thought to be dislike run down her spine.
The door to the room at the very top of the stairs was open, and the two of them walked in. The old, crumbling stable block had once been in much finer shape; its extra space had sometimes been used for the overflow of male guests on a romping weekend. But now the immense structure was in a sad state of disrepair. It was at the very best a pitiful place to retire to.
Looking around the dust-laden room, she saw a few hooks along one wall and a crude oaken stool stood near a bed. The ropes on the bed frame were in such desperate need of tightening that the thin feather mattress sagged almost to the ground.
She walked over to one of the huge leaded windows and looked down at the old tower spire below it. "A fine room! Fit for a madwoman, to be sure." She found her lower lip trembling, and she bit it to keep it still.
"Don't be saying such things! Why, Slane has not put you here because he thinks you mad."
"He is not the first one." She threw her pink dress onto the mildewed bed.
Cumberland looked at the polonaise and asked softly, "Did you rip the dress in an accident?"
"It was no accident." She smiled bitterly.
"Oh" was all he said, and silence cloaked the dismal room.
Finally she could bear his doubts no longer. She said glumly, "It was not done by my hand. Annie, the maid you had taken me for, was playing a prank. She has a jealous nature." She looked at him; her eyes were a soft velvety hue. "If you would but believe me—"
"I believe you," Cumberland answered steadily. "And you mustn't think Slane considers you mad, either. We've heard the stories. It's unusual to find a woman who reads, but not in your peerage. As for the walking about"—he gave her a fatherly wink—"well, a pretty young thing like yourself cannot live in such solitude as Osterley offers without becoming bored."
After hearing his words of gentle reassurance, she couldn't help but give her new friend a hug. Not since her mother died had she been treated with kindness or understanding. And even though Cumberland was a friend of Avenel Slane, she couldn't hide her gratitude.
"Thank you," she said solemnly after the embrace. "I have been restless. My mother passed away only two months ago, you see. She was my only friend." Brienne sat down on a small oak stool that was so old, its bottom stretchers had been completely worn away. She looked around the room. "It's a bit dreary, it's true. In contrast to Osterley, that is."
She heard Cumberland sigh, and once again they both fell silent, each with their own thoughts.
"You need not stay here, Lady Brienne," Cumberland eventually said.
"No gentleman would make me stay here." She turned to face him, hoping that he was starting to doubt Avenel Slane's wisdom. "And I know you are a gentleman, Cumberland. You would never touch me the way your master did." Believing she had paid her friend a compliment, she looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to relent and help her leave. But instead he stared at her. What she had just said troubled him greatly.
"I behave like a gentleman because I have no choice in the matter. If fate had treated me differently, you would be no safer in my company than in Slane's."
There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice. Brienne, unsure what she had said to make him feel that way, frowned in confusion.
Cumberland watched her steadily for a long minute and then he parted with only a brief, "Good night, my lady."
After he shut the door behind him, she felt terribly confused. An overwhelming panic rushed through her veins, and she ran to the closed door and flung it open, wanting only to leave the dusty, abandoned stable room behind. But before she could take a step outside, she was stopped by a mass of immovable snowy fur. At the threshold lay the white dog, Orillion. His head was raised to the sudden commotion, and his teeth were bared. They were as white as his coat.
"I see you have already offended Cumberland." A voice
The door to the room at the very top of the stairs was open, and the two of them walked in. The old, crumbling stable block had once been in much finer shape; its extra space had sometimes been used for the overflow of male guests on a romping weekend. But now the immense structure was in a sad state of disrepair. It was at the very best a pitiful place to retire to.
Looking around the dust-laden room, she saw a few hooks along one wall and a crude oaken stool stood near a bed. The ropes on the bed frame were in such desperate need of tightening that the thin feather mattress sagged almost to the ground.
She walked over to one of the huge leaded windows and looked down at the old tower spire below it. "A fine room! Fit for a madwoman, to be sure." She found her lower lip trembling, and she bit it to keep it still.
"Don't be saying such things! Why, Slane has not put you here because he thinks you mad."
"He is not the first one." She threw her pink dress onto the mildewed bed.
Cumberland looked at the polonaise and asked softly, "Did you rip the dress in an accident?"
"It was no accident." She smiled bitterly.
"Oh" was all he said, and silence cloaked the dismal room.
Finally she could bear his doubts no longer. She said glumly, "It was not done by my hand. Annie, the maid you had taken me for, was playing a prank. She has a jealous nature." She looked at him; her eyes were a soft velvety hue. "If you would but believe me—"
"I believe you," Cumberland answered steadily. "And you mustn't think Slane considers you mad, either. We've heard the stories. It's unusual to find a woman who reads, but not in your peerage. As for the walking about"—he gave her a fatherly wink—"well, a pretty young thing like yourself cannot live in such solitude as Osterley offers without becoming bored."
After hearing his words of gentle reassurance, she couldn't help but give her new friend a hug. Not since her mother died had she been treated with kindness or understanding. And even though Cumberland was a friend of Avenel Slane, she couldn't hide her gratitude.
"Thank you," she said solemnly after the embrace. "I have been restless. My mother passed away only two months ago, you see. She was my only friend." Brienne sat down on a small oak stool that was so old, its bottom stretchers had been completely worn away. She looked around the room. "It's a bit dreary, it's true. In contrast to Osterley, that is."
She heard Cumberland sigh, and once again they both fell silent, each with their own thoughts.
"You need not stay here, Lady Brienne," Cumberland eventually said.
"No gentleman would make me stay here." She turned to face him, hoping that he was starting to doubt Avenel Slane's wisdom. "And I know you are a gentleman, Cumberland. You would never touch me the way your master did." Believing she had paid her friend a compliment, she looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to relent and help her leave. But instead he stared at her. What she had just said troubled him greatly.
"I behave like a gentleman because I have no choice in the matter. If fate had treated me differently, you would be no safer in my company than in Slane's."
There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice. Brienne, unsure what she had said to make him feel that way, frowned in confusion.
Cumberland watched her steadily for a long minute and then he parted with only a brief, "Good night, my lady."
After he shut the door behind him, she felt terribly confused. An overwhelming panic rushed through her veins, and she ran to the closed door and flung it open, wanting only to leave the dusty, abandoned stable room behind. But before she could take a step outside, she was stopped by a mass of immovable snowy fur. At the threshold lay the white dog, Orillion. His head was raised to the sudden commotion, and his teeth were bared. They were as white as his coat.
"I see you have already offended Cumberland." A voice
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