Page 66 of Fortress of Snow

“You don’t have to get married, Ro. We’ll think of something.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“But, Ro, you would only be marrying him for protection. We can find someone to help us, I’m sure. I don’t want you to feel as if you must marry. There are surely some trustworthy people in London. I—”

“All right, Mazy. But we have to find someone who won’t try to cheat us this time. I’m not brave like you. The next men who threaten us just may carry it out.”

“I know. I understand.”

Marriage. A few men had proposed marriage to them when they were selling at their booth in the market, but Mazy never took them seriously, except Martin Fisher, and she didn’t want to marry him. And she hadn’t thought Ro wanted to marry anyone either. But now that she thought about it, Anselm was often at the Swan in the evening when she and Ro came back from the market, and he also visited them in the market at least once a week.

On the day of Ro’s father’s funeral, Anselm had hovered around Ro, offering to fetch whatever she needed, staying the entire day while other people came and went. Even if Ro was not in love with him, he seemed to be in love with her.

“You don’t have to marry Anselm if you don’t want to,” Mazy said, touching Ro’s arm.

“I know. You know I only do what I want.” Ro grinned and lightly slapped Mazy’s shoulder with the end of her towel.

She wanted to point out that Anselm might be clever, but he always looked like a lost dog who hadn’t eaten in days. But then, that wasn’t very kind.

Ro smiled. “If I get married, I hope you know what my next goal will be.”

The look on Ro’s face was too diabolical for Mazy’s comfort. “What?”

“Getting you married.”

“Oh no. Ro, no. Don’t you get any such notion in your head.” She didn’t want to get married for the purpose of protection or help.

The truth was, she could not imagine marrying, now that Sir Berenger was getting married to an earl’s widow. She didn’t think anyone would inspire feelings of love in her, anyone besides Sir Berenger.

Berenger had passed a couple of weeks at Bristow Castle, including Christmas, with winter turning quite cold. He was having trouble falling asleep at night, so it happened that he was still awake when he heard a knocking sound.

He opened his eyes. All was completely dark except for the glow of the embers in his fireplace.

The loud knocking came again, from just the other side of the wall of his bedchamber, and this time it didn’t stop. Someone was pounding on the wall in Lady Bristow’s room.

Berenger leapt from his bed and quickly pulled on some hose and a shirt. He yanked open his door, strode to Lady Bristow’s door, and yelled, “I’m coming in!”

He threw open the door and all was pitch black, but he could hear something like bare feet shuffling along the floor.

“Help me!” came the raspy cry.

“Lady Bristow?”

Soft crying was coming from several feet away.

“Lady Bristow, can you hear me?”

More crying.

“Come toward me,” he said, still unable to see anything. “You should be able to see me in the doorway. Come.”

Shuffling sounds came nearer and he went to meet them. “Lady Bristow, it’s Sir Berenger.”

“Oh, Sir Berenger.” She grabbed his shirt and started crying again, pressing her face to his chest.

“Let me light a lamp.”

“No, please, just hold me.” She clung to him.