Harlan assured Stephen that he and Wilmont’s soldiers had been assigned quarters in the armory with Branwick’s guards. The horses and oxen would be cared for in the stables. The food had already been taken to the kitchen, and the kegs of fine Burgundy wine hauled into Branwick’s cellar.
Acting as Stephen’s squire, Armand would sleep on a pallet on the floor, a pallet easily moved out of the bedchamber if—when—Stephen required privacy.
Soon only he and Armand and a young maid remained in the chamber. Armand squatted down and drew bed linens and fur coverlets from a trunk to hand over to the maid. Stephen peered over Armand’s shoulder into the open trunk.
“Are the gifts packed in here?”
Armand moved several of Stephen’s tunics aside.
“Thinking to give them to Lady Carolyn already?”
“Only one, and not the best, which she does not get until our betrothal is agreed to.” He pulled out a wooden chest with delicate brass hinges and clasp, its top beautifully carved with a floral design. “This chest should prick Carolyn’s curiosity about what I might have brought along to put into it.”
“A shrewd maneuver.”
“I hope so.”
Armand rose and closed the trunk. The maid wandered over, finished with making up the bed.
“Will there be aught else, my lords?” she asked.
Stephen recognized the invitation on her face. He’d seen it countless times on the faces of women of low and high birth alike. Odd thing was, the pretty little maid looked forthrightly at Armand, whose cheeks colored slightly.
Well, how interesting! Stephen surmised that if on some night he asked Armand to sleep elsewhere, the squire need not sleep alone.
“Nothing now,” Stephen answered, drawing the maid’s attention. “To be sure, if your services are required, I shall send Armand to you straightaway.”
The maid curtsied. “You need only seek me out,” she said, then sauntered saucily across the chamber to the door, where she shot Armand a half shy, half seductive look before leaving.
Such an invitation shouldn’t be ignored. The lass was certainly pretty enough, and just about the right age to give Armand a rousing tumble. About the same age as Marian had been when Stephen gleefully answered her enticing smile.
She’d been so ripe and eager, and he so randy and ready. Only Marian hadn’t been a maid, but the daughter of Hugo de Lacy, a Norman knight.
Armand cleared his throat. “I wonder what gifts Edwin has already given Carolyn?”
Jerked back to thoughts of his intended, Stephen said, “Much the same as I will gift her with, I would think. Delicacies for her table, baubles for her to wear. I can only hope Carolyn prefers my baubles over Edwin’s.”
“Carolyn cannot help but love the brooch. For a woman who does not wear many baubles, my lady Ardith has exquisite taste.”
“No argument there,” Stephen agreed, thinking of the shiny silver brooch his sister-by-marriage had unmercifully nagged him into buying.
Ardith, sister of his best friend, Corwin, and now three years married to Gerard, was a gem of a woman. Gerard had never been forced to ply her with gifts, for she considered Gerard’s love beyond price and all she required for her happiness.
The two of them, to Stephen’s way of thinking, challenged the norm of noble marriages. Loving couples were a rarity. More normally marriages were arranged to bind alliances or secure wealth. Long ago, Stephen had concluded that his own marriage would be for convenience sake, as his parents’ marriage had been.
His parents’ marriage hadn’t been joyful. Indeed, they’d barely tolerated each other. The problem lay, or so Stephen had concluded, within expectations. His parents had married extremely young, had met on the day of their wedding, neither knowing what to expect of the other.
His marriage to Carolyn might not be based on love, but each knew what to expect. There would be no misunderstandings, and therefore no disappointments. He’d give Carolyn the security of a marriage, sire her children, then make himself scarce, just as she wanted.
Best that way, at least for him. It simply wasn’t within him to do as his brothers did—spend the bulk of his time in one place with one woman, doing the same things day after day, season after season.
The bedchamber suddenly seemed smaller, containing less air.
Stephen put the ornate chest on top of the trunk. “Let us go down and see if William has awakened, shall we?”
With her girls at her side and the altar cloth over her arm, Marian entered Branwick Keep. During a quick perusal of the great hall she determined Stephen was elsewhere. Relieved, she hoped if she hurried her chore she might escape the keep without seeing him.
Marian approached Branwick’s steward. “Good day, Ivo. Is his lordship awake?”
“Aye, my lady, he is, and your visit is well-timed. He is in want of cheering.”
The consternation on Ivo’s face said William’s mood needed lifting beyond the normal frustrations of his illness.
“What troubles him?”
“Carolyn behaved in less than gracious manner earlier. His lordship is not pleased she went riding with Edwin instead of showing proper deference to our guest.”
The guest must be Stephen. Marian bit back questions over what had transpired upon his arrival. ’Twasn’t her place to question Carolyn’s actions. Nor did she wish to become involved, in any manner, in Carolyn and Stephen’s situation. Though the thought occurred to Marian that Carolyn’s inattention didn’t bode well for Stephen’s suit. Not a displeasing thought.
“And the guest?”
“Stephen of Wilmont.” Ivo glanced at the stairs. “He wishes an audience with his lordship. When your visit is done, I will fetch him.”
Grateful for the inadvertent information and reprieve, Marian hurried toward the bed where her uncle spent the bulk of his days, garbed only in white linen shertes, propped up by bolsters. She paused at the foot of the bed.
“Uncle William?”
“Ah, Marian. Come.”
She pushed aside the curtain at William’s right side, the side less affected by his apoplexy. His blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and curiosity beneath eyebrows as bushy white as his hair.
“What brings you?” he asked, as was his habit, making Marian feel a bit guilty for not visiting more often. He knew her reasons and accepted them.
“The altar cloth, of course. Did you not wish to have it in your possession today?”
Marian didn’t wait for an answer, just snapped the cloth open and let it drift down over the woolen blanket that covered his legs. He ran the fragile fingers of his good hand over the cloth.
“’Twill do,” he said.
“’Twill do?” Marian rejoined. “Uncle, if you hope to bribe your way into heaven, your gifts to the archbishop had best be of better quality than a mere ’twill do.”
“’Tis beautiful, Mama,” Audra proclaimed.
Lyssa elbowed her sister hard enough to jostle the eggs in the basket Audra held. “Tsk. Uncle knows that, Audra. He jests with Mama.”
William raised a bushy eyebrow at Lyssa. “Do I now?” he asked gruffly, to which Lyssa answered a confident, “Aye.”
He leaned over slightly and whispered none too softly, “Mayhap you are right, child, but do not tell your mother. If I praise her work too highly, she may become lax in her efforts on my behalf and I shall never get into heaven.”