Page 15 of Fortress of Snow
He helped her down from the tall horse’s back, one hand oneither side of her waist, before assisting the next squire preparing to take his turn at tilting.
Mazy observed the practice the rest of the afternoon, but she found herself mainly watching Sir Berenger. She kept remembering how he had smiled at her, the way the dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees and shone on his brown hair.
Could there be a handsomer or more gallant knight than Sir Berenger? She didn’t think so. But how horrified her brother would be if he knew she was watching his fellow knight and thinking about him as often as she did. She needed to put him out of her thoughts. He was her friend, and her brother’s friend, and nothing more.
Mazy had been at Strachleigh Castle for over two weeks. Lady Delia did not seem to expect anything in return for her gracious hospitality, but Mazy tried to think of ways she might be helpful anyway. As the mistress of a great estate, Lady Delia had a great many responsibilities, in addition to her duties as a new mother who nursed her own child instead of employing a nurse, as most great ladies did.
As she sat watching the knights and squires at their jousting training, a messenger rode up the castle mount on his horse. As he drew nearer, she recognized him as one of Warin’s men.
She braced herself. What kind of message might Warin be sending? Had he found a husband for her? Was he demanding she come back to Wexcombe? Or was he only trying to discover if she was alive and well?
But compassionate concern was not one of Warin’s known traits.
The guard dismounted and made his way forward. He caught sight of her, recognition altering his expression, and asked, “Where is Sir John? I have a missive for him.”
“Is it from our brother, Warin?”
“It is. From the Baron of Wexcombe.”
“I shall take it to him.”
“My instructions were to give it only into the hand of Sir John.”
How annoying men could be. “Come with me, then.”
She led the way to the knights’ barracks and asked one of the men standing outside to look and see if John was there, but he came out shaking his head.
“He is here somewhere,” Mazy said to the guard and went to look in the kitchen.
He wasn’t there either, but when she came back, she saw John striding across the bailey toward the guard.
“Sir John of Wexcombe?” the guard inquired.
“I am he.”
The guard handed John the rolled-up piece of parchment that was sealed with her father’s—now Warin’s—seal and colored ribbons.
John broke it open, unrolled it, and stared. Then he violently smashed it between his hands.
“Warin dares to damage my sister’s reputation?” His voice started out at a normal volume but rose precipitously until the last word was shouted at a throat-searing pitch.
The guard took two steps back.
John glanced around and caught sight of her several feetaway. “Our brother refuses to do his duty by you. Look at this.” He shook the parchment at her, still clutched in his tight fist.
Mazy’s heart sank like a stone at seeing John so upset. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sir Berenger and a few other men coming toward them.
John glared at her and threw the parchment on the ground, stalked away a few steps, stopped, then turned toward her.
“Why did you come here? Why couldn’t you stay at home where you belonged? Am I your keeper? Are you my responsibility?” His finger repeatedly stabbed his own chest.
Mazy’s cheeks burned as she picked up the parchment and straightened it out, reading it silently and quickly.
My dear brother, Sir John,
Your sister, Mazelina, has left her home and all protection and ventured out into the world on her own with a poor farmer’s son, and I know not what may have befallen her on the way. Therefore, I no longer consider her to be my responsibility. I wish to inform you that I, the Baron Wexcombe, will no longer search for a suitable marriage for her, nor will I acknowledge her as my sister, as I cannot vouch for her virtue. Do with her as you will, as I consider her your responsibility now, not mine.
Respectfully,
