Page 85 of Fortress of Snow

Sir Berenger and Strachleigh were talking about Lady Bristow.

“She will certainly have people at the king’s court who are loyal to her,” Sir Berenger told his brother-in-law.

“No need to worry. She cannot hurt the child now.” Strachleigh exuded confidence. “I will send a number of my knights and soldiers with you for protection.”

“I sent a letter by courier to the king the day after we left,” Sir Berenger said, “but we will make our way to London to speak to King Richard in person. Although Lady Bristow will have reached him before us, no doubt.”

After a good night’s sleep, they set out the next morning accompanied by Strachleigh’s men. Juliana seemed content aslong as she was with Sir Berenger, but she was warming up to Mazy as well, letting her do little things for her. Mazy already loved Juliana and felt fiercely protective of her.

They rode all day and stopped at an inn in a small walled town to sleep.

“Welcome,” the innkeeper said as they walked inside. “May I offer you our best room?”

Of course the innkeeper thought they were a family—husband, wife, and child.

“Thank you, yes.” Sir Berenger turned to glance at Mazy.

Mazy suddenly wished with all her heart that they were just what the innkeeper thought them to be.

She thrust the thought from her mind as they sat and let the innkeeper serve them stew, warm bread, and ale. While they ate, Juliana sitting on Sir Berenger’s knee, he looked Mazy in the eye and spoke in a low voice.

“Are you comfortable with us staying in the same room tonight? You have my word that the child will sleep between us and nothing unseemly will occur.”

“Of course. I trust you. And the best way to stay safe and to avoid suspicion—and to keep Juliana feeling safe and taken care of—is for the three of us to remain together.”

Later, after they had gone up to the room, Mazy washed Juliana’s face, then laid her down on the larger of the two straw mattresses. The child’s eyes were closed before her head even touched the bed.

“Poor little thing,” Mazy said as she washed her own face in the washbasin. “She was so tired.”

“I don’t think I shall have any trouble sleeping either.” Sir Berenger groaned as he stretched out on the smaller mattress, leaving the bigger one for Mazy and Juliana.

“Did you not sleep well at Lady Bristow’s castle?” She hid her smile. But she felt a slight pang at realizing she was gloating over his not being able to marry Lady Bristow. After all, it was quite a misfortune when she remembered that he also would not be able to inherit the castle and all the wealth of Bristow.

“It was not a restful experience.”

“I’m sorry.” Mazy covered her mouth in an attempt to hide her amused smile.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” He shook his head.

“I was laughing at the situation—a knight afraid of a woman.”

“I wasn’t afraid of her, only afraid of being married to someone without integrity. But I suppose there have been a few men who were afraid of you. How many men have you cut since you’ve been in London?”

She wasn’t sure why, but his comment and question made her stomach feel sick. How could he jest about that? She had been absolutely terrified every time she had been forced to use her knives against someone.

“Do you think I enjoy harming people?” She inwardly flinched at how defensive she sounded, but she couldn’t tamp down this anger, even as she had no idea where it was coming from.

Sir Berenger sat up and stared at her. “Forgive me. I have offended you.” His voice was low and soft.

“I had to defend myself. Do you think I had anyone else todefend me? If I had not hurt them, I would have been harmed, and I am not sorry I did it.”

Her hands were shaking. She wanted to yell but kept her voice low, almost a whisper, to keep from disturbing Juliana.

“I am glad you hurt them, as you have every right to defend yourself. And I’m sorry.” He leaned toward her, a pained look on his face. “I wish I had been there to defend you. I am beyond sorrowful that you had no one to depend on to watch over you.”

“I don’t need anyone to watch over me. I am doing very well for myself.” But was she? She hated every time she felt threatened enough to put her hand in her pocket, to contemplate another man attacking her and having to defend herself with her knife.

“I can’t rely on anyone but myself, and that’s all well and good.” She was overreacting to what Sir Berenger was saying. She knew she was, but she didn’t know how to stop herself or even what had provoked this overwhelming emotion. She only knew she was very angry with Sir Berenger for... what? For not marrying her? He could marry whomever he wished.