your role in this place and dressed appropriately, and time we all had a decent maid.”
“I did not choose my role in this keep,” Alys began to argue, but Aunt waved off her words.
“Details, Alys, are not of import.”
With that Aunt and Malvina scurried away.
When the door shut behind them, Alys shook her head. She surveyed her surroundings, incredulous that she would call this chamber her own. She was to live like a noblewoman!
And then she grinned, for she could hazard a guess as to the only one who could have wrought such a change in her circumstance. Alys could not help but wonder what Burke had said to see his will so smoothly done.
The man was incorrigible! Alys bounced on the bed and laughed aloud. Oh, she did not care what Burke had said, did not care that she would be cast back to the kitchen as soon as he departed. Alys would savor this change as long as it lasted.
But the knight was sorely mistaken if he thought she would express her gratitude with earthy favors.
“Woho!” Cook declared with a rap on the door. Alys sat up to find his eyes twinkling. “Our guest ensures you win your due. I like the man better with every passing day!”
“He seeks his own end, Cook, ’tis no more than that.”
Cook might have said more, but Cronan the steward brushed past him. The steward beckoned the lads from the kitchen, who rolled a great tub into the tiny chamber. He indicated the placement of the tub, nodded with thin-lipped approval, then snapped his fingers to demand the water.
“Quickly, quickly,” he rasped, his voice as dry as dust. One white brow arched slightly, and he presented Alys with a cake of soap. “Your mother favored this,” he conceded with a minute bow of his head, and then he swept from the room.
Alys lifted the cake to her nostrils and was treated to a wondrous smell of fresh flowers, a scent she liked but could not name. She let the newly arrived Edana smell it and the girl’s eyes widened in delight.
“ ’Tis marvelous!” Edana clasped her hands together. “Fitting of a lady true!”
Two girls carried candles and braziers in that very moment, their lips curved in smiles. Alys was quickly surrounded by the servants she had labored beside for so many years. They smiled and hugged her, kissed her cheek, and some even bowed low before her. They were laughing, each and every one, so pleased with her good fortune that Alys was nigh moved to tears.
Indeed, she wanted only to savor the moment and to sing.
Millard sat in the crowded hall, not in the least bit interested in the entertainers frolicking there. The meal was fine enough but already he chafed to return to his holdings.
’Twas a desire born as much from the urge to be rid of his nephew as anything else. Truly, Millard wished he had not been so readily persuaded by his sister to bring the boy along.
Indeed, Talbot had already made a considerable dint in the host’s wine. His manners were appalling—they only grew worse as he drank more and became uncharacteristically bold.
At least the boy was intimidated by Millard when he was sober.
As if to emphasize that point, Talbot winked at his uncle, reached to pinch the buttock of a serving wench, and spilled the entire contents of his chalice upon the floor. Worse, the girl lost her balance and the pitcher of wine she carried was spilled immediately afterward.
’Twas a shocking waste.
Millard snatched his nephew’s tabard and hauled the young knight up from the floor, depositing him with force upon the bench once again. “Witless fool!” he charged in an undertone.
“Uncle, ’twas an accident!”
“ ’Twas folly and ’twas rude,” Millard corrected. “Wine is cursed expensive in this land, yet our host brings forward the wealth of his cellars to show homage to the king’s own party.” He cast a scathing glance at his dejected nephew. “And you cast it upon the floor as if ’twas as plentiful as piss in the stables.”
Talbot hung his head. “I am sorry, Uncle.”
“You are always sorry,” Millard observed. “Yet naught changes in your behavior. Truly, you are as reliable as a child of five summers. Did you learn naught in training for your spurs?”
Talbot poked at his empty chalice. “Maman said there was no need.”
“No need!” Millard inhaled sharply. “What manner of nonsense is this?”
His sister had always been indulgent of her younger son—indeed, Millard suspected this alone was the boy’s trouble. Though he was nigh upon twenty years of age—a full-fledged knight no less!—’twas hard to think of Talbot as anything other than a child. He had been indulged for too many years to deny himself anything at all.
Millard’s attempts to address this deficiency inevitably resulted in hostility from Talbot and a stream of recriminations from his sister. Still, he could not leave the matter be.
Aye, Millard knew well enough what plum his sister hoped to win for her youngest son. He would be damned to hell if he did not try to make a silk purse of this sow’s ear before ’twas too late.
“How could your mother maintain that there was naught of merit to be learned in your training?”
Talbot shrugged, then summoned the beatific smile that worked him free of most trouble he found. If he had not been such a handsome lad, Millard had no doubt he would have already felt the weight of his own inadequacies. “Maman knows best, Uncle.”
“Does she indeed?” Millard snapped. “And who will save your sorry hide when your Maman is not hovering over you, determined to make all you have done wrong come aright?”
Talbot blinked, began to speak, but then evidently thought the better of it.
Millard sat back with a grunt of satisfaction. At least the boy ceased to believe that he could comment openly about inheriting all Millard had built.
Indeed, his sister’s presumption grated on the older knight. He had once been a younger son, he had once been without inheritance, he had once lost the lady he loved for the lack of a sliver of land to call his own. Yet Millard had labored—in the wake of his loss, ’twas true—and he had built himself a holding far beyond the wealth of the one his elder brother had inherited.
And he would not willingly drop that prize into the lap of this sorry excuse for a man.
Unfortunately, because of that lack of an heir, Millard had little choice. He was snared by his own principles, trapped by his own refusal to wed another when still he might find his lady love. Indeed, he could never care for another woman the way he loved Isibeal, Millard knew it well. And he would insult no woman with a faint shadow of the love he knew himself capable of feeling.
He would have all, or he would have naught, and naught looked to be the winning choice.
A minstrel took the floor and Millard bent his attention upon the young man, as much as an excuse to ignore Talbot as to hear the tale.
But the minstrel’s tale, once it had begun, fairly stole the old knight’s breath away. Millard craned his neck to capture each and every word, hope rising with every stanza.
’Twas beyond belief, but his wish upon that star had come true.