landowner in France, including King Louis VII, his longtime rival and Eleanor’s first husband.
Bronwyn reached back to close the small cottage door behind her and sighed regretfully as the warm sun beat down on her face. She had put on her heaviest bliaut and now was uncomfortably hot with only herself to blame. Minimizing castle staff had meant she and her sisters had to share an already overworked chambermaid. So to help, they all agreed to assume additional responsibilities, including taking their clothes to the laundress and bringing them back, something about which Bronwyn had been frightfully negligent. Today she was paying the price.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if the warm wind that blew through the wooded hills was what a December breeze should be, chilly or even cool. Never had a fall lasted so long or a winter arrived so late. If the weather continued its rebellious mood, the bonfires during this year’s Twelfthtide would have to be drearily small, maybe even nonexistent; otherwise everyone attending the festivities would be roasted alive.
Bronwyn picked up her pace and joined her two younger sisters just in time for another squabble to begin.
“If your sheer presence has such miraculous healing abilities, Lily, then you should have stayed. For until Tomas is well, his daughters won’t be coming back to Hunswick and I am telling you right now, that abusing poor Charity and having her continue with your chores needs to stop.” Edythe paused and waited for affirmation, but Bronwyn remained mum. She had stopped playing the role of peacemaker long ago, for it never worked.
Realizing that her older sister was not going to lend any support, Edythe proceeded with her censure. “Besides, everyone knows that Tomas will continue to feel poorly until just after Father Morrell finishes his lengthy Christmas sermon. Very soon afterward there will be a miracle recovery in full—whether you’re there or not.”
Lily’s gray eyes flashed. “No wonder Father Morrell doesn’t visit more often. Why should he with you around to lecture everyone? And you need not be so smug, Edythe. No one fails to come to Hunswick for Twelfthtide, even if they are ill. You’re just jealous I was able to cheer Tomas’s spirits when you could not.” Lily jutted out her chin in a challenging way, knowing Edythe would rise to the bait.
“I’m glad you cheered someone then because your mournful moods of late have been near intolerable,” Edythe replied as she sauntered haughtily past her sister.
Lily ran to catch up, her dark hair bouncing behind her. “That’s unfair, Edythe!” she cried, not denying the truth of the barb. “Father would have taken me to London. And you know it. My one chance to see a king be crowned,” she moaned, “and I’m here. Can you imagine the celebration that followed? It is probably happening right now. The dresses, the food, and the men! Eligible, wealthy lords, and barons and knights everywhere!”
“Good Lord, you love to be dramatic,” Edythe snorted, her bright blue eyes sparkling with condescension. “And you are incredibly naïve if you think Father would have allowed you to go to Westminster. You would have made a nuisance out of yourself with all your flirtations and silly little giggles. It’s repulsive how you act around every two-legged mammal with a beard.”
“But it works,” Lily returned with a large smile she knew would aggravate her sister. “You should try it, Edythe. God gave you everything needed to capture a man’s eye, but then you open your mouth and drive anyone interested in you my way. If you could just learn to keep quiet.”
“Amazing, Lily, for that’s my advice to you. And as far as driving men away, first there would have to be someone to repel. Not one man of marrying age or eligibility has visited since Father left, and secondly, if a man can be so easily intimidated, I wouldn’t want him for a dinner companion, let alone a husband.”
Lily rolled her eyes, their light shadowy color made only more piercing by her fair skin and dark hair. “You don’t intimidate, Edythe. You insult.”
“And you, Lily, think anything that isn’t dripping with flattery and praise is an insult. Father, Bronwyn, and I have protected you far too long from the realities of the world and soon you will have to pay the price.”
Lily blinked her eyes in an effort to look bored. “There you go again. When have you ever protected me from anything?”
Edythe yawned and Bronwyn almost joined her. The argument had evolved into a standard battle between the two strong-willed personalities. The conversation would progress as they all did, with either Bronwyn intervening or them sniping at each other for hours until one accidentally pricked more than just pride.
Edythe opened her mouth and Bronwyn shot her a “you know better than to pull me into one of your petty squabbles” glance. Edythe closed her lips and shrugged, finally deciding that she had had enough of arguing with her little sister.
Bronwyn fought back a sigh of relief and lifted her dark gold hair off her neck to allow the slight breeze coming off the hills to cool her skin. She had washed her hair earlier that morning, and when they had left to make their visits, her semidamp locks had kept her cool and comfortable. Now she longed for a knitted snood to hold the unruly wavy mass up and off her back.
“Why do we fight so much these days, Bronwyn?” Lily asked.
Because you both are scared, Bronwyn thought. “You and Edythe see and live life in different ways. You perceive things as they could be and Edythe as they are. I, on the other hand,” she sighed, “seem to want to hold on to the past and keep things as they once were.”
Bronwyn knew her voice had grown melancholy at the end. If she continued walking with them, they would grow suspicious of her quiet behavior and pummel her with questions until they discovered what was troubling her. “There’s my favorite tree, and with Father gone and all the preparations for Twelfthtide, I have abandoned it for too long. Please tell Constance I will be back before dinner so she won’t worry.”
Edythe paused to stare at the huge, leafless alder. Its dense branches stretched outward in all directions in a tangled mass. Her face took on a brief look of bewilderment. “I think I’m the only one in this family who isn’t prone to fanciful indulgences,” she murmured and then waved good-bye as she headed back to Hunswick.
Lily leaned forward and gave Bronwyn a quick peck on the cheek. “Enjoy your walk. Edythe and I will see that nothing is amiss until your return.” And before Bronwyn could reply, Lily spun around and dashed out of site, as if she were still a child on an exciting mission.
Bronwyn leaned back against the callused bark and looked east, toward Torrens, the hill she had named as a child after one of her father’s dogs. When she had needed a companion the most, Torrens had been there. For every tear, every painful step, frightening moment, or period of loneliness, that shaggy gray wolfhound had been at her side.
Sitting on top of the hill was her childhood home, Syndlear. Constructed early during the Saxon rule, the large tower keep had been the area’s focal point for years. Situated high on the crest of Torrens, it possessed a great vantage of the valley and the hills beyond, giving the owner forewarning of oncoming enemies. It looked to be much closer than it was, but a skilled rider who knew the terrain could travel from the valley below to the elevated keep in a half day.
To her right, was Bassellmere, one of the most exquisite lakes in Cumbria. The mountains surrounding it reached into the sky and both were reflected off its deep, dark rippling waters. With woodlands blanketing the surrounding foothills, Bronwyn could not imagine a place that could touch Bassellmere’s beauty. Ahead was Hunswick Castle, one of the first to be transformed from wood to stone in northern England. Its odd shape and incomplete curtain walls and towers kept it from being
