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“Died in childbirth.”

In that moment, something passed between them. The hairs on Kathryn’s arms stood straight up. She knew without asking the countess’s mother had passed under the same circumstances.

“It seems we are kindred spirits, you and I. Daughters of great men—” Sara smiled, “—two Richards who lost their loves too early.”

It was remarkable, really, when she put it that way.

“Though you are a countess . . .”

“And you, the daughter of a man who might, even after his death, alter the course of history.”

Kathryn held her shoulders back, a vision of her father flashing before her. He’d been a handsome man with dark hair speckled with grey. Articulate. An expert horseman, and one who knew the land above all others.

A great man indeed.

When she saw the glint of tears in Sara’s eyes, Kathryn could no longer maintain her composure. She’d thought the countess too strong to succumb to tears, and the sight called forth her own emotion.

Sara closed the space between them, her arms wrapping around her as if she were a sister and not a stranger. They cried together for all they’d lost. Great men. Mothers they’d never known.

Kathryn had never allowed herself to cry like this, as if her father were truly gone forever. Though she had not questioned the truth of the cleric’s words, some tiny part of her, never having seen his body . . .

But he was gone, and Kathryn would never, ever see him again. She was alone in the world.

Sara pulled away.

“I do not normally greet new guests with tears,” she said, a sad smile forming on her lips, “but neither am I embarrassed to have done so. I thought to press you on the bits of the story you left out. But perhaps I can do that later this eve.”

Kathryn’s eyes widened. How had she known? The only aspect of the story she had kept to herself related to Neill.

“We are very much alike, you and I,” Sara said, as if reading her thoughts. “We will speak more later. Now let us go and join the men.”

Chapter 17

“Hayden and Hugh.”

Neill watched from the dais as his nephews were led away from the hall by Faye, his aunt by marriage. Faye had fussed over him quite a bit, for they’d not seen each other since soon after she had wed Uncle Hugh. It was clear Hugh had acclimated to life at Kenshire quite as well as Geoffrey—he was the namesake of Neill’s youngest nephew, the newborn babe who had kept Geoffrey from the council. Hayden held on to Faye’s leg as they left the hall. He had just started walking recently, according to Geoffrey.

It had been a good, satisfying day, which Neill and Geoffrey had spent talking and training. Kathryn had been absent from the midday meal, although Sara had assured them she was well. He’d pressed her, wondering why she had not joined them, but the countess had put him off, explaining only that she’d needed some time to herself.

Thankfully, she’d arrived moments ago looking more than well. Once again, her lovely hair hung down her back, drawing his gaze and making his hand itch to touch it. He was not sure if he should bless or curse whatever fate had seated him next to her. It would have been customary for him to sit beside his brother, but instead he’d been positioned to Kathryn’s left. So far, she had spent most of the meal speaking to Sara, leaving Neill to observe the activity in the hall. Luckily, they weren’t forced to share a trencher, courtesy of the individual bowls of stew that had been served.

His brother’s words from earlier echoed in his ear as he struggled not to stare at her.

“You understand your duty, brother?” Geoffrey had said.

Neill had told his brother everything. Though he was very close to his sister, Emma, and had always admired Bryce, it was Geoffrey with whom he shared the closest bond. After their parents had been killed, it was Geoffrey who had kept the family together. Geoffrey reminded him most of their father, and he’d always striven to make him proud.

His brother had said exactly what he’d expected—and feared—he would say. From the moment the king had set that second condition, he’d known his life was no longer his own. He would share it with Lady Alina. A small sacrifice for what he’d gained, or so he’d thought.

“Aye,” he’d told Geoffrey, “but I’ll not lie and say I like it.”

“You’ve not told her,” his brother had admonished. With those words, every excuse he’d conjured up for his reticence had been laid to waste. He told himself he’d not had the opportunity. On their journey to Kenshire, he’d even approached her once, intending to apologize for his behavior and explain the conditions of King Edward’s boon. But the maid had joined them, and he’d used her intrusion as a reason to put off his explanation.

He chanced a glance at Kathryn.

And damned if she wasn’t peering at him over her wine goblet.

She seemed very at ease here, sitting with his family on the dais. Geoffrey had mentioned Sara had convinced Kathryn to continue to dress as befit her status. To sit with the family who hosted her. The men who had come with him from the start already knew, as of earlier that day, the maid was, in actuality, a lady. Though her true identity remained a secret. But one thing had been bothering him.