but fighting back anyway. The exchange was not welcomed but loathed.
Ranulf took a deep breath and debated his options, but when he saw the man roughly snatch her back into control after she tried unsuccessfully to get away, Ranulf’s decision was made. Immediately, he returned for his bow and was prepping the bolt when he saw the man lunge for her mouth. She responded with violent twists in an effort to become free. Ranulf ignored his emotional response and aimed. The arrow flew, narrowly missing the man’s scalp, but he had felt it. The imposing figure immediately let go and cowered for several seconds, waiting for more arrows to follow. Ranulf prepped another, this time with flesh as his target, but eased his grip a second later when he saw the man move to leave.
Ranulf should have escaped as well, but he had remained motionless, stilled by Bronwyn’s reaction, which was not as he had expected. Tears had not fallen nor had she collapsed in fright. Instead, anger had consumed her stance and her jaw began to twitch back and forth. She was planning revenge and Ranulf longed to know just what she had in mind.
He had been so consumed with interest he hadn’t realized her gaze had left the thicket from where the man had disappeared and was now on Ranulf’s arrow. She gently touched the heavy tip and then looked up as if she knew he was still there. Then, gathering her skirts, she started to march toward where he stood. If he hadn’t moved when he did, his first encounter with Laon’s eldest daughter would have happened much, much sooner than he had planned.
The next time he saw Lady Bronwyn, he intended to be prepared…and under full control.
At the knock on the door, Bronwyn sucked in her breath and steadied herself before exhaling. She had known this moment was coming since her return and had delayed it for as long as possible. Coming in late and missing dinner begged for questions, but sequestering herself had only ensured a sisterly inquisition. One to which she still didn’t know the answers.
How does one reveal a father’s death, a baron’s threats, and a new lord’s arrival? All of these Bronwyn had been mulling and considering since her encounter with Luc Craven, but no matter how she looked at the situation, there could be only one response.
Bronwyn slid the drawbar up and opened the door. Lily suppressed a sniffle and darted inside. Edythe, with arms crossed, slowly sauntered in after her. Both had been crying. Hard. Somehow they had found out what had happened. Had Luc rode to Hunswick after they had parted? Had someone seen their encounter and raced back with the news?
Edythe moved toward the middle of the three chairs that formed an arch in front of the hearth. Though each of them had been given their own rooms above the Great Hall by the previous Lord Anscombe, they all gravitated toward Bronwyn’s before bed each night or when something happened. The rooms had once been the bedchambers and day rooms of the late Lord Anscombe, but he had declared them too loud and had moved into the Tower Keep as soon as it had been completed. After that the rooms had become Bronwyn’s and her sisters’ whenever they visited. And when Lord Anscombe became sick, those visits changed into stays, each becoming longer than the last. Now, after living at Hunswick every day for a year, the castle felt more like home to Bronwyn than Syndlear. Maybe it always had.
Edythe waited until Bronwyn took her traditional seat before speaking. “Father is dead,” she stated without preamble.
Lily curled up into a ball on the chair and started to sob. Bronwyn sat immobile. “How…how do you know?”
Edythe’s sapphire eyes darted to Bronwyn’s, her forehead puckering. “What do you mean…how? The king’s messenger told us.”
Bronwyn leaned forward in her seat. “What messenger?”
Lily sniffled and looked at Bronwyn, puzzled. “The one from the king about Father.”
“You know?” Bronwyn choked, her mind buzzing with confusion. A messenger, Edythe had said. That was how Luc had found out about her father. The herald must have traveled across Luc’s lands and had either intentionally or unintentionally disclosed the information.
Lily nodded and then buried her head back into her skirt, her bawling renewed. Bronwyn slid off her chair and went to embrace her younger sister. “It will be fine. I promise. I will make it better. You will see,” she cooed, but Lily would have none of it.
“How?” Lily demanded, brushing Bronwyn’s hands away. “Just how are you going to fix this? And you, Edythe, are you happy now? You thought I too unaware of life’s cruelty. Well, my being forced to marry will certainly end that!”
Lily’s short tirade startled Bronwyn. Much had obviously happened this afternoon to her sisters as well as her and none of it good. Before they all emotionally collapsed with grief, they had best start communicating—not shouting.
“Lily, sit up in your chair, and for the next half hour, neither you nor Edythe is to bicker with the other.” Both sisters blinked and then complied. It was rare that Bronwyn used an authoritative tone with them, but they knew better than to argue, regardless of the circumstances.
Bronwyn paced for a second in front of the fire and then stopped. “All of us are upset, but until we understand just what problems we are facing and what we are going to do, we need to remain calm, and if possible, refrain from hysterics.” She waited until Lily nodded before continuing. “Now, I need to know exactly what happened this afternoon before I returned.”
“But you know!” Lily exclaimed.
“I know about Father’s death,” Bronwyn crisply countered, wishing Lily had some ability to control her emotions. But it was like asking the rain to fall everywhere but a single spot. Futile. “I am unaware of your being forced into marriage.”
Lily opened her mouth and then raised her hand to bite her knuckle. Edythe, seeing her sister’s distress, explained, “The messenger came and told us that Father had died in an accident while at sea. But his dying wish was that Lily would marry the next Lord Anscombe. The king agreed and sent him north and he is due to arrive tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Bronwyn whispered.
“Yes! Tomorrow!” Lily wailed. “The messenger called him Deadeye! He is due to arrive tomorrow and by night’s end I will be his wife. Bronwyn, I can’t! They say he looks like the walking dead, never sleeps, and cannot die.”
Bronwyn held up her hand. “Just what nonsense are you spewing?”
Edythe blinked. “Didn’t you speak to the herald?”
Bronwyn shook her head. “I never saw him. I learned about Father from Baron Craven.”
“Baron Craven?” Edythe repeated, puzzled. “I thought he died several months ago.”
“He did. I was referring to his son, Luc.”
Edythe rose to her feet and shook her head. “But he’s not allowed…he’s…he’s forbidden to come on this side of Torrens. Father said we were protected…” Her voice died as she realized the full implications of her father’s death.
“With Father gone, Luc is determined to marry one of us and take over Syndlear. I am the one he wants, most likely to have his revenge for what I did.”
Now Edythe was outraged. “But you can’t! Not to him!”
Lily shook her head, confused. “I didn’t even know Baron Craven had a son. How is that?”
Bronwyn
