A Time for Love

  “I am ten-and-nine,” Anne exclaimed. “Old enough to be wed years already!”

  Amanda leaned over and kissed Anne’s cheek. “Sleep, sister, and think no more on it. Father had new stone laid in the garden this summer and ’tis smooth and fine. We’ll walk there tomorrow.”

  Anne nodded as Amanda rose. Perhaps she had it aright and it was best not to think more on such matters. What sense was there in it? She had learned much at Gwen’s hand and had at least a few bits of knowledge and skill to offer a husband. She still had not mastered her temper, but perhaps she would be lucky enough to find a man who would not provoke her and would not expect a woman who was beautiful.

  It was unfortunate that the only man she had ever wanted did not fit that description at all.

  She sighed and rolled over, tired of chewing on her troubling thoughts. Movement didn’t help. Amanda and Isabelle making ready for bed didn’t distract her either. There was something nagging at her and she could not seem to discover it nor ignore it.

  When it came to her, her heart pounded in her chest so loudly and so rapidly, she was sure Amanda would wake up and bid her be silent. All hope of sleep fled. She was lucky to be alive. Bloody lucky. She was not so big a fool that she did not realize that a door would only slam shut when wind from an open window forced it shut.

  There had been no open window in the solar that evening.

  4

  Edith of Sedgwick stood in the northeast tower chamber at Artane and watched deepening twilight through the arrowloop. It took little time for the darkness to envelope the sky over the sea, so she waited patiently until the gloom had descended truly. Waiting was never a burden for her, for patience, she had to admit modestly to herself, was her second greatest virtue. Indeed, could anyone doubt it, should they but examine her circumstances? Hadn’t patience been what had won her a place at all at Rhys de Piaget’s hall? She’d planted the seed in her father’s mind that she really should be going north with her brother. It had taken years until the seed had borne fruit, but she had enjoyed the fruits of her waiting.

  Of course, she hadn’t been welcomed with particularly open arms, for she was, after all, of Sedgwick and there was no love lost between Artane and her kin. But even that would change, of that she was certain. Weren’t her present straits a perfect example of the lengths she was willing to go to in order to have her desire? Instead of the comfort of Artane’s solar, she conducted her business in a drafty guard tower.

  Patiently.

  But did a body but know the truth, he would have to agree that while patience was something she possessed in abundance, her greatest virtue was her ability to plan an intrigue. Unfortunately, her plots of late stood to be ruined by the silly child standing before her. Edith looked at her and struggled to smother her annoyance. She was greatly tempted to slap the girl—and several times at that. Her fear, however, was that by so doing, she might dislodge whatever wits remained the wench. And Maude of Canfield had few enough as it was. Edith took a deep breath to regain her composure.

  “Surely,” she said calmly, “I heard you awrong. You did what?”

  “I slammed the solar door. Scared the piss from her.” She laughed gleefully. Her bracelet flashed in the candlelight as she flapped her hands animatedly. “She bolted like a rabbit. Or as well as a lame rabbit might manage.”

  Edith looked at the girl and wondered mightily if she might not have made a fatal mistake in choosing this one. But what other choice could she have made? Maude was perfect for her needs—assuming she could be controlled. Edith folded her hands sedately in front of her. It was better that way; at least she wouldn’t be tempted to use them.

  “In the future,” Edith said, “you will restrict yourself to taking on the tasks I give you.”

  The mercurial change in Maude’s mood was almost unsettling to watch.

  “You’ll tell me nothing,” she snapped. “I’ve a stake in this as well.”

  “We’ve discussed this, Maude.”

  “And I’ll not be told what to do by you! I am a baron’s daughter!”

  “Aye, the youngest of a large brood sired by a very minor and unimportant lord,” Edith said.

  “More important than yours,” Maude returned hotly. “Sedgwick is a cesspit and I vow I wonder how you managed to crawl . . . ah, crawl from . . .”

  Edith watched as Maude realized that she had said too much. Apparently Maude’s pride warred with her fear; Edith watched the emotions cross her face in rapid succession. It was fascinating, truly, to see the progression. And then Maude seemed to gather her courage about her.

  “I don’t fear you,” she blurted out.

  Edith inclined her head. “Why would you?”

  Maude looked passing unsure of herself. “Well, I don’t.”

  “Of course not. But in the future, you will leave off with your own plans. The lady Anne is not the prey.”

  “I don’t like her,” Maude said with a scowl.

  Edith smiled. “She hasn’t harmed you—”

  “And you weren’t abed with him when he called out her name instead of mine!” Maude exclaimed.

  The tower chamber door slammed shut and Edith looked to see her brother standing there. Baldwin glared at Maude.

  “Begone, you silly twit. Hide yourself in the kitchens until you’re needed.”

  Edith pursed her lips as Maude fled, then she looked on her brother with disfavor. “She’s useful.”

  “She’s addle-pated. Whence did you dredge her up?” he asked, drawing up a chair, producing his dagger and beginning to pick his teeth with it.

  Edith allowed herself a moment of silent disgust over her brother’s lack of manners, then gave him the shortest answer she could think of.

  “A chance meeting in a solar full of ladies,” she said. “Where else?”

  “I thought as much,” Baldwin said with a grunt.

  Actually, nothing could have been further from the truth. Edith had learned various useful skills during her childhood and the most useful had been the ferreting out of information from whatever seedy source was handy. She smiled grimly to herself. At least her torturous youth at Sedgwick had not been completely wasted. It had taken Edith only a handful of months to unearth various items of interest that one soul in particular would have wished to remain buried.

  And once she’d obtained a name or two, she’d taken up her journey south on the pretext of going on a pilgrimage. Her first halt at Berkhamshire had proved fruitless, but her destination of Canfield had yielded more than she could have hoped for. Maude had been spurned, seething and distinctly out of favor with her formerly adoring sire who could not understand her repeated refusal to wed with anyone of his choosing. Edith knew who Maude pined for, knew the last time they had lain together, and marveled greatly at the girl’s tenacity and patience.

  It had reminded her, she thought a bit wistfully, of her own.

  A shorn head, a covering of cloth for the remaining blond hair and Maude had become a servant looking desperately for a bit of charity. The few questions asked had been answered promptly and accepted for truth. For Edith, unlike her older brother, had found favor in Lord Artane’s eyes from the moment she’d been deposited inside his gates like unwanted refuse. She knew very well how the game was played and she played it well. The favors she asked were few, and those were usually granted graciously.

  But that graciousness never made up for what she was denied.

  “Mindless twit,” Baldwin groused. “She’ll befoul the plans, sister. Mark my words.”

  Edith was much more concerned about Baldwin than she was Maude. Maude might have been stupid, but she was, after all, merely a woman. Baldwin was just as witless, but he possessed a cruelty she had seen only in men. Had she not been convinced she could control him as well, she might have feared him.

  “Maude believes herself fated to have him, Baldwin,” she said patiently. “A woman will do much for that kind of love.”

  “Poor sister,” Baldwin sneered. ?
??Jealous of her? Or are you jealous of Anne? Will you have Robin for yourself?”

  Edith only remained silent. There was no sense in allowing him to bait her. Her brother was ever ready to fight; she had better ways to spend her energy. Besides, he was a fool if he thought she concerned herself with either Maude or Anne of Fenwyck. They were merely obstacles to be removed in time.

  “You need to control her,” Baldwin grumbled. “I’ll not have her ruining my scheme.”

  His scheme? Edith bit her lip to keep from pointing out to him that his thoughts couldn’t possibly rise to the level of a scheme. Baldwin never thought further than the bottom of his cup or the end of his blade.

  He had risen and was pacing. “He’ll return home soon enough, I’ll warrant. Damn him to hell anyway. I should have done him in years ago, while I had the chance . . .”

  Edith leaned back against the wall and braced herself for the tirade. Her brother’s shortsightedness would be his undoing someday. But for now at least his anger was steady and that would serve her well.

  As long as his plans were in accord with hers, of course.

  And that was something she could control for now. Robin of Artane would return soon enough and Baldwin could do with him what he willed.

  To a certain point.

  “I’ll kill him this time,” Baldwin growled, his pacing growing more agitated.

  “If you’re here.”

  Baldwin scowled at her. “Did you hear, then? Artane has sent me off to do his business at a handful of his bloody fiefs. Mayhap he knows I’ll kill his son if I’m here.”

  Edith suspected Rhys had sent Baldwin away just to be free of his presence. What she did know for a certainty, though, was that Baldwin was going along as the guard to one of Rhys’s vassals, not as Rhys’s agent. She suspected that was a fact her brother preferred to ignore.

  “I would be afraid if I were him,” Baldwin said darkly. “I’d be afraid for Robin’s sorry neck.”

  Edith pushed away from the wall. “Brother,” she said quietly, “how could killing him possibly avenge you?”

  “He’ll be dead!” Baldwin said, his chest heaving. “Have you no wits left you?”

  Edith frowned, as if she truly had to struggle to concentrate. Baldwin thought her empty-headed, as he did all women, and Edith never disappointed him. It was better that way.

  “But,” she said slowly, “if he’s dead, you’ll no longer have the sport of tormenting him.”

  “Ha,” Baldwin said scornfully. “You want him for yourself and it grieves you to think of him lying rotting in the ground.”

  Edith smiled, and she made certain it was a tremulous, hopeful smile. “Aye, well that is part of it.”

  “I knew it,” he said with disgust. He spat at her feet. “He has what should have been mine. I’ll have Sedgwick and I’ll have it without him as my overlord.”

  Edith struggled not to sigh. She’d been listening to the same litany for as long as she’d been at Artane and those were ten very long years. Baldwin raged about like a stuck boar, but his rages had been in vain. Robin had been gone much of that time, leaving Anne to bear the brunt of Baldwin’s wrath. And even Edith had to admit that Anne had been a poor substitute. There had never been any equity in that fight.

  Not that Edith cared overmuch for equity. She’d certainly never enjoyed the fruits of it.

  “The bastard,” Baldwin spat.

  Well, that was something else to be discussed, but Edith decided that now was not the time. Baldwin was beginning to rant and that usually led to his descending to the ale kegs in cellars and that never produced anything besides staggering pains in his head the next day. Best distract him while she could.

  “But kill Robin,” she said, “and you’re left with four other brothers.”

  “I’ll kill them too.”

  There was a certain appeal to that, but that was something to be savored later. She hadn’t dragged Maude away from Canfield only to stand idly by and watch Baldwin slay the entire de Piaget clan. The others could be seen to in time. Robin was her prey now and for other reasons than Baldwin could imagine up in his heart.

  And she didn’t want him dead before she could put him through a choice bit of agony.

  And who better to start with than his love?

  Never mind that he hadn’t returned for her yet. He would. Edith had watched the pair of them carefully over the years. He would return and he would claim Anne for his own.

  And then Edith’s revenge would begin.

  Baldwin stopped dead in the middle of the chamber. It was sudden enough that Edith looked at him. His expression was one of surprise. And then he broke out into a smile.

  And the sight of that, his being her brother aside, was enough to send shivers down her spine.

  “I’ll kill all the lads, then marry Amanda,” he said in wonder. “That would give me control of Sedgwick.”

  “But Amanda is not the daughter of Rhys’s flesh,” Edith pointed out. “Her sire was the baron of Ayre.”

  Baldwin looked momentarily perplexed.

  “The lady Gwennelyn was wed to Alain of Ayre,” Edith reminded him. “Amanda is not of de Piaget’s flesh.”

  “But he’s claimed her as his own,” Baldwin argued.

  “But is that claim enough?”

  Baldwin shook his head, as if he shook aside an annoying fly. “I’ll think on that later. First the others must be seen to.”

  He could think on Amanda’s inheritance, or potential lack thereof, all he liked, so long as he didn’t kill anyone before their time. Edith wasn’t about to have her brother foul her plans.

  “Humiliate Robin first,” she said gently. “You need your revenge.”

  Baldwin paused and considered, stroking his chin. Then apparently the thought of Amanda was more temptation than he could resist, for he smiled again and chortled.

  “Aye, she’s a beauty,” he said.

  “Revenge,” Edith reminded him.

  He frowned, then cursed. “I’ll think on it more when I return. And don’t you do anything while I’m away.”

  “Of course not,” Edith agreed, but Baldwin was on his way out of the chamber. The door slammed shut behind him.

  Edith sighed and retreated to the alcove. She put her candle on the opposite bench and sat. At least Baldwin would be distracted for a bit and that would leave her free to pursue her own plan.

  Baldwin had seen at least some of her heart and that distressed her. That she should be that transparent about anything was unsettling.

  For she did want Robin.

  But she only wanted him after everything he loved had been methodically destroyed before his eyes. Baldwin could have the satisfaction of dispatching Robin’s kin. Edith had the stomach for the doing of it, but there was no sense in denying her brother a bit of enjoyment as well. Aye, all Robin loved would be gone and he would be left alone to suffer.

  And then once he was kneeling at her feet in agony, she would see the end of her scheme brought about and she would be avenged for the hurts done her.

  She closed her eyes. Aye, she would be avenged, he would die in misery, and then she would be at peace.

  But she could wait for that. Now was the time to reconsider her plans and make certain she had forgotten nothing. Artane’s heir would arrive within days, she was sure of that, and then it would begin. There were so many things she could do to afflict him, it was hard to choose.

  There would be time for that decision later. For now, she would sit and think and enjoy the quiet.

  A woman of great patience needed to do that now and then. It was good for her soul.

  5

  Robin stood at the prow of the ship, glad of the chill of the predawn wind. His thoughts had kept him awake for most of the night. Saints, he was in a sorry state. It had to be the confinement. The captain had forbidden him to pace above deck and the hold below had been completely inadequate for his pacing needs. But now the captain was abed and the first mate had been glared into
submission. Unfortunately, even the full run of the ship seemed not to be enough. Robin dragged his hand through his hair, then leaned against the railing, conceding the battle. Let the thoughts come. Perhaps if he paid them heed, they would lose their power over him.

  He could hardly believe Anne had been at Fenwyck for the past half year. By the saints, she must have been miserable. He was certain her journey there had indeed been against her will. Why would she go, when her home was at Artane? He sometimes wondered what she truly felt for her sire; she certainly didn’t know him very well. In her youth, she had gone to her sire for a required fortnight each year, weeping as she left Artane and frantic to return once she’d reached Fenwyck.

  Did not his parents treat her as just another daughter? Did not his father scold her just as he would have any of the rest of his children? The times had been very few, though, as the crestfallen look on Anne’s face had been enough to consign him to a hell of guilt for days afterwards.

  One of the worst times, save the time her leg had been crushed, had been when Anne was ten-and-two. One of the pages had dared her to ride Rhys’s mighty destrier. She had and ridden it well, until Baldwin had approached and sent the stallion into a frenzy. Robin had been home at the time and likely should have stopped her, but he’d been training like a mad-man and she had been up and riding before he’d come to his senses. He’d then watched, open-mouthed and horrified, as she’d clung to that bucking stallion with a tenacity any knight would have wished for his own. Before he’d found his wits to move, his father had plucked Anne from the saddle, then shaken her until her teeth rattled. After he’d shaken her, he’d given her a tongue-lashing that had raised the hackles on Robin’s neck. Rhys had been especially furious at the deed in light of Anne’s weak leg and what could have happened had it failed her. Anne had sobbed for hours, grief-stricken that she had disappointed the foster father she adored.