now?”
This was why Stephen had come. Not to inquire about Lyssa or relay concern over their safety. Marian backed up a step; Stephen’s hands fell away.
“’Twas a long time ago. You need have no concern—”
“I believe I do.” He waved a hand at the hut. “You deserve far better than a hut outside the walls of your uncle’s keep. I remember a girl filled with gaiety and asense of adventure, but the woman barely smiles. I fear our liaison caused your downward change of fortune. What happened after I left you?”
Marian quelled the panic before it could rise. Stephen didn’t know about the twins. He begged answers she refused to give.
“The life I now have is of mine own choosing. Let it be, Stephen. Best you go back to the keep before you are missed.”
She fled the man and the memories. Not until she opened the door did he call out her name. The urge to turn around nearly overcame her good sense, but she closed the door behind her and threw the bolt.
Marian leaned against the door, trembling, listening for the sounds of his footsteps. Not hearing them, she dared a peek out the shutters. Stephen had vanished, as if he’d never been there.
But he had been and he’d be back. As sure as she drew her next breath, she knew Stephen wouldn’t let the matter be.
Her daughters, Stephen’s daughters, yet slept. How angelic they looked in their sleep. Audra with her thumb in her mouth; Lyssa without the furrow of pain on her forehead.
She’d been up most of the night holding a cold rag on Lyssa’s brow and wished she could do more for the darling who’d given her so much joy. Somewhere in the wee hours, with her eyes heavy and guard down, the thought had crept in that she’d denied Stephen the joy of watching the girls take their first steps, hearing their first words.
Heaven help her, she still couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a grievous mistake in keeping them apart.
Chapter Five
N eeding a long, hard ride after his unsatisfactory talk with Marian, Stephen decided to begin his inspection of Branwick at the farthest reaches of the estate. All he need do is have someone point him in the right direction.
All through Mass he’d reviewed his talk with Marian and realized he went about it wrong. He should have apologized first, then tried to find out what he apologized for. She couldn’t still be angry with him over a discourtesy; it had to run deeper, much deeper.
He gave the horse’s cinch a hard tug. The stallion protested with a toss of his head and an irritated snort, as he always did.
“Problem?” Edwin asked from two stalls away, where he prepared his own mount for an outing.
“Nay. He is simply peevish.”
“Ah. Then the two of you make a suitable pair this morn.”
Stephen heard Edwin’s amusement, didn’t appreciate it, but didn’t fault the man for making the remark. He might have taunted Edwin with a similar comment if their moods had been reversed.
The list Carolyn had given both men consisted oftwenty items, some within Branwick’s walls but most without. A few items required long rides and an overnight stay at two of William’s lesser holdings. None of the items seemed beyond the ordinary repairs or improvements regularly necessary or much desired on any holding of good size.
The only item to pique his interest was the repair of the thatched roof on Marian’s hut. Surely William would agree to the repair without a qualm or thought for cost. Or William might not, forcing Marian to reside in the keep where she belonged.
Irritating woman.
Edwin backed his horse out of the stall. “Where shall we begin?”
“We?”
Edwin sighed. “We must inspect the same places and you have no notion of where most of them are. Why not go together if only to keep you from getting lost?”
“I should think you would rather I got lost.”
“Nay, I would rather win this contest fairly, not because you rode over a cliff.”
Damned if the man didn’t sound sincere, and damned