Free Terri Brisbin by The Betrothal Page B

of…manure to it the first week I worked in your stables.” She felt their scrutiny and smiled. “’Twas my job then.”
    Orrick laughed at the situation and they all joined in. “And what think you of the layout? Is it like your own?”
    “Nay, Lord Orrick,” she began before he stopped her.
    “As I explained to Braden, one of my eccentricities is my permission to use given names and not stand on ‘lord this’ or ‘lady that.’ If you have no objections?”
    Such freedom existed here. The lord moved and lived among his people, his wife was forthright and outspoken, and all seemed right with it. Joanna’s weeks at court had been exhausting for her as she tried to remember the correct titles and order of precedence that one lord had over another. With little else but the pomp to cling to, her parents would never have allowed this familiarity among their servants and serfs.
    “None, my…none, Orrick.” He smiled at her with such kindness that she wanted to cry once more. Joanna swallowed the tears and answered the questions about the gardens. “Myown is evenly split between cooking and healing herbs. But with your other estates pooling their resources, you may not need to do that here.”
    “And Wenda’s adds to ours, as well,” Margaret explained.
    “As Gwanwyn will do at Wynwydd,” Braden said. “She is known in both Wales and England for her healing abilities.”
    He still would not look at her as he spoke. The practice continued as the meal progressed and they talked on a range of topics including the king’s recent second marriage, the possibility of being called to fight for their liege lord and the past glories of the Plantagenet kings.
    Finally they finished the meal and Orrick offered to show her an intriguing family secret about the altar’s design. She walked at his side to the front of the church as he explained the intricate pattern carved into the main stone of the altar.
    “He feared that he had ruined any chance with you,” Orrick whispered. “He asked for our assistance in taking this first step.”
    “Braden is afraid?” she asked, shaking her head. “He is angry and frightening and stubborn and…”
    “Afraid, Joanna. This marriage to you means more to him than simply a wife and possible heirs. Whatever has happened to his family in the past has scarred him. His anger hides much of the real person inside him.” Orrick outlined the carvings of his, his wife’s and his children’s names. “Something deep drives him and all he will tell me is that you are the one he must wed. And it must be accomplished soon.”
    “Do you know of his family, Orrick? Did he tell you of them?”
    Orrick shook his head. “Nay, he would not. He would only say that there is more to know.”
    Joanna thought on his words. What did he hide? Could she bear it? Would she live through it?
    “You were still ill when you came here. I know that now. I think your illness made you believe things that you otherwise would not have. I think it was the fever that made you run away. If you had been thinking clearly, none of this, or most of this, would not have happened.” Orrick took her hand and clasped it in his. “He is not a warlock, Joanna. I think you know that somewhere inside of you, but the fear built by that fever’s distortions is keeping its hold on you.”
    “But, is he evil, Orrick? Are the stories true?”
    He was correct—a part of her recognized that the magical powers attributed to Braden were fabrications of scared minds.
    “All men are both good and evil, Joanna. And so much of the balance depends on those around him.”
    “Orrick?” Margaret called out to him. “I wish to retire.”
    “Joanna, these old eyes see a man molded by his family’s misfortunes, surrounded by rumors and tales, who is searching for a way for his name and family to survive. He has pinned his hopes on you. Are you strong enough to be the woman he needs?”
    Orrick held out his arm and Joanna placed her