“Y-yes, my lord,” she replied, setting down the yoke and running into the house.
“We will spend the night here,” Roland announced just before a plump man dressed in a long robe, his round face slightly greasy and with a chicken leg in his hand, came barreling out of the main door. “Who is this who dares to—”
He skittered to a halt and fell silent as his gaze took in Roland, the soldiers and Mavis. He tossed the chicken leg away and wiped his hands on his tunic. “Greetings, my lord. Who might you be?”
“I am Sir Roland of Dunborough,” her husband replied, “and we seek shelter for the night.”
“Roland of...” Sir Melvin cleared his throat and looked a little sick. “Dunborough, you said?”
“Yes. And this is my wife, Lady Mavis, the daughter of Lord Simon DeLac.”
Roland had never mentioned her father anywhere else, so this had to be an attempt to make the man more amenable. He might have done better to speak with less force and authority. From his tone, it sounded as if he was ordering Sir Melvin to take them in.
“DeLac, eh? His daughter, is it?” Sir Melvin said, running a nervous hand around the neck of his tunic. “Of course you’re welcome to stay, my lord. And your lady, too, and your escort. Just, ahem, allow me a moment to tell my wife how fortunate we are. If you’ll excuse me...” He hurried back inside.
“Perhaps, my lord, you should have asked, not demanded,” Mavis said.
“My wife will not sleep rough on the road.”
Behind them, Arnhelm and Verdan gave each other a wary look.
Roland went to help her down, but Mavis shook her head. “I’ll wait until I’m sure we’re welcome.”
“As you wish,” he replied, turning to look at the manor.
She noticed that the back of his neck and tips of his ears were red. Was he ashamed of what he’d done? Or as anxious as she after all?
When Sir Melvin came out of his house, he was followed by a slender, rather homely woman. “This is my wife, Viola. Please, come in and be welcome.”
“Thank you. We are most grateful for your hospitality,” Mavis said, getting down from her horse without waiting for her husband’s aid.
“Come along with me, my dear, and rest awhile,” Lady Viola said to Mavis. “You look done in.”
Mavis smiled, grateful as much for the heartfelt kindness in the woman’s voice as for the offer itself. “I am tired,” she agreed.
“We’ll join you in the hall for the evening meal,” Lady Viola said to her husband as they passed. “I leave it to you, Melvin, to see that Sir Roland’s men are taken care of.”
“Right you are, my dear! Now come along with me, Sir Roland, and we’ll get your horses settled and then your men. There should be room enough in the stable for your horses, and we’ve a building behind it for the ox and your wagon. Your men can all sleep in the hall.
“That’s a fine beast you’re riding, I must say! Speaking of fine, your wife is quite a beauty. Mavis, you said her name was? Lovely name, lovely girl. We’ve heard nothing of Lord DeLac’s daughter getting married, though...”
* * *
Lady Viola led Mavis to a small, comfortable chamber on the second floor of the manor house. Tapestries covered the walls and a large bronze brazier of glowing coals provided warmth. There were cloth shutters as well as wooden ones to keep out the cold and drafts. The furniture was simple, but well made, consisting of a bed, two low chairs near the brazier, a chest for clothing, a washing stand and a stool, where a maidservant sat rocking a cradle.
The servant, a rosy-faced, neatly dressed lass, rose when they entered.
“How is my lambkin, Annisa? Still asleep?” Lady Viola asked.
“Aye, but making little noises like he’ll be waking soon.”
“You go and eat, and I’ll tend to Martin until you return.” As the maid nodded and left the chamber, Lady Viola said, “Then it should be time for the evening meal.”
“I must thank you for your generous hospitality, my lady,” Mavis said at once. “I’m sorry you were forced to take us in, but we could find no other accommodation. Unfortunately, it seems that the reputation of my husband’s relatives has preceded us, and innkeepers are reluctant to give us shelter.”
“It’s indeed unfortunate that you’ve had such a reception so near our home,” Lady Viola replied, “but we’re happy to be of service.”
She spoke with such sincerity, Mavis believed her, and was even more grateful.
“I’m surprised your husband didn’t realize that might be the case.”
Mavis remembered what the groom had told her the first night Roland had arrived at Castle DeLac. “He only stopped once on the journey to DeLac, so he might not have encountered anyone who had any dealings with his family, or knew their reputation.”
“And you did not suspect there might be any such trouble?”
Mavis shook her head. “No,” she replied, suddenly feeling foolish. Sir Blane and Broderick had journeyed to DeLac. She should have expected that they’d behaved just as loutishly along the way as they had when they reached DeLac.
The babe began to fuss. Lady Viola picked up the squirming, swaddled baby with a tuft of light brown hair and, holding him to her shoulder, sat in the chair near the brazier. “Please, lie down, my dear, and rest. You look worn out.”
Although Mavis was tired, she sat in the other chair. “I assure you, Lady Viola, that Roland is not like his father and older brother. I’ve met them, and I can vouch for the difference.”
That was certainly true, especially when it came to their treatment of women.
When the baby continued to fuss, Lady Viola opened her gown and put the wee lad to nurse. “And the other brother, Gerrard? Have you ever met him?”
“No. Have you, my lady?”
“Only by reputation,” she replied. She studied Mavis a moment. “I would rather not be the bearer of bad tidings, but ignorance is no protection for a woman, so I will tell you what I’ve heard about Gerrard of Dunborough—that he’s devilishly handsome and devilishly clever, too, and without an honest bone in his body. He cheats at games of chance and refuses to pay merchants, or the tavern keepers whose wine he drinks, or the women he...” She delicately cleared her throat. “To put it in the simplest way, I am afraid, my dear, that he is a thorough reprobate.”
Although Mavis was dismayed to hear her husband’s twin painted in such a terrible light, she tried not to betray it. “Then he, too, is nothing like Roland. But since Roland is the lord, and Gerrard the younger, I should have little enough to do with Gerrard in Dunborough.”
“I hope so, my lady, yet that might make him all the more dangerous.”
“Surely
