Page 4 of Fortress of Snow

If she could not remain here—and indeed, she could not imagine living with Warin and Edith—perhaps she could go to Bedfordshire, where John was training squires with the Duke of Strachleigh. Would it be possible to stay with him there?

A messenger had been sent to John to tell him of their father’s death, but she had heard no word from him. When he came, he would no doubt force Warin to show her some respect and care. She was not some stray dog to be handed off to a new owner, unwanted and soon to be forgotten.

John would make everything right.

***

John still had not arrived three days later, and so they determined to hold the funeral. The priest said they could not wait any longer or the body would start to stink. Just before the service was to start, a missive came from John.

I regret that I cannot come to my father’s funeral. My duties prevent me from traveling at this time, and I am sure that his life and good name will be honored by the priest and he will be buried in the crypt in the churchyard, as was his wish.

Sir John of Wexcombe, Knight in King Richard’s service

Mazy felt a sting in her chest that her brother did not even mention her, and even more hurt that he was not coming. Why would his benefactor, the Duke of Strachleigh, not release him from his duties for a few days to attend his father’s funeral?

She stood in the cold rain outside the family crypt, and inspite of the rain making everyone miserable, the priest seemed determined to say everything he’d intended to say as her father’s body was laid to rest inside.

Warin and his wife stood together with their child’s nurse, who did her best to comfort and amuse young Percy. Mazy’s little nephew cried and screamed and fought to get down out of the nurse’s arms.

Mazy let her tears flow, for how could anyone decipher her tears from the rain?

Every day Warin had spoken to her about the need for her to marry. Did he think of anything else? For someone who had never said more than a few words to her before, he seemed quite concerned about her future. But he was not concerned for her welfare, only for how to get rid of her at the best price.

The day after the funeral, he began listing potential husbands. He was sure to settle upon one soon, and though she didn’t feel ready to get married, she had always known it was inevitable. But what kind of man would he be?

“The Earl of Brimley’s wife died a few months ago,” Warin said to her one morning, a week after her father’s death. “If he is looking for another, you could hardly do better. He is very wealthy and might be willing to marry you with no money at all. If he wishes for more children, he might even pay a bride price.”

“How old is the Earl of Brimley?”

“I don’t know, perhaps fifty or sixty, but all the better for you. He will die and might leave you an inheritance, and then you can marry again.”

Mazy let her mouth fall open, then choked out, “I would rather not marry someone quite so old.”

Warin waved his hand as if swatting at a gnat. “You are not so squeamish, are you? You are an orphan now and must put away childish notions of true love and all that. I shall write to him directly.”

Her father had been dead only seven days. She was still trying to accustom herself to the idea that he was gone. How could she endure her half brother’s incessant, callous way of throwing up men to her? And now he was writing to the Earl of Brimley, a man as old as her father, perhaps older.

But what choice did she have? She had to endure it, would have to marry, for Warin obviously did not wish to let her live in her own home—his home now—even long enough for her to get used to being without her father.

She’d imagined that one day she would marry a baron, like her father. She’d live in a castle with her children around her and would not send her sons off to be knights. Instead, she’d have tutors at home to teach them the skills to become a knight. Her daughters would learn to read and whatever else they desired to know. Her husband would be so wealthy that her children would never have to worry about making their own way in the world, and she’d be very happy.

Now that Father was gone, she began to wonder if any of her hopes and plans would come true. Would she end up the wife of a cruel husband, someone who would not care what she thought or desired? Someone who disregarded her feelings? Or, even worse, would she end up alone and in poverty, barely ableto survive, with no one to protect her or help her when she was in need?

She mustn’t think the worst. Father always encouraged her to think hopeful thoughts, to be confident that all would turn out well.

John could help her. He’d told her that if someone tried to harm her, she was to send him word. He would make sure she was not alone and unprotected. John would help her find a good husband, someone who would treat her well and make sure she was well provided for.

If John would not come to her, then she would go to him.

She went into her room and wrote a note for Warin saying that she was going to Strachleigh to visit John. She would find someone to accompany her on her journey, then pack her bags with clothes and essentials.

If her father could not take her to see new and interesting places, she would take herself.

Two

Berenger relished being in Strachleigh with his sister, who was married to the Duke of Strachleigh. And it was in the duke’s service that Berenger was able to train other young men as he had been trained. Strachleigh, whom Berenger had called Sir Geoffrey before he gained the title of duke, and who himself was an excellent swordsman, kept too busy with his duties and his large estate to help with the young men who had come to be trained to fight and serve with courage, integrity, and chivalry.

Berenger only wished his assistant was not Sir John of Wexcombe.