“I take our oath seriously,” Henry replied. He slid his friend a questioning glance. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
Henry gave a small sigh of relief, then said with a hint of pique, “That’s more than Merrick does. He never really trusted us, did he? Or he would have told us the truth.”
“I think he did trust us, as far as he was able.”
“Which wasn’t very far.”
“Would you have told anyone such a secret, thinking you could lose everything?”
Henry shifted in his saddle again, but this time his discomfort was mental, not physical.
“No, I didn’t think so,” Ranulf said, “and neither would I.”
They rode in silence for a while, each man wrapped in his own thoughts, until Henry spoke. “You’re staying on as garrison commander in Tregellas?”
“For now.”
“I wouldn’t wait too long before I asked for permission to marry Beatrice, if I were you.”
Ranulf started and his horse whinnied in protest. “What?”
Henry’s eyes shone with amusement. “You know you want to.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ranulf huffed. “She’s too young. And she talks too much.”
Henry twisted in his saddle to look behind him at the rest of the cortege, then at his friend. “Young Kiernan seems to have gotten over his infatuation with Lady Constance. I wouldn’t be surprised if his affections started drifting to a certain talkative young lady who, I point out, is not a child and who, I believe, is beginning to resemble her beautiful cousin more every day.”
Ranulf’s jaw clenched. “I wish you’d keep your outrageous speculations to yourself.”
“You could lose her if you don’t put a little more effort into the wooing.”
“Shut your mouth,” Ranulf growled, “or broken ribs or not, I’ll knock you off your horse.”
“Oh, very well,” Henry said with a short laugh. “You have absolutely no interest in the lively, lovely little Lady Bea—and I’m going to swear off women for the rest of my life.”
“WELCOME HOME, MY LORD, MY lady. Earl Richard, you honor us,” Alan de Vern declared as the cortege entered the courtyard of Tregellas the next morning.
The earl dismounted at the same time as Merrick and looked around the yard. “A most impressive fortress. I think I’ve been too long in France. I should pay more heed to what’s afoot in Cornwall.”
A pale and anxious Beatrice hurried over to Constance the moment she was off her horse. “I hope youdon’t mind that I’ve come here, despite what my father…despite my father,” she said worriedly, “but between Maloren’s weeping and his leman’s cursing, I couldn’t bear it there.”
“I’m glad you did. You’ll always be welcome in my home,” Constance assured her.
Beatrice smiled tremulously as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Thank you. I’m more grateful than I can say. If there’s ever anything I can do to repay you for your kindness…”
Constance gave her a warm, comforting smile. “You can promise me that you’ll always come to me when you’re troubled. I love you like a sister, Beatrice, and sisters should always help and succor one another.”
Beatrice embraced her, weeping softly. As she stroked her cousin’s back, Constance looked for Merrick. Ranulf had his back to them, giving orders to the soldiers of their escort, but a glance over his shoulder told her he had witnessed Beatrice’s distress. She gave him a smile, too, to assure him Beatrice was welcome in Tregellas.
Then she spotted her husband striding toward Alan, with the earl right behind him.
“You received my message?” Merrick asked the steward.
“Yes, my lord,” Alan replied, shifting anxiously as his gaze flicked from Merrick to the earl and back again. “Alas, my lord, I could not find the will.”
Alarmed, Constance stepped away from Beatrice. “It wasn’t in the chest in the solar, in that cedar box?”
