three de Burghs yet unmarried, he was the oldest, a knowledge that made him decidedly tense. And with good reason. Robin had no idea how the other two felt about it, but he was starting to sweat.
It was not that he had anything against women. They provided a welcome diversion at times, some more than others, of course, but even the most comely or entertaining did not tempt him in the slightest toward a lasting union. The very thought of being shackled to one of them forever made Robin lift a finger to loosen his suddenly tight neckline. Already, he felt the noose closing around him, collaring him forever to some unknown, unnamed female.
Although usually the most lighthearted member of the family, Robin was becoming downright surly as he contemplated his future. As both a man and a knight, he resented the feeling of helplessness that assailed him. He wanted to strike out, but what use was his skill with a sword against a phantom? Robin gritted his teeth even as he wondered how much time he had left. Although his brothers appeared to have succumbed without a fight, he refused to accept his fate so easily.
Surely there was some way to prevent what lay ahead! Robin had been taught that reasoning could extricate him from most situations, and normally he would have asked his father for advice, but the earl had already been felled by the curse. In this instance, whatever wisdom he offered would be suspect. And there was no sense in approaching his married brothers.
Robin’s options were dwindling, and he felt the cold, clammy press of desperation. He had always thought the de Burghs invincible, for they were powerful men, strong warriors, learned in varying degrees and skillful at running a vast demesne. Wealth and privilege and capability had resulted in an inbred arrogance that continued to show itself, even in those who now called themselves husbands, but Robin felt his own confidence faltering. Only three de Burgh bachelors remained; perhaps it was time they put their heads together.
Having made his decision, Robin moved into action swiftly, seeking Reynold among those who crowded the vast, vaulted hall. He found the younger de Burgh seated on a bench, his back against the wall and his bad leg stretched out before him. Normally glum, Reynold appeared even more grim than ever, and Robin wondered if he was counting his last hours of freedom, as well.
Flashing Reynold what he hoped was an encouraging grin, Robin sank down beside his brother and tried to think of what to say. No one had openly broached the subject of this sudden alarming propensity for marriage, and Robin was not sure how to begin. Luckily, Reynold spoke first.
“Can you believe it?” he asked, shaking his head as he gazed at Stephen. “After all the women he has dallied with, I never thought to see him settle down. Or give up his taste for wine.”
“Nor did I,” Robin agreed. He studied Reynold carefully, but his brother’s expression was unreadable, as usual. However, he was determined to plunge onward. Although the de Burghs would rather die than admit a weakness, clearly honesty was called for in this instance, and time was running out. Perhaps together they could somehow bring about an end to the weddings. Hopefully, before his own.
“I never expected to see any of our brothers wed,” Robin said, slanting a glance toward his sibling. “Don’t you think it odd that they are all doing it? And so quickly?”
Reynold shrugged stiffly. He was never talkative, so Robin wasn’t particularly disheartened by his lack of comment. And there was no point in waiting any longer. “Well, I do. I think it damned odd,” Robin said. He leaned closer, to speak in a low undertone. “In fact, I think ’tis the work of a curse.”
Reynold swung round to stare at him, but Robin was undeterred by the scrutiny. “How else would you account for it?” he demanded. “Just a few years ago we were all bachelors and liking it well enough. Now, as if manipulated by some mysterious force, the de Burghs are being shackled to females, one by one, even Father!” Robin shuddered. “I tell you, we must do something before we are next!”
Robin followed Reynold’s glance down to the cup in his hand and frowned. He had been drinking a bit much of the freely flowing wine, but who wouldn’t, when faced with his sentence for the future? Surely, even the implacable Reynold must be worried. “Aren’t you concerned?” he asked.
His brother’s stoic expression changed not a whit. “About what?”
“About being snared by some woman!” Robin said, waving a hand toward their once-carefree brothers, who now hovered near their respective wives, smitten and witless. “About becoming one of them!”
Reynold snorted. “I should be so lucky.”
“Lucky? I tell you, they’ve been cursed!” Robin protested.
Reynold eyed him as if he had lost his mind. “Look at them, Robin,” he said. “Do you think they’re unhappy?”
Robin obediently glanced toward the sibling who stood closest in their line of sight. It was Stephen, and Robin had to admit that his charming brother looked even better than ever, but that was probably because he had quit drinking. Of course, he was grinning like a fool, as they all were, even surly Simon. As for Geoffrey, the scholar, he was crowing over the infant in his arms, just as if he had personally given birth to it, and Robin felt a stab of something alien.
“Of course, they all appear happy, otherwise they wouldn’t have gone through with it, would they?” he said. “I tell you, it’s all part of some blight upon the family.”
“Most men would trade their souls for such a blight,” Reynold murmured. Something stark and wistful passed over his face, only to be replaced by a scowl. “There’s no curse,” he muttered.
“And just how can you be sure of that?” Robin asked, annoyed by Reynold’s skepticism.
“Because I will never marry,” he said, and rising to his feet, Reynold stalked away, limping slightly.
Robin frowned. Was it his imagination or had his always moody brother become even more surly? It was probably because he alone of the seven de Burgh brothers remained at Campion. Robin wondered if he ought to stay on after the celebration instead of returning to Baddersly, a demesne he had been holding for Dunstan. But the thought of all the changes that had been wrought here in his absence, especially the addition of a new lady of the castle, a stepmother, made him wince. He wanted to go back to the Campion of old, not this new, unfamiliar place.
It seemed just yesterday he and his brothers had all lived here together, playing tricks on one another, relying strictly on each other, confiding only in each other, sometimes including their sire and sometimes not, though little enough got past the Earl of Campion. Oh, there were squabbles, of course, but they had been one, big, boisterous clan.
Now everything was different. His brothers were scattered all over the kingdom, living with their wives, returning for Christmas or an unusual occasion such as this one. It just wasn’t right. Robin grunted in dismay at the emptiness that yawned before him whenever he considered his family. Although his wasn’t a bitter nature, he felt betrayed somehow.
Yet he was loathe to blame his brothers. They obviously were befuddled or under some kind of enchantment. How else to explain their sudden perplexing behavior? Robin had grown up with them in a household of men, lived now among the knights of Baddersly, and he just couldn’t comprehend this abrupt penchant for taking wives.
It had started with Dunstan, the eldest, and the man Robin most admired in the world. Having served the king as a knight, Dunstan had won a demesne of his own, Wessex, and was now known as the Wolf of Wessex. When he wed Marion, a woman whom all the de Burghs held in affectionate regard, Robin had been startled. But the marriage had been forced by
