Lyn Stone - Bride Of Trouville

“No,” Edouard admitted. He should have cuffed Henri for his sarcasm, but the lad did come by it honestly. Instead, he softened the truth with a smile of affection. “However, I would appreciate your support in this.”

Edouard sighed and laid his hands on Henri’s slender shoulders. “Son, you are nearly a man now. I have done you ill by remaining unattached so long. Who is to teach you manners and the way with proper ladies if I do not take a wife? True, I could foster you with another lord, one with a wife who would take on the task, but I trust no other to train you up as I will do.”

Henri nodded. “I would learn from the best there is, Father.”

“Not above boosting the old man’s pride, eh?” Edouard did feel immensely proud that Henri felt this way. He brushed nonexistent lint from the shoulders of his son’s finely stitched jack. “So! Shall we go below, break our fast, and charm my bride-to-be?”

“Why not?” Henri replied. “At least she does not serve up sheep guts as I have been told they do here. One must like her for that, I suppose.”

Edouard did cuff him then as they laughed together.

As they descended the stairs, he wondered whether Lady Anne had her own son convinced this marriage would be a good thing. A half-grown lad could harbor jealousy of a mother, hatred for a man who would replace his dead father, and resentment for anyone who had charge of his lands these next few years.

She greeted them, all gracious and soft-spoken, as they entered the hall. “My lord. Henri. Do come and eat. My uncle left Baincroft some two hours past.” She raised her brows and offered Edouard a conspiratorial half smile. “He wants musicians for the wedding feast. And better wine.”

“Now, why does that not surprise me?” Edouard laughed softly and placed her hand on his forearm. He pressed her fingers and felt her answering squeeze.

All the while, he congratulated himself again on his decision to wed this woman. Upon first glance at her the day before, he had known he would have her. She stirred his blood rightly enough, but her appeal extended beyond the obvious. He detected a remarkable strength, that inner calm, and a bold decisiveness surpassing any he had yet beheld in a woman. All that, without any evident aggressiveness. He wondered how she managed it.

She did resemble Hume’s daughter, Honor, somewhat. Only Lady Anne’s lovely gray eyes shot no sparks of hatred and fear when they met his own. Her inviting lips, which he had pressed for as long as he dared in their kiss of peace, offered only smiles and sweet words. Her musical voice did wondrous things to his senses, soothing and exciting at the same time. He could just imagine the gentle purr of it when he...

“When will we meet your son, my lady?” Henri dared ask. Edouard should have chastised him for speaking without leave, but he wanted the answer, as well. He added his questioning look to Henri’s.

She bit those rose-touched lips together for an instant before she answered. “Later today, I trow. Robert went a-hunting with my steward. I fear we did not expect your company yestereve and today found our meat in short supply. You will forgive him, won’t you? Rob does feel so responsible for Baincroft’s hospitality.”

“He has recovered from his illness then?”

“Illness?” The lady appeared confused for a moment and then fixed a bright smile. “Oh, aye, he is well enough to hunt! He seemed determined to go.”

“That is admirable of him.” Edouard assured her. He had noticed a small break in her poise and wished to restore it She must be concerned about her son’s reaction to the news that she would marry. “Lord Robert must provide you much comfort since you lost your husband. When he returns, I must commend your son for his thoughtfulness in seeing to our needs.”

The lady merely smiled, nodded and indicated they should sit down. This time he motioned for Henri to join them at board. There were hands enough to fill the cups and the food already lay on the table before them.

Edouard had hardly touched his ale cup when a heavyset man, one he’d seen in the stables, rushed in at a lumbering run, gasping, “Lady—come quick—our laddie—north wall!”

Lady Anne issued a sharp little cry and leapt up from her seat. Abandoning all grace for speed, she raced across the hall and out the door. Edouard followed at a run, as did Henri and the rest of the hall’s inhabitants.

When they rounded the keep itself, there were already a number of people staring up at the small figure atop the corner merlon, arms raised to the sky. A large hawk circled above him and the boy looked set to leap toward it.

“Mon Dieu!” Edouard whispered as he started for the steps to the wall-walk.

Lady Anne grabbed his arm and hung on as he rushed past her. “Wait! There’s no time!” Then she released him and put the fingers of one hand to her lips, emitting a sharp, earsplitting whistle. Then another.

The lad turned. For an instant, he wavered, arms wind-milling before he finally caught his balance. Edouard’s heart stopped. He envisioned the broken little body lying in a heap on the other side of the wall.

Anne beckoned frantically and the agile little fellow scrambled down. No one in the bailey moved as they watched the boy tear heedlessly along the open wall-walk, a narrow path of rough wooden planks protected on one side by the stone wall to which they were attached. On the other lay an unguarded drop of some sixty feet. A collective groan emerged from the crowd as he reached the steps and clambered down.

Lady Anne sank to her knees in the dirt. Edouard marched forward and grasped the boy by his shoulders. He could not stop the flow of harsh reprimands. “Do you see what you have done, you reckless lackwit? Look at your lady! She is nigh in a faint with worry you would break your foolish neck!”

He shook the little beggar sharply and then dragged him before Lady Anne by the scruff of his neck. An old hound rushed forward, growling, but the boy silenced him with an upraised palm. Ignoring the dog, Edouard forced the boy to his knees in front of her. “Apologize at once!”

Edouard could not bear the pale fright that stole Anne’s calm, the leftover terror in her soft gray eyes. Neither could the lad, apparently. With a look of absolute contrition and the most gentle of gestures, the grubby young hands cupped her face and patted. When he removed them, there were streaks of dirt along her cheeks, mingling with the wetness of her tears.

Her lips firmed and her eyes narrowed. “To my solar with you! Go!” she demanded. She did not shout, but clipped each word distinctly in a low tone that did not bode well for the little daredevil’s backside, Edouard thought. The boy and the old hound trudged off as ordered, heads down and contrite.

He took her arm and raised her up. “You are extremely overset, my lady. Shall I deal with him for you?”

“No!” she exclaimed with a lift of her head. “He would not comprehend you—your French.”

Edouard raised his brows at that. “I know my English. But I had no mind to do much speaking. The rascal is incredibly heedless and he needs be taught a lesson.”

She pierced him with a look of the purest hatred he had ever seen. “Beat anyone who belongs to me and I will kill you!”

Before her shocking words registered, she had whirled angrily away from him and followed the boy around the side of the keep.

“Father, did you hear? She threatened you!” Henri whispered in awe.

“Yes, I heard. Apparently Lady Anne is very protective of her people.” A good thing to be, Edouard supposed, but her vehemence seemed unwarranted. “Go along, Henri, and finish your meal. You have sword practice in half an hour.”

Sir Gui approached as Henri left. “My lord, I need a private word with you.”