Page 2 of Fortress of Snow

Warin arrived the next day with his wife, Edith, and their eighteen-month-old son, Percy. Mazy watched them from her second-floor window as they walked from their horses to the front door.

Warin was a baron now, inheriting that title as well as the only home she’d ever known. He looked quite pleased, a small smile on his thin lips, not sad at all that his father was dead. But perhaps she was wrong to think that, to judge Warin by his expression.

She splashed some water on her face, dabbed her eyes with a cloth, then found her looking glass. Her eyelids were only slightly puffy and red, even though she had been crying all morning. If only her brother John would come home from Bedfordshire, where he was training squires with the Duke of Strachleigh. John would understand her pain, and she would not feel so alone if he were here.

Mazy had only been five years old when he was sent away, and their mother died the winter after John left. Mazy couldn’t remember her mother’s face, only that she was gentle. She did remember her mother’s laugh, though, when Father would tell amusing tales at bedtime. And she remembered her father and mother staring into each other’s eyes, smiling and embracing each other. Mazy’s life had been rooted and strong in her parents’ love.

She had missed John and had longed for him to come home. Once, when he was twelve years old and she was seven, he came for a visit. He knelt in front of her and said, “I will be a noble knight someday, and I will always protect you. If anyone tries to harm you, you must send me word. Understand?”

In awe of her strong and courageous older brother, she’d believed him with all her heart. But that was eight years ago. Did he remember his promise? Was he even at liberty to fulfill it? John had not been able to come home often, and the last time she’d seen him was two years ago. But with her father gone, she needed him now to be her protector.

She knew little about Warin and nothing about his mother, except that when she had died, Warin had gone to live with her family. She had seen him only two or three times in her life.

One memory of him remained with her, one she had recorded in the book of blank pages her father had bound together for her, where she wrote down her thoughts, poems, and things she found interesting. Warin had been about eighteen years old and she was ten. He had cornered her on the staircase when no one else was around. Staring at her, his upper lip curling, he spat out, “Father may like you and your brother best, but I will inherit this house. And when I do, you and John will not be welcome here.”

Mazy went straight to her father and told him what Warin said.

“Warin was always cruel and ungrateful,” Father said in a growly voice. Then he’d patted Mazy’s shoulder. “But don’t you worry. I am going to be around for a long time. And I will findyou a good husband, someone rich and well able to care for you and give you healthy children.”

“But first we will go to new lands and see many sights, Father, remember?”

“Yes, of course,” Father said, smiling affectionately. “I shall not forget my promise. I shall take you to see London, to the lakes, to the mountains, to Scotland, and to the Continent.” His voice became raspy and full of wonder as he spoke of all the far-off places.

In the meantime Father indulged her every desire to learn whatever skills she fancied, many of which were not considered suitable for a woman—as one of her tutors had argued. But Father had told him to mind his tongue and do as he was hired to do.

She learned archery, how to throw knives and axes, and how to fish and snare a rabbit. She was as good as any man at horseback riding, being able to ride astraddle and sidesaddle. She could play the lute, and read and write in Latin, German, and French.

After his steward died, Father allowed her to keep his books, and she recorded the figures and details of the household, the crops, and the tenants.

Father also indulged her with books, every kind of book, but especially books about all the places he promised to take her. But already her father’s indulgences seemed like something in the distant past, now that Father was gone and Warin and his wife and son would be living in her home.

Bathilda burst into her room without knocking. “Come. We must go down and meet the new master of the house. He must bewelcomed.” She bustled over to Mazy’s trunk and pulled out her best dress, a pink-and-blue silk bliaud with embroidered flowers. Before Mazy could say anything, Bathilda was taking her woolen kirtle off over her head and pulling on the fancier one.

“We should cover your hair with a veil, like a proper young lady, and you must be on your best behavior. No running around and turning somersaults like a jongleur.”

“I’m sixteen. I know how to behave in company.”

“Come, come. Sit and be still.” Bathilda arranged her long brown hair quickly, fastening on the veil to cover it.

Mazy started down the stairs with Bathilda, and her stomach did a sickening flip. What would Warin and Edith, whom she had never met, say to her? Was Warin still cruel? Her emotions were still so raw. One unkind word and she’d probably either explode into a rage or dissolve in tears.

She was halfway down the staircase when Warin looked up and saw her.

“Is that you, Mazelina?”

She felt herself bristle at her full name, which she didn’t particularly care for. John and her father always called her Mazy. But Warin didn’t love her as they did, so perhaps he shouldn’t have the privilege of calling her Mazy.

“Yes.”

“Edith, this is Mazelina. And, Mazelina, this is my wife, Lady Wexcombe.” He smirked at his wife as though she were some prize he had won.

“Good day to you, Warin. Lady Wexcombe.” She nodded respectfully at each of them.

Edith stared at her from beneath lowered eyelids but said not a word. She was as thin as Warin was plump, and she wore a pinched expression.

“It seems as though you’re still unmarried,” Warin said, his attention now on Mazy as his smirk turned into a grimace. “I would have thought Father had found a husband for you before now.” Warin raised his brows. “Had he found someone?”

“No.”