Norwyck's Lady

Her eyes glittered with moisture, and Bart wondered if she’d produced those tears for his benefit, to play upon his sympathies.

She could not possibly know that he had none.

“I…I suppose I could look after Eleanor,” Marguerite replied. She slipped away from him and moved to the fireplace, unaware that the light from behind outlined her legs and hips in detail. Bart’s mouth went dry. “But Kathryn will not take kindly to my supervision.”

He cleared his throat. “I saw how you handled Eleanor today,” he said. “I have no doubt that you can manage something with Kate.”

“Your confidence is humbling, my lord,” she said.

And her apparent naiveté was all too beguiling. Was that part of it? Had she been sent by Lachann Armstrong for some nefarious purpose, mayhap to seduce him, as Felicia had been seduced by his son?

Bart almost laughed at the thought. If anyone at Norwyck were to be seduced, ’twould be Marguerite. And soon.

“Will you do it?” he asked. “Watch over my sisters?”

She bit her lip. “Aye, my lord,” she finally said. “I’ll try.”

“All is quiet, my lord?” Sir Walter asked, meeting Bartholomew at the foot of the stairs in the great hall.

“Aye,” Bart replied. “No raiders in the hills tonight.”

“It’s turned cold, though.”

Bart nodded. His feet and hands had been nearly numb when he’d returned to Norwyck’s courtyard after his patrol. But his visit in Lady Marguerite’s chamber had warmed him significantly.

“My lord…young Henry asked me to speak to you with regard to his fostering.”

Bart rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected his brother to ask Sir Walter to intercede for him.

“The lad’s fondest desire is to become a knight,” Sir Walter said. “There must be an estate where he can go and squire, my lord. I would not deny him this, if I were you.”

“Nay,” Bart said with a sigh. “I know he should go, as should John. ’Tis just that the past months have been difficult…for all of us….”

“Aye,” Walter said. “You could not bear to part with them.”

Bartholomew would not deny it. He had needed the presence of his young brothers to help soften his grief when William had been killed. But ’twas past time to let them go.

“’Tis true,” Bart said as he poured warm, mulled wine into a thick earthenware mug. He offered it to Walter, then poured his own and sat down in one of the big, comfortable chairs before the fire. Everything continued on at Norwyck, different, yet just as it had before, with Will gone and Felicia’s betrayal. There were quiet nights in the hall, teasing banter with his siblings.

And now there was Marguerite.

“I have yet to meet the lady you brought back from the shipwreck,” Sir Walter said.

“I’ve asked her to look after Eleanor and Kate until she regains her memory.”

Walter frowned as if he had not heard Bartholomew correctly. “She still does not remember?”

“Nay. And she still wants me to believe she cannot remember who she is, or where she’s from.”

Sir Walter scratched his head. “I’ve seen that once, my lord.”

“What? A bump on the head—”

“Nay, the loss of memory,” the knight replied. “When I was a lad, no older than your brothers, a man in our village fell from a tree while he was picking apples. He was knocked unconscious, and when he came to his senses, he had no knowledge of who he was.”

Bart frowned. “Did he ever remember?”

“Aye, I think so. He must have,” Walter said, frowning at Bartholomew. “Mustn’t he?”

Bart had no idea. But the fact that Walter had witnessed the same kind of memory loss suffered by Marguerite lent credence to her story. Still…just because she might have told the truth about her memory did not mean they had to believe anything else she had to say. She was a woman, and therefore capable of any manner of deceit.

“My lord…” Sir Walter seemed hesitant. “You know that I had my doubts about Lady Felicia for many months after you and Lord William left with King Edward for Scotland.”

“’Tis pointless to belabor it now, Walter.”

“I just want you to know that I did what I could to control the lass,” he said. “’Twas my opinion, back when your father made the betrothal agreement with the lady’s father, that she was not to be trusted. She had too many opportunities to ally herself with the Scots while she was in France.”