The following is a work of fanfiction, and is not intended to infringe on the copyrights held by ABC Television, Gil Grant Productions, or any other holder of Covington Cross Copyrights. No profit is being made from this story. The author is simply having fun.

Authors note: Please overlook my terms of address (particularly in reference to Richard when he is being addressed by Elayne). I know I’m not historically accurate, but I specifically wanted something formal. As a writing friend of mine pointed out, "there is only one Lord of the Castle." In this story, that’s open for debate……

Sunlight dappled the soft forest floor, twining with the cool, smoky shade of early morning. The air, while crisp, was blissfully fragrant rich with the heady scent of dark earth, wildflowers and fern. Richard Grey felt the fondling touch of a dry breeze as it threaded through the long waves of light brown hair curling over his collar. He’d outdistanced Armus and Cedric sometime ago, preferring to give his chestnut stallion rein, rather than maintain the plodding pace of his brothers.

He’d been on edge lately a fact even his father couldn’t help noticing. Richard knew Sir Thomas attributed his uncharacteristic nervousness to the impending arrival of the King’s honored guests, and the hectic preparations for the Midsummer’s Faire. In all likelihood, Richard thought the observation not far from the truth. Burdened with two momentous events, Covington Cross was currently a nest of confusion and chaos. Though life at the Keep was rarely placid, the last few weeks had left Richard feeling interloper rather than son. Not even Lady Elizabeth’s timely arrival to oversee the preparations, could quell the frantic activity at the castle.

Frowning, Richard leaned forward, ducking to avoid the low-hanging branch of an ancient oak tree. Cool leaves brushed over his shoulder and back as he passed beneath the clinging foliage. Though the second son of a titled nobleman, Richard had never quite adjusted to the fanfare which accompanied the arrival of the aristocracy.

The King’s newest favorite Baron Kirkley would be passing through Grey land on his return from a royal visit. It was His Majesty’s personal request that Sir Thomas play host to the Baron and his family for as long as they were inclined to remain.

Already, Richard could visualize the stuffy air in the great hall. He’d need to watch not only his table manners, but his tongue as well. Sometimes he spoke out of turn, acting on impulse, rather than weighing the consequences.

A wicked grin curled his lips.

Such as now.

He should have probably remained with his brothers Armus would have choice words no doubt, over his disappearance. It had been a simple matter to slip away while Cedric and Armus debated the best path for reaching Brighton. He would beat them both there by mid day. At the rate they were progressing, he’d have time to stop for a tankard of ale and some lively interaction with the first tavern wench he could find. Besides heading all the way to Brighton simply to extend a personal invitation to the Midsummer Faire was too much to ask of anyone, without some enjoyable diversion.

"Ye addle-pated, good-fer-nuthin, four-legged " The angry words suddenly trailed off as Richard emerged from the tree canopy into a small clearing. There, a man toiled in a mud bog, vainly striving to push a rickety looking wagon through the congealing mire. Loaded with what appeared to be kegs of wine no doubt intended for Covington Cross the cumbersome vehicle was pulled by an equally cumbersome-looking horse. Presently, standing stock still, the animal seemed heedless of the man entrenched behind the rear wheel, angrily dispensing expletives as he bent muscular arms to the task of freeing the cart.

Grinning now, Richard dismounted. Removing his sword, belt and leather jerkin, he hooked them over his saddle, and left his horse sheltered beneath the trees. Clad only in a loose-fitting tunic, soft pants and leather boots, he waded into the bog.

"You look like you could use a hand, Weylin."

"Master Richard!" The man started in surprise, rounding on the young aristocrat. Richard was already up to his shins in mud. Appearing slightly flustered by the offer of help from someone so far above his station, Weylin licked his lips nervously. "I knew I shoulda took the south fork to Covington. This bog’s a lot deeper than it looks, Master Richard. Fool mare has done gone and decided to stop halfway through."

"We can’t have that," Richard returned, moving to the opposite side of the wagon. "Especially when you’ve got a load of wine for the Midsummer Festival. My father would have my head if I left all this fine nectar spoiling in the mud."

"Aye." Weylin flashed a gap-toothed smile. A short, robust man, he appeared inordinately stocky, next to Richard’s tall, lean frame. "Lucky fer me, ye happened by."

"For both of us," Richard said with a wink. He would easily rather spend his time helping Weylin, then visiting his stuffy cousins in Brighton. Armus and Cedric could deliver the invitation to the Midsummer Faire without him. If luck prevailed, he could convince Weylin to let him lend a hand with the wine delivery or at the very least, ride along in the event of other unseen obstacles. Although it wasn’t common practice for a nobleman’s son to aid a serf, most everyone knew Richard wasn’t like the average nobleman. "Put your back into it," he instructed as he bent forward, heaving against the wheel on the opposite side of the wagon. Weylin did the same.

The cart barely moved.

Drawing back, Richard mopped sweat from his brow. His long bangs were already tipped with perspiration, making his unruly hair appear wilder still.

"You pull and I’ll push," Richard said, nodding to the horse’s dangling reins. "Maybe then, that clod mare of yours, will get the idea."

"Pray she gets sumethin’ other than the sole of me boot," Weylin grumbled good-naturedly. "Yer far too kind, Master Richard, helpin’ a poor ‘ol sot like me, outta ‘is rut."

"You’re not out of it yet," Richard countered. The moment Weylin tugged on the reins, Richard threw his back into pushing. For a time, both men strained tremendously with no results, then unexpectedly, the wagon lurched free. Caught off balance, his weight thrown forward, Richard stumbled gracelessly and fell into the mud.

"M’Lord!" Forgetting both wagon and horse, Weylin hurried to Richard’s side.

Though he’d been spared the indignity of falling on his face, Richard’s clothing was covered with mud. Shaking his head, at his own stupidity, he struggled to his feet.

"M’Lord! I’m so sorry, M’Lord," Weylin couldn’t talk fast enough. Hastily, he offered a solicitous hand, helping Richard to stand. Cringing, the wine merchant awaited what was certain violent reprimand.

Richard only grinned broadly. "It would seem that mare of yours is far cleverer than either of us thought "

The words no sooner left his lips, then the sound of approaching hoofbeats flowed over the clearing. Pulling himself from the muddy bog, Richard stepped onto the grass embankment as six riders emerged from the trees.

The ornate trappings of the horses clearly indicated a party of nobility. Richard’s eyes went first to the rider at the fore a man-at-arms, most likely of notable rank. Flaxen-haired with a spade beard, he maneuvered his horse with the ease of a man long accustomed to the saddle. Richard guessed his age ten years, past his own twenty-two summers. Three other men lower of rank, brought up the rear. All four riders were obviously positioned as escort to the two women in the party. One was clearly a lady-in-waiting to her mistress. Demur and subdued, she hung back, while the first woman drew abreast of the man-at-arms.

This woman appeared of an age with Armus probably no more than twenty-six her smooth face betraying neither youthful innocence nor jaded coldness. Luscious black hair framed cameo-white skin, tinged by the faintest blush of rose. The bare wisp of color accentuated a flawless complexion and offset the startling violet-blue pools of her eyes.

Entranced, Richard swallowed.

"Pray tell us the way to Covington Cross, good sir," the woman addressed Richard.

When he failed to respond, but stood staring at the vision before him, the man-at-arms planted a booted foot squarely in Weylin’s chest and thrust backwards. Arms cartwheeling, the shorter man reeled into the mud.

"Answer the Lady Elayne."

Shocked from his stupor, Richard flushed with sudden anger. "Where are your manners, upstart?"

Bristling, the blonde-haired man whirled on Richard, his face mottled with indignant rage. "How dare you address me like that," he snapped. "You’d do well to curb your tongue, boy, lest you find it suddenly lacking." Before Richard could react, the man spurred his horse forward, forcing Richard to lurch to the side. His boots, still slick with mud, slid out from under him and he dropped to one knee. Simultaneously, he heard the hiss of a sword over his head, and rolled onto his back, bracing himself on his elbows. Before he could move further, the light tip of a sword pricked the hollow of his throat. Silently fuming, Richard glared up at the blonde-haired man. He was effectively pinned by his opponent’s blade.

"I should slit your throat for such impudence," the man snarled. Though the sword prodded deeper, it did not break skin. "Lady Elayne asked you a question, peasant which way to Covington Cross?"

"Please, M’Lord " a mud-drenched Weylin tried to interject at his side.

"Silence, dog! I will deal with you later."

Richard’s green eyes smoldered with gem-fire. " ‘Tis a weak man who skirts himself with steel, when his opponent is weaponless."

Eyes narrowing, the blonde-haired man studied Richard anew. A muscle twitched in his jaw. "You have an awfully glib tongue for a peasant," he observed.

"Perhaps because he’s not," a new voice intruded. Richard glanced aside in time to see Armus and Cedric emerge from the trees. Both had drawn their swords. Alerted by the fine cut of their clothing and the trappings of their well-groomed mounts, the man-at-arms eased the pressure on his blade. He appeared suddenly nervous.

It was little wonder, Richard thought, gazing at his brothers. While Cedric was slender and dark, Armus was a fair-haired giant of a man. He’d spent eight years in the Holy Lands as a belted knight and it showed in his massive girth. While Richard himself was tall, his older brother Armus towered over him by a good four inches.

The man-at arms licked his lips. "Who are you?" he demanded, though the edge in his voice was now minimal.

Armus inclined his head. "Armus and Cedric Grey, of Covington Cross. Our father is Sir Thomas Grey. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?" Allowing the sentence to dangle a moment, Armus's eyes shifted to Richard. "And that " he continued with a meaningful glance for Richard still sprawled on the ground, " is our brother, Richard. Kindly allow him to rise, or we’ll be forced to trade blows with you."

Clearly stunned, the blonde-haired man glanced down at his prisoner. Still angry, Richard shoved the sword aside and struggled to his feet. He cast a quick questioning glance at Weylin. "Are you all right?"

The other bobbed his head. "I be fine, Master Richard. ‘Beg pardon fer yer involvement."

"Think nothing of it, Weylin. Be on your way."

As the wine merchant clambered into his wagon and directed it out of the bog, the blonde-haired man sheathed his sword. Scowling, he glanced down at Richard. "Pardon my earlier actions, Master Richard, but one doesn’t often find the son of a titled landholder toiling in the mud."

"Our Richard is a bit different than most," Armus inserted smoothly, catching his brother’s black look. Drawing abreast of the party, he assumed the role of peacekeeper. At his side, Cedric had located Richard’s horse and drew it with him. Curtly turning his back on the blonde-haired man, Richard retrieved his jerkin and strapped on his sword.

Lips pressed tightly together, the man-at-arms attempted to maintain an air of civility. "I am Franklin Prentice, and this is Lady Elayne Kirkley. We are days early of our scheduled arrival at Covington Cross. The rest of our party, including Baron Kirkley is just behind us. We could almost deem our meeting here fortuitous, were the circumstances slightly altered."

"T’would have to be drastically altered," Richard muttered, but clearly, everyone heard him.

Armus sighed. "Richard, pray do greet Lady Elayne."

A tight smile on his lips, Richard swung into his saddle. "I’m afraid my present appearance would only offend such a genteel creature," he said smoothly, the edge to his words unmistakable. Gathering his reins, he inclined his head. "Armus, Cedric, you seem to have the situation well in hand. Since the present company suits you, I suggest you act as escort to our esteemed guests " the emphasis on "esteemed" was tart, " while I continue father’s business in Brighton." Suddenly the prospect of spending the day with his cousins didn’t seem so dreadful after all.

Cedric cast a worried glance between his two older brothers. "Richard " he attempted.

Impulsive as ever, Richard wheeled his horse into the trees, sending clods of dark earth flying in his wake. Watching his bristling retreat, Franklin Prentice frowned. "Nobleman or not, that boy needs a lesson in manners."

"My brother is sometimes rash," Armus said stiffly. "You’d do us all a service Sir, not to mistake that trait for rudeness. You’d also do well not to underestimate his skill. He may be young, but Richard is hardly inept."

Prentice’s lips curled slightly. "I dare not imply otherwise. Perhaps, Sir Armus, you’d allow us to wait on the rest of our party? I should not wish to lose the Baron on the way to see your father."

Parry for parry, Franklin Prentice countered Armus’s feints. If Richard had been edgy of late, Armus had no doubt the arrival of the Baron and his party would only build on that restless energy. Between the preparations for the Midsummer Festival and the already clear hostility between Prentice and his brother, Covington Cross was going to be anything but dull.

Armus eyes sidled to the side. He was suddenly disquieted to find the Lady Elayne staring pensively into the trees where Richard had vanished.

+++++

The hour had lengthened into early twilight by the time Richard returned to Covington Cross. His visit with his cousins had been brief only long enough to deliver the invitation and scrub the mud from his forearms. Though the return trek through the forest should have been sufficient to cool his ardor, he found his temper still dangerously close to kindling.

He already had a marked dislike for Prentice, which in turn would likely transfer to the Baron and most of his party. As for the Lady Elayne though she might be unquestionably beautiful, she surely lacked warmth. No lady of good breeding would allow her man-at-arms to behave as Prentice had. The Baron and his family were obviously of the mindset that viewed the lower caste as little more than worms to be crushed underfoot. God, how he detested arrogance!

As the silver-threaded cloak of twilight settled on Tiner Forest, Richard realized he would have to face his father. Somehow the peace and serenity of the smoky woodland, was shattered by the simple thought. Surely, a report had been made to Sir Thomas of his behavior earlier that day.

Richard groaned.

Armus and Cedric would stand by him, backing him as much as possible, but Armus was so appallingly levelheaded he would be forced to concede certain foolishness on Richard’s part. That left the word of Lady Elayne and the Baron, who would also receive a report if not from his man-at-arms, then surely from his daughter. Either way, Richard considered himself doomed.

He knew his father was far more lenient than most. Sir Thomas indulged all his children, looking the other way, more frequently perhaps, where Richard was concerned. Though Cedric could be counted upon for his fair share of mayhem, it was usually of a prankish or frivolous nature. Richard’s indiscretions tended to be more troublesome, resulting from an overly quick temper and an inability to control his emotions. In retrospect, he knew he should have curbed his tongue where Prentice was concerned, but the man’s audacity had crept beneath his skin.

Sighing heavily, Richard broke from the trees. Ahead, the dark lines of Covington Cross rose on the horizon. Stately turrets loomed in stark silhouette against the deepening blue sky. Already, the faint glimmer of starlight could be seen a mere sprinkling of the jeweled canvas destined to rise with the moon. To the west, the sun had faded below the rim of the earth, plaiting the ground with muddy hues of smoked amethyst and plum.

Clicking his heels to the sides of his horse, Richard headed for Covington Cross and home.

+++++

Sir Thomas Grey paced in the main chamber of the east wing, patiently awaiting the return of his second son. A tall, distinguished-looking man with a straight mane of pure silver hair, the Lord of Covington Cross was renown throughout the realm as one of the King’s staunchest supporters. That alone had been enough to appease Baron Kirkley upon his arrival. Accompanied by Armus and Cedric, his Grace had shared choice words about Richard’s reported actions, but the incident was soon forgotten. After preliminary greetings, the Grey household had scurried to present the Baron with a suitable repast, while seeing his Grace housed in the finest guest quarters available. The evening meal flowed seamlessly thanks in part to Lady Elizabeth’s inborn charm and Eleanor’s innate ability to disarm with a smile.

"Well, Sir Thomas " the Baron had said, when the meal was finished and he’d wiped his plate clean for the third time. "You’ve a fine castle here, and a good brood to boot with the possible exception of that second son, who appears to think little of rolling around in a mud bog with peasant stock."

Thomas, thinking the matter had been laid to rest, had struggled to keep his temper in check. "Richard is a bit unrestrained, your Grace."

"Nonsense! You need to take the boy in hand. Clip his wings, if that’s the case. A good thrashing is all he needs."

Thomas bit his tongue. "I do not thrash my sons, your Grace."

"Mores the pity." Fortunately, the Baron chose to end the topic on that note. Though inwardly bristling, Thomas managed to complete the evening with passable charm. Yes, Richard had acted foolishly, and with those actions likely insulted a highly esteemed patron of the King but Thomas wouldn’t bear anyone dictating how he should raise his children. Shortly after the meal, Baron Kirkley and the others retired, and he was able to glean the tale of Richard’s foolhardiness from Armus and Cedric.

"Prentice is a popinjay," Cedric said hurriedly, when Armus had dispensed with the story. Just nineteen years of age, Cedric’s grasp of politics frequently lacked as much as Richard’s common sense. "Richard only "

"Richard only acted like a fool," Thomas interrupted curtly. "No matter how rude the man appeared, Richard should have had the sense to curb his tongue. Do you realize what a delicate balance your brother could have upset today?"

Properly chastised, Cedric lowered his head. With a brisk wave of dismissal, Thomas gave both young men leave to depart. Though Cedric took the cue and left, Armus remained. "Father," he attempted softly, "You mustn’t be too hard on Richard."

Aggravated, Sir Thomas turned. "Why not?"

Armus remained steadfast. "You instilled his values. Is his sense of right and wrong, a trait you now wish to punish?"

"It is a trait I wish him to curb," Thomas countered defensively.

Now upon reflection, as he waited for his son, Thomas realized that impulsive streak was what separated Richard from his brothers. Armus was the cool, levelheaded thinker; Cedric the carefree gallant, who was constantly on the lookout for a pretty face; William the one concerned with stature and position. Richard, while he enjoyed the trappings of wealth, also enjoyed his freedom. And perhaps, Thomas mused, he had allowed him far too many of those. As a second son, Richard would not feel the demands of position like Armus would, but he still needed to exercise discretion and responsibility. Was it possible his headstrong son had grown too brash to control? Though Thomas was not looking forward to an altercation, he couldn’t let the day’s events pass without challenge. Thus when Richard entered the hall, he was waiting for him.

"Father " Coming to an abrupt halt, Richard appeared mildly surprised to find his father sitting comfortably in a chair by the hearth. Unkempt from his ride, Richard looked more vagabond than aristocrat. His light brown hair was disheveled, curling riotously over his collar and brow. Mud streaked his boots and pants, while dirt marred the finely chiseled planes of his face. The strings of his shirt hung open at the throat; his jerkin gaped at the waist. As though trying to tame his ragged appearance, Richard ran a quick hand through his long hair and stepped closer to the hearth. "I delivered the invitation to Cousin Gaylord in Brighton," he said quickly, "He’s pleased to reply his family shall be in attendance at the faire."

"How pleasant," Sir Thomas intoned mildly.

Richard paled. When his father adopted a quiet mode of voice, it usually implied implicit anger not far behind. Casting a furtive glance for the stairs, Richard started to turn away.

"Sit down," Thomas said curtly.

Silently complying, Richard took the seat across from his father. Unable to relax, he remained perched on the edge of the chair, ready to flee given half the chance. Lounging comfortably, Sir Thomas crossed his hands in his lap. "I understand you chanced to meet Lady Elayne and her escort today."

Richard swallowed. "I did."

"A rather interesting occurrence from what I’ve gathered."

Richard flushed. There was no sense skirting the issue. The damage had already been done, and he was tired. Stiffening slightly, he determined to see the confrontation through. The worst his father was likely to demand of him was an apology to the Kirkleys. "You seem more informed of the incident than I, Father. Surely there’s nothing I can add that hasn’t already been addressed by Lady Elayne and her escort."

"Lady Elayne has declined to speak of the encounter," Thomas continued in the same patient tone of voice. Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on the arms of his chair. His face clouded with surprising alacrity, his normally placid blue eyes growing dangerously sharp. "I learned of the incident from Baron Kirkley. Imagine my surprise when his Grace informed me, my second son had all the inbred polish of a common ruffian. That you had offended the Lady Elayne "

"Father, I never "

"Do not interrupt me!" Thomas flared, the full force of his anger now magnified by the razor-edge of his voice. Lurching to his feet, Thomas towered over his son. "By God, Richard, do you realize how close you came to offending the King? The Kirkleys are here at his behest. If word returns to His Majesty that we received his guests imprudently, I needn’t tell you where that leaves this family."

Finally understanding, Richard lowered his head. "I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t think."

"No, you didn’t," Thomas agreed sharply. The admission of error was enough. Looking down at his son’s bowed head, Thomas felt most of his anger fade. Releasing a pent-up breath, he placed his hand on Richard’s shoulder. Hesitantly, his son met his gaze the pale green of Richard’s eyes, made lighter still by the mud streaked on his face. A glimmer of uncertainty lingered in that repentant gaze something Thomas rarely saw in his overly confident heir. "The Baron received the story from his man-at-arms. I’m sure Prentice made it unflattering to you. Armus and Cedric couldn’t tell me what occurred prior to their arrival, but I had the complete story from Weylin when he delivered the wine. You acted nobly, Richard, but you also acted foolishly."

Richard nodded. Somehow the anger he’d felt earlier that day, was now nearly non-existent. "What should I do?"

"Apologize. To the Baron and to Lady Elayne."

Richard exhaled. It was as he expected. "Yes, Father. Will it wait until morning?"

"The Baron’s already retired." Thomas slipped his hand into the unruly tangle of his son’s long hair. A crooked smile turned his lips. "You will do something about your appearance won’t you?"

Richard feigned horror. "Surely you don’t mean bathe?"

"You are a troublesome son," Thomas said with clear affection. "Now go to bed."

Much later, cleaned and bathed, Richard found he couldn’t sleep. The servants had departed, leaving him alone in his room. Though his body felt drained, his mind was too active. He donned a pair of brown breeches with his leather boots, then pulled on a loose tunic of white linen. Retrieving a wide, studded belt, he buckled it around his waist, then slipped from his room.

Covington Cross was quiet at night, almost eerily so. Shadows draped the drafty corridors, nesting in profuse webs of velvety blackness. Here and again, the umbrage was broken chased to the corners by the amber glow of flickering torchlight. Unhindered by the darkness, Richard walked surefooted, down the corridors he had known all his life. Passing the west wing, where the Baron and his party were quartered, he retreated down the rear staircase and into the courtyard.

A sliver of cool night air caressed his face the moment he stepped outdoors. It carried with it the scents of the forest wild honeysuckle, musk mallow, and clover. Overhead the night sky glittered with the liquid dance of starlight. Lacey wisps of oyster-gray clouds shrouded a crescent moon, momentarily blocking the pearlized glow of celestial radiance.

Drawing a cleansing breath, Richard stepped away from the confining walls of the castle, and followed the cobbled stone of a winding footpath to the garden. Nestled among a bower of tall, towering trees and fragrant rose arbors, the garden had been his mother’s favorite spot. Since her death eight years ago, his father had been diligent with its upkeep. Perfumed now, by the heady scent of night blooming flora, the foliage clustered around him emerald green, accentuated by soft pastels of lavender, apricot and honey. Wildflowers flourished among cultivated vines and lush curtains of velvety leaves. Richard had taken only a few steps into the moonlit arbor, when he realized he wasn’t alone.

Jerking to a sudden halt, he spotted the slender silhouette of a woman seated on a stone bench. "Lady Elayne " Her name slipped from his lips before he could stop it. He saw her turn, the long fall of her inky hair cascading over her slim shoulders like black satin. Rising, she greeted him formally.

"Lord Grey." Dipping her head once in acknowledgement, Elayne’s blue eyes returned to his, gaze steady and clear. As before, her face was impassive, betraying little hint of emotion. "The gardens are lovely."

Richard wet his lips. He hadn’t desired company. "My mother thought so as well."

"I have not had the pleasure."

"Nor will you," Richard said quickly and immediately regretted his tone. Inwardly, he cringed. "What I meant to say, is my mother died many years ago. I would have thought the Baron knew that."

Now it was her turn to look uncomfortable. Briefly, Elayne lowered her head, before regaining her composure. "My father does not discuss all the details of our visits with me. He has more pressing concerns."

"Of course." The words fell flat into dead silence. A breeze rippled through the garden and stirred the grass at Richard’s feet. Though he was loathe to, he had promised his father an apology. Now, was as good a time as any to make amends. Clearing his throat, he took a step forward. "Lady Elayne, I fear I owe you an apology for my behavior earlier today. I’m usually not so . . ." he hesitated, a tight smile claiming his lips, " . . . disagreeable . . . upon first encounter. I pray you’ll overlook any offense I may have given."

"It is forgotten, Sir." She said briefly and started past him.

"Wait!" Richard wasn’t sure why he wanted her to remain, only that the encounter felt unresolved. As she brushed by him, he snagged her arm, coiling his fingers around her wrist. The suddenness of contact jolted them both. Richard felt a flicker of heat rush to his face, instantly realizing he’d acted improperly. She wasn’t a tavern wench, to be treated so informally. Swallowing, he let his hand fall free. "I . . . It’s late, and you’ve had a long journey. If your room is uncomfortable "

"My comfort needn’t concern you, Sir." She had halted directly beside him, her shorter stature placing the top of her head level with his shoulder. Tilting her neck, she gazed up at him, her glance unquestionably sharp. Though there was reproachful frost in her eyes, Richard found himself mesmerized by the ethereal beauty reflected there. Stepping back, he placed distance between them.

"M’Lady," he acknowledged shortly. As she brushed past him and out of the garden, he felt an immediate return to his earlier hostility.

+++++

The following morning Richard attempted to apologize to Baron Kirkley. Intending to get the plea over with as quickly as possible, he went to see the Baron immediately upon rising. A servant kept him waiting a good hour then informed him, his Grace had departed for breakfast. Cursing silently, Richard made his way to the Great Hall, where he found his family, Lady Elizabeth, Baron Kirkley, and Lady Elayne seated at the table. Though he had hoped to make his apology in private, Richard knew he couldn’t greet the Baron without first correcting his wrong.

A tall, heavy-jowled man, Baron Kirkley was dressed in excessive layers of ribboned clothing, obviously designed to conceal sagging pockets of flesh. Dark-haired, with a pie-shaped face, he bore a prominent nose and heavy-lidded eyes. Though he rose when Richard approached, the gesture oozed intimidation rather than greeting. Looking down his long nose, he waited while Richard stumbled through an apology.

Unlike his daughter, however, the Baron refused to bend. "You’ve little acquaintance with manners boy," he concluded when Richard was finished. "You defend a peasant and make rude to a noblewoman. If you were my son, I’d strip the hide clean off you."

Though he’d in no way construed his actions as rude, Richard stayed silent. Flushing scarlet, he bowed his head. "Yes, your Grace." It wasn’t so much the remark that stung, but the vindictive tone of the words. To make matters worse, the reprimand was delivered in front of his entire family, and the contingent of servants presently in the room. Behind him, Richard could feel the restrained agitation of his father, and knew that Thomas too, inwardly bristled over the berating. The Baron was far from finished.

"Your lack of breeding reflects on your family, in a most ill-conceived manner. It has always been my opinion the younger sons of landholders are given entirely too much freedom. My man-at-arms has more scruples than you appear to have, boy."

"Your Grace, I really must protest," Thomas inserted sharply.

"You will hold your tongue, Sir Thomas!" Livid to be interrupted, the Baron positively bristled with rage. Blotches of angry color mottled his fleshly face. "And you " One meaty hand closed on Richard’s collar, dragging him forward and propelling him roughly to his knees before Elayne. " will apologize to my daughter for your rudeness."

Stunned, Thomas lurched to his feet. The remainder of the party could only stare in shocked silence to see Richard so humiliated. An apology was one thing. Made on his knees was quite another. He was practically trembling with rage. Grinding his teeth together, he fought for every thread of control he had. "I have already apologized, your Grace," he said tightly. For her part, Elayne looked as horrified as the others.

"Again," the Baron instructed. "So I may hear it as well."

Richard’s chest heaved with the effort to control his breathing. His hands were white-knuckled into fists at his side. Yet through it all he could feel the restrictive hold of the Baron on his collar, fleshly fingers tangled with the strands of his long hair. "Lady Elayne, pray forgive my behavior yesterday. I meant no disrespect. I acted dreadfully and ask for your pardon." Richard said the words quickly, each syllable charged with the coiled tension in his body.

Obviously wanting to end it, Elayne bowed her head quickly. "It is forgiven, Sir."

The Baron hauled him to his feet, drawing him close, so they stood only inches apart. The hand on his collar shifted, fisting in his hair until the grip became painful. "You deserve a flogging," the baron spat, "But as you are not my son, I can not order it. Kindly leave the room so I may digest my breakfast in peace."

The hand released him, shoving him backwards. Only too glad to escape the mortified stares of his family, Richard stalked from the hall. His face burned with shame, the humiliation felt through every raw fiber of his being. Unable to think clearly, knowing his frame of mind made him dangerous, he called for his horse and bolted for the forest.

Hours later, still chafing from the memory, he returned to Covington Cross. Hoping to avoid the Baron and his party, he retreated to the east wing, and exited to one of the less frequently used battlements. There, with the noon sun warm on his back, Richard bowed his head and folded his arms against the heated stone wall. For a brief moment, he could almost forget his earlier humiliation.

"My Lord?"

Startled, Richard jerked. An exasperated sigh escaped his lips when he realized it was Lady Elayne who addressed him. "Haven’t I apologized enough?" he asked irritably.

For once the emotion on her face was clear. With a guilty glance, she lowered her eyes. " ‘Tis I who should apologize. My father’s treatment of you was inexcusable. I’m ashamed to say I’m his daughter."

Stunned by the declaration, Richard was left momentarily speechless. He had expected recrimination and reproach from this woman, but certainly not remorse. Caught off guard, he could only stare. Hesitantly, Elayne lifted her eyes. "We seem to have made a very bad impression upon you, My Lord."

Only then did he realize she was trying to lighten the conversation to extend an olive branch and pave peace between them. Richard relented. "Some of it well deserved, I admit. Is your father always so . . ."

"Odious?" she finished for him. She moved to the edge of the battlement glancing out across the undulating fields and tall stands of forest. "Why do you think I frequent gardens and battlements places he is unlikely to visit?"

"I’m sorry."

She smiled slightly, looking suddenly pensive. "You needn’t be. I can tell your own family is close. The way your brothers defended you to Prentice, and earlier today, when your father stood up for you "

"Yes, he did, didn’t he?" Richard said thoughtfully. He hadn’t really considered what that one little protest had cost Sir Thomas. Had the Baron been inclined, it might have been enough to warrant an unfavorable report to the king.

Raking a hand through his unruly hair, Richard joined her at the edge of the battlement. Once more he was struck by her ethereal beauty a trait which surely rivaled the Queen of the Fair. Briefly, he recalled folktales he had told Eleanor and Cedric when they were just children. Stories of the Fey Folk those enchanted beings who dwelled among the hollow hills, in stone circles and velvety woodlands. He had no doubt Lady Elayne Kirkley rivaled them all.

"I hope the remainder of your stay at Covington Cross will not be as trying as the first two days," Richard said evenly. "The rest of my family is really quite conventional, and I promise to be on my best behavior."

Elayne tilted her head. "No more falling into mud bogs and defending serfs?"

Richard laughed. Something in her voice placed him at ease. "You must think I’m thoroughly reprehensible."

"I think you are incredibly principled, My Lord, and I admire you for it."

Surprised, Richard cast her an arch look. "Pardon my bluntness, but if that is the case, why did you not berate your man-at-arms for his behavior yesterday?"

"You misunderstand, Sir. In my household even a Lady does not make so bold an address."

"Your father?" Richard easily guessed where the directive originated.

Elayne turned away. "For all his faults he does have redeeming qualities," she said softly. For a moment her expression grew pensive as though she reflected on something private. Then a sad smile touched her lips and her gaze returned to him. "I’ve detained you long enough. I believe your brother is waiting to escort me for a ride."

Richard jerked. "Armus?" he didn’t know why it should shock him.

"My father arranged it," she said simply. Perhaps it was her tone, or the disquieting look in her eyes, but in that moment Richard suddenly understood. The Baron’s visit wasn’t simply happenstance. It had been orchestrated under the tutelage of the King to produce an arranged marriage to strengthen the bond between two of his staunchest supporters. Baron Kirkley had arrived at Covington Cross with the intention of marrying his daughter to Sir Thomas’s heir.

The realization turned Richard suddenly cold. Was this manipulation one of the redeeming qualities Elayne saw in her father, for certainly she had to know what he intended? Feeling the subtle rise of his anger, Richard inclined his head. "Good day," he said curtly.

Before she could fathom his sudden change in mood, Richard spun on his heel and left.

+++++

Richard’s mood grew progressively sour as he strode briskly through the halls of the castle. The agitated strike of his boots against the cold flagstone floor reverberated through the drafty corridors with a clipped echo. He entered Sir Thomas’s chambers at a hasty pace, rounding the corner to find the older man seated at his desk.

"Father! Are you aware "

"Richard!" Before he could finish the sentence, Sir Thomas was on his feet. A look of anxiety creased his features as he gripped his son by the shoulders. "God, you held your tongue well.

Baron Kirkley pushed you to the limit and "

" humiliated me," Richard finished with a pointed glance. "What’s worse he has marriage plans for Armus."

"What?" The corners of Thomas’s eyes crinkled with incredulity. Only then did Richard realize how haggard his father appeared. In the murky light of the room, the older man’s features were lined with shadow. His clothing was rumpled, and his white hair usually impeccably groomed, hung ragged over his brow.

Richard wet his lips. "I believe Baron Kirkley is here to orchestrate a marriage between Armus and his daughter. Most likely at the King’s behest."

Thomas snorted. "Richard you’ve lost all sanity." Releasing his son, he turned away.

"Are you aware they’re going riding together?" Richard persisted.

"Are you aware Lady Elayne went riding with Cedric yesterday, while you were in Brighton?" Thomas countered. "Is his Grace now planning bigamy or is he undecided on which son to collar?" Sighing, Thomas shook his head. "Richard, your dislike of the Baron is well founded, but I do believe you’re grasping at straws. Let’s not have a repeat of the incident we had this morning."

Richard blanched. "Surely, Sir, you can not believe I would intentionally bring more discomfort to you or this family?"

Alerted by his son’s formal mode of address, Thomas turned to face him. "Richard," he said patiently. "I was referring to your own good name. This family can weather the Baron’s tirades. I’m not sure you can withstand the same."

Frustrated, Richard glanced away. He looked the part of autocratic young noble today, Thomas thought distractedly his long brown hair combed into flowing waves about his face; the dark browns and greens of his snug-fitting clothing, flawlessly contouring the trim lines of his body. When he dressed the way he was now in studded leather jerkin with top boots, and broadsword dangling from his slim hips, Richard looked blatantly imperious. Thomas had no doubt his son would mature a man to be reckoned with. More so perhaps than Armus, who for all his incredible size was mild-mannered and slow to anger. Indeed of all his children, it was only Richard who had inherited his own fiery temperament.

Sometimes he forgot what a trial he had been to his own father.

"You’re just going to allow this to continue?" Richard asked at length, perturbed.

Thomas chuckled shortly. "Allow what to continue? A ride in the forest? If you’re so worried about Lady Elayne becoming your sister-in-law, perchance you should speak with your brother."

Richard paused, considering. A calculating light entered his smoke green eyes a look Thomas recognized immediately.

"You will not," Thomas said sharply. "Involve your brother in any scheme involving Lady Elayne. Armus is old enough and wise enough to shield his heart against manipulation. He’s seen far more of the world than you have Richard no matter the amount of time you’ve spent rolling in the hay with the tavern wench of the moment."

Richard failed to bat an eye. Though his entanglements were not as numerous as Cedric’s, they had little more substance. While Cedric routinely thought he was falling in love, Richard was jaded enough to merely opt for brief interludes. His father’s remark made his knowledge of that penchant only too clear.

"Then if Baron Kirkley seeks to arrange a marriage between Armus and Lady Elayne, you’ll allow it to proceed?"

Thomas balked, irritated to be pinioned. "I don’t recall saying that."

Richard tilted his head, pressing his lips together. His glance was accusation enough.

Lacing a hand through his hair, Thomas exhaled loudly. "I see no reason to fret over an unlikely situation. If the need arises, I’ll address it then."

Realizing the discussion would go no further, Richard nodded. He hadn’t truly expected his father to side with him, yet he was thankful Thomas had no previous knowledge of the arrangement. Starting for the door, Richard thought better of it, and glanced back over his shoulder. "Father?"

"What is it now?"

A wan smile touched Richard’s lips. Was he always such a bearer of bad tidings? "I-I just wanted to say thank you . . . for this morning. I realize you chanced a great deal when you challenged the Baron. It was never my intention to place you in such a delicate position."

"I should hope not," Thomas retorted, but his tone was undeniably light. With a brief smile of his own, he waved Richard from the room. "I have work to finish. Do try to stay out of trouble for a few hours at least."

"Yes, Father." Still grinning, Richard retreated to the hallway. By now Lady Elayne would have met Armus for her noonday ride. The friar would have cornered Cedric for instruction in clerical duties, no matter that his younger brother had zero desire to enter the priesthood. Lady Elizabeth would be overseeing the servants in festival preparation, while Eleanor did her best to avoid their father’s paramour. It left little diversion for Richard who decided to pass the time well away from the Baron.

And Covington Cross.

+++++

Armus rode at Lady Elayne’s side, content to listen to the soft, whispering sounds of the forest. Away in the Holy Lands for so long, he’d forgotten how truly beautiful Tiner could be. Lacy sunlight filtered through the trees, powdering the ground with gleaming patches of gold gilt.

Heather and moss vied for space among plump berry bushes adorned with sun-ripened fruit. Cool blue shade hugged the gnarled roots of massive oaks, and lingered among faerie rings crafted from toadstools. The air whispered of all that was wild and fey, carrying the scent of earth and sky. Armus breathed deeply, content to be home.

The Holy Lands had been an awakening for him. Originally he’d thought to make a name for himself Sir Armus Grey feared for both his size and his skill with a blade. Yet that career had ended quickly enough with the first young man who had died on his sword. Only then, when the horror of battle had claimed him, did he realize he had no stomach for the knighthood. The remainder of his time was spent as cook to the army a fact when first discovered, that had left Richard chafing with shame.

"My entire life’s been spent in your shadow, Brother," Richard had told him. "I didn’t mind, because I thought you were a hero. Someone to look up to. But you’re not a hero. You’re not even a knight."

The words came back to haunt him. Though Richard had since apologized and they’d put the incident behind them, the initial truth still remained his brother had thought him a coward. It had not helped of course, that Armus had chosen the middle of a rescue attempt to tell his brother the truth. Disillusioned, Richard had preceded with his own successful plan to free their father, Lady Elizabeth and Cedric from a group of outlaws. Had that truly been just five short months ago?

While he knew he was not what Richard had expected, neither was Richard what he’d expected. His younger brother had been but fourteen when he’d departed for the Holy Lands. The Richard he remembered had been tall and gawky a long-legged creature, thin as a reed. The adolescent had matured into a trim, yet muscular young man, whose incredible confidence was overshadowed only by his staggering good looks.

Though Richard had always been headstrong as a youth, his temperament had grown increasingly willful. Briefly, Armus recalled a recent incident when Richard had thrown John Mullens a man twice his age across the table for an insult against their father. It had taken the combined strength of Sir Thomas and Armus, to pull Richard off the arrogant lord. "Richard, the next time you throw John Mullens across a table, say ‘excuse me,’" Thomas had deadpanned afterwards, and Richard had dutifully replied, "Yes, Father." John Mullens was not amused.

"Sir Armus?" he started suddenly, realizing Lady Elayne was addressing him. He still couldn’t grow accustomed to the formal title of knight, preferring to be plain everyday "Armus." With a smile he hoped concealed his distraction, he drew his horse alongside hers.

"Was I going too fast?"

"No, of course not." She shook her head, causing the sun to snag in the lustrous black hair cascading over her shoulders. Though she smiled openly, there was something oddly guarded in her eyes. "I was just curious . . . about your brother Richard."

"Oh?" Armus tried to keep the suspicion from his voice. Did it really surprise him that an attractive female was curious about his overly handsome brother? Though she was closer to his age then Richard’s, Armus didn’t doubt Lady Elayne Kirkley had cast more than a passing glance at his younger sibling.

"He seems somewhat contradictory," she managed at last. Tugging gently on the reins, she urged her horse leisurely among the twining forest paths. "When I first met him yesterday, I thought him incredibly opinionated "

Armus snorted in amusement. "That’s somewhat of an understatement My Lady."

She cast him a sideways glance. "Then his passions . . . his convictions are not something he discards at whim?"

Uncertain where she was headed, Armus canted his head to the side. "My Lady?"

Elayne pressed her lips together. "Why did he apologize to my father if he felt he had done nothing wrong?"

Understanding now, Armus smiled briefly. Elayne seemed almost disappointed to think Richard had followed the path of proper protocol. Nearby, a meadowlark rose from the leafy bower of a walnut tree, trilling softly as pinwheeled into the sky. Armus shifted in the saddle, listening to the familiar creek of leather; the gentle clip-clop of his mount’s shod hooves. "One could argue there was little else to do, given your father is here at the behest of the King," Armus returned at length, "But knowing my brother as I do, I would venture his apology was made for familial reasons."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Richard had no wish to see my father discredited. You may find it difficult to understand, Lady Elayne, but Richard would readily forego his own feelings for the sake of our father."

She seemed to consider that. "You are a very close family," she remarked, and Armus had the feeling it wasn’t the first time she’d made the observation. With a sort of whimsical sigh, she clicked her heels to her mare’s sides. "Come, Sir Armus. We’ve barely begun to explore this beautiful forest of yours."

Uncertain what she had gleaned from the exchange, Armus nevertheless played the dutiful host. Urging his own mount forward, he followed her into the interlocking arms of the trees.

+++++

Richard ducked his head, moving beneath the low doorway of the tavern. Inside, the light was murky and dark, thick with the sputtering smoke from the hearth, where a pig roasted slowly over open flame. The aroma meshed with the tart bouquet of wine and the moldy reek of hay strewn over the dirt floor. Richard could smell the sweat of the men gathered inside an animal odor that hinted of horse and leather; of muddy fields and trampled earth. Sliding into a seat by the door, he motioned for the tavern wench, who appeared with a tankard of ale.

"Will ye be wantin’ supah, M’Lord?" Large-boned and redhaired, the girl looked more milkmaid than server. Setting the tankard before him, she planted one plump hand on her hip and looked him over from head to toe. "If that sucklin’ in yon fireplace ain’t t’ yer like, I kin come up wi’ sumethin’ else."

The invitation couldn’t have been plainer. Richard offered a craggy smile and shook his head. It was normally he that did the looking. "I’m fine, thank you." For some unknown reason he thought suddenly of Lady Elayne and felt heat rise to his face.

The tavern wench paused. Her mouth twisted into a frown as though she was disappointed. "I won’t be far if ye change yer mind." Leaving him with the half-promise, she disappeared back into the crowd.

Reaching for his ale, Richard surveyed the room. A fair-sized crowd frequented the small establishment mostly farmers and villagers, breaking for noonday refreshment. The surrounding tables were full, the curious patrons giving him a passing once-over before returning to their own discussions. He recognized some of the men from the village, acknowledging the hand or two raised in greeting, before taking a long draught of the dark mead.

"Well . . . not only do you toil with the lower caste you drink with them too."

Richard raised his head to find Franklin Prentice standing at the edge of his table. Dressed in the richly tailored finery befitting a high-ranking man-at-arms, he appeared oddly out of place among the local serfs who wore common homespun. Bestowing a benign smile, Prentice hooked a stool with his ankle. Drawing it close, he sat languidly, resting his elbows on the table.

Richard set his tankard down, casually tilting the beaker to glance inside. "I don’t recall inviting you to join me."

Prentice gave a soft snort. He finger-combed his beard. "Don’t worry, boy. I didn’t come to gloat."

For the moment, Richard chose to overlook the other’s bold form of address. "Time would be short indeed, were that the case."

Prentice rolled his shoulders. "Methinks you overlook the obvious I might not have been present, but I’ve heard the gossip. I know all about that apology the Baron forced from you this morning." Prentice’s lips curled in a silky smile. "On your knees, no less. I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to see it in person."

Richard’s mouth pressed into a tight line. Another man might have taken heed, alerted by the dangerous glint of gem-fire in his smoldering green eyes. Prentice however, canted his head, raising a finger to wave beneath Richard’s nose. "You look decidedly perturbed, Master Richard."

Abandoning the tankard, Richard settled back in his chair. He seemed genuinely surprised. "Is it your intent to provoke me?"

"Our business is unfinished," Prentice clarified. His gaze sidled away and he glanced about the tavern, as if viewing something beneath him. His mouth twisted unbecomingly. "This is the rabble you would side with villagers whose abhorrent appearance is overshadowed only by their stench." Narrow, condescending eyes skewered Richard. "Apology or not, you cost me face in front of Lady Elayne and her father. The Baron may have made you squirm, but I intend to see you dance at the end of my blade. Assuming of course, you know how to use that pig-sticker you carry " the thin lips curled mockingly, " boy."

His temper igniting like dry kindling, Richard lurched to his feet, sending his stool tumbling over backwards. In one swift, fluid movement, he wrenched his sword clean of the scabbard. The blade came free with a metallic hiss, scraping across the battered flange. Before Prentice could so much as blink, Richard leaned forward, leveling the weapon between them. His smile was barbed, exuding malice, as he stared down the length of gleaming metal. Around him, the tavern grew silent, all eyes turned in his direction. Artfully raising a brow, Richard considered his opponent. "Shall we step outside, Sir, and lay the question of my skill to rest?"

Prentice opened his mouth, then closed it quickly, like a fish sucking air. A heated flush crept up his neck and over his face, coloring him scarlet.

"Richard " The heavy weight of a broadsword crossed over Richard’s weapon, bearing it gently to the table. Eyes skewing to the side, the young man frowned at his older brother’s unexpected arrival. Sighing, he made a face.

"This doesn’t concern you, Armus."

"I think it does. You’re about to do something you’ll later regret."

"How could that possibly happen with you breathing over my shoulder?" Clearly disgusted, Richard wrenched his sword free. Sheathing the weapon, he drove it home with a resounding clack. The hilt butted solidly against the flange signaling an end to the confrontation. Gradually, the onlookers returned to their own concerns. "I thought you’d gone for a ride."

"It’s over," Armus said simply, the meaning two-fold.

"I agree." Standing stiffly, Prentice managed to look mildly affronted. "Your arrival, Sir Armus, is both timely and fortuitous. You’ve likely saved your brother from a humiliating lesson in swordsmanship."

Armus’s glance was black. "The only thing I’ve saved my brother from, is making a mistake, you’d likely take back to the Baron. I have no doubt Richard could best you in his sleep. My brother’s skill with a sword is virtually peerless, Mister Prentice. You’d do well to remember that before you provoke him a second time."

Prentice blanched. Huffing beneath his breath, he stalked angrily from the tavern.

Amused, Richard cocked a brow at his brother. "Tsk, tsk, bold knight. You’ve likely made an enemy yourself."

Armus sheathed his weapon. "Don’t be so loquacious. I can still turn you over my knee. You may only be four years younger, but you’re twice as small."

Richard chuckled gently. "Then I shan’t be angry with you. I really didn’t feel like dirtying my clothes anyway." Reclaiming his stool, he motioned the tavern wench to bring a second tankard for Armus. Draining his own, he smiled broadly as the girl filled them both, then sashayed back into the crowd.

Armus considered his brother. When Richard grinned there was very little one could do except concede defeat. He wasn’t sure if it was the crinkling of his brother’s green eyes; the impish gleam in their jeweled depths; or the deep dimple that suddenly appeared in his cheek, but Richard’s smile was thoroughly disarming. It made him appear appalling young, intent on nothing so much as mischief. For a moment Armus glimpsed the fourteen-year-old boy he well remembered, and then just as quickly, the instant was past. He was thankful eight years separation had not dimmed their affection for one another. Only five months back at Covington Cross, it sometimes felt as though he’d never left.

"What became of Lady Elayne and your ride in the forest?" Richard ventured casually, when Armus had been quiet too long. The older man took a swig of his ale, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. Richard’s inquiry was a trifle too indifferent for his liking. Concealing a smile behind his tankard, he feigned nonchalance. Secretly, he thought it ironic that both Lady Elayne and his brother spent so much time inquiring about the other.

"We passed a pleasant few hours," Armus admitted truthfully. He rolled his large shoulders into a shrug. "Given half a chance, you might find her a lot less stilted then you think."

Richard grunted something unintelligible, reclaiming his mead. Though his eyes were lowered, lashes dusting his cheeks with silken thread, the distinct tightness of his lips betrayed his mood. In all fairness, Armus conceded he would likely think ill of any woman he’d been forced to apologize to on his knees. Yet for all his obvious belligerence, Richard’s interest in the woman seemed genuine.

"Baron Kirkley’s asked me to show his daughter the village," Armus commented briefly.

Richard’s eyes returned in a flash. "The Baron seems determined you spend time with his daughter," he observed sourly.

Armus balked. "I beg your pardon?"

With an exasperated sigh, Richard threaded a hand through his bangs, pushing the flowing waves from his face. Though the room was poorly illuminated, the flickering dance of torchlight laced his hair with gold. "Nothing," he said tightly.

Unconvinced, Armus leaned back, drumming his fingers against the table. His own hair was straight like Cedric’s and William’s, his face broad. Though all three of his brothers were slim of build, only Richard came close to him in height and that still lacking a good four inches. Now, studying his comely younger sibling, Armus wondered not for the first time how Richard continued to elude marriage. Surely some well to do Lord with an eligible daughter

The thought ceased abruptly. Richard was a second son, and as such, not a prime candidate for marriage. Any nobleman in his right mind would go after the first born heir. Armus swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Richard’s sharp glance told him exactly what he’d been hinting at all along. His stomach knotting with the prospect or an arranged marriage, Armus pushed away from the table.

"Enough dawdling," he said shortly. "You may have nothing better to do than lounge around and drink ale, but I need to see to Father’s tenants before the day grows much older."

Richard nodded. "I’ll come with you," he said, causing Armus to regret the slur. It was thoroughly unfounded. His brother worked harder than most anyone, shouldering responsibility as readily as Sir Thomas. Sometimes Armus forgot that for all his like of women and drink, Richard never shirked his duties at the castle.

Hoping to forgo any further discussion about Lady Elayne, the older man strode crisply from the tavern. As he untethered his horse, he couldn’t help wonder if Richard’s guess was truly accurate. Could it be the Baron’s visit was simply a facade to orchestrate an arranged marriage? As charming as she was, Armus had no desire to gain an intimate relationship with the Lady Elayne.

Heart heavy, he swung into the saddle and collected the reins. Besides him, Richard moved lithely and surely, his lean frame flowing with the smooth gate of his chestnut steed. Though they’d gotten off to a rocky start, Armus was certain some hidden attraction existed between Elayne and Richard. If the Baron’s intent was truly to marry his daughter to Sir Thomas’s first born, where did that leave the bickering couple?

"You’re preoccupied, Armus," Richard said pointedly.

"Yes," the other agreed and left it at that. The turmoil was such, it stayed with him through out the day, remanifesting itself at night, when the Grey household and their guests gathered for the evening meal. Though the Baron’s belligerence was restrained, he routinely threw barbed comments in Richard’s direction, forcing the younger man to grit his teeth through most of the meal. Conversation was subdued, overridden by the tension in the air. Not even Lady Elizabeth’s cultured charms could ease the friction at the table. Though Sir Thomas and Eleanor valiantly bantered back and forth, the effort was obviously staged. Eventually tiring of the veiled hostility, the Baron did his best to draw Armus and Elayne into mutual conversation. Though it lightened the mood at the table, the motive left Richard increasingly antagonistic. When the meal was half over, he excused himself and retreated to the stables, where he spent the remainder of the evening, grooming and exercising his horse.

The moon had risen by the time he considered retreating to his chambers. Instead of heading immediately to the drafty confines of the castle, Richard walked to the gardens. Cloaked in the pewter veil of twilight, the botanical haven seemed almost surreal. Shadows meshed with the ghostly flesh of moonbeams and the pastel luminance of wildflowers. Dropping to a seat on the stone bench, Richard leaned forward, lacing his hands between his knees. He’d relaxed barely a moment, when a hesitant rustle drew him to his feet. Turning, he watched Lady Elayne move from the gloaming into a defining puddle of moonlight. Caught in that celestial glow, she appeared as surreal as the gardens an ethereal creature, enchanted and fey as the otherworldly inhabitants of the hollow hills.

His throat tight, Richard swallowed. "It seems we both enjoy the gardens."

Hesitantly, she approached. When she halted just shy of him, Richard felt the air crackle between them. Tilting her head, she gazed up at him, dark blue eyes pooled with liquid starlight. "Am I intruding, My Lord?"

He shook his head, not trusting his voice.

Satisfied, her gaze dipped once, before returning. "It seems I must apologize again for my father’s treatment of you. He acted most rudely at dinner."

"It is forgotten," Richard said, though he knew it wasn’t. He felt oddly irritated, angry and at the same time, anxious to clear the air between them. Frustrated by his conflicting emotions, he turned away. "My brother is to show you the village," he said stiffly. It was not a question.

"Yes," Elayne agreed softly.

As though she had confirmed a heinous crime, Richard’s back grew rigid. "Your father’s chosen well for you. My brother is an honorable man."

The silence thickened momentarily. "It is not your brother I am interested in," Elayne ventured quietly.

Surprised, Richard turned. For a moment he simply regarded her studying the openness of her face, the bewitching pools of her eyes. Sighing, he stepped closer, allowing his fingers to trail over her sleeve. "This is foolishness." He felt her shiver beneath his touch; was startled at the delicious jolt her reaction sent racing through his body. Groaning at the impossibility of it, he let his hand fall away.

"Richard, please " Elayne took a step forward, her eyes wide and pleading. Inwardly she knew she was likely making a fool of herself, but she no longer cared. She had suffered her father’s manipulations without protest. When he’d first announced his intention to visit Covington Cross, she had known it was to seal her in marriage. Resigned to that fate, she followed meekly and quietly, content to play the dutiful daughter, until she’d met a man who challenged everything she believed in.

Richard was idealistic and impassioned qualities rarely found among the aristocracy. His unwavering principles and overwhelming devotion to his father had made her look beyond his outward appearance. That he was comely, there was no doubt. Even now, the long waves of his hair framed his sculptured features with soft silk. She longed to raise her hand and brush the scattered bangs from his brow; the moonlight-gilded locks from his collar. He was watching her intently, his green eyes bright with jeweled witch-light; lips parted slightly. She’d fallen in love with his character, unswayed by those incredible looks. Surely that alone was testament of her feelings towards him. She’d never known another man who could make her weak in the knees, simply by gazing at her. "Please don’t go," she said softly.

She felt him move nearer, still rigid and tense as he raised one hand and gently cupped her cheek. Elayne closed her eyes, feeling the heated touch of his thumb as it glided across her skin. Turning her head, she pressed her lips to his palm. He gasped softly. A moment later she felt strong fingers thread deeply into her hair. The coiled tension in his body was nearly tangible. Tilting her head, she beckoned his kiss. "Please, Richard," she said again, and this time he complied. His arms encircled her, drawing her tight against him as his lips descended on hers.

Elayne shuddered, melting beneath his open-mouthed kiss. No longer shy, she molded her body to his, startled when she felt his sudden arousal through her gown. His kiss grew bold and impassioned, deepening as he plundered her mouth with his tongue. Weak-kneed, she clung to him, allowing the tide of blissful passion to carry them both beyond reason. Her head reeled with the sweet fragrance of the garden; the honeyed nectar of his kiss.

Breathless, Richard drew back. "Your father will never permit this," he said thickly.

Unwilling to admit the truth, she kept her face upturned to his. "Is that not a discussion for later, My Lord?"

He hesitated, torn between the truth and the searing desire she’d awakened in him. Relenting at last, he twined his fingers with hers and drew her into the velvety foliage of the garden away from the silent eyes of the night and onto the lush grass, soft and welcoming as any bed.

+++++

Cedric, anxious to escape the friar after morning mass, collided with Richard outside the chapel.

"Ooph!" The younger man grunted in surprise as he bumped up against Richard’s chest. "Perfect! Just who I need." Before Richard could protest, Cedric had snagged his arm and dragged him around the corner. Peering anxiously over his shoulder, the would-be-cleric drew a frustrated breath and sagged against the wall. He gave Richard a nervous smile.

"Cedric "

"The friar’s after me for lessons," Cedric explained before his brother could proceed further. "Have half a heart, Richard. Take me with you on rounds."

"And the friar?" Richard prompted.

"I am not going to be a cleric," Cedric snapped, as though he’d already repeated the idiom a thousand times. "I’m going to be a knight, like Armus. The friar will survive one day without me."

Forcing a scowl, Richard considered the younger man. It was difficult maintaining any semblance of control where Cedric was concerned. Instinctively charming, the younger man had the uncanny ability for bending most anyone around his little finger. With twinkling blue eyes and straight black hair, Cedric had the kind of looks women swooned over. Unfortunately for Richard, his brother’s charm didn’t discriminate among sexes.

"What’s one day?" Cedric persisted, the hint of a smile curling his lips at the corner. "Surely even you remember what it’s like to be nineteen, Richard?"

"I was never so insolent," the brown-haired man countered, but he laughed good-naturedly. There was little that could upset him this morning. Hooking an arm around Cedric’s shoulders, he steered him towards the stables. "One day," he agreed. "But if Father asks, it was all your doing."

Granted his freedom, Cedric positively beamed. "Agreed."

Later, riding through the forest, Cedric chanced a glance at his brother. Richard seemed more animated today, his expression open and relaxed. Though he couldn’t fathom what had transpired with the night, Cedric was astute enough to mark the difference. "Did you hear the Baron at breakfast this morning?" he asked conversationally. "His Grace and Lady Elayne have decided to remain for the Midsummer Faire."

An expert horseman, Richard moved languidly on his mount. His touch on the reins was minimal a bare tug to guide the stallion among the trees. "That doesn’t surprise me."

"Hmm . . ." Cedric pressed his lips together, his expression thoughtful. "You know Richard, there will be the usual tests of skill at the Faire long bow, jousting games, swordfights. You’re an expert archer and your skill with a blade is practically peerless in these parts. You’d undoubtably make a favorable impression on the Baron if you "

"I have no desire to make an impression on the Baron, favorable or otherwise," Richard interrupted crisply, his good humor fading. With an exasperated sigh, he laced the reins between his hands. "What is it about that man that has everybody fawning at his feet?"

"His position with the king?" Cedric hazarded.

Richard swore softly, but the glint of humor was back in his eyes. He cast his brother an arch glance. "Let’s forget that wretched man, shall we?"

"And his daughter?"

Richard shrugged, abruptly ill at ease. His gaze sidled away among the trees. "What of her?"

"She’s comely to be certain."

"And much too old for you, boy. Besides " The familiar tightness worked into Richard’s face, accentuating the high sculpted bones of his cheeks. "The Baron seems determined she favor Armus."

"Eleanor commented as much," Cedric confirmed.

The revelation didn’t surprise Richard. "Women are wise to these things," he returned, and fell into moody silence. If it was so very obvious to his siblings, the Baron strove to orchestrate a marriage pact, how could his father be so utterly blind? Worse still, where did it leave he and Elayne?

He could still recall the heady sensation of her flesh pressed next to his in the moonlight the honeysuckle sweetness of her kiss. He had never intended for things to go as far as they had last night. She was after all, a regal lady, the highborn daughter of a titled Baron. One didn’t treat such a woman as a common tavern wench. Yet between the intoxicating moonlit bower and their own heated passions, they’d succumbed to a complete yielding of flesh. Even now Richard flushed to think of it. He’d had women before, but he’d never felt the suffocating turmoil of love. Surely they’d made a mess of things, for he could no more allow Elayne to marry his brother than he could deny the depth of his feelings for her.

Now wasn’t the time to sort through the mess he’d made. He’d do it later in private, without the marked scrutiny of his brother. "Come on, Cedric. We’ve work to do."

Putting the incident from his mind, Richard spurred his horse into the forest.

+++++

The Midsummer Faire came sooner then expected. The days leading to its arrival passed in a flurry of bustling activity and preparation. Thomas’s cousins arrived from Brighton, enshrining themselves in the North Tower like high-ranking nobility, rather than country gentry. The eldest, Gaylord, brought his wife Maura and three children Henry, Beatrice and Charlotte. A second cousin, Walter, came alone; while a third Maxwell brought not only his wife and children, but his wife’s sisters as well. The North Tower resembled nothing so much as a convent, when the women scurried about, cackling like hens in a barnyard. The new guests fawned over the Baron, who seemed to swell with the increased attention. For his part, Richard was soon forgotten, able to vanish among the passageways, where he met Elayne for stolen kisses and whispered words of endearment. They continued to meet in the garden whenever possible, but it grew increasingly difficult with the number of people now calling Covington Cross home. Finally, unable to bear the forced separation any longer, Richard suggested they meet in the forest, the following afternoon.

He waited, pacing nervously, his horse tethered to a tree. Tomorrow was the first day of the Midsummer Faire, and while activity at the castle had increased dramatically, it had little to do with his present level of anxiety. For the first time in his life, Richard realized he was hopelessly, utterly in love. The startling awareness twisted his stomach into knots. Agitated, he jerked suddenly, at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Elayne emerged from the trees, long black hair flowing over her cloak, gilded with slivers of gold in the diffused sunlight.

Coming abreast, she slid from the saddle, into his waiting arms.

Drawing her close, Richard buried his face in her hair. "Dear God, woman, I’ve missed you." He felt her hands on his face, and then she was drawing back, her lips bruising his with the wild hunger of her kiss. Richard’s heart thrummed in his chest, as he crushed her body against his. Denied her company for so long, he felt himself responding with arousal. Elayne sensed it too.

Leaning into him, she enticed him further. "Make love to me," she whispered.

Richard groaned and bowed his head. "Not here," he croaked. Gently he stroked her hair, marveling at the rippling play of sunlight on the raven tresses. "Elayne, your father is going to force the issue between us. More and more frequently he sends you with Armus. Soon he will want to make an announcement."

Frightened, she laid her head upon his shoulder. "I cannot bear the thought of being without you. What will you do, Richard?"

Pressing his lips to her brow, he caressed her hair. "Speak with my father. Tell him how we feel. Perhaps, I can gain an ally and he will smooth the way with the Baron."

Though she clearly did not think it likely, Elayne nodded nonetheless. Twisting her hands in the soft leather of the jerkin, she tugged him towards the trees. "Lay with me, Richard. This may be the last moment we spend together until after the faire."

His constitution weakening, Richard allowed her to pull him among the sheltering foliage. Drawing her into his arms, he pressed his lips to hers, abandoning reservations with logic. He never realized a tall man with blonde-hair, hid among the trees, impassively observing their love nest.

Smiling thinly, Franklin Prentice wheeled his horse around and headed for Covington Cross.

+++++

Much later, when Richard returned to the castle, Armus met him at the stables. "Father wishes to see you."

Surprised by the clipped tone of his brother’s voice, Richard surrendered his horse to a groom. "What about?"

But Armus only shook his head, his face conveying a mixture of disgust and pity. "Use the back stairs, Brother, and avoid the Baron at all costs if you value your hide."

Confused and bewildered, Richard watched his brother stalk away. Knowing their father was not one to be kept waiting, Richard attempted to smooth his clothing, then finger-combed his ragged hair into some semblance of order. Taking the back stairs two at a time, he soon reached his father’s chambers.

"Father?" Clearing his throat, Richard stepped into the room. Sir Thomas was seated at his desk, his expression thunderous. Feeling the first prickling twinge of anxiety, Richard hovered on the threshold. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" He wasn’t certain why he added the title. Perhaps it was merely the glowering hint of rage in his father’s blue eyes.

"Sit!" Thomas instructed, voice bristling with restrained anger. His nervousness increasing, Richard rushed to comply. "I wonder," Thomas said when his son was seated, watching him expectantly, "If you lay awake at night planning these impossible situations, or if you’re simply cursed to be a continual thorn in my side."

Richard wet his lips. "Father?"

Thomas ignored the quavering uncertainty in his voice. Leaning back in his chair, he laid one arm across the edge of his desk. "Do you want to tell me what you were doing in the forest today with Lady Elayne?"

Unprepared for the directness of the query, Richard blanched. "How did you know that?"

Thomas’s expression was acidly sarcastic. "A little bird told me. An enraged little bird named Baron Leonard Kirkley. You were observed, Richard," Obviously fighting for control, Thomas drove the point home. "And by no less than Franklin Prentice."

The color drained from Richard’s face. Though he had intended to tell his father of his feelings for Elayne, he certainly hadn’t planned on revealing them like this. Swallowing hard, he lowered his eyes. "I’d planned to tell you today."

"Tell me what?" Thomas shouted. "That you’ve been treating the Baron’s daughter like a common tavern wench?"

Enraged to hear the woman he loved so maligned, Richard leapt to his feet. Anger clouded his face, pinching the corners of his mouth into a white line. "You’re sadly mistaken, Sir. I’ll thank you not to speak of Lady Elayne like that again. It is my intention to marry her."

"Marry?" Thomas crowed, incredulous. Rising to his feet he confronted his son across the desk. "Now I know you’ve taken leave of your senses, for the Baron would no sooner allow his daughter to marry you, than he would a common blacksmith."

"Why is that?" Richard challenged. "Is not one son as good as the other? If it’s an alliance he seeks with the House of Grey, I fail to see why the second son will not suffice as well as the first."

Matched inch for inch when it came to height, each man glowered at the other. Finally, sensing his son’s innate stubbornness, Thomas drew back, scraping a distracted hand through his beard. Exhaling sharply, he turned away, seemingly to contemplate the floor. Behind him, the air quivered with Richard’s charged agitation. Unwilling to concede the argument, Thomas kept his back turned, eyes on the far wall. "Richard have you compromised the Baron’s daughter?"

There was a moment’s silence, then Richard’s clipped voice cracked on the air: "This is not a discussion I choose to have, Father."

"And what will you say to the Baron when he asks you the same question?" Now Thomas turned, catching the full force of his son’s smoldering gaze.

Richard did not hesitate. "It is not a question a gentleman asks."

"If you’ve confused the Baron for a gentleman, that is your mistake," Thomas retorted. His hostility waned only briefly as the hopelessness of the situation settled. "You realize he could demand I punish you for this, and I would have little recourse but to comply."

Richard’s glance was wholly condescending. "You mean a flogging? That is what the Baron’s desired all along, isn’t it?"

"Do you deny the accusation?" Thomas persisted.

Struggling to control his escalating temper, Richard rolled his hands into fists. "I question the honor of the man who spreads tales so readily."

"Well then," Thomas said, his expression dark, "You shall have the opportunity to rectify that." Moving to his desk he retrieved a rolled sheath of parchment. "Here "

Richard glanced from his father to the missive, accepting it with marked hesitation. "What is this?" Unrolling it, he let his eyes scan the parchment.

"A challenge," Thomas explained. "The Baron wishes to see you humbled before a crowd. Since it is Prentice who’s brought the accusation against you, you are to meet him in combat at the Midsummer Faire."

Raising his eyes in disbelief, Richard glanced at his father. "A swordfight?"

"A duel," Thomas returned flatly. Once again, a hint of remorse touched his eyes. "Franklin Prentice is ranked one of the best fighting men in the realm, Richard. The Baron’s set you up for a mighty fall. I have no doubt he’s known about your relationship with his daughter for sometime and has simply used the ‘discovery’ to his advantage. Surely otherwise, he would have you imprisoned and flogged."

Richard tossed the parchment on his father’s desk. "If it’s a spectacle he wants, I shan’t disappoint him." Stalking for the door, he hesitated on the threshold. Head bowed, lips parted, his chest rose and fell with the irritated flutter of his breath. Glancing over his shoulder, he met his father’s gaze. "I did not mean to discredit you, Sir. Whatever you may think of me, I truly do love her."

Before Thomas could sputter a reply, Richard strode from the room and vanished down the hallway.

+++++

"He’s young and restless," Lady Elizabeth said to her lover as she kneaded Thomas’s broad shoulders. Seated at his desk, the Lord of Covington Cross leaned forward, elbows braced against the edge, while she stood behind him. The hour had grown late, shrouding the castle with dense layers of smoky shadow. Inside his chambers, muted firelight cast puddles of amber and gold upon the dusty stone floor. "You have to admire his devotion to her."

Thomas snorted. "I admire nothing, least of all his idiotic tete-a-tetes beneath the Baron’s nose. One would think we were at court for all this insufferable intrigue. The boy has taken leave of his senses."

Elizabeth smiled indulgently. It was so like a man especially this man to see only one side of an issue. "Richard is hardly a boy, Thomas. Sometimes I think you still see him as he was when Anne died." Though not long ago, he might have bristled at the mention of his dead wife, Thomas merely grunted. It had been eight years since Anne’s death her passing coming right before Armus’s departure for the Holy Land. At least she had lived to see her eldest son Knighted, Elizabeth thought sadly. It was a shame she’d not seen Richard, Cedric and Eleanor grow to adulthood. "Your son seeks a marriage of romance rather than convenience, Thomas. I’ve lived through an arranged marriage, and am happier a widow. There is little to recommend a loveless union."

"So you would have me condone Richard’s . . . frolicking?" Thomas spat for lack of a better word.

Moving around in front of him, Elizabeth kept her hand on his shoulder. "I only meant his heart is in the right place. Men who are in love sometimes act irrationally." Her smile grew, blossoming into a calculated grin. "You should try it some time."

"Banshee," he retorted, but there was affection in the term. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he drew her down onto his lap. "Such a high born regal lady. It is a wonder you permit me to hold you like this."

Her expression grew bold. Tracing a finger over his lips, she spoke softly. "As it is late and I shall spend the night, you may get to do much more, My Lord."

Chuckling softly, Thomas pulled her forward for a kiss.

+++++

Eleanor frowned, studying her brother’s troubled expression. One would almost think it was Armus scheduled to face Prentice and not Richard. Pressing her lips together, she elbowed him in the ribs. "Stop looking so glum, Armus. It’s bad enough Richard has to go through with this ridiculous duel. He doesn’t need you walking around with a long face, looking like he doesn’t stand a chance."

Properly chastised, Armus straightened his massive shoulders. "It’s hard to appear indifferent when one’s own brother is the favorite topic of wagering for the day."

Eleanor sighed. She normally wasn’t one to adopt the role of traditional female preferring breeches and crossbow to gown and veil but today she’d donned a soft blue kirtle, belted with cranberry sash. Since Richard was defending not only himself, but also the woman he loved, she wished to dress accordingly. Now however, she found herself irritated enough to throttle the rabble wagering on her brother’s life. "Where is he anyway?" she asked.

Armus shook his head. "I haven’t seen him yet. My guess is, he’s with Lady Elayne."

Eleanor sighed. "This all seems terribly ironic Richard’s fighting a duel to refute a tryst with the Baron’s daughter yet he and Elayne are no longer making a secret of their romance."

Armus scowled. "Richard’s fighting a duel to deny he impinged her honor. I think their romance is no longer in question. Even the Baron has accepted the only way he’s apt to gain a Grey alliance, is through Richard. Of course, if the boy dies in the process, his Grace will simply say the means was beyond him, and refocus his attentions on to me."

"A wretched, despicable man," Eleanor said vehemently.

"His character is no longer in question," Armus agreed. Folding his arms over his chest, he gazed across the meadow, where much of the faire took place. Villagers and serfs mingled with the local gentry, many wearing garlands of flowers in their hair. The mood was undeniably festive. Children raced back and forth carrying homemade pinwheels and ragdolls. The adults shared destiny cakes, diviner eggs, and St. John’s bread; the latter broken into wooden bowls, which fortunetellers perused for secrets. A quest