look a state, boy!’ Lady Danby’s voice was sharp. ‘Why are you disturbing us? My husband said your duties were done for today and I thought you were gone to your own home.’
Lucy had insisted that Robbie start his knight’s training as a page in his grandfather’s house rather than with a stranger she did not know. In truth, Robbie would have preferred to be in the smaller, newer manor house his parents had built at the opposite end of Wharram Danby, but once his mother started screaming with birthing pains, he’d been sent back. He kept the thought to himself, though his eyes fell on the slender cane his grandmother used for walking—and for meting out punishments to her grandchildren and any of the village children who displeased her.
He delivered his news, breathing slowly in the hope of lessening his stutter. Sometimes his lips felt like a door that would not open, however much he pushed. It was always worse when he was nervous, which he usually was in the presence of his grandmother.
‘Another daughter? Lucy must be overjoyed.’ Lord Danby stood and made his way to Robbie, his milk-white eyes crinkling as he tapped his cane across the stone floor.
‘A son would have been preferable,’ Lady Danby remarked with a thin-lipped smile. ‘What a pity Roger will return home to another girl.’
Robbie bit down his retort. There were seven years between him and his twin sisters, and another six between them and the new baby. His mother felt her failure to produce a son, however much his father assured her he was more than content.
‘Still, boy, that does not explain your appearance,’ Lady Danby continued.
Robbie glanced over his clothes. He did indeed have goose crap on his lower legs, as well as grass stains on his knees and fingers that were sticky from pear juice.
‘S-s-someone let the geese into the pear orchard and they w-w-were attacking Rowenna.’
Lady Danby looked down her nose at him. Whatever the reason for his appearance, he suspected she would disapprove. The sight of the twins peeking around the corner of the dais at the end of the hall made him suspect who the culprits were.
‘That explains, at least, why my cook has been waiting half the afternoon for the pears. Where is that idle girl now?’
Robbie was saved from answering by Rowenna and Joanna’s arrival. As soon as Joanna returned to sit with Lucy, leaving instructions for Robbie to remain, Rowenna was summoned to stand before Lady Danby. She recounted her tale in a trembling voice and displayed her fruit, which was found wanting and sent to the kitchen to be boiled down into sweetmeats.
‘You’re a disgrace, Rowenna Danby.’ Lady Stick reached for her cane. ‘I had hoped you would begin to display some decorum, but I see you have not.’
‘Decorum wouldn’t have picked the pears,’ Rowenna retorted, ‘or seen off the geese!’
Robbie winced. Rowenna never knew when to hold her tongue. It was infuriating.
‘Rude chit! Hold out your hand. You’ll get two strokes now.’
Lady Danby’s voice was iced outrage. Rowenna whimpered softly. She held her hand out. It was already scraped and red. Small drops of blood welled in places. The whipping would hurt much more than usual.
‘It wasn’t her fault! My s-s-sisters let the geese out.’ Robbie rushed across the room and stood between Rowenna and his grandmother. ‘If you’re going to punish Ro, you should punish them, too.’
Lady Danby’s eyes flickered to the twins playing happily in front of the fire and beckoned them over.
‘Does your brother speak the truth?’
Anne nodded shyly. Lisbet, looking amused, scuffed the floor with her foot. They were identical, save for Anne’s slightly straighter hair and a small mark on Lisbet’s left knuckle, and looked more like their father than their mother. Lady Danby’s face softened at the sight.
‘That was naughty of you, girls. If you do that again, I will have to punish you. Now, go back to your game and be quiet.’
The girls scampered away, giggling with relief.
‘Hold out your hand, Rowenna,’ Lady Danby repeated.
Robbie watched with mounting, impotent fury as Rowenna thrust her hand forward and closed her eyes. The stick swished through the air and snapped down. Rowenna gave a wordless wail and bunched her fist tightly. Tears began to stream down her round red cheeks. She opened her hand again and the second stroke caused her to yelp as blood welled in her palm.
‘I hope this will teach you to behave more like the lady your parents are trying to make you into,’ Lady Danby said. ‘It will be hard enough with the stain on your family to find you a place in society without you doing everything you can to thwart it.’
Rowenna flushed even redder, but to Robbie’s relief she had the sense not to rise to this taunt.
‘Now, Robbie. Your hand, for being so insolent.’
Boldly, Robbie met Lady Danby’s eyes. He clenched his jaw and held his breath and was proud that when the stick met his palm he allowed no sound to escape him. He kept his hand outstretched until Lady Danby had lowered her cane before slowly closing his fist. He bowed deeply and asked to be dismissed, and it was only when he had left the room that he allowed hot tears to fall as he clutched his palm beneath his armpit to stop the pain.
Despite the unpleasant interlude, the evening meal was a merry affair. Robbie’s father, Sir Roger, returned at sunset. He called on Lucy, then visited Wharram Manor, greeting his daughters by swinging them high into the air until they squealed. He enveloped Robbie in a strong embrace.
‘Lucy is going to be vexed with me, I fear,’ he told Robbie with a broad grin. ‘My business was successful.’
Excitement coursed through Robbie. He had told no one of the business Sir Roger had left on, though he had found it hard to keep the secret from Rowenna.
His father named a place and person, but looked solemn. ‘We’ll talk more this evening when we’re in our own home.’
As soon as he was able, Robbie sought Rowenna out and pulled her into Lady Danby’s garden, determined that she should be the first to hear his news. He had been allowed more ale than usual and felt as though his head was padded inside with raw wool.
They sat side by side on the stone bench and listened to the bleating of the sheep on the moors. Rowenna ran her fingers over Robbie’s palm. ‘I’m sorry you got a whipping,’ she said, fingertips tracing the lines on his palm. ‘It was my fault.’
It was intended to be soothing, but made Robbie’s chest tighten. He was becoming uncomfortably aware how even the glimpse of one of the village girls’ legs could make his body do all manner of alarming things. Before today Rowenna had never had such an effect on him and he was unsure he was comfortable with it.
He concentrated on examining her hand, unwrapping the wide blue ribbon she was using as a makeshift bandage. The skin on her palm had broken in three places and was dotted with raised weals across the mounds below her fingers where she had previously scuffed them. They would scab over in time,
