about the same age, then efficiently matched Henry with a boy the same height.
She lined the children up. The servants fell in behind . Head high, nose in the air, she led the troop into the Keep, acknowledging Bonhomme’s deferential bow as she strode through the door. Elayne fancied her lips had become permanently pursed after many years of imposing discipline.
Her heart plummeted when the little girls beamed at each other as they entered the Keep hand in hand. Henry walked stiffly beside his allotted partner.
The Montbryce men brought up the rear.
Noah’s Ark!
Elayne smothered a giggle, but quickly succumbed to lonely dismay when she realized a few minutes later she was the only person left standing in the windswept bailey.
~~~
ALEX WAS TROUBLED BY THE MEMORY of Elayne standing alone in the courtyard, her skirts rippling in the wind. It seemed wrong. She belonged with the children, yet little by little he was prying them away from her.
Marguerite slumped heavily into a chair by the hearth in his solar, prattling about the rigors of the journey, the incompetence of the servants, the disobedience of her children gathered around her. They listened open-mouthed and appeared suitably chastened, though Alex couldn’t imagine they’d put a foot wrong during the entire journey.
She turned her attention to Romain and Laurent, warming their backsides by the fire. “How do you expect me to derive warmth when you are standing in front of the hearth?”
Romain seemed on the verge of responding, then closed his mouth and moved to sit in another chair.
Laurent stepped sideways. “Better, sister dear?”
She grunted, holding her hands to the warmth of the flames, then rubbing them together.
Henry and Claricia stood among the nieces and nephews. Henry stared at Alex’s sister as if she were an ogress. Claricia’s eyes filled with unshed tears as she looked imploringly at Alex.
He shifted his weight in his own chair, wanting to beckon her to his side and explain that while Marguerite may have a loud bark, she didn’t bite.
It would seem odd, especially to his sister.
His niece, Rosetta, who was still holding Claricia’s hand, must have sensed her companion’s discomfort. She leaned over to whisper something in Claricia’s ear, then smiled at her. Whatever she said seemed to calm the Scottish girl’s fears. She returned the smile, then grinned at Alex.
She wants me to know she is fine.
A bond had formed between him and this little girl. She liked him, trusted him, called him Lix . It tore at his heart strings and helped him partially understand the relationship between the Scottish children and their nursemaid.
It was a relief when Bonhomme appeared with tumblers filled with the famous Montbryce apple brandy. He was confident his Steward was savvy enough to offer Marguerite the first tumbler.
“At last,” she complained, glaring at Bonhomme as she sipped the warming liquid. Then she frowned. “How long has this been in the cask?”
Bonhomme straightened. “Five years, milady.”
Marguerite sniffed the brandy as though she doubted the veracity of what the Steward had told her.
Alex held his breath, hoping she was not going to accuse Bonhomme of lying, but then she turned her disgusted gaze on him. “I see you keep the ten year vintage for other visitors. Your sister isn’t good enough.”
The children jumped collectively when Romain banged his empty tumbler on the arm of his chair. “Tastes fine to me,” he exclaimed, licking his lips.
“Me too,” Laurent echoed.
Things hadn’t changed much in more than twenty years. His siblings loved each other, but quarreling and baiting was second nature. Alex had rarely played a role in their bantering games. It saddened him that it was too late to start now.
He drained his brandy. “Excellent,” he observed, handing his tumbler to Bonhomme. “Are my sister’s chambers ready?”
“Who was the red haired woman in the bailey?”
Marguerite’s
She lined the children up. The servants fell in behind . Head high, nose in the air, she led the troop into the Keep, acknowledging Bonhomme’s deferential bow as she strode through the door. Elayne fancied her lips had become permanently pursed after many years of imposing discipline.
Her heart plummeted when the little girls beamed at each other as they entered the Keep hand in hand. Henry walked stiffly beside his allotted partner.
The Montbryce men brought up the rear.
Noah’s Ark!
Elayne smothered a giggle, but quickly succumbed to lonely dismay when she realized a few minutes later she was the only person left standing in the windswept bailey.
~~~
ALEX WAS TROUBLED BY THE MEMORY of Elayne standing alone in the courtyard, her skirts rippling in the wind. It seemed wrong. She belonged with the children, yet little by little he was prying them away from her.
Marguerite slumped heavily into a chair by the hearth in his solar, prattling about the rigors of the journey, the incompetence of the servants, the disobedience of her children gathered around her. They listened open-mouthed and appeared suitably chastened, though Alex couldn’t imagine they’d put a foot wrong during the entire journey.
She turned her attention to Romain and Laurent, warming their backsides by the fire. “How do you expect me to derive warmth when you are standing in front of the hearth?”
Romain seemed on the verge of responding, then closed his mouth and moved to sit in another chair.
Laurent stepped sideways. “Better, sister dear?”
She grunted, holding her hands to the warmth of the flames, then rubbing them together.
Henry and Claricia stood among the nieces and nephews. Henry stared at Alex’s sister as if she were an ogress. Claricia’s eyes filled with unshed tears as she looked imploringly at Alex.
He shifted his weight in his own chair, wanting to beckon her to his side and explain that while Marguerite may have a loud bark, she didn’t bite.
It would seem odd, especially to his sister.
His niece, Rosetta, who was still holding Claricia’s hand, must have sensed her companion’s discomfort. She leaned over to whisper something in Claricia’s ear, then smiled at her. Whatever she said seemed to calm the Scottish girl’s fears. She returned the smile, then grinned at Alex.
She wants me to know she is fine.
A bond had formed between him and this little girl. She liked him, trusted him, called him Lix . It tore at his heart strings and helped him partially understand the relationship between the Scottish children and their nursemaid.
It was a relief when Bonhomme appeared with tumblers filled with the famous Montbryce apple brandy. He was confident his Steward was savvy enough to offer Marguerite the first tumbler.
“At last,” she complained, glaring at Bonhomme as she sipped the warming liquid. Then she frowned. “How long has this been in the cask?”
Bonhomme straightened. “Five years, milady.”
Marguerite sniffed the brandy as though she doubted the veracity of what the Steward had told her.
Alex held his breath, hoping she was not going to accuse Bonhomme of lying, but then she turned her disgusted gaze on him. “I see you keep the ten year vintage for other visitors. Your sister isn’t good enough.”
The children jumped collectively when Romain banged his empty tumbler on the arm of his chair. “Tastes fine to me,” he exclaimed, licking his lips.
“Me too,” Laurent echoed.
Things hadn’t changed much in more than twenty years. His siblings loved each other, but quarreling and baiting was second nature. Alex had rarely played a role in their bantering games. It saddened him that it was too late to start now.
He drained his brandy. “Excellent,” he observed, handing his tumbler to Bonhomme. “Are my sister’s chambers ready?”
“Who was the red haired woman in the bailey?”
Marguerite’s
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