Chapter 2

1254ARTANE, ENGLAND

You’re going to have to choose one of them, you know.”

Phillip of Artane, heir to the vast estates of his father, swordsman of decent mettle, and avoider of all things matrimonial, looked at his uncle and couldn’t muster up the energy to scowl at him, much less curse him.

“Grandmère’s ghost will haunt you otherwise,” Nicholas of Wyckham added, nodding sagely. “She would no doubt be doing it herself, were she here to do so.”

“Your uncle knows of what he speaks,” Phillip’s father said from where he sat on Nicholas’s far side. “Having had the lady Joanna present him with his own large and unruly selection of eligible misses over the years.”

“Over the years?” Nicholas said with a snort. “You mean, over a shortened, painful period of time, one I would prefer never to think on again. Though I find watching the same happening to my oldest nephew from the safety of my own matrimonial perch to be more entertaining than I thought it would be.”

Robin de Piaget, lord of Artane and chief instigator of the evening’s sport, only smirked. “I will admit to being rather relieved myself that I’m not the one looking down the length of the sword, if you know what I mean.” He shivered delicately. “What an unpleasant business.”

“Don’t remind your lad of it,” Nicholas said with a laugh, “lest he think falling on his sword is preferable to the entertainments you’ve provided for the evening.”

“Now, why would he be that stupid?” Robin said, blinking innocently. “A hall full of finely dressed lassies all come to present themselves to him in hopes of winning his hand? I’d say Phillip should just put his feet up on the table, sip his wine, and let them show off their wares. I did the like in my youth.”

“Robin,” Nicholas said with a sigh, “you know you did nothing of the sort. I’m not sure I would proceed much further down this path if I were you.”

Phillip agreed. His father’s exploits during his youth were the stuff of legends, though the retelling of those tales by enthusiastic siblings generally left the lord of Artane squirming uncomfortably.

But that had been his father. Now he was the one in their sights, and he didn’t find that a comfortable place to be in the least. Besides, none of it was necessary given that he was already betrothed. If one looked at it in a certain light. Perhaps from a distance where one couldn’t see the disaster he had created for himself.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. Much as he would have liked to have credited someone else for his current muddle—his father or one of his uncles came immediately to mind—he knew he had only himself to blame. He’d seen to the contract himself, sure that it would benefit him politically as time carried on. It hadn’t occurred to him, arrogant fool that he was, that the gel in question might not feel the same way or be quite so impressed with the name of de Piaget as he might have hoped for. He’d also not considered overmuch that her sire might be willing to sign a contract but not be willing to enforce it. Robert of Haemesburgh had thrown him out of the keep the first time he’d returned to present himself to his future bride, then Heather had subjected him to several more humiliations over the past several years. Lord Robert had comported himself in an increasingly erratic manner until he’d simply stopped appearing at the gates, leaving Phillip to try to shout pleasantries at the younger brother, who had answered them with arrows and curses. The situation had become so untenable that his sire had begun to invite women with suitable pedigrees to come have a meal or two at Artane. Not formally, but in an offhanded, are you certain sort of way that was so unlike Robin of Artane, Phillip had hardly recognized his father.

Tonight was something else entirely, though.

The lassies in front of him were, he knew, very serious indeed about landing a husband. He’d been watching their mamas at court for years, doing his damndest to hide behind some uncle or other in an effort to remain undetected and undecided upon as a fitting marital prospect. That he should currently be seeing the most difficult-to-please of those mothers in his father’s hall should have frightened the hell straight from him.

Which it did, actually, for it bespoke quite clearly exactly how dire his father considered his straits to be.

He looked around for a place to bolt but there didn’t seem to be a useful exit in sight. Robin cleared his throat pointedly, but damn him if he wasn’t grinning as he did so. Phillip glared at his father, glared at a pair of equally irreverent uncles, then excused himself from the table. He put on a pleasant if not slightly impatient expression he hoped would suggest to any watching him that he had pressing business somewhere else. He greeted those he knew he had to and slid past the rest where possible.

He managed to get himself out of the front door without being assaulted, then paused on the top step and looked up at the sky to judge the usefulness of the moon. A day or two away from full, but very bright nonetheless. At least he wouldn’t break a leg if he engaged in his usual exercise in the lists.

He nodded to his father’s guardsmen and his, then loped down the stairs and started toward the lists. The men followed him across the courtyard, which felt quite suddenly very strange. He had had guardsmen of one sort or another from his earliest memory, either men hired to protect him or men retained by some uncle or another who had been given especial charge of him. But to have them there at the moment felt as if he were somehow the one out of place. What would it be like to walk into a crowded hall and blend into the background where no one would know who he was, no one would have expectations of him, no mother would look at him and start calculating just how many silk gowns her daughter might possess as his wife?

He almost stopped to try to determine where those useless thoughts had come from, but decided it would make him look daft. He was very grateful to reach the lists, where he might outrun such useless speculations. He was who he was, his responsibilities were what they were, and he was damned grateful he had a hall to lay siege to in order to increase his own bloody holdings until he could push his sire off his lordly chair and take over his duties as master of Artane.

It was, he decided an indeterminate number of laps about the lists later, rather remarkable how far irritation over one’s current situation could carry a body when it came to physical distance crossed. It was also remarkable how soon a body simply attempting to outrun his life could acquire an audience. He spared the effort to glare at a group of cousins and such loitering uselessly near a bench. The lazy whelps seemed inclined only to watch and not join him, which perhaps shouldn’t have surprised him. It was possible that his expression wasn’t particularly welcoming.

His expression apparently wasn’t forbidding enough to intimidate his younger brother, who had joined him at some point. That he couldn’t remember exactly when was slightly alarming, but in his defense, he’d had much to think on. Kendrick was in very fine condition for someone who spent so much time flirting with any available—or unavailable, as it happened—female and so little time in the lists. Phillip finally had to stop and lean over to catch his breath. He ignored the fact that Kendrick wasn’t doing the same thing. He closed his eyes and concentrated on drawing chilly air into his burning chest.

“Father does this,” Kendrick remarked idly.

“Where do you think I learned it, dolt?”

“Just making an observation.”

“What would you rather I do?” Phillip said, heaving himself upright. “Train with you?”

Kendrick only regarded him, silently and far too astutely. “Not now, I don’t think. I’m not interested in your sword in my gut.”

“Then why do you care how I think?”

“How, or what?”

“Either,” Phillip said impatiently. “Both. Take your pick.”

Kendrick frowned thoughtfully. “You’re suffering from ill humors, obviously.”

“I’m suffering from a lack of strong drink.”

“I wouldn’t suggest taking it up now. You’re too old for such assaults on your delicate form.”

Phillip dragged his sleeve across his forehead and scowled at the man a pair of years his junior. “Did you come out here simply to tell me not to be a drunkard or did you have a loftier purpose?”

“I came out to avoid the stampede that will ensue inside once the ladies realize you didn’t simply step outside briefly to take a breath of healthful air. Thought I’d save you the insults to your clothing such a frenzy would cause.” He smiled. “Altruistic, as always.”

“Self-serving, rather,” Phillip said, “as always.” He looked over Kendrick’s shoulder, realizing with a start that he’d been doing the like for the whole of his life, always checking to make certain his brother was safe—

“Phillip?”

Phillip looked at his brother and felt a little as if he weren’t exactly seeing him. Kendrick looked at him in surprise and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Perhaps you should imbibe,” he said seriously. “Or at least sit. You don’t look well.”

“I just need to walk off all that running away from my future I’ve been doing.”

Kendrick smiled faintly. “You don’t run away from anything.”

“I thought I might try it and see how it feels.”

“Idiot,” Kendrick said, taking Phillip’s arm and pulling it over his own shoulders. “Lean on me, old woman, and let’s discuss this frailty you’re experiencing.”

Phillip refused to notice that his brother was indeed supporting him more than he should have been. The saints be praised they were still of a similar height. If Kendrick had surpassed him in that, he might have truly had to lie down to recover.

“Well?” Kendrick prompted after a turn about the lists.

Phillip continued to walk with his brother for another lengthy stretch before he stopped and pulled away. “I need to go secure my keep.”

Kendrick clasped his hands behind his back. “And your bride?”

“Her as well.”

“No one’s been inside for quite some time, you know,” Kendrick remarked carefully.

“And what do you mean by that?” Phillip asked.

“I wonder what lies within the walls these days,” Kendrick said with a shrug, “if anything.”

“Think you everyone inside is dead?” Phillip asked in surprise.

“The saints forbid,” Kendrick said. “It was just an observation.” He stared up at the moon for a moment or two, then looked at Phillip. “I wonder what sort of mischief the lady Heather is combining these days.”

“She’s limiting herself to making a fool out of me,” Phillip said grimly. “She might be a woman, but ’tis past time I put my foot down with her.”

“That will end well, I’m sure.”

Phillip would have smiled, but he was too damned tired to. “She’ll come around.”

“Well, you are pretty,” Kendrick offered, “and clean. What else could a woman possibly want in a lad?”

“You would think that would be enough, wouldn’t you?”

Kendrick laughed. “I would, but I’m also a hopeless optimist who believes fully in the power of love.”

What Kendrick believed in, Phillip was quite sure, was acquiring as much property as possible, then spending the rest of his days with his feet up, watching the gold spill into his coffers. The lad would have an easy, comfortable life, of that Phillip was certain.

“Tell me again how things have gone before,” Kendrick suggested. “I vow I’ve forgotten.”

Phillip sighed, because he couldn’t bring himself to simply plant his fist in his brother’s mouth as he should have done. He also didn’t have the strength to recount any of the truly embarrassing details. Besides, Kendrick had been with him on every visit thus far. There was no need to enlighten him.

“Very well, let us walk for a bit longer and I’ll see if I can reconstruct your dealings to this point,” Kendrick said thoughtfully, as if he were truly having to dredge the pond deeply to bring up any memories. “Or her dealings with you, which might be more interesting. I believe you’ve only seen her twice and you’ve never seen her dressed as a woman.”

“She’s inventive,” Phillip said, stomping alongside his brother. “She obviously wants to encounter life on her own terms.”

“As a man,” Kendrick repeated, “which I suppose I can understand given the alternative, which would be enduring marriage to you. You’ve also never seen her not covered in filth.”

Phillip refrained from comment.

“You’ve also only exchanged the most banal of pleasantries with her and that was several years ago.”

“We’ve exchanged things more recently than several years ago.”

“The contents of her cesspit flung at you over her walls don’t qualify as things.”

“She hasn’t only flung the contents of her cesspit at me,” Phillip protested.

“Nay, she’s flung sheep entrails, rotten beer mash, and cesspit delights over her walls at you.”

That was unfortunately all too true. The amount of speech he’d had with the gel paled in comparison with the interactions he’d had with the various and sundry nasty things she’d found inside her keep. “’Tis possible,” he conceded, “that I might need to convince her of a thing or two before we continue on to the chapel.”

Kendrick laughed. “What, to behave like a proper noblewoman? She’s a damned shrew, brother. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I’m a score and eight and still standing behind my sire’s table, flattering his sorry self, and keeping a close eye on the amount of wine in his cup lest it need to be filled again. I’m thinking that I’m seeing several more years of the same stretching out in front of me before he relinquishes his place at that table so I might sit there myself.”

“And you think that keep at Haemesburgh will provide you a clearer path to that place?”

Phillip turned to face his brother. “How many times has the border moved during the course of your lifetime?”

Kendrick frowned. “What has that to do with anything?”

“Just count. Use your fingers if you need to.”

Kendrick considered, then shrugged. “I suppose I hadn’t thought to keep track.”

“Well, I have and I don’t fancy having that border dip so far south that Artane becomes part of Scotland.”

“Uncle Jake is farther north than we are,” Kendrick said slowly, “and he doesn’t seem to be worried.”

“He’s uncommonly complacent about things he shouldn’t be,” Phillip said. “I don’t sleep as easily as he and I’ll not have my lands overrun in a score of years when I can stop the creeping now.”

“All for your empire, eh?”

“Aye,” Phillip said simply. “For my children and their children for as long as they manage to hold on to this damned pile of stones.”

Kendrick looked at Phillip thoughtfully. “Care for aid in the venture?”

Phillip considered it very briefly, then shook his head. “I appreciate that more than you’ll know, but you’ve your own life to see to.”

“Ah, but think on what joy it would bring me to see you happily settled.”

“I imagine I won’t get that far.”

“I would enjoy that as well,” Kendrick said solemnly.

Phillip fought a smile. “Which is why I’ll deny you that sport, thank you just the same. Nay, I’ll manage well enough on my own.”

“But you’ll send word if you need me,” Kendrick said carefully. “The reason doesn’t have to be as dire as you might think it need be.”

“Thank you.” Phillip would have added a list of reasons why he was grateful for Kendrick’s offer, but he imagined he didn’t need to. His brother knew his mind almost as well as he knew it himself.

“Then off you go, lad, and lay the foundations for future glory and riches. I’ll come rescue you if you need it. For now, I’m going back inside to sample the goods—er, the food left at the table.”

Phillip snorted, then watched his brother trot purposefully back to the hall. He almost pitied the offerings still left inside. Kendrick was, he could admit in a fairly detached way, difficult to resist when he’d set his mind to something. The gels inside hardly stood a chance of escape, not that any of them would have wished to, no doubt.

He collected his sword from his squire, then rounded up his cousins who had come to watch the sport. He didn’t want to admit Kendrick might have things aright, but he couldn’t deny that he’d had little success at either securing his bride or his hall. One might suspect she wanted nothing to do with him, though he couldn’t imagine why not.

Apart from the fact, of course, that he’d given her no choice in the matter.

Damnation, what else could the woman want? He was Robin of Artane’s son and possessed not only wealth but sword skill. He wasn’t as ugly as his brothers and was a damned sight less difficult to look at than many of his cousins. There had been many women over the years who had seemed not opposed to either his gold or his person. That one irascible Scottish wench should spurn his advances, and that in spite of her father’s wishes for her... well, it was almost past what he could believe. He would rectify the situation as soon as possible.

He paused on the way back to the hall. It wasn’t unthinkable, he supposed, when venturing forth on a quest of that seriousness, to seek out some sort of aid prior to embarking on said quest. Spiritual aid. Supernatural aid, even. Fortunately for him, he knew just where to go, having seen that sort of thing be sought before by others.

If worse came to worst, he would simply visit his father’s cellars for something strengthening, something of an earthier nature.

Perhaps a visit to the first ale keg he encountered might be best seen to sooner rather than later before he thought on his present business overlong. He had a bride to acquire, a keep to conquer, and death to avoid in the bargain if at all possible.

It would keep him sober, no doubt of that.