“Excellent. Eudes,” he called out. The huge, brawny man lumbered his way forward to stand before the dais. “Sir William and his men will train our soldiers. Choose the best and give them orders thusly.” Standing, Lord Hugh nodded at him and then left.
The hall emptied quickly once the lord left, and William watched with his men as the ladies, including Brienne, walked by on their way back to the family’s building. She would not look at him now. He could feel the misery pouring from her and her shame at being exposed as a bastard. Remembering the first time someone had called him that, he understood how it must feel to her.
He would bide his time until he could talk to her. His blood pounded once more, but this time, he felt the need to comfort her.
He and his men walked out of the keep and watched the torrents of rain turn the yard into a quagmire of mud and puddles. It was too dangerous for men or horses, so they went to William’s chambers to talk. For even as the day passed without discovering anything incriminating against the lord of Gifford and Yester, dark feelings swirled around this place, around these people and their lord.
And William knew this was the center of what was to come.
ChapterSixteen
Brienne stared out the window at the rain.
Emilie made some noise of displeasure again at having the shutters thrown open, allowing the damp air to enter the chamber. But Brienne had no intention of closing the window. The air from the storm might be moist and chilled, but it was fresh and somehow soothed her jagged nerves and heart.
For the whole of her life since discovering the truth of her parentage, she’d borne the sidelong glances and the careful distance most of those in the village served her. She’d accepted that being the natural daughter of Lord Hugh would keep her apart and separate from most of them. That James and his parents had overcome that and considered her for his wife was a credit to them, for none of the other families ever had.
But having Sir William know her truth tore her apart. She’d heard her father’s words as she’d walked back to her seat and felt disappointment and shame bloom inside her with every step.
Mercifully, the meal did not last much longer, but her torment would, for her father had invited the knight and his men to remain as guests. So the chance that she would see him again was great. She would face the shame each time, for being the daughter of the blacksmith was more honorable than being a bastard of a nobleman who had discarded you until you were needed. Now her black mood made her restless. The rains eased, but the sun was far from shining. She wanted to walk. She needed to get out of this chamber, this keep, this castle. Knowing Lord Hugh would not allow the last, she decided for the first two. But glancing down at the costly gown and shoes, she knew could not ruin them due to her own poor temper.
“Emilie,” she said without facing the girl. “Leave me.”
“But, Brienne, your father—”
“I know my father’s orders and yours.” She turned then and crossed her arms over her chest as she’d seen Lord Hugh do many times now. “Leave me.” Brienne did not relent and did not drop her gaze until Emilie did.
“If—”
“Ifanyoneasks, I am resting, as I will be,” she said, giving the girl the excuse she needed. She was being watched at all times—she knew that—so she would need a little help in getting out unobserved. “Please send for some hot water. I wish to wash.”
“A bath, Brienne?”
She shook her head. “I had not time to wash before the meal and wish to before I rest. A bucket of hot water will be plenty for my needs.” It was a task that would require one kitchen maid and not an onslaught of servants.
Emilie left then, without argument, and Brienne reached behind the headboard of the bed, where she’d managed to stuff her one remaining plain gown, which she’d worn when she was brought here. It was accustomed to being in the rain. As was she. She undressed quickly, for she knew one thing about the servants here—they did as ordered very, very quickly. When the knock came on the door, Brienne was ready.
A few minutes later, a young serving woman left the family residence and walked toward the oldest part of the castle, where the ancient keep lay in ruins just outside the walls. And, there, tucked into an alcove near the stables and not far from where she’d watched Sir William, she breathed in the damp, wet air and did not care if the rain dripped on her head from the roof above.
“This is the Brienne I would recognize.”
His deep voice invaded the silent cocoon she’d created to block out everything but the sound and the feel of the rain. She opened her eyes and found Sir William standing before her, outlined by a still-unworthy sun’s light. He stepped back, and she could see the soft smile on his face.
“And which one do you recognize, Sir William?” she asked. Her dark mood remained in place, and she wished, against all reason, to hear his thoughts on whom she, Brienne, was. He crouched down before her, bringing their faces level, and reached out to push a sopping-wet tress of hair from her face.
“This is the Brienne who haunts the forests and the paths of the village,” he said quietly. “This is the blacksmith’s daughter who fears no one, not even the king’s knight.”
Tears, damn her, filled her eyes then, and she looked away. Pulling her ragged edges together, she looked back at him. “Blacksmith’s daughter no more.”
“Blacksmith’s daughter or lord’s bastard, they will call you what they will. But you must know in your heart which one you are. Who and what you are, Brienne. And let no one take that from you.” He touched her cheek and wiped a tear away. “No one.”
She cried then, letting out the uncertainty and the pain and the fear. When there seemed no more tears to flow, she lifted her head and realized he’d slid in next to her in the small alcove and gathered her onto his lap, holding her while she sobbed.
“Better, demoiselle?”
She nodded her head. Now her own sense of mortification added to the shame she felt when this man looked at her. He lifted her face with his finger beneath her chin and shook his head. Brienne wanted to cry once more at the sympathy in his gaze.
“Hush now,” he whispered. “Sometimes you must simply decide who you are and not let anyone tell you otherwise.”
