an old oak.
How handsome they are, Jamie thought with a spurt of pride. Light from a nearby torch played softly on the fair hair of the two tall men, Ruarke, youngest but bigger and more thickly muscled. Gareth, the eldest Sommerville and now earl, and the smiling faces of the three petite women, his mother and aunts, Gabrielle and Arianna. Though Alex had also been born a Sommerville, he’d changed his name to Harcourt when he’d wed Jesselynn, last of that line, so her name wouldn’t die out. The minstrels had devoted many a verse to that romantic gesture.
“Let the French come!” Uncle Ruarke roared in a voice that in his day had urged men to victory against the French, making him the hero of Poitiers and the scourge of the Continent. “My men are well trained. They’ll not take Wilton whilst I live.”
Aunt Gaby clutched at his sleeve. “Oh, Ruarke. ‘Tis been years since you’ve fought Is there no other way?”
“Nay!” her husband shouted. “Do you impinge my skills?”
“No one doubts your strength,” soothed Gareth. “But the French number thirty thousand. How many can you field?”
“Two thousand, twice that with your men and Alex’s. And there are at least ten other nobles who can muster a like force.”
“Too little. Too late.” Gareth shook his head. “Mayhap the king is right to try and solve this by treaty.”
“Treaty!” Ruarke’s roar shook the branches overhead and caused heads to turn the length of the garden. “That effeminate little brat will lose his crown and his head if he trusts Charles. Curse the Earl of Oxford and the other greedy—”
“Hush,” Gareth interjected. “Do you want to be arrested?”
“’Tis good to see you’ve not grown soft with age, Uncle,” Jamie called before the man dug himself in any deeper.
All five whipped around. Their mouths fell open, then lifted into smiles of welcome as they rushed to him with glad cries.
“You are well come, lad.” Uncle Ruarke lifted him off the ground in a rib-cracking hug, then passed him down the line of grinning Sommervilles, their cheeks wet with happy tears.
Lastly he came to his mother. “Happy Birthday, Mama.”
Jesselynn Harcourt’s green eyes filled with the ghosts he knew he’d put there. But they were chased away by delight. “Oh, Jamie…I thought…I feared…” She opened her arms.
“I’m fine, Mama. He bent to bury his nose in the veil that hid her wild red hair. She still smelled the same, like lavender, like home, but the fragility of her body startled him. Either he had grown or she had shrunk. Before he could voice his fears, his father’s muscular arms enveloped them. For several moments Jamie stood there, soaking up the balm of their unspoken love, then a shriek rent the air and a solid body collided with his back.
“Jamie! You wretch.” Despite the harsh words, slender arms encircled his waist and clung. “Why did you not write you were coming?” wailed a muffled voice. A fist slammed into his ribs.
Grunting, Jamie released his mother and twisted about to plant a kiss on the red curls that barely reached his breastbone. “You’ve grown, bratling, but you’re still a heathen.”
“I was ten and five last birthday and know how to act the lady when I choose.” Johanna was a miniature of their mother, with flaming hair, brilliant green eyes and a wayward nature that made Jamie seem tame by comparison. Their mother had lost two other children before delivering Johanna, so she was doubly precious to them all. And spoiled. “I’m old enough to be betrothed,” she added loftily.
“Perish the thought,” Jamie teased, though the idea of his darling Jo wed to some man was intolerable. “Who’d have you?”
“Lots of people. I’m an heiress, you know.”
Jamie glanced at his father. “You haven’t—”
“Nay, I haven’t.” Alex exclaimed. “I’m never going to part with her.” He ruffled her curls. “No man is good enough for my little princess.”
Agreed, Jamie thought. Despite the differences in the sexes and ages, he and Jo were as close as he and Hugh should have been. There was always a letter from Jo waiting when he put into port, and she’d come to London a few times with their parents to see him. Hugh had never come, of course, claiming pressing work on the estate as an excuse, whilst Jamie pleaded a busy schedule as the reason he didn’t travel to Harte Court. “More like, no man is fool enough to undertake to discipline her as we never could.”
Jo snorted. “If I have to become a prissy mouse like Willa in order to catch a husband, I’ll never wed.”
“Who is Willa?”
“Willa Neville. Hugh’s betrothed.”
“This is news.”
“The contracts were signed only last week,” Alex explained. “Though they won’t be wed till she is sixteen.”
Jamie smiled. “Is she beautiful and well dowered?”
“She has her father’s hawk beak and is so homely she’d not get a husband if she weren’t a great heiress,” Jo muttered.
“That is no way to speak about your new sister,” her mother chided. “Willa is only eleven. She may…grow into her features.”
“She is Lord Matthew Neville’s only child,” Alex hastened to add. “His lands border Harte Court on the north and on the east, those of Austen Heath, the keep we gave to Hugh.”
“Trust Hugh to take a wife who will increase the family fortunes,” Jamie said more sharply than he’d intended.
“At least he is marrying,” Aunt Gaby said pointedly.
“I am certain my parents are glad Hugh thinks with his mind and not his—”
“James Harcourt!” Jesselynn exclaimed.
“I beg pardon, Aunt Gaby.” Jamie bowed stiffly. Jesu, even when Hugh wasn’t present there was trouble between them.
“I think they deserve each other.” Jo wrinkled her nose. “Willa is as dull and serious as Hugh.”
“Your brother carries a heavy load of responsibilities,” Jesselynn said, but she looked at Jamie, silently reminding him the burdens Hugh shouldered should have been Jamie’s.
I cannot, Jamie cried, staring into his mother’s hurtfilled eyes and wishing things didn’t have to be this way.
Johanna broke the tension by plucking on his sleeve. “How long can you stay?” she demanded.
Another unwelcome question. Over the guests’ laughter and jesting, he heard the minstrels strike up.a sprightly tune. “Long enough to dance with you, brat.”
Catching hold of her hands, Jamie tugged his sister toward the couples forming up for the next set. As they passed by the minstrels in their red and gold tunics, he realized one of them, the one glancing over her shoulder to speak with the leader,
