I am changing my life. Things will be better for me, he had argued.
No. I am here until the man to whom my father promised me—a man of means—arrives. I will be married and have no more time for childish fancies.
“William, I am—what is it?” she stopped to ask, sobering at his expression. She realized her error almost immediately. “Forgive me for calling you William. ’Twill take some getting used to.”
“I know,” he promised. “But I am no longer him. I no longer want to be him. And you…you make me feel like him.”
“What is so terrible about that? William loved. He hoped.”
His stoic gaze tore at the fibers of her heart until she nearly fell apart in his sight. “He lost those he loved. Everyone.”
She held herself together. She wouldn’t ever fall apart again. Not even for him.
She knew whom he meant. As William, he had lost Berengaria. Her. He had even lost the woman he loved later.
“But you have gained two brothers and a son!” And her…if any part of him still wanted her. He hadn’t lost her. She was his. She would always be his. “Are they not deserving of your gratitude?”
“They are deserving,” he continued sincerely, “and I am grateful. But I think I would rather not have, than have it and lose it.”
“You would rather not have your brothers?” she smiled, unable to contain her joy for him. “I hear two have found you.”
He smiled in the dancing light. “And who did you hear this from?”
“Rauf. But you must promise never to tell him I told you. Do you promise?”
“Aye,” he vowed through clenched teeth.
She smiled, satisfied and happy to be talking about him. “Are there more than the three of you?”
He shook his head and she watched him as he spoke, unable to believe she was truly here with him. She had missed his face, the familiar pitch and cadence of his voice. It soothed her and comforted her like warmth in the cold.
“I am the youngest,” he told her. “Cain is the oldest and a commander in King Robert’s forces. He is a warrior of great renown, who has a strong belief in the goodness of God.” He looked up at the crucifix of Christ above the altar and smiled slightly, as if he were remembering something. “He lives with his wife and children in Invergarry.
“Torin is Warden of the Western Marches. He lives in Carlisle with his wife and children. He is more of a crafty, silent killer, unseen by the enemy until ’tis too late. He likes words and putting them together to form poems and stories.”
Her smile widened. “He can read and write?”
“Aye. He taught himself.”
“I am impressed by that,” she remarked. And she was. She had taught William as children and he hated it. “Did they tell you of your parents?”
“Just bits they could remember. My mother enjoyed her garden and my father was a blacksmith.”
“And,” she grew somber and covered his hand with hers, “did you tell them about your life as a servant? About my father?”
“Cain told Torin about—” he stopped for a moment as if an invisible hand had reached out and cupped itself over his mouth…or his throat.
“What is it?” she asked with concern.
He shook his head. “I just recalled I never sent a letter to my brothers informing them of my return.”
“Perhaps I can do that for you.”
He blinked and let his gaze linger on her for a moment longer. “Very well. But when will you have time?”
She shrugged her shoulders and let her smile return on him full force. She felt genuinely happy for the first time in four years.
“Of course, I will pay you extra,” he told her. “Do you have any coin at all? I can have Rauf take something out of the—”
