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Lord Of Lyonsbridge
Ana Seymour


A FORBIDDEN LOVE Determined to successfully manage the castle so newly in her care, Ellen Wakelin carried out her duties with ruthlessness. Yet she could not help seeking out the company of Connor Brand, for it was only with the mysterious horse master that she could let down her guard and be her true self.The moment he discovered Ellen Wakelin in his room, Connor knew the new mistress of Lyonsbridge would be trouble. And as the former lord, the current horse master now had a problem even more pressing than regaining his heritage - for the raven-haired beauty was driving him to distraction.









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u419fc38b-3000-5114-824d-d569d4bd5145)

Excerpt (#u6fbf4950-1c4c-5310-9fe9-17ea891632a6)

Dear Reader (#uac192f82-7516-5113-beba-01dc2189ed4f)

Title Page (#ua2a245df-3c5a-5e13-98cf-5efd5756aa83)

About the Author (#u37cd0918-3159-5dfc-915b-5ae4c958fa1b)

Dedication (#u69d0c349-0452-5a39-89b7-ec4e3fbbc31c)

Chapter One (#ube3948e9-8bca-5364-a6aa-98a147c21762)

Chapter Two (#uaeea7aee-11fd-58a1-ae43-be640e92893f)

Chapter Three (#ua4a42be2-e572-5af2-af5b-c8fb4d397884)

Chapter Four (#ua6876036-3316-5df4-8ee3-735d814e5c4e)

Chapter Five (#u8f1704c8-bd78-5c95-b04e-22f12e874c04)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




How could this man kiss her that way?


How could be make her lose all sense of the world around her, and then simply let her go and step back with nothing more than curt, chiding words? Ellen had overlooked it once, back in the forest, but this time he’d pay for his knavery.



“You underestimate me, Master Brand. You think I’m powerless to punish you for your offenses.”



He seemed to wince, but his voice was strong as he answered, “Milady, ‘twas an error, a grievous one. I ask your forgiveness.”



She’d not expected that, When he’d kissed her in the forest he’d not appeared in the least sorry, nor had he apologized. “I could forgive once…”



He nodded firmly. “But twice is unpardonable. My only defense is that the first kiss was too pleasurable to leave it at one.”


Dear Reader,



Ana Seymour’s new medieval novel, Lord of Lyonsbridge, marks her twelfth Harlequin Historical title! Critics have described her books as “superb,” “heartwarming” and “wonderful,” and Lord of Lyonsbridge follows suit. It’s the charming tale of a spoiled Norman heiress who is sent to her father’s new estate, Lyonsbridge, to set up household. There she falls under the spell of the sinfully handsome Saxon horse master, Connor Brand, and sets tongues wagging!

And if you enjoy Western romances, we have two very different selections for you. The first, Heart of the Lawman by Linda Castle, proves that love can heal even the deepest wounds when a widow falls for—and forgives—the man who mistakenly put her in jail. And don’t miss Plum Creek Bride by Lynna Banning. Here, a German nanny travels to Oregon to care for a baby girl, and arrives to find a grieving single father whom she teaches to love again.

Finally, we have The Captive Bride by Susan Spencer Paul, who also writes mainstream historicals as Mary Spencer. This medieval novel features Senet Gaillard, the tortured brother from The Bride Thief, who’ll stop at nothing to reclaim his father’s estate—even marriage!

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historicals® novel.



Sincerely,



Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3




Lord of Lyonsbridge

Ana Seymour







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ANA SEYMOUR


has been a fan of English history since her childhood, when she devoured the historical epics of Thomas Costain, Rafael Sabatini and Anya Seton and spent late nights up watching the swashbuckling movies of Errol Flynn and Tyrone Power. She spent a number of years working in the field of journalism, but she never forgot the magic of those tales. Now she is happy to be weaving some of that magic herself through Harlequin Historicals. Ana loves to hear from her readers at P.O. Box 47888, Minneapolis, MN 55447.


The Lyonsbridge Brands were named in honor of my Brand descendant cousins: Kathy Brodniak, Beverly Killiam, and Brand and John Frentz, who have all said such nice things about my books!




Chapter One (#ulink_da6e01e1-7646-5399-916b-d08aee5ae84d)


England, 1130

It was a rare day. Around the stable yard a crystalline lace of hoarfrost outlined the trees and fences in white. Connor’s breath showed in puffy clouds as he struggled against the big man in his grasp.

“I trow, you’ve put on another stone since last sennight, Martin,” he gasped.

Father Martin, friar of St. John’s, shoved his shoulder against the slighter man, sending them both tumbling to the frozen ground. “’Tis you who’ve grown weak, big brother. Best you lay aside your lute and spend more time with the quarter staff.”

Connor gave the priest a great heave to roll his considerable bulk off to one side, then sat up. “Not too weak to snatch you up and set you right-side down on your bald pate, Martin, if I were a mind.”

Father Martin grinned. “Try it,” he challenged.

Connor returned his baby brother’s smile. “I’ve too much respect for the holy church.”

The priest snorted. “Now there’s a tale. When was the last time I saw you at vespers, brother? Or in confession?”

Connor stood easily, offered his hand and pulled his brother upright. “I’ve a reason for avoiding the confessional.”

“As your spiritual advisor, my son, I’d like to hear it.” Father Martin’s words were solemn, but there was a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

“You’re my brother by blood, Martin, not my father. No church vows can change that.”

“Well, I’ll hear the reason, for all that. Why’ve you been neglecting the sacraments?”

Connor brushed at the frost that clung to his leather tunic. “By the saints, Martin. If I gave a true confession, I’d have to sully the reputation of half the maids in Lyonsbridge. Is not chivalry a virtue in the church’s eyes?”

Connor thought he detected a slight blush on his brother’s round face. Not for the first time, he wondered what it would be like if he, Connor, had been the third Brand son, destined to give his life to the church, instead of the firstborn. He gave a little shudder. Of course, if the gossips were correct, the vows of celibacy sat lightly on some members of the holy orders. But Connor suspected that his brother, for all his jovial nature, took his vocation seriously.

As if affirming Connor’s thoughts, Father Martin frowned. “You should be shriven, Connor. The account of your sins would never leave the confessional.”

Connor shook his head and began walking toward the stable. It was past feeding time. “’Tis safer if the account of my sins never leaves my lips, Martin. Do you have time to help with the animals?”

Father Martin matched his brother’s long strides, undeterred by his clerical robe. “Aye. Brother Augustine will be giving compline this night.”

“Mayhap we should resume our wrestling match, then. Let me seek revenge.”

The priest laughed. “Give it up, brother. ‘Tis small wonder I can best you if the only wrestling you’re doing these days is with the fairer sex.”

Connor studied his brother. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, making his eyes look bluer. The hair that was left around his tonsured skull was blond, identical to Connor’s own. Before Martin had taken his vows, the brothers had sometimes been thought twins, though they were four years apart in age. Handsome and strapping, the three Brand sons had begun turning female heads when they were still youths. Their adventures had provoked outrage and awe in nearly equal measure. “Do you not miss it, brother?” Connor asked softly.

Father Martin hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “I’ll leave the maids to you, Connor, and I’ll add you into my prayers each night, since you seem determined to risk your immortal soul.”

They’d reached the door of the massive Lyonsbridge stable. When the Brands of Lyonsbridge had held dominion over the entire fiefdom, it was widely known that there were no finer horses in all of England. Connor’s father had had requests for Lyonsbridge bloodstock from as far away as Spain, a land that boasted proud stock of its own.

“If the Lord finds objection in the pleasuring of a man and a maid, then he’s a cruel lord indeed,” Connor objected. “For he’s left us Saxons with little enough joy in our lives.”

His brother grew solemn. It was true that life had not been easy for the Saxons these past few years. With the Norman king, Henry, firmly established on the throne, the fighting was ending. But the hardships continued.

“Aye. Times have been hard, and I believe if the man and maid are both willing, the Lord might be willing to overlook a tryst or two outside of the marriage bed.”

Connor clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Lucky thing for me. But might he not then also overlook one or two outside of your holy vows? Leofric the miller has two daughters that are among the tastiest morsels I’ve set eyes upon. I had a deal of a time choosing the elder. The younger is still ripe for plucking, but I have scruples about two sisters—”

Father Martin interrupted him with an upheld hand. “I’ll be on my knees until midnight if you continue, brother. I’m asking you humbly to turn your conversation to more noble paths.”

Connor grimaced. “They’ve made a holy man of you at last, I’m afraid,” he said. “Can I not interest you in at least hearing about the maid’s virtues?”

“’Tis not of her virtues that you want to speak, brother, so leave it be. Did you not tell me that you’ve work to do aplenty?”

Connor pushed back the sleeves of his surcoat. “Aye. They’re due on the morrow—our new masters.”

“Lord Wakelin himself?”

“Nay, it appears the new Lord of Lyonsbridge is too delicate to face the people whose land he’s usurped. He’s sending a nephew and, I hear, his daughter.”

“The lady Ellen?” Father Martin asked in surprise.

“Aye.”

“Well, now.” The priest looked over at his brother, who had begun to curry a huge black charger named Thunder, one of the stable’s finest. “Are you not curious to see her?”

Connor shrugged. “I doubt I shall. I hear that Norman maidens bathe in milk, sleep in silk and never let the light of day fall on their lily skin.” He gave the big horse a slap on its polished rump and gestured to his brother. “Are you going to help me or not? That holy life of leisure is padding you with lard.”

Father Martin picked up a second brush and moved toward Connor, but stayed with the prior topic. “’Tis said the King of France himself wanted her. They sing of her beauty.”

“Let them sing. I’ll take a robust, blooming English lass any day.”

“Aye, I wager you would,” Father Martin said with a twisted grin. “But even I find myself curious about whether the lady Ellen does justice to the ballads they sing of her.”

Connor laughed and gave the priest a gentle shove. “Curious, eh? Ah, brother, mayhap all hope is not lost for you yet.”



“I knew England would be primitive, but I didn’t realize it would also be colder than the devil’s cellar,” Ellen of Wakelin said with a shiver.

Sebastian Phippen grimaced at his cousin and hastily made the sign of the cross on his chest. “’Tis no wonder your father has exiled you, Ellen, with the tongue you wield.”

Ellen sat straighter in her silver-tooled saddle, stretching her weary back. “It’s not exile. Father asked me to come to Lyonsbridge because it wants proper Norman management. He said he’d neglected it for too long.”

“Which is why he asked me to serve as castellan in his stead,” Sebastian replied smoothly. “I hadn’t expected he’d want me to bring you along.” At Ellen’s scowl, he added hastily, “Though ‘tis always a pleasure to be in your company, fair cousin.”

“Don’t think I look any more kindly on the task, Sebastian. The sooner we can put some proper order into these estates and return to Normandy, the better.”

Ellen looked out over the bright green countryside. Here and there it sparkled with frost in the waning sunlight. It was pretty, and she’d probably be enjoying the ride if she hadn’t lost all feeling in her fingers quite some time ago. She hadn’t complained, since it had been at her insistence that they had continued riding, even though it meant they might not reach the castle until dark.

“We should have found lodging,” Sebastian grumbled, lifting his own hands one at a time to blow on his fingers. He turned around to address one of the six Wakelin men-at-arms who were accompanying them. “How much farther?”

The man rode toward them, peering ahead and paying little attention as he crowded their big horses on the highway. “Have a care, man,” Sebastian shouted. His horse pranced nervously, but Ellen kept her mount perfectly controlled.

“These infernal hillocks all look the same,” the guardsman said. “But I think we’re almost there.”

“I hope you’re right. We’re coming hard on twilight.” Sebastian shot a look of disapproval at his cousin, then asked the guard, “Are there brigands abroad at night?”

“Not these past five years. Before that, of course, the fighting was fierce. Lyonsbridge was one of the last territories to give over to Norman rule.”

“Which is precisely why King Henry awarded the grant to Lord Wakelin,” Sebastian told the man with a smug smile. “He knew that he was a warrior who could control the people with a firm hand.”

The guardsman shrugged. “As I say, milord, there’ve been no problems these years past. Lyonsbridge has been peaceful.”

Sebastian spurred his horse to move ahead of the soldier. “I intend to be sure it stays that way,” he said.

Ellen gave the soldier a smile and watched as it elicited the typical male expression of bedazzlement. At past twenty years, she was old to be still a maid, but her conquests numbered more than the old Conquerer himself. Her father had had offers for her hand from the four corners of Europe, though she’d not yet found the man she considered worthy. Her father had indulged her finicky nature, since, as she was his only child, he was, in truth, loath to give her away.

Lord Wakelin probably would not have suffered her traveling as far from him as England if it hadn’t been for the minor skirmish she’d recently caused between two princes from rival principalities. They’d fought a joust for her favors, even though she hadn’t the slightest intention of granting them to either young man. One of the princes had been gravely wounded.

The last piece of the sun disappeared behind a copse of trees, and immediately the cold bit harder. Ellen shivered again and tucked her hands up underneath her arms. She had no worry about letting loose the reins. She could trust Jocelyn to keep to the road without guidance.

“I think I see it ahead,” Sebastian said, pointing.

Ellen caught her breath. They’d rounded a bend in the road, bringing into view a small castle, the stone washed in scarlet from the fading sun.

The structure was dominated by two imposing towers, a square one to the left and an octagonal one on the right. The dark towers and the jagged outline of the battlements against the pink sunset made an extraordinary sight.

“That’s Lyonsbridge Castle?” she asked in awe.

Sebastian also appeared impressed, but as usual, chose to make his comment with a negative slant. “’Tis not as large as they’d told of it,” he said.

“’Tis nigh as large as Wakelin,” she argued. “And twice as lovely.” She spurred her horse into a full gallop, leaving her cousin behind her in a cloud of dust.

“Ellen!” he shouted after her. “Come back here! ‘Tis not seemly—” He broke off as Ellen and her big mare continued up the road, out of earshot.

“Shall we go after her, milord?” the guardsman asked from behind him.

Sebastian shook his head. “Nay. We’ll catch up soon enough.”

“Pardon, milord, but will the vassals know who she is if she arrives in such fashion?” the man persisted.

“If they don’t,” Sebastian answered with a cold smile, “you can be sure the lady Ellen will make them aware of it in short order.”



Connor and Father Martin emerged from the stable arm in arm. Though the friar managed frequent visits with his brother at their childhood home, there was always a flicker of sadness at the moment of parting. They couldn’t entirely escape the memories of the carefree days when neither the inexorable encroachment of the Normans nor Martin’s inevitable fate with the church had dimmed their youthful enthusiasm for life. Much had changed.

“When will I see you again?” Connor asked, taking his hand from his brother’s shoulder.

Father Martin straightened, once again becoming friar of St. John’s, forbidden by holy decree from unnecessary fleshly contact with a living soul. “Mayhap soon if your Norman visitors send for me to say a Mass for them.”

Connor frowned. “Will you tell them who you are?”

“I’m Father Martin, their friar. That’s all they have to know.”

Connor’s chiseled features hardened. “You won’t mention that their Norman compatriots killed your father and brother and as well as killed your mother?”

His brother sighed. “’Tis past, Connor. And you swore an oath to keep it that way.”

“There’s no need to remind me of an oath taken at our mother’s deathbed, Martin,” Connor said stiffly.

“Aye, I know, it’s just—” He held up a hand to shade his eyes from the glare of the setting sun. “Jesu, who is that?”

Connor followed the direction of his brother’s gaze down the road, and his expression grew thunderous. “Whoever it is must be a bloody fool to ride like that over slippery ground.”

“It’s a woman,” Father Martin said, his voice awed.

Connor had already seen for himself that the approaching rider was indeed a woman. Though mounted sideways in a woman’s saddle, with her skirts billowing around her, she rode like a man, straight and sure—and fast. “She’s a bloody fool, for all that,” he said under his breath.

The woman was approaching so quickly that it was difficult to get a clear view, of her, but her garments were obviously rich and her horse looked to be magnificently bred. By the time the horse and rider pulled to a stop directly in front of them, both the brothers had surmised the identity of the new arrival.

“It appears your curiosity is about to be satisfied, brother,” Connor said in an undertone.

“She comes alone? Where’s her entourage?”

“From the pace she sets, they’re undoubtedly left behind at the coast,” Connor replied with a grin as he stepped forward, ready to lift a hand to stop the big horse, if necessary.

But the mount came to a perfect halt not two yards in front of him, and the lady perched on top appeared unruffled by her breakneck ride. She scarcely looked at Connor, focusing her attention instead on his brother.

“Be you the friar of Lyonsbridge?” she asked without preamble.

Father Martin shot a glance at Connor before he answered calmly, “I am Father Martin, my daughter, priest of St. John’s and administering friar to this estate.”

She extended an arm in Connor’s direction and said to Father Martin, “You may direct this man to help me down and see to my horse.”

Her attention to his brother gave Connor time to study her. He’d been unwilling to admit to Martin that he shared his curiosity about the Norman maid, but the tales of her beauty and spirit had piqued his interest as well. As with most tales oft told, he’d discounted their validity, but looking up at the young Norman woman as she sat haloed in the sunset, he had to admit that this time there had been no embellishment. Lady Ellen Wakelin was all they told of her, and more.

Father Martin spoke with a slight smile. “You may feel free to address the man yourself, milady, since he is your new master of horse.”

She glanced down at Connor, and this time appeared to take in all aspects of his appearance. Unaccountably, for the first time in years, Connor missed the grander clothes he was wont to wear when his family had been masters at Lyonsbridge. The humble fustian fabric of his undertunic and surcoat indicated peasant garb.

His chin went up a notch. “Milady,” he said, without being addressed. “Welcome to Lyonsbridge.”

Ellen’s eyes widened and she hesitated a moment, but then seemed to recover herself, placed one foot in his cupped hand and put her arm on his shoulder to dismount.

As she stepped nimbly to the ground, she made no reply to his welcome, but turned once again to the priest. “We’re not expected until the morrow, Father. Sir William will need to be informed of our arrival.”

William Booth had been serving as bailiff since the awarding of Lyonsbridge to Lord Wakelin the previous year. Booth had recently been knighted by the king for bringing order to what had been considered an unruly part of the country. No one questioned what his efforts had cost the people he had subdued.

Father Martin looked at Connor, waiting to see if his normally outspoken brother would protest the slight by the Norman beauty. But Connor merely took hold of her horse’s reins and stepped back, watching her with an amused smile on his face.

“Certainly,” the priest answered. “But, my child, where are the others in your party?”

“Lagging behind, as usual,” she said breezily. “My cousin is not known for his horsemanship.”

“Perhaps your cousin has more sense than to ride a tired mount at full gallop on a frozen path,” Connor said.

Father Martin and Ellen both turned their heads toward him. The priest’s expression was a combination of amusement and reprimand, but there was instant outrage on Ellen’s pretty features.

“How dare you?” she gasped.

Connor shrugged. “As the good friar has told you, milady, I’m horse master here. ‘Tis my business to see that the mounts are not ill used.”

As if to reinforce his words, he put a hand on her horse’s muzzle. Instantly, it dropped its head and stood stock-still. Ellen looked surprised, but her voice was still angry as she snapped, “I’ve ridden Jocelyn these past five years, and I know a deal more about her abilities than some bondsman.”

Connor’s temper would have risen at the slur if he hadn’t been so fascinated by the way her anger heightened the winter red of her cheeks. By the rood, he’d never seen such a beauty. And her hair! Unlike the gentle Saxon maidens of Lyonsbridge, she wore no wimple over the thick black tresses. They hung in unruly waves, held in place only by a simple circlet of hammered gold.

Connor tried to keep his gaze casual as he said, “I owe no bond to your family, milady. I work as a freeman.”

“Then you’d best have a mind to your position, horse master, for you stay here at my sufferance.”

Connor kept his expression impassive. He had no intention of letting Lady Ellen or any of the other Normans know of his family’s former status at Lyonsbridge. At his father’s death, the estate had been taken over by the Conquerer’s son, William. It had passed through a number of hands before the younger William’s successor, King Henry, had bestowed Lyonsbridge on Ellen’s father. “I’ll try to remember that, milady,” Connor said after a moment.

Ellen nodded and turned back to Father Martin, who was watching the exchange with interest. “Will you escort me inside, Father?” she asked.

Father Martin looked over at Connor, who spoke in a voice thick with irony. “By all means, Father,” he said. “Escort the lady into the castle. We’d not have our Norman visitor take a chill in the cool English air, now would we?”

Father Martin shook his head at his brother’s dangerously impudent tone, but Ellen appeared to pay no attention and was already walking briskly toward the castle gates. He leaned toward Connor and whispered, “Mind your tongue, brother. Never forget that it’s a Norman world now.” Then he bustled off to catch up with the estate’s new mistress.




Chapter Two (#ulink_223319c7-95fe-55ec-846b-e0ed59c448f9)


Unlike the highly fortified castles in some parts of Europe, Lyonsbridge had no moat, no defenses. In addition to the stables, a number of other outbuildings were outside the low walls that surrounded the castle bailey. A small bridge crossed a token trench to the big wooden gates. As they approached, Ellen observed, “He’s a strange manner of man, the horse master.”

Father Martin looked at her sharply.

Ellen bit her tongue, realizing that after the way she’d dismissed the stableman, her sudden observation about him seemed odd.

“I believe you’ll find that Connor is a valuable servant, milady,” the priest replied after a moment. “You would do well to take advantage of his experience here.”

“Experience with the horses?”

Once again Father Martin seemed to hesitate. “With everything—the animals, the people, the estate itself.”

“He’s been here long, then?”

“All his life.”

Ellen looked back down the gently sloping hill that led to the stables, but the tall blond man was nowhere in sight. “All his life, yet he’s not a bondsman?” she asked.

“Nay, milady. You’d not likely see Connor Brand in bond to any man.”

“He does seem to have an obdurate nature.”

Father Martin smiled, but all he said was, “Mayhap.”

“Well, he’d best not show it with my cousin. Sebastian does not have the easiest of tempers.”

“I shall pass your warning on to Connor.”

Two yeomen had swung open the gates to admit them into the castle yard. One of the men carried a torch, as it was fast growing dark. Ellen nodded at him, then swept past to get her first look at the home she’d be inhabiting for the next several months.

Though the stone building had made an imposing sight from the road, she quickly realized that her fears about coming to this uncivilized part of the world were likely to be realized. She sighed. “Is this the central courtyard?” she asked the friar.

“This is the only courtyard,” he replied.

There was scarcely room to walk, so filled was the space with all manner of clutter. Logs for the fireplace lay in a haphazard pile, half blocking the small stairway at the far end of the bailey. A heap of what looked to be rusty armor lay scattered around to the left of the front gates, and to the right was a ramshackle wooden hut that reeked of stale urine.

Ellen wrinkled her nose as they passed it. “Who has been keeping house for Sir William?” she asked.

Father Martin kicked at a pile of bones being scavenged by two of the castle hounds. “He has no wife, milady.”

Ellen watched as the two dogs scampered off into the dusk. “That’s well evident,” she said softly.

“Here’s Sir William now,” Father Martin said, pointing to a low arched entryway on their left.

The man who appeared there was stocky and short of stature, not as tall as Ellen herself. Almost at once she sensed a belligerence in his nature that she didn’t like. But her father had spoken highly of his bailiff, and she knew Lord Wakelin was exceedingly grateful for the way Sir William had been able to put some structure into the estate with very little help from Normandy.

She’d be wrong to judge his efficiency by the appearance of the castle, particularly if he’d had no woman to help. Indeed, the neglect of this aspect of the estate justified her father’s wisdom in sending her here. Ellen felt a sudden sense of mission, which warmed her voice as she greeted the man approaching her.

“Well met, Sir William,” she said in response to his murmured welcome and bowed head. “My father sends his greetings.”

“Would that he could have accompanied you, milady. I’m anxious to have him see how his holdings are prospering.”

As he raised his face to look at her, his black eyes darted around, reminding Ellen suddenly of a rat. The back of his head was shaved in Norman fashion and his black beard was sleeked with some kind of grease, adding to the effect. It made Ellen want to giggle, but she stifled the impulse and kept her voice gracious. “I’ll see your efforts in his stead, Sir William, and make faithful report of your good work.”

“Thank you, milady.” His eyes shifted from her to the gates behind her, then to Father Martin, then back to her. “I’d understood that your father was sending his nephew to review his English estate.”

“Sir Sebastian is directly behind me,” Ellen explained. “I found myself with a spurt of energy and rode ahead, to the disapproval of your master of horse.”

Sir William scowled, and the ratlike expression that had amused her suddenly looked more sinister. “He’s a troublemaker, that one. Begging your pardon, since he be blood, Father,” he said to the friar, “but Lyonsbridge would be better off without the likes of Connor Brand.”

Ellen looked at Father Martin, questioning. “Connor is my brother,” he explained.

“Your brother!” She couldn’t decide why it was such a surprise to learn that the forceful man she’d met at the stables was brother to the friar. Now that she knew, she could see the resemblance immediately. They had the same handsome features, the same smile. The priest appeared to be bulkier under his robes, whereas the horse master had, she recalled with an uncharacteristic blush, been of a decidedly muscular build.

“Perhaps I should have mentioned it right away,” Father Martin said apologetically.

“Brother or no, he’s been a thorn in my tabard ever since I came to Lyonsbridge,” Sir William grumbled.

When Father Martin made no response to the charge, Ellen asked, “Then why haven’t you dismissed the man?”

Sir William shrugged and waved his hand vaguely. “He’s good with the horses,” he said. He made a nervous shuffle with his feet. “Enough of the stable. Let me show you inside the castle.”

Ellen put her hand on the arm Sir William offered her and let him lead her across the courtyard toward the stairway, but she remained puzzled about his answer. It seemed odd that the bailiff would keep a servant whom he professed to detest, no matter how good the man was with the livestock. In fact, there was something odd about Connor Brand himself. A strange manner of man, she had told the priest. Indeed. And perhaps the strangest thing of all was that she, mistress of the entire estate and acclaimed by the most noble men in Christendom, couldn’t seem to banish the stable master from her thoughts.



The previous day’s frost had disappeared overnight, leaving a mist that hung heavy and thick near the ground. It was not a good morning for a ride, but after breaking her fast with bread and strong ale, Ellen found herself wandering toward the stables. It made sense, she assured herself, to check on Jocelyn’s welfare after the grueling trip.

She was within yards of the stable and had just about decided that Jocelyn would prove to be her only mission after all, when suddenly the tall figure of the horse master emerged through the fog. Her heartbeat jumped.

Once again, he did not wait to be addressed first. “Good morrow, milady. You’re up and about early. The very sparrows still sleep, I trow.”

She put aside her annoyance at his boldness. Perhaps manners were not as formal in England. “You were here before me, Master Brand.”

“Ah, but I’m a poor laborer whose lot it is to work early and long. You’re a noblewoman, made to while away the hours in play and pleasure.”

The proper response to such an inappropriate comment would have been to ignore him, but the amused scorn in his tone made Ellen bristle and answer, “I’ve come to England to oversee a household, one that appears to be in sore need of management, I might add. I’ve not come to play.”

Connor took a step closer to her, then paused. His blue eyes boldly ran the length of her, taking on a sparkle as he smiled and said, “I’ll admit I don’t picture you quietly weaving tapestries the day through.”

She was standing uphill from him, which made their faces level, less than a yard distant. He gazed at her frankly, without apology. For a moment, she stared back. Then she realized that her face had grown warm and the breath had halted in her throat. She backed up a step. “I’d thank you not to picture me in any way whatsoever,” she said. Her tone was not as imperious as she’d hoped.

Connor smiled more broadly. “Norman rule has robbed Saxons of many things, milady, but not of their thoughts, nor yet of their fantasies.”

In Normandy a servant could have been beaten for such insolence, but instead of the reprimand that had leaped to her lips, she found herself arguing with him. “Norman rule has brought the Saxons much more than it has taken.”

Connor’s eyebrow raised. “So says the Norman lady?”

“Aye,” Ellen answered firmly. “So says the Norman lady.”

“Perhaps one of these days you’ll enlighten me about these wonders our conquerers have brought us, milady, but at the moment, I must take leave to go muck my Norman master’s stables.”

This man was like no servant she had ever encountered, and, for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why she continued to stand there like a tongue-tied maid and let him speak to her in such a fashion. It had something to do with the fact that her heart had not slowed from the time he’d first startled her, coming out of the fog.

One thing was certain. If she was going to put some good Norman order into this place, she’d have to start by regaining control of herself. “You forget yourself, Master Brand,” she said, and this time she was pleased to note that her tone was properly haughty. “If my cousin were to hear you speak the way you have to me just now, he’d turn you over to the king for sedition.”

Connor turned his back on her and walked down to the stable, collecting a pitchfork that was leaning against the building. Over his shoulder he said, “You misjudge me, milady. I’m a man of peace.”

“I think not. You and your brother appear to be cut of wholly different cloth.”

Connor turned back to her in surprise. “Martin told you, then?”

“Father Martin? Aye.”

“We’re not so different. Our destiny has given us two different paths, but we walk toward the same end.”

Ellen shook her head in confusion and finally gave voice to the thought that had been circling in her head since meeting him the previous day. “You don’t talk like any stable master I’ve ever heard.”

Connor dug the end of the fork into the ground, threw back his head and laughed.

There was, indeed, an independence about this servant that totally discomfited her. “I’m serious,” she insisted, her voice raising a notch. “Who are you? Father Martin said you’ve lived here all your life.”

“That I have, milady. Who am I? Why, I’m your stable boy, your horse trainer, your livestock manager.” He left the fork standing by itself in the dirt and took a long step to bring himself once again close to where she was standing. Very softly he said, “I’m your faithful servant, milady.”

His voice rumbled deep into her midsection.

She stood there facing him, eye-to-eye, as blood pounded behind her ears. She swallowed once, then again, before making a reply that came out as not much more than a whisper. “Aye, Saxon, you are my servant. See that you act like it.”

Then, abandoning her intention to visit her horse, she turned abruptly and made her way up the hill toward the castle as quickly as dignity would allow.



“What worm is gnawing at your innards today, Connor?” Father Martin asked, irritated at being snapped at by his brother for the third time since he’d arrived at midmorning.

Connor set down the wooden bucket he’d been carrying and boosted himself up on the fence next to the friar. “Forgive me, Martin. ‘Tis the infernal mist, no doubt. It leads to melancholy.”

“You used to love foggy days.”

Connor looked around. It was midday, yet they could barely see as far as the castle. He sighed. “Mayhap. I used to love a lot of things in the old life.”

“You are melancholy, brother mine. ‘Tis unlike you. My guess is that it has something to do with the arrival of the Normans yestreen. Mayhap in particular the arrival of a certain female Norman.”

Connor squinted toward the castle as if expecting to see her coming toward him, as he had that morning. He’d given no sign, but her visit had hit him with visceral impact. It was not that he’d been long deprived of the company of women. There were always plenty of obliging maidens in the village to see to his needs and amusement. But he couldn’t remember ever having the sight of a female affect him so absolutely. He’d felt it the previous day, the first time he’d set eyes on her. This morning, seeing her emerging from the mist like some kind of regal faerie queen had quite simply robbed him of his senses.

It had robbed him of his reason, too. He’d spoken brashly, without a thought for the consequences, which was a luxury he no longer allowed himself. He had too many responsibilities to be so foolhardy. It couldn’t happen again.

“The lass has me muddled,” he admitted to his brother.

Father Martin looked surprised at the admission and a little worried. “Connor, you know you would never be able—” He broke off and laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She’s a Norman, brother.”

“I know. Don’t mistake me, Martin. I’m not likely to forget my—” he looked around at the stable yard “—my place at Lyonsbridge. ‘Tis clear enough at which end of the salt I sit.”

Father Martin looked relieved. “I suspect you’ll grow used to seeing her around in time. It appears she’s something of a horsewoman.”

Connor jumped to the ground and gave his brother a grin. “Aye, there’s no law against looking at a pretty maid, is there?”

Father Martin rolled his eyes. “Not in your world, at least.”

His brother laughed. “Ah, Martin, the Lord won’t punish you for a glance or two. When you’re at Mass with her today, give it a try and tell me if you don’t think her eyes are golden.”

With more difficulty than his brother, Father Martin slid to the ground, shaking his head. He turned with a rueful smile. “I’ve already looked, brother, and, yes, a truer gold I’ve never seen.”



The lady Ellen didn’t come to the stables the next two days. Her mount—Jocelyn, she’d called it—grew restive in its stall, and Connor walked it around the stable yard. She was a fine animal, and he’d have enjoyed riding her, but decided it would be prudent to await the mistress’s orders on the matter, particularly after his outburst the other morning.

He still berated himself for losing his usual control in such a fashion. At his father’s deathbed, he’d promised to look after the people of Lyonsbridge, and at his mother’s, he’d promised to keep peace in the land. He could do neither task if he made the new masters so angry that they ran him off the place.

Since something about the beautiful new mistress of Lyonsbridge seemed to spark the defiant streak he’d worked so hard to tame, he knew he’d do well to stay out of the lady’s way. He should be glad she hadn’t come again to the stables. Still, he found himself glancing toward the castle several times a day, hoping to see her heading toward him.

This morning it was not the lady Ellen scurrying down the hill, but John the cooper’s son. Connor was repairing a shoe on one of the Norman horses. He paused in his work to greet the boy with a smile.

“Whoa, lad, slow down. What’s your hurry on such a beautiful morn?”

John skidded to a stop near Connor and took a gasping breath. “Good morrow, Master Connor.”

Connor marveled at the boy’s unfailing courtesy, even though he was obviously agitated. “Good morrow, John. Now tell me what’s troubling you.”

The words tumbled out as the boy shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry to bother you, Master Connor. I haven’t forgotten your words in the village-that we have to give the new masters a chance.

Everyone’s trying, truly they are. But you know that me mum’s doing poorly. She’s hardly been able to eat these past four days, and Sarah must stay there to mind her, but Sir William’s men have ordered all tenants to the castle. No exception, they say, by order of the new mistress.”

Connor sighed and carefully lifted the horse’s hoof out of his lap. The animal didn’t move. “Did you explain to Sir William’s men about your mother? Surely they know she has the wasting sickness?”

“No exceptions, they said.” The boy gave a vigorous shake of his head, jiggling his cropped blond hair like a shaft of wheat. “They don’t care, these Normans.”

“Why are they commanding everyone to the castle?” Connor asked, laying aside his chisel.

John shrugged. “’Tis daft, if you ask me. They say the lady Ellen has ordered a scouring from floor to ceiling, every room.”

Connor couldn’t argue with the fact that a “scouring” was sorely needed. There had been times when he’d winced at the forlorn state of Lyonsbridge Castle, thinking that his mother would be lying restless in her tomb. He glanced over at the stables, where even the hay was stacked in neat bundles. Though its occupants were animals, he’d daresay his domain was a sight tidier than the great hall of the castle.

“The cleaning’s not a bad idea, lad,” Connor told the boy. “But they’ve help aplenty to carry it out. They shouldn’t need your mother, nor your sister.”

“They’ve already taken Sarah. One of the soldiers dragged her off.”

“Dragged her off?” At this, Connor stood, overturning the stool behind him. Sarah Cooper was barely thirteen years, a slight, pretty girl and much too fragile to defend herself against a randy Norman soldier.

“That’s why I came to you, Master Connor. I couldn’t stop them. There was too many of them.”

Connor’s heart went out to the lad. Only a year older than his sister, young John had tried to be the man of the cooper’s household since his father had been killed by the Normans five years earlier. Connor put a hand on his shoulder.

“You did right, John. It would have been foolish to defy an entire band of guards. It was good that you came to me.”

“They wouldn’t hurt Sarah, would they?” he asked. His voice broke, making him sound younger than his years.

“Nay, they wouldn’t dare hurt her if ‘tis the lady Ellen’s orders they’re following.” Connor had no idea if his optimistic words were true, but the boy looked relieved. “Come, we’ll go find her and straighten this out.”

“Will you talk to the lady Ellen directly?” John asked.

Connor began to lead the horse into the stable. At the boy’s words, he felt a tingle of awareness along his limbs. The image of Lady Ellen Wakelin’s golden eyes danced in his head.

“Aye, lad. I’ll talk to the lady Ellen directly.”




Chapter Three (#ulink_ef6ee837-2b33-5792-b787-a6081598d0ec)


Ellen tucked the long sleeves of her silk bliaut into the wristlets of her undergown. For a moment she wished she could strip off the elaborate finery and don a simple, coarse linen garment such as the one worn by the peasant girl working alongside her. The trailing dress and the heavy silver corselet that she wore atop it were not at all practical for hard labor. But donning rude clothing would not help her cause of showing these Saxons something of the civilized world beyond Lyonsbridge. By the time her father visited in the spring, she wanted the estate to be as smoothly run, the table to be as richly victualed, and the people to be as properly mannered as any back in Normandy. As the lady of the household, she would set the example.

“Will the table need polishing, too, milady?” the girl with her asked. They’d been rubbing oil into the two heavy wooden dining chairs that were reserved for the master and mistress of the household. Their carved backs had been thick with grime, but Ellen had to admit that the workmanship was as fine as any Norman craft.

“We’ll oil only the legs. The top must be scrubbed with sand.” Ellen stopped rubbing for a moment to look at her helper. “’Tis Sarah, is it not?”

“Aye, milady, Sarah.”

The slender blond girl’s eyes flickered briefly to Ellen’s face, then skittered away as if afraid that her mistress might cuff her at any moment. Ellen took pains to make her tone friendly. “You’re from the village, Sarah?”

“Aye, milady.”

They worked in silence for several minutes, before once again Ellen tried to engage the girl in conversation. “What family have you in the village, Sarah?”

The girl’s pale face flared with color. “She’s not been able to eat in days, milady. She’d be of little use here. She can hardly stand, much less work—” She broke off and looked up at Ellen, her eyes brimming.

Ellen frowned. “What are you talking about, girl?”

The girl’s tears spilled over. “Me mum. Sir William’s men said we were all to come here, no exception. But me mum’s got the wasting disease, and she’s took bad in this cold. Please don’t punish her, milady.”

Ellen straightened up from the chair she was working on and looked at the weeping girl in horror. “No one is going to punish your mother, child. Mon dieu, what a notion.”

“Begging your pardon, milady. I meant no impertinence, but Sir William said that ‘twas by your orders. He said she’d be whipped if she didn’t come to work today.”

Ellen felt a shiver of alarm. Surely there had been some kind of misunderstanding. In their zeal to please the new mistress, the guards may have been overly enthusiastic about rounding up the workers she’d requested. But whipping a sick old woman? She gave an uneasy laugh. “You must have misheard Sir William’s men, Sarah. There could have been no such talk of whipping.”

Sarah looked away. “Not his men, milady. ‘Twas Sir William himself who said it. Verily, I heard him meself.”

The girl appeared sharp-witted. Ellen could not completely discount her tale, but neither could she champion the word of a serf over that of the bailiff. The matter required further investigation.

“Who is caring for your mother now, Sarah?” she asked.

“She’s alone, milady. I’d not leave her, but the men forced me to come.”

“Then go to her. You’re finished here for the day, and you’re not to come back while she still needs you. If anyone bids you come, you tell them to speak with me.”

The girl’s tears had stopped, and she gave Ellen a piteously grateful smile.

“Run along,” Ellen told her. “I’ll visit you on the morrow to see how your mother fares.”

“Oh, milady,” Sarah gasped. She grasped Ellen’s hand with both of hers and made a quick curtsy, then turned and ran lightly across the dining room.

Ellen gazed after her, lost in thought. Her first impression of Sir William had not been favorable, and so far he’d done nothing to change that opinion. She considered him pompous and obsequious, but her cousin had appeared to be pleased with the accounting he’d given of the estate’s affairs. Still, if he was bullying her people, she wanted to know about it. Proper management of an estate was one thing, abuse was another.

She hadn’t seen the two people enter from the small door behind her and gave a start when one of them spoke.

“May we have permission to speak with your ladyship?”

It was the horse master, accompanied by a boy. Though his manner of address was more respectful than it had been the other day at the stables, he spoke forcefully, indicating that the request for permission was a meaningless formality. Nevertheless, after the news she had just heard from Sarah about ill treatment in the village, she was inclined to be tolerant.

“Good morrow, Master Brand.” It was easier speaking to him here in the castle than it had been at the stables. She felt more in control, though she couldn’t decide if it was because she was in her own home or because the gloom of the dining hall dimmed the intense blue of his eyes. She turned toward the boy with him and asked, “Is this lad your apprentice?”

Connor shook his head. “This is John Cooper. He’s asked my help in a certain matter about his family. Tell milady, John.”

The boy was looking at Ellen as if she were the Holy Virgin come to earth. He opened his mouth, but no speech emerged.

Ellen looked from John to Connor. “What matter?” she asked.

“It seems your men have taken the lad’s sister. He’s worried about her, with good cause.”

The tall Saxon had advanced toward her until he stood just on the other side of the chair she’d been polishing. That close, she could feel it again—the disconcerting force of the man. Since the age of twelve she’d had men fawning over her, petitioning for her hand, buzzing about her like bees at a flower. Yet this horse master, this servant who continued to treat her as if he had more important things to think about, made her knees grow weak like the most inexperienced of maids.

The boy with him finally found his voice. “Her name’s Sarah, milady. And she’s a good girl.”

“If your men have done the girl harm, there will be the devil to pay,” Connor added.

The square set of his jaw as he warned her did not detract from his attractiveness. Ellen felt infuriating flutters in her midsection. Sweet saints above, perhaps the man had cast an enchantment on her in the way he appeared to with his animals. She bit the tip of her tongue until the pain cleared the fog from her brain and she could manage a proper response. She could relieve the boy of his worry in short order, but first she felt as if she should make an effort to remind the stableman of his position in her household. “What affair is this of yours, horse master?” she asked coldly.

“Old John the Cooper is dead these past five years. Folks hereabouts are protective of his widow and children.”

She hesitated. Put like that, Master Brand’s interest didn’t seem so out of place, though she shouldn’t allow the master of her stables to be meddling in affairs between the castle guards and the villagers. She would no doubt do well to order Master Brand back to his horses, but she had the feeling he would not go easily. Finally she gave up trying to determine the propriety of his inquiry and said, “The girl was with me much of the morning. I’ve sent her home to take care of her mother.”

Young John’s chest sagged with relief. “Thank you, milady,” he said.

“’Tis fortunate that she’s safe and sound,” Connor said. “The surest way to trouble in the village is harassment of the womenfolk. I don’t know how you do things back in Normandy, but the men here won’t stand for it.”

He was lecturing her again. Ellen’s temper boiled over. She curled her fingers tightly over the carved back of the chair. “Master Brand, I believe we’ve had this conversation before. You’re a servant here. I’ll thank you to keep your advice on running Lyonsbridge to yourself. In fact, I’ll thank you to keep your opinions in general to yourself. Speak when spoken to, as befits your station.”

Connor did not seem the least bit impressed with her outburst. “You’ll find I can be of use to you, milady. If the boy had alarmed the other men in the village instead of coming to me, you wouldn’t have progressed well today in your cleaning. There are some who would rather strike out first and talk later. Even Sir William has taken advantage of my arbitration a time or two.”

“Sir William had little help when he first arrived, but now that my cousin and I are here with more of my father’s men—”

Connor interrupted her. “All the more reason to be careful. In general, the Saxons of Lyonsbridge are a peaceable sort, but the more soldiers about, the more chance for problems.”

Ellen tried to remember if any of her father’s retainers had ever spoken to him with such boldness, but she was sure Lord Wakelin would not put up with such behavior. “Keeping the peace at Lyonsbridge is Sir William’s concern, horse master, not yours. I think it would be best if you kept to your own dominion, which is the stable.”

Connor cocked his head as if considering further comment, but finally only nodded. A half smile played about his lips, which sparked Ellen’s temper once again.

“Where are your quarters in the castle?” she asked, seized with the sudden impulse to demote him to sleep in the rushes with the scrub boys.

“I don’t sleep in the castle. My home is the stables.”

Ellen’s eyes widened. “You sleep there?” In Normandy not even the lowliest stable boys slept with the animals.

His smile broadened. “Aye. Feel free to pay me a visit, milady.”

They’d both forgotten about the presence of the boy waiting behind Connor. He cleared his throat softly and Connor turned to him. “Run along, lad. Go to your mother and sister.”

John looked up at Ellen, uncertain. She nodded to him, and he turned and scampered away.

“It was my place to dismiss the lad, not yours,” Ellen pointed out.

“Aye. And that you just did, did you not?” Connor answered pleasantly.

The man was infuriating. There was no other word for it. She drew herself up and straightened her shoulders. “You’re dismissed, too, Master Brand. See that you have my horse saddled and ready for me tomorrow noon.”

“I’m at your service as always, milady,” he answered with a small bow, never taking his eyes from her face.

When he made no move, Ellen threw the rag she’d been clutching on the table and turned to leave. She could feel his gaze burning her back all the way across the hall.



Connor had a feeling that in spite of the lady Ellen’s imperious manner, she was looking forward to their next encounter as much as he. They had nothing in common and, in fact, much opposed. But their proximity struck sparks more surely than a smithy’s anvil. He’d wager a pretty penny that she felt it as strongly as he.

It was mad, of course. He hadn’t needed Martin’s reminder to tell him that any association, much less friendship, between a Norman noblewoman and a Saxon stable hand was absurd. But that didn’t stop him from tossing on his bed well into the night thinking about her. By the next morning he was tempted to leave one of the stable boys in charge and hie himself off to visit his brother at the abbey church. He had a premonition—a “sight”, his mother would have called it—that further meetings with Lady Ellen were going to end in trouble for them both.

He was still considering the wisdom of such cowardice when he saw her coming down the hill. She was earlier than promised, leaving him no time to flee, and he realized at once that he was glad.

He greeted her with a smile, but this time let her speak first.

She looked uncertain as to how to address him. Finally she said, “The sun has come out to warm us at last, it appears.”

“Aye. ‘Tis a fine day for a ride, milady. But forgive me, I’ve not yet saddled your mount.” She was wearing a green frock that made her coloring more striking than ever. Connor realized that he was staring to the point of rudeness. He turned toward the door of the stable. “I’ll just be a minute. Your Jocelyn is not a troublesome animal.”

One delicate black eyebrow went up. “Strange,” she said. “In Normandy the lads used to draw lots not to have to care for her. They said she was naturally wild.”

“All horses are naturally wild, as are all living things, for that matter. But they’ll respond to the right hand. You seem to ride her with no difficulty.”

“They said she was a one-woman mount. She responds to no other.”

“Ah.” Connor smiled. “I’ll saddle her for you, milady. Would you care to watch?”

She followed him into the shadowy recesses of the stable, a cavernous building with a double row of stalls on each side of a center aisle. “You’ve many horses, Master Brand,” she observed.

Connor slowed his pace so that he would not be walking in front of her. “No, milady, you have many horses. These animals belong to the Lord of Lyonsbridge. It’s always been so.” Connor kept his voice carefully even. He was not going to repeat his mistake of the previous day and rail on about Norman masters.

“Fine animals,” she said as they walked along the center stalls. “They’re thicker than ours.”

“Aye, and stronger.” He smiled at her. “I will refrain from saying that the animals mirror the Saxons themselves in comparison to the weaker Norman counterparts, because I’m determined not to anger milady today.”

She was standing in a shaft of sunlight that filtered in from a loft window on the far wall. In her leather riding gown she looked unattainably regal, but when she returned his smile, he felt it like a swift kick to his gullet. “Then I shall determine not to get angry,” she said. “And you may boast about your Saxons’ strength, if it pleases you. I made ample witness of it yesterday when we were cleaning the castle.”

“Hard work makes a man, we say.”

“Aye.” She appeared to be taking in his own strong arms and chest when she mused, almost to herself, “You, for example, would make two of my cousin.”

Connor had seen Sebastian Phippen touring the estate with Sir William. The Frenchman was tall, but reed slender, and his face looked white and pinched compared to the ruddy, broad faces of the Lyonsbridge residents. Connor did not, however, think it prudent to make such a comment about the new castellan, so he turned and continued on toward Jocelyn’s stall.

He stopped a couple of yards away and pointed to the animal. “Do you see the tenseness? She carries her head high, her tail tucked in. She waits to see who approaches. So talk to her and let her know. Softly.”

Ellen watched in wonder as he murmured gently to the animal and placed a hand on her neck. Her head lowered at once. “Watch how she licks her lips,” Connor said. “That means she’s ready to cooperate.”

He hoisted her expensive saddle to the horse’s back and tightened the cinches. The sleek animal didn’t so much as lift a hoof in protest.

“Mayhap she’s not as wild as I’d been told, horse master,” Ellen observed. “Mayhap my trainers back home were just telling tales.”

“Mayhap,” Connor said simply, then finished his task and stepped backward to lead the horse out of her stall.

“Can you give me directions to the cooper’s house?” Ellen asked.

“Aye, but.” He paused. “Milady, forgive me, but is it the custom in Normandy for maids to go about the countryside alone?”

Ellen laughed. “Nay. But I’m accustomed to doing as I please.”

Connor smiled. “Now that I believe, but I’d urge caution upon you. If you don’t think of yourself, think of the public weal. If aught happened to you, I trow your father would turn this land into a battleground.”

Her expression sobered, and she didn’t answer for a moment. Finally she said with a little pout, “’Tis vexing to be a woman.”

They’d walked out of the stable and both blinked at the sunlight. “Begging milady’s pardon,” Connor said, “but ‘tis not vexing to the rest of us.”

His sweeping glance over the length of her left no doubt as to the meaning of his comment. It was bolder than should have been allowed, but Ellen did not seem upset. In fact, her cheekbones tinged a sudden pink.

“Sir William says that order has been brought to Lyonsbridge,” Ellen said, ignoring Connor’s remark

Connor stiffened. “There’s a kind of order, aye. But that doesn’t mean you should be tempting the devil by giving him opportunity for mischief.”

“In Normandy they do say that the devil walks about here in England,” she said with an impish grin.

“You shouldn’t be tempting the devil nor anyone else,” Connor admonished, remaining serious. “If you’ve no escort today, I’ll take you to the cooper’s myself.”

He hadn’t intended to say any such thing, and the sudden light in her eyes at his offer set off danger signals deep in his head. As he’d told his brother, the lady Ellen had him muddled. The last thing he needed was more time in her company. But, he told himself as he quickly saddled Thunder, it would be worse if she ran into trouble her first week at Lyonsbridge. If she was so foolish as to travel abroad without a protector, he’d have to see to it that nothing untoward occurred.

It was his duty, he continued to assure himself as they set off together on the road to the village. When he had seen her safely back to the castle, he’d ride to find Martin and insist that the friar call on Lady Ellen and her cousin to explain that she needed to have an escort at all times.

He would ride with her just this once, admiring how well she sat her horse, how straight were the shapely lines of her back. He would ride with her just this one day.

Ellen couldn’t remember when she’d been so utterly conscious of another person. When he moved, making the leather of his saddle creak, her ears perked as if he had shouted. When he looked at her, his bronzed skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he squinted from the sun, the glance felt like a touch of his hand.

It was a glorious day, mild and sunny, yet she couldn’t relax and enjoy her communion with her horse and the road as she was wont. Instead she sat stiffly, waiting for him. to speak, wondering if she should say something first.

As the silence stretched past the point of comfort, in the same instant they both spoke at once.

“Milady—”

“Master Brand—”

Then they laughed together and each sat a little looser in the saddle. “The lady speaks first,” Connor said.

“I was just going to ask you about the family—the Coopers. You said the father is dead?”

“Aye. Killed in one of the last skirmishes before the peace.”

“He was killed by Normans, then?”

“Aye, leaving two children and a widow with child—children, as it turned out, for she gave birth to twins.”

Ellen was silent for a long moment, then said quietly, “Twins! She was left with four little ones, then, and the people here have long memories.”

“You can’t ask people to forget their loved ones, milady, their husbands and brothers and fathers.”

His face had hardened, and Ellen was suddenly sorry she had brought up the topic of the cooper. “Of course not,” she agreed quickly. “But I daresay there are wives and mothers aplenty mourning their menfolk back in Normandy. That’s why we must all be glad the peace is finally here and endeavor to keep it.”

“Amen to that,” he answered, and fell silent. But a pall had been cast over the bright day.




Chapter Four (#ulink_f75d4c21-a9a6-550a-8928-1fe262c425be)


The village that had grown up around Lyonsbridge Castle was still crude, especially by Norman standards. For someone who had spent much of the previous two years at the court of King Louis in Paris, the primitive conditions of England were barely tolerable. In dismay she looked up and down the dirt path that ran past the rough homes.

“The Coopers live at the far end of town, near the abbey,” Connor said, slowing his horse. He appeared to notice her reaction. “In spite of your faith in the benefits of the Norman occupation, up to now the war has brought little but hardship to these people.”

Ellen remained silent and let Jocelyn lag behind as the horse master’s mount picked its way along the street. Strangely, though it was midday, there was no one about. Just ahead, a shutter banged, and she thought she saw a head duck inside.

“Where is everyone?” she asked finally.

Connor smiled. “At their windows, I suspect. Watching us through whatever crack they may find.”

“But why don’t they meet us openly? I’d greet them if they’d show themselves.”

“I’m afraid the people of Lyonsbridge have learned that it’s safer to stay out of the way of their Norman masters.”

Ellen remembered the girl Sarah’s words of yesterday about the threat to whip her mother. It was time to get to the bottom of this. “Why are they afraid of us?” she asked directly.

Connor pulled his mount to a halt and looked at her, surprised. “You yourself said you could not blame them for keeping the memories of husbands and sons killed.”

“But the conflict is now well past.” There was a rustling behind the straw door of the house where they’d stopped. Ellen looked toward it expectantly, but no one emerged.

“’Tis but a different kind of conflict, milady. Is the ant not afraid of the boot even though it is left to scurry about at will?”

Once again it occurred to Ellen that the man talked more like a courtier than a peasant. Her curiosity about him grew with each encounter.

“I’d not like to think that my people live in fear of being crushed like ants. ‘Tis a situation we must mend.”

Connor seemed about to offer a comment, but after a long moment, he shook his head and silently signaled to his horse to resume walking. “We’re almost there, milady. I daresay the Coopers will be fair astonished to have you on their doorstep.”

Ellen allowed her horse to follow. “I told Sarah yesterday that I’d be visiting.”

Though Ellen’s mother had been dead these past ten years, she vividly remembered having to accompany her on visits to the tenants on her father’s estates in Normandy. It was one of the distasteful obligations of nobility, she’d decided early on as she’d stared uncomfortably at the dirty peasant children and tried to keep her fine embroidered skirts from being soiled in their huts.

Connor stopped in front of a small cottage. Attached to one end was a pen that held a fat sow and what seemed like dozens of squealing piglets. Ellen watched the squirming creatures with a smile.

“John was too young to take over his father’s trade,” Connor said, nodding his head toward the animals. “The family has bartered piglets for their needs.”

“’Twas fortunate they were left with such a fine breeder.”

He smiled slightly. “The Normans did not leave old John Cooper’s family with a roof over their heads, much less livestock. The house and the pig were gifts from the village so the family could survive.”

Ellen turned her head to look back at the street they’d just traveled. “It doesn’t seem that these people would have anything extra to spare.”

“We take care of our own,” Connor said briefly. “We’re not totally helpless in defeat” He dismounted and tied his horse’s reins to the top rail of the pigpen.

Without waiting for his assistance, Ellen jumped to the ground, then followed his example in tying up her mount. He turned toward her, surprised. “I’m not totally helpless either, horse master,” she said smugly. She wasn’t sure exactly why, but she wanted to impress him. Unlike any other servant she’d ever known, he made her feel as if he was not only her equal, but her superior. Older, wiser and more worthy.

Well, older he may be, and wise with horses, mayhap. After all, it was his position in life. But it was an absurd notion that a Saxon servant, even a freeholding one, could think of himself as equal to a Wakelin.

He glanced briefly at the knot she’d tied, then nodded, his face impassive, and gestured toward the house. “We’d best knock, milady. I daresay they’ll be bashful enough about opening to us.”

Ellen thought back to her mother’s obligatory tenant visits. If memory served, when Ellen and her mother had arrived, the families were always awaiting them outside their doors, bowing and scraping. “Then please announce me, Master Brand,” she said.

Connor took two long steps to the thatched door and knocked, rattling the flimsy structure. After a moment, it opened and John Cooper peered shyly out, his eyes wide.

“Lady Ellen has come to see to the welfare of your mother,” Connor told the boy.

“Sarah said she was to come, but I misbelieved her.”

“Well, she’s here, so let us in, lad,” Connor said with a smile. “Your mother is abed?”

John nodded. “Sarah’s with her.” He pulled the door wide to allow them to enter.

Ellen resisted the impulse to sweep up her skirts so they’d not be soiled as she moved into the house, but to her amazement, the interior of the home appeared to be immaculate. The dirt floor was raked and free of debris. The wooden table in the center of the room was spotless. Against the far wall a cupboard held neatly stacked dishes. The odor of rich pork stew wafted from a pot that bubbled over the fireplace. The girl Sarah sat in a small chair next to a cot in the corner of the room. She stood up quickly and made a little curtsy.

Ellen smiled at her, then shifted her gaze to the bed, where a thin, gray-haired woman was struggling to sit up. “Please be at rest, Mistress Cooper,” Ellen said quickly. “I’ve not come to put you to exertion.”

The woman continued her efforts for another moment, then evidently realized that her frail body would not respond. She collapsed back against the straw mattress. “I’m sorry, milady,” she said faintly.

For the first time in many months, Ellen had a wave of longing for her mother. She’d had it often in the years after her death, but the past couple of years at court had been so full and exciting that the pain of her absence had subsided. Her mother would have. known what to do for the cooper’s widow. She would have had herbs for her body, and words for her spirit with exactly the right combination of encouragement and incitement.

Ellen sighed and walked across the room toward the woman. “I’ve come to see how you’re faring, Mistress Cooper, not to disturb your rest.”

“May God bless you for such kindness, milady. My daughter said you treated her gently yesternoon,” the woman said, her watery smile echoing the one Sarah herself had given Ellen yesterday as she’d clutched her hand in gratitude.

“You have two fine children,” Ellen said.

“Thank you, milady. But my blessings are great. I have four.”

At the direction of the woman’s fond gaze, Ellen turned and for the first time noticed two smaller children, scarcely five years of age, standing stiffly in the dark corner opposite, still as statues, their hands tightly joined. They had identical dresses and cropped blond hair, and Ellen couldn’t tell if they were lads or girls.

She moved toward them. Neither one moved. “What are your names?” Ellen asked.

“They’re Abel and Karyn,” John supplied, still standing near the door. “They were the names my father had picked before he—” he broke off, then started in again. “Abel if it be male and Karyn for a lass. As it turned out, there was one of each.”

“Good morrow, Abel and Karyn,” Ellen greeted them with a smile. The two smaller children remained frozen.

“Born a month after their father’s death,” Connor added, which dimmed Ellen’s smile.

“As I say, milady, I’ve been greatly blessed,” the woman behind her said, but as she ended the sentence, she broke into a paroxysm of coughing.

‘Ellen turned back to her in alarm. The coughs seemed to rattle every part of the woman’s fragile -body. Sarah stopped staring at Ellen and dropped to her mother’s side, reaching for a rag that lay behind her and bringing it up to her mother’s mouth so she could cough into it.

“What has been done for her?” Ellen asked.

“’Tis the cold weather, milady,” Sarah said, looking up apologetically. “If the day is fine, we’ll take her into the sun later and she’ll be some better.”

“She should have a tonic for that cough.”

“Aye; milady,” Sarah agreed, but offered nothing further. Her mother’s body continued to be wracked with silent spasms.

“I suspect the family has not wanted to ask about medicine because they have not the coin to purchase any,” Connor explained.

“’Tis worse these three days past,” John said. “I would’ve told you if it kept up another day or two, Master Brand.”

Connor nodded, evidently finding nothing rare in the fact that a stable master would be the one the boy would come to in distress. The man had an air of selfconfidence and authority that went beyond his post, Ellen thought once again.

“She must have medicine. I’ll ask Sir William to see to it.” She walked to the bed and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached over to put her hand on the widow’s shoulder. The woman’s lips had turned white and tears leaked from each closed eye, but the spell appeared to be passing.

Sarah looked up from her kneeling position, the same grateful smile on her face. “Thank you, milady.”

John looked doubtful. “Sir William will like not being bothered with such a matter, milady.”

“Sir William will like what I tell him to like,” Ellen said. There were several long moments of silence as the widow’s coughs continued to subside, turning into relaxed, deep breaths.

“You’ve calmed her, milady,” Sarah said, awe in her voice.

Rather self-consciously, Ellen withdrew her hand from the woman’s shoulder. She looked around the cottage, suddenly feeling out of place. “I believe she wore herself to sleep with her coughing, child.”

Sarah shook her head. “Nay, often when she starts in like that it lasts nigh on forever. ‘Twas you who calmed her.”

“The girl’s right.” Connor had walked over to crouch beside the twins and put his arms around them. “I’ve seen the spells last an hour or more with nothing to stop them.”

“Look, she’s sleeping,” John added, his tone as awed as his sister. It was true. The widow’s breast rose and fell in the even breathing of slumber.

Ellen gave a small, uncomfortable laugh. “Then mayhap we should leave her to rest.”

Connor stood, lifting a twin in each arm. The two children had not made a sound since she and Connor had entered the cottage, but secure in the horse master’s long arms, they each ventured a smile. There was an unfamiliar melting sensation inside Ellen’s chest. She walked over to the trio and asked softly, “Which one is Karyn and which is Abel? Will you tell me your names now?”

The child in Connor’s right arm ducked his head and said in an almost inaudible voice, “Abel.” Then he unfurled a tiny arm from where it was clasped against Connor’s side and pointed around the horse master’s broad chest to his sister. “Karyn,” he said.

The little girl would not look at Ellen. “Mayhap Karyn will tell me her name herself,” she suggested.

“Karyn will hear you, milady, but she doesn’t speak,” Connor told her.

“She was struck dumb,” John explained. “But my brother talks for both of them.”

The girl lay her head on Connor’s shoulder and at last looked up at Ellen. Her eyes were light crystal blue, her features tiny and perfect. Ellen was smitten. Without thinking, she reached for her, but Karyn clung to Connor’s shoulder. “What do you mean, struck dumb?” Ellen asked, dropping her arms and stepping back.

She’d addressed the question to John, but the boy merely exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Sarah and remained silent.

“Me mum says ‘twas a sign from God, to make her special like,” Sarah said. She made the sign of the cross and her brother did likewise.

Ellen looked back at the child. With her blond curls wreathing her face, she looked like one of the cherubs painted on the ceilings of the grand churches back home. “Mayhap your mother is right,” she said.

Connor gave each of the children a final squeeze and set them down. “Are you ready to go, milady?” he asked.

Ellen nodded. She was feeling shaky inside, as if she’d not had food in overlong, though she’d eaten well that morning. She turned to Sarah. “I promise that you’ll have a tonic for your mother by this afternoon. I’ll come again in two days to see that it’s having some effect.”

All the children, even the twins, bobbed their thanks, and Ellen turned to leave, with Connor following behind. When she emerged into the fresh air, it felt as if she’d been inside for a long time, though the total stay in the cottage had surely been only minutes.

This time she let Connor help her mount. Neither spoke as they made their way back through the village and out onto the road. Finally Ellen said, “They are a special family, are they not?”

“Aye. You saw her in a weakened state, but Agnes Cooper has single-handedly raised extraordinary children.”

They rode abreast. His big horse swayed easily next to hers. “A remarkable woman, I trow,” Ellen agreed. “But she’s had some help, it appears. The boy seems to look to you for guidance.”

“John’s a good lad,” was all he said in answer.

After several more moments of silence she asked, “Do you take such an interest in all the villagers, horse master?”

He looked at her with that amused smile she was beginning to recognize. “Surely ‘tis not against Norman law for neighbors to help one another?”

“Of course not.” It was infuriating how he managed to skirt her question, how he refused to satisfy her curiosity about him, which seemed to burn brighter the more time she spent with him. She would have to be more direct than her gentility would normally allow. “I find myself pondering the nature of your relationship to these village folk. Does your family live here?”

“I have no family left, milady, other than my brother Martin, with whom you’re already acquainted.”

“But you grew up here?” she persisted.

“Hereabouts.”

She gave it up. If this strange manner of servant didn’t want to reveal more of his background, of what concern was it to her? But the frustration still stung. She spurred her horse into a gallop, expecting to leave him in her dust, but somehow his horse managed to move at the exact same instant as hers, keeping them abreast.

“Do you favor a race, Master Brand?” she called to him.

He grinned back at her. “I’m escorting you, milady. I go where you go. I’ll not leave your side.”

“We’ll see about that,” she shouted with a laugh, flicking the reins against Jocelyn’s neck. She knew it was all the urging her mount needed to stretch out into a pace that was difficult for most others to maintain.

His horse didn’t miss a stride. Side by side the two animals raced up the road, scattering dirt and pebbles in their wake like a minor dust storm. It seemed they’d scarcely begun when suddenly Lyonsbridge Castle loomed into view over a small hill. Ellen reined in and Connor’s horse slowed in tandem.

“We’re here already.” Her tone was disappointed.

“Aye, milady. ‘Tis a short journey at such speed.”

Ellen wrinkled her nose. “I wasn’t trying to win,” she said.

There was that mocking smile again. It quirked the corners of his mouth in a most annoying fashion. “I wasn’t,” she repeated. “And, anyway, ‘tis easier with a regular saddle.”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Surely milady doesn’t ride astride?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I did in Normandy when my father and my chaperons weren’t around to see.”

“I imagine your mother cautioned you against such unladylike behavior.”

“My mother died when I was but ten years of age,” she said, then immediately regretted the confidence. The man had told her nothing of himself, but now had her trusting him with this most sensitive detail of her life’s history.

A shadow crossed his face. “I’m sorry. I venture to say that she’d be proud to see the lovely lady her daughter has become.”

It was another of his totally inappropriate comments, but in spite of herself, Ellen felt a flush of pleasure.

They were almost to the stables. Connor moved his horse ahead and pulled it up neatly next to the fence. By the time Ellen reached his side, he’d dismounted and was ready to help her down, in spite of the fact that she’d dismounted without assistance back in the village.

“I’d not have you break your neck within sight of your father’s castle, milady,” he explained, holding up his arms, but his smile was no longer mocking. His blue eyes looking up at her seemed younger. The guarded look was gone, as was the insolence. For a moment she wished that she and this horse master were simply a man and a maid like any other, free to ride the countryside and laugh and tease.

Shaking the notion from her head, she slid into his arms. He smelled not of horse, but of fresh straw and something more tangy, perhaps mint. His hands clasped her waist firmly and he set her on the ground, rather than letting her drop. They lingered there for just an instant, then he stepped back and, for the first time in their acquaintance, made a slight bow. It was almost as if he, too, felt the need to remind them both of their respective positions.

“Thank you for the escort, Master Brand,” she said after a moment. “Next time mayhap I’ll ask to use one of your saddles and we’ll have a true race.”

But as soon as he stepped away from her, his face had changed back to its old expression, and it appeared his thoughts were once again on his villager friends. “If you do send the tonic to the widow Cooper, it will be a gesture looked on kindly by the rest of the populace,” he said.

Ellen felt a touch of pique at the abrupt distance in his tone. She realized that she’d wanted him to banter with her. She suspected that Connor Brand, in spite of his servant garb, could offer gallantries that would rival any of the courtiers in Europe.

“The tonic,” he prodded gently when she didn’t reply.

“I don’t need to be reminded of my duties by my horse master,” she said finally. “’Twas I who chose to go into the village today. I promised the widow her tonic, and she shall have it forthwith.”

The intensity of his eyes dimmed as he gave another light bow. “By your ladyship’s leave,” he said, reaching around her to grasp Jocelyn’s reins. “I’ll see that your mount is well combed down this morning after her run.”

Leaving her standing where he himself had placed her in the dirt of the yard, he led her horse away without looking back. She stood watching until the man and animal disappeared into the cavernous stable.

All the way back up the hill to the castle, she worked to soothe her rising temper. He’d done nothing untoward. He’d even bowed this time, as befitted his station. But she knew as certainly as she knew her own age, that there was nothing subservient about Master Brand and never would be.

And perhaps the most annoying thing of all was the knowledge that, contrary to Master Brand’s assertion, her mother would not have been proud of her at all this day. For after the exhilaration of their ride together, until Master Brand reminded her, all thought of the widow Cooper’s tonic had gone totally out of Ellen’s head.

Connor knocked with his fist on the huge slab of wood that guarded the Abbey of St. John. The gesture made scarcely a sound. He pulled his knife from his belt, intending to use the hilt to announce his arrival with more authority, but before he could do so, the big door creaked open. A tall monk, thin even in his robes, smiled at him and said, “Welcome, Connor.”

Brother Augustine was older than Connor by a score of years and had always seemed to him to be among the wiser of the brothers who spent their tedious days and nights in holy contemplation. If Connor were ever in need of a spiritual counselor, he might choose Brother Augustine.

But it was not a spiritual matter that had brought him to the abbey this day. “Good day, Brother. You are well, I trust?”

“By God’s grace,” the monk answered, making the cross.

“Have you seen my bro-ah, Father Martin?”

The monk nodded briskly, causing the sunshine to gleam across his totally bald head. “Your brother is at the church. In the sacristy, I believe. The new masters have decided to refurbish the chapel up at the castle, and he’s trying to decide what needs to be taken there.”

Connor thanked the monk and made his way across the abbey courtyard to the stone church at the opposite end from the gate. He found his brother as the monk had predicted, seated on the stone floor of the sacristy, sorting through a box of silver vessels used to administer the sacraments.

“So now the Normans want to take over God’s possessions, as well as ours,” Connor observed as he walked over to him.

“Everything is God’s possession,” his brother argued quietly, “be it housed in His holy place or in a humble hut.”

“Or in a Norman castle,” Connor added dryly.

“Aye.”

“Are you going there today?”

“As soon as I finish here. You may help me transport some of this, if you will.”

Connor wrinkled his face in a scowl. “’Twould sit ill. These things belong in the church.”

“They’ll be in a holy chapel.”

“But no longer accessible to the people, only to those the Normans choose to invite.”

Father Martin sighed and struggled a bit to boost himself to his feet. “Leave it be, Connor. ‘Tis not something you’ll miss, after all. You won’t be taking sacraments at either place.”

Connor bent to help his brother lift the heavy box back into a chest. “Nevertheless, I’d as soon not be a party to the looting of God’s church, if you can find other assistance. But I’ve come to ask a favor of you.”

Father Martin lifted his eyebrows, aware, as was his brother, that Connor Brand asked favors of no man.

Connor hesitated. Next time, she’d said. She’d promised that the next time they rode together, it would be a contest. Indeed. He was afraid the true contest would not be between their two mounts, but between his own reason and his unruly impulses. When she’d dropped into his arms at the end of their ride, it had been all he could do to keep from clasping her closer. The urge had been that strong, against all good sense. The lass had bewitched him, and he simply couldn’t afford to succumb to the spell.

“What would you have of me?” Father Martin asked as the silence stretched out.

“’Tis not for me, really,” Connor said, looking away from his brother. “’Tis for the safety of the lady herself.”

Father Martin’s eyes gleamed. “I assume you’re speaking of the lady Ellen?”

“Aye. You must tell her and her cousin that she needs an escort if she’s to travel around the countryside.”

“Are you hoping for the post?”

“Lord, no. I’m hoping to avoid having to leave my own duties to nursemaid her, as I was forced to today.”

“Ah.” Father Martin slowly unrolled the sleeves of his robe, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye. “Did you find the duty onerous, then?”

Connor’s face reddened. “You may well guess that I did not, brother. But you yourself warned me about the dangers of such proximity.”

The amusement faded from the priest’s eyes. “Aye, brother, I did. I do. And I shall speak to the lady myself today.”

Connor nodded, his face stiff. “You’ll not tell her that ‘twas I who sent you?”

His brother’s voice became gentle. “Nay, brother. I’ll not tell her.”

“I’m in your debt, Martin,” Connor said. He cleared his throat awkwardly, then turned toward the door saying, “I’d best get back.”

Father Martin’s eyes were troubled as he stood watching his brother until his tall form had disappeared through the door back to the courtyard.




Chapter Five (#ulink_444220bd-ee12-5071-93fc-07850ae2894c)


Father Martin’s words had not had the desired effect Two days following their ride to the village, Lady Ellen appeared once again at the stables, alone.

Connor had two of the village boys helping him to repair a stretch of rotten fencing in back of the stable. Both the boys stopped work to stare at Ellen as she approached, and Connor found himself hard-pressed not to follow their example.

“Master Brand,” she called. “I’ve come for our race.”

The lads looked up at Connor in wonder. He tried to keep his reply casual, belying the sudden acceleration of his pulses. “Good morrow, milady.”

Heedless of the mud, she made her way around the corner of the stable toward where they were working. “Are you up to the challenge, horse master?” she asked with a smile and a defiant tilt of her head.

Connor took in a deep breath. “I’m in the middle of fence mending today, milady. I thought you were going to find another escort for your travels abroad.”

She stopped a couple of yards from him. “I was well satisfied with my escort of the other day. I’d engage his services again.”

“Jem and me’ll be fine by ourselves, Master Connor,” said one of the lads. “’Tis an easy enough task for two.” As if to prove his words, he single-handedly hoisted in place the final railing.

Ellen clapped her hands. “There, you see? Your crew no longer needs you. You’re dismissed. And it’s a fine day for a ride.”

In this, at least, he had to agree with her. He’d not ridden in two days, separated by two nights of restless tossing in his bed. It would be good to feel Thunder underneath him and go hurtling across a green expanse of lush English countryside.

He met her eyes. They shone with challenge. “Very well, milady,” he said. “We’ll have our race.”

And he’d not be responsible for the consequences.



They’d agreed to visit the cooper’s family first, and during this visit Ellen felt much more at ease, though perhaps it was simply the contrast between the friendly warmth of the cottage and the icy tension of the ride there. She’d seen yet another side of the horse master. He was neither the audacious servant nor the charmer she’d seen in glimpses. Instead, he appeared to be almost angry, holding himself in readiness against some unknown foe.

But as soon as they entered Agnes Cooper’s home, his demeanor changed. The twins came running to them, and he scooped them up in a double embrace. Sarah’s pale face flushed at his greeting and John’s brightened with a big smile.

To Ellen’s surprise, the widow was sitting up in a rocker by the fireplace. “You are better today, mistress?” she asked her.

“Aye, milady. No doubt thanks to the physic you sent.” She struggled to stand up, but Ellen motioned for her to remain where she was.

“I’m so pleased to hear it,” she said.

“Sir William himself brought it, milady,” John added. “Everyone in the village is talking about it.”

Ellen was gratified, though a little surprised to hear that the bailiff had been so diligent in personally carrying out her instructions. “We shall see you continue to get it until you’re on your feet again,” she told the woman.

She hadn’t noticed that one of the twins had crawled out of Connor’s arms and crept up beside her. The child was carefully tracing the gold-embroidered pattern on Ellen’s overskirt with a single tiny finger.

“Karyn, leave the lady’s dress,” Sarah admonished.

The girl looked straight up, her blue eyes meeting Ellen’s with a tentative smile. Ellen felt that same warm rush again. “It’s fine,” she said. She crouched down and spread her skirt out in front of her. “You see?” she said to the child. “It’s a dragon, but it’s not a fierce one like the creatures at the ends of the earth. Mine’s a friendly one, don’t you think?”

The girl bobbed her head, her eyes still fixed on Ellen’s face.

“You can trace its tail, if you like.” She grasped the girl’s hand so the two could feel the pattern together. Karyn turned her attention to the skirt and carefully followed each bump of the beast’s tail, then she looked up again at Ellen, her smile brilliant.

Ellen had a strong urge to hug her, but she wasn’t sure how the embrace would be received, so she merely said, “I’ll bring you a dragon of your own one of these days.” When the girl’s eyes registered some alarm, she added, “A wooden one, not a real one, cherie. Another friendly one, like the one on my skirt.”

Once again the girl looked up, and this time her eyes held something akin to adoration.

“She says thank you, mum,” said her twin brother, who still stood clasped in the kneeling Connor’s arms.

Karyn nodded a silent agreement.

It was heartbreaking to think that such a perfect little creature could not speak for herself. Ellen wondered what could have caused the affliction. She’d been “struck dumb,” they’d said. Had she once spoken, then? Of course, Ellen knew that such things occurred, and that sometimes it was best not to inquire too deeply into the why of it, lest it be a witch’s spell. She couldn’t imagine that even a witch could be so evil as to wish harm on a sweet little child such as Karyn Cooper.

“You are good to us, milady,” the widow said. “As soon as I feel better, I’ll be bringing up a pork cake for your table.”

Ellen blinked. She couldn’t ever remember a tenant in Normandy offering food for the master’s table. The idea seemed almost absurd. It was obvious that this peasant family had so little, while her father’s household wanted for nothing. She didn’t know how to reply.

Connor saved her from doing so. “Widow Cooper’s pork cake is famous in the shire,” he said, smiling first at the older woman, then at Ellen. “’Twill be a rare treat for you.”

The widow seemed pleased with the praise, but looked noticeably more tired than when they’d entered the cottage. “I should get me mum back into bed,” Sarah murmured, her eyes downcast.

Ellen straightened up quickly. “Of course you should, child. I didn’t come to tire her further. We’ll take our leave, Master Brand.”

She looked at Connor, who gave little Abel a final squeeze and stood. She’d almost forgotten about him for several moments as she spoke with the tenant family, but now, looking at how his tall form dwarfed the shadowy cottage, she felt a stir of excitement. They’d yet to have their promised race.

After John and Sarah refused their offer to help get the widow back into bed, they said their goodbyes and left. Once again, Ellen was struck with a sense of freedom as she emerged from the gloomy cottage into the sun. What would it be like to live with five people in such a tiny place? she wondered for the first time in her life. But her thoughts did not linger long with the question.

As on their first visit, there had been no one to greet them when they’d ridden through town, but on the return trip, Ellen could spot a villager here and there, usually behind their cottages tending gardens. None were near enough to hail, so they rode through without stopping. If any of them thought it unusual to see the lady of the land riding astride a big horse, her skirts bunched up about her, at least none was rude enough to stare.

“I have to give you the right of it, milady,” Connor told her as they left the village. “You ride that saddle almost as well as a man, in spite of the difference in raiments.”

Ellen’s eyes flashed gold. “Almost as well, Master Brand? Now there’s a challenge if I’ve ever heard one.”

“I didn’t mean it so,” he replied with an easy smile. But he didn’t withdraw his words.

“I can see I’ll have to convince you with deed rather than word.”

“You’d fancied a race, as I understood it.”

“Aye, but since I know not the countryside, you’ll have to set the course, which gives you the advantage.”

He drew up his horse and stood in the stirups to survey the landscape. The road from the village back to Lyonsbridge was gently hilly, but to the west lay. a stretch of meadow that was mostly flat and even. He pointed in that direction. “We can cross Anders’ Lea for nigh on five miles without an obstacle. ‘Twould seem fair enough to you?”

It was the charming Connor she was glimpsing today, but as he indicated their route, his expression challenged. There was something between them, she and this horse master. It wanted resolution. She needed to defeat him at his own game and put this to rest once and for all.

“Aye,” she said, gathering Jocelyn’s reins firmly in hand. “Give the word.”

“Nay, ‘tis always the privilege of the fairest lady to start the race.” His eyes lingered on her face as he spoke.

Ellen tamped down the knot that rose in her throat. It was past time to put this foolishness over a servant behind her. She’d show up the man at his own mastery, then she’d go back to concentrating on putting her father’s castle to rights, which was, after all, the reason she was here.

“Then let it begin,” she said with a toss of her head.

Before the last word even left her lips, both horses had sprung into action, moving smoothly, side by side, the sleek bay mare and the heavier black stallion, hooves reverberating hollowly on the grassy terrain.

They rode in silence for several minutes, riders as well as horses lost in the sheer enjoyment of speed and freedom. Ellen clutched Jocelyn’s back between her legs, ignoring the indecorous bit of hose showing at her ankles, and laughed with delight. They neared a middle section of the meadow where the grass grew higher, but Jocelyn was undaunted by the weeds whipping around her legs. Connor’s horse slowed slightly, and she pulled ahead.

“I’ll see you at the finish, horse master,” she shouted back at him, her smile taunting.

He appeared totally relaxed in his saddle and returned her smile with a small wave of his hand.

The course was longer than she’d anticipated, and she could tell that Jocelyn was tiring, but the noble animal kept running at full speed. She’d not stop until Ellen bade her, even if she exhausted herself.

Less than a quarter mile distant, Ellen could see that the meadow ended abruptly at a grove of mature oak trees. She smiled to herself as she realized that the victory she’d sought was at hand. “Just a little more, girl,” she whispered under her breath.

Suddenly Connor’s horse flashed by, nearly twice the speed of hers, knocking away her breath like a blow to the stomach. She almost lost her grasp on the reins, but Jocelyn stayed on course and did not slow her pace. Nevertheless, when they reached the trees, Connor was already there and dismounted, his face annoyingly impassive, standing ready to catch her mount’s reins.

As Jocelyn obligingly pulled up, her flanks heaving, Ellen sat in her saddle, stunned.

“’Twas a good race, milady,” Connor said after a moment. “You led me a chase.”

“You were well behind,” Ellen said in disbelief.

“Nay. I was but pacing.”

She shook her head. “’Twas not a distance to be paced. Jocelyn rode full out the entire way.”

“That was your mistake. A slower middle makes for a lightning-fast ending.”

His tone was not mocking, which helped her pride. Grudgingly, she said, “’Twas lightning fast, in truth. I’ve never seen such speed.”

Connor allowed himself a small smile. “Thunder’s a good mount.”

“I’d like to ride him sometime.”

Connor nodded. “I’d not trust him with many, but your ladyship rides well.”

She sensed that the compliment was genuine, and one that he gave rarely. It pleased her immensely.

He walked a couple steps, leading both horses into the shade of the oak grove. “Would my lady dismount a few moments so they can rest?” he asked.

“Aye.” She swung her leg over her mount’s back in a most unladylike fashion and twisted around to slide to the ground. Connor watched her, an odd expression on his face.

“You move like a nimble young lad,” he said after a moment.




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