One
Rosecliffe Castle, Northern Wales April 3, A.D. 1144
Jasper FitzHugh sat in a high-backed wooden chair with his legs outstretched and his booted feet crossed. He was biding his time, sipping but sparingly of his wine, as he played a halfhearted game of chess. But he kept a close watch on his brother Rand. A messenger had arrived shortly after the midday meal. A messenger from Simon LaMonthe.
Jasper knew that Rand did not trust LaMonthe. But a summons by a representative of old King Henry's daughter Matilda was not easily ignored. Matilda wanted the support of the Marcher lords against her cousin, King Stephen, who she said had stolen the British crown from her and her young son.
How would Rand respond?
Jasper watched his brother pace the width of the great hall, passing in front of the massive carved fireplace. His shadow fell, dark and long, across his children who played on a rug near the warm hearth. But they were unfazed. To his men Rand was a formidable knight. To his adversaries, a fearsome foe. But his three children saw him only as a warm and loving father. They did not pause in their game of Odd Man Throw, save to glance up with a grin.
Jasper sighed and drank from his pewter cup. Ten years now he'd been at Rosecliffe Castle. Ten years laboring in the long shadow his brother cast. And though he knew he was Rand'sequal on the field of honor--and perhaps even better--that no longer satisfied him. He was restless. Of late he'd become more and more unsettled. He had a home for life; he had women enough when he wanted them. He had good hunting and plenty enough victuals, and Rosecliffe's alewife was a magician with hops and malt and barley. But it was no longer enough to content him.
"No, no!" Gwendolyn's shrill cry broke the evening quiet. "Mine," the three-year-old asserted.
"Begone from here," Gavin ordered, blocking his younger sister's access to the game he and Isolde played.
"Mine!" Gwen demanded. She shoved him but the seven-year-old boy only scowled and held his ground.
"You cannot play, Gwen. You're too little." Then, turning to Isolde, he said, "It's your turn."
"Mama!" Gwen began to wail. But Josselyn was upstairs helping one of the maids restring a loom, so baby Gwen turned to her older sister.
"Come here, Gwennie," Isolde said. She held out her arms, then settled the pouting child on her lap. "You can help me play, all right?"
Jasper studied the scene, which was restored again to harmony. When his brother stooped over and ruffled the baby's riot of dark curls, then murmured a few words to each of his children, Jasper frowned. Rand was truly blessed: a loving wife, adoring children, and a sturdy castle that had become a warm and welcoming home, a haven from the trials of the world. Though Jasper might equal his brother in physical prowess, he had none of the rest.
Not that he'd ever wanted a wife and children in the past. But sometimes ... He turned away and quaffed the rest of his wine. It was long past time for him to seek his own place in the world, he realized. For Rosecliffe no longer was it. It never had been. His brother's castle was meant only to be a way station for him--but on the way to where?
He pushed to his feet and crossed to where Rand stood. "I would go to Bailwynn in your stead."
His brother looked up. "You wish to parlay with Matilda's representative?"
"Why should I not? I'm as like to fight for her cause as are you."
Rand's dark features darkened further still. "I would rather not be drawn into either Matilda's cause or Stephen's."
"You cannot avoid the conflict between them, brother."
"Mayhap not. But I can work to delay any battle that might involve mine own people." One of his hands swept the room. "I do not labor daily to build Rosecliffe Castle in order to foster war. I do it to maintain peace."
Jasper shrugged. "You cannot alter the whims of royalty."
Rand shook his head. "Mayhap I can. 'Tis the reason I must be the one to attend Simon LaMonthe's gathering."
He tossed LaMonthe's missive on a table and turned toward the stairs. But Jasper caught him by the arm. "'Tis plain you do not wish to go. Meanwhile I am more than eager. Why will you not trust me to do this?"
"'Tis not an issue of trust."
Rand met Jasper's angry gaze without any returning anger, but that only served to anger Jasper all the more. Was Rand patronizing him? He poked a finger in his brother's chest. "I want to go. You do not."
Rand shoved him back. "You misunderstand my motives. LaMonthe cannot be trusted except to yield to a greater strength than his own. I am Lord of Rosecliffe. I am the one to remind him of that fact."
"And what am I to do here? Ride these hills, chasing the damned elusive Welsh rebels through the woods, startling hunters and wood gatherers and Welsh brats at their play--"
He broke off, but not soon enough. Rand's gaze had turned to frost. "I meant no insult," Jasper swore. "You know I meant no insult, Rand, least of all to mine own nieces and nephew. I care for them as deeply as if they were my own."
Rand nodded curtly, accepting Jasper's apology. "Do you never wonder whether those Welsh brats you refer to are not your own? In the past you have been known to spread your seed far and wide." He shook his head, returning to the subject."No, brother. You will remain at Rosecliffe Castle. I trust you to protect Josselyn and the children from any harm. I place them in your care because I know the affection you have for them--Welsh blood or no. I trust you as I trust no other. Do you understand?"
Jasper did, though he resented his older brother's reference to his profligate ways. Would Rand never see him as more than a foolish younger brother? Still, he was mollified by the sincerity of Rand's words. Rand loved his wife and children with a ferocity Jasper could only marvel at.
Would he himself ever feel such a deep and abiding love for anyone--for a wife and babes of his own? There were times when he wanted to. And yet he feared he could never find one woman to bind him that dearly.
There were other times, however, when he was grateful for the freedoms of his bachelorhood.
Rand slapped him on the back, then looked up when Josselyn descended the stairs. Jasper saw the appreciation in his eyes, the love that had grown ever stronger in the ten years of their marriage. That Josselyn returned his love was no secret, and when she smiled at Rand, Jasper felt a stab of jealousy.
He wanted what they had, he admitted to himself. He wanted it. It was plain, however, that he would not find it in the hills of northern Wales. He knew all the women of these lands--and had sampled more than his rightful share of them. Yet not one of them had laid a claim to his heart.
For now he must perform his duty: protect Rosecliffe and the people of the demesne during Rand's absence.
But upon his brother's return he would discuss this matter further with Rand. Perhaps he would visit their brother John at the family estate in Aslin. It had been ten years since last he'd seen him. Or perhaps he would take service elsewhere, in a place with heiresses who owned lands aplenty.
No matter where he went, however, the change would be for the best.
The next morning, as the chapel bells rang prime,...
