Three French Hens (7 page)

Joan blinked at that. “Whatever for?”

“Well …” Brinna turned away and began to remove the gown she wore. “You are to be married. You really should get to know him.”

Joan grimaced at that. “Not bloody likely. I’ll not marry him. I shall join a convent before consenting to marry an oaf like that.”

“He’s not an oaf,” Brinna got out from between gritted teeth as she flung the dress on the bed. She turned to face Joan grimly. “He’s a very nice man. You could do worse than marry him.”

Joan’s eyes widened at her ferocious expression and attitude, then rounded in amazement. “Why, you are sweet on him.”

“I am not,” Brinna snapped stiffly.

“Aye, you are,” she insisted with amusement, then tilted her head to the side and eyed Brinna consideringly. “Your color seems a bit high and you had a dreamy expression on your face when you came into the room. Are you falling in love with him?”

Brinna turned away, her mind running rife with memories of his body pressed close to hers, his lips soft on her own. Aye, she had most likely looked dreamy-eyed when she had entered. She had certainly felt dreamy-eyed until Joan had started screeching. And she would even admit to herself that she might very well be falling in love with him. It was hard not to. He was as handsome as sin, with a voice like Scottish whisky, and kisses just as intoxicating. But even worse, he was a good man. She had been told as much of course, or if not exactly told, she had heard Lady Joan and her cousin discussing what they considered to be his flaws. Which to her were recommendations of his character. The fact that he worked so hard to help his people, that he was determined to better things for them … He put their needs before his own, even in matters of marriage. How could one not admire that?

Aside from that, he had been nothing but gentleness itself in all his dealings with her. He was no backward oaf or country idiot. Or at least, if he was, Brinna couldn’t tell. Nay, he had treated her sweetly and well, staying near her side during Mass and throughout every day since
Christmas morning. Despite Sabrina’s interference, she had felt protected. And he had not taken advantage of her reaction to those kisses in the woods, though the Good Lord knows he could have. Brinna suspected that had he wished it, she would have let the man throw her skirts up and have her right there at the side of the path, and all it would have taken was a couple more kisses. She suspected he had known as much too, but he hadn’t taken advantage of that fact. Nay, he was a good man. A man she could easily love with her whole heart. But if she gave her heart to him, it would be lost forever, for he was engaged to Joan, and he had to marry her, else he would lose the dower that his people needed so desperately.

He couldn’t do that. She knew it. He wouldn’t do it. She had not known him long, but she knew already that he was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. His people needed that dower, so he would marry to attain it and Brinna had no hope of having him. She couldn’t go on with this charade. Couldn’t risk her heart so. Not even for Aggie and the possibility of seeing her comfortable. She would not do this anymore. She had to convince Joan to resign herself to this marriage, but to do that, she had to convince her that he wasn’t the backwards oaf someone had led her to believe he was.

“Who is it that told you that Lord Thurleah was a country bumpkin and oaf?” Brinna asked determinedly, and Joan got a wary look about her suddenly.

“Who?” she echoed faintly, then shrugged. “It must have been Sabrina. She questioned people on the journey here to find out more about him for me.”

Brinna’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “But didn’t she say the day I became your maid that she hadn’t said that he was an oaf—just that he worked hard to improve his lot in life?”

Joan shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “Then someone else must have mentioned it.”

“Could it have been Phillip of Radfurn?” Brinna asked carefully, feeling triumph steal up within her as the other girl gave a guilty start, her eyes wide with shock. “It
was
him, wasn’t it? He is deliberately making trouble between the two of you. He visited you at Laythem, told you that Royce was a backward oaf, with no social graces, then went on to his cousin’s to tell him that you were a—”

When she cut herself off abruptly, Joan’s gaze narrowed. “To tell him that I was what?”

“Oh, well …” Now it was Brinna’s turn to avoid eye contact. “I don’t really recall exactly.”

“You are lying,” Joan accused grimly. “What did he say?”

Brinna hesitated, then decided to follow one of Aggie’s maxims. The one that went,
If
yer in a spot and don’t know what to do or say, honesty is yer best option
. “He told Lord Thurleah that you were a selfish, spoilt brat.”

“What?” The blood rushed out of Joan’s face, leaving her looking slightly gray for a moment, then poured back in to color her red with rage. “Why, that—” Her eyes, cold and flinty, jerked to Brinna. “Change and return below,” she ordered coldly, moving to the door. “And no more riding or anything else alone with Lord Thurleah. His man is not a suitable chaperone.” Then she slid out of the room, pulling the door closed with a snap.

“I think you are improving.”

“Oh, aye.” Brinna laughed dryly as she clutched at the hands Royce held at her waist to steady her as they skimmed along on the lake’s frozen surface on the narrow-edged bones he had insisted she try. Royce called them skates, and claimed that what they were doing was skating. It was something he had picked up while on his travels in the Nordic countries. Brinna called it foolish, for a body was sure to fall and break something trying to balance on the sharp edge of the bones that he had strapped to her soft leather boots and his own.

He had been trying for days to convince her to try skating. Ever since the afternoon they had gone for the ride. The day Sabrina had felt under the weather. But it wasn’t until today that she had given in and agreed, and that was only because she had wanted to please him. She caught herself doing that more and more often these days; doing things to try to please him. It was worrisome when she thought about it, so she tried not to.

“Nay, he is right, you are improving,” Sabrina called. Having overheard his comment and Brinna’s answer as they had skated past where she stood on the edge of the frozen lake, Sabrina had called out the words cheerfully. “At least you have stopped screaming.”

Brinna laughed good-naturedly at the taunt. Sabrina
had relaxed somewhat during the past several days. She had recovered quickly from her illness and returned to her chore as chaperone the morning after the ride. But she had taken a different approach on her return. She still accompanied Brinna everywhere, but no longer bothered to try to keep her from talking to everyone, Royce included. She had also stopped forcing herself between the two of them when they walked about or sat for a bit. Brinna supposed she had decided it wasn’t worth the trouble when they had already spent a day together without her interference.

“You are starting to shiver,” Royce murmured by her ear. “We have been out here quite a while. Mayhap we should head back to the castle to warm up.”

“Aye,” Brinna agreed as he steered them both back toward Sabrina. “Mayhap we should. ’Tis almost time to sup anyway.”

Sabrina seemed to greet the decision to return with relief. She herself had refused to be persuaded to try the “sharp bones” as she called them, so she had stood on the side, watching Brinna’s antics instead. While it had been amusing, her lack of activity meant that she was a bit chill and so was eager to return to the warmth of the castle. She waited a bit impatiently as they removed the bones from their feet, then accompanied them back to the castle, teasing “Lady Joan” gently about her ineptitude on the ice.

As it turned out, it was later than any of them had realized, and the others were already seated at table when Brinna, Royce, and Sabrina entered. They were laughing over Brinna’s less-than-stellar performance on skates that afternoon, but fell silent as they realized that they were late. Not that most people noticed their entrance—the great hall was abuzz with excited chatter and laughter—but Lady Menton spotted them arriving.

Casting apologetic glances toward their hostess, the
three of them hurried to the nearest spot with an opening and managed to squeeze themselves in. It meant they ended up seated among the knights and villeins at the low tables, but such things couldn’t be helped—besides, the high table seemed quite full even without them.

“It looks like a celebratory feast,” Brinna murmured as the kitchen doors opened and six women filed out, each bearing a tray holding a succulent roast goose on it.

“Aye,” Sabrina agreed with surprise. “I don’t recall Lady Menton saying anything this morning about—”

Brinna glanced at the brunette sharply when her unfinished sentence was interrupted by a gasp. Spotting the alarm on Sabrina’s face and the way she had blanched, Brinna frowned and touched her hand gently. “What is it? Are you not feeling well again?”

Sabrina turned to her, mouth working but nothing coming out.

“Joan? My lady?”

Brinna glanced distractedly at Royce when he touched her arm. “Aye?”

“Is that not your father?”

“My father?” she asked blankly, but followed his gesture to the head table. Her gaze slid over the people seated there, and she suddenly understood why the table was full even without them. William of Menton and an older man now helped fill it. Her gaze fixed on the older man. He was handsome with blond hair graying at the temples, strong features, and a nice smile. Brinna would have recognized him anywhere. He was Lord Edmund Laythem, a good friend of Lord Menton’s and a frequent visitor at Menton. He was also Joan’s father.

Brinna’s gaze was drawn to Lady Menton as the woman leaned toward her husband to murmur something. Whatever it was made the two men glance across the room
toward Brinna. For a moment she felt frozen, pinned to her seat like a bug stuck in sticky syrup as her heart began to hammer in panic and her breathing became fast and shallow. What if he stood and came to greet her? He would know. They would all know. But he didn’t rise. Edmund Laythem merely smiled slightly and nodded a greeting.

It took an elbow in her side from Sabrina to make Brinna nod back and force what she hoped was a smile to her own lips.

“Mayhap we should go greet him,” Royce murmured beside her and started to rise, but Brinna clawed at his arm at once.

“Oh, nay! Nay. I—there is no sense disrupting Lady Menton’s feast. Time enough to greet him afterward.”

Royce hesitated, then settled in his seat reluctantly. “As you say, my lady,” he murmured, then smiled wryly. “Well, now we know the reason behind the feast. Lady Menton must have put it on to welcome your father and her son.”

“Aye,” Brinna murmured faintly, then tore her eyes away from the high table and swiveled abruptly toward Sabrina.

“What are we going to do?” Sabrina asked in a panic before she could say a word, and Brinna’s heart sank as she realized the brunette would be of little help.

“Are you not going to eat?”

Forcing a smile, Brinna turned to face forward at Royce’s question. “Of course. Aye. We shall eat,” she murmured, casting Sabrina a meaningful sideways glance.

Nodding, Sabrina set to her meal, but there was a frown between her eyes as she did, and she was still as tense as the strings on a harp as she cast nervous glances toward the head table. Brinna was aware of of her actions, but avoided looking at the head table at all costs herself. She
kept her head bowed, eyes fastened on her meal as she ate, and slowly began to shrink in her seat.

It was the most excruciating meal Brinna had ever sat through. Worse even than her first night as Joan’s fill-in. She wasn’t even sure what she ate. It all tasted like dust in her mouth as her mind raced about in circles like a dog chasing its tail, desperately searching for a way out of this mess. An excuse to hurry up stairs right after the meal and avoid Lord Laythem was needed, but her mind seemed consumed with the fact that this was the end of the road for her. She had thought she had a couple more days at least to bask in the warmth of Lord Thurleah’s attention, but this was it. The end. These were her last moments with him. If only—

She cut the wish off abruptly. It was no good. She could not have Royce. He was a lord and she just a scullery maid. He needed a large dower such as Joan could provide. She had nothing but the ragged clothes presently on Lady Joan’s back. Still, he had come to her on Christmas Day like a gift from God that had brightened her life and made her experience things she had never thought to feel. It broke her heart that he was a gift meant for someone else and that she could not keep him.

“Are you done?” Royce asked after finishing off the last of his ale. The meal was coming to a close. Several people at the lower tables around them had already risen to return to their chores, or to find a place to relax and listen to the minstrel, who was even now preparing to torture them some more with his version of music. Even Brinna had finished off what Royce had served her with, though she couldn’t recall actually eating a thing. “Shall we go greet your father now?”

“Oh, I-I should … er …”

“Aye, we should,” Royce agreed, misunderstanding her stammering and taking her arm as he rose to his feet.

Brinna remained silent, following reluctantly as he led her toward the head table where most of the guests still sat chatting over their ales, her mind still squirming about in search of escape. Luck lent a hand as the others began to rise in groups now to leave the tables, slowing them down and making Royce and Brinna proceed in single file as they weaved through the crowd. Royce let go of her hand then, and Brinna walked behind him for a couple of steps, then simply turned on her heel and made a beeline for the steps that led upstairs.

She had to get to Joan’s room. She had to find Joan, and the only place she could think to look was the room. Not that she would normally be there at this hour. Joan didn’t even sleep in her own room anymore. She had fallen into the pattern of leaving as soon as Brinna departed with Royce for Mass, then not returning until just ere dawn on the next morning. She had been doing so since the day Brinna had told her what Royce’s cousin, Phillip of Radfurn, had said. The girl had stormed out in a fury, been absent through the night, then returned just moments before Royce had arrived to escort the woman he thought was Lady Joan to Mass. The fact that Lady Joan had been out all night had been worrisome enough to Brinna, but the fact that she had returned in a fabulous mood, and had actually glowed with satisfaction and happiness as she had insisted that they continue with the charade, had made Brinna fear that whatever was going on did not bode well for Royce.