1
Now, you just behave yourself, Master Brandon Winslow, and keep your bloomin’ ’ands where they belong!”
“Why, Becky, they belong right here.”
Becky Elwald slapped his hand and tried to frown, but she was unsuccessful. “You’re a saucy one, you are! Tryin’ to destroy a young woman’s virtue, that’s wot!”
Brandon whispered, “You’re a lovely girl, Becky. And you’re the one who agreed to meet me at such a late hour. Surely you knew what to expect.” Perhaps she needed a few more minutes of sweet talk and then he’d win her heart as well as her willing kisses. At the age of sixteen, Becky had a figure that would tempt a saint
Becky abruptly shoved Brandon back and shook her head. “You said you’d read me poetry. I thought you had love on your mind, not lovin’. Get out of this barn! If my pa catches you, he’ll skin you alive.”
“He couldn’t catch me if he tried. Come on, sweetheart, give us another kiss.” He caught her wrist and pulled it up to his lips for a soft, tender kiss
She stilled, and Brandon sensed her relinquishing the fight. “You ain’t but fourteen,” she whispered, “too young for this sort of thing.”
“I’m old enough. And you are too delectable to ignore.”
Becky’s lips parted as he leaned down, and he knew he had won her. She wasn’t the first girl who had caught his eye, and as the future Brandon Lord Winslow, master of Stoneybrook, he certainly had his pick among the young women of the shire. But her hesitation and reluctance had piqued his interest—that and the challenge of avoiding her stern father. It was rather like plucking a ripe pear from the tree of a curmudgeonly orchard owner. Finding her alone, away from her father’s squinting gaze, it had become a delightful game
Brandon ignored Becky’s feeble protests and continued his quest. He had given little thought to girls until this year, preferring to spend his time in hunting, learning the ways of knights, and mastering the weapons that his father provided for him. But now he wanted to know what the mystery of women was all about. He lowered her to the straw and smiled as he felt her surrender beneath him. He ran his hand”
“What be you a-doin’, girl? And you, boy, you got no right to be here!” James Elwald burst into the barn, his eyes blazing with anger, a staff in his hand
“Brandon just came to—to visit, Pa!”
“You think I’m blind? Get you in the house while I deal with this rascal!”
Brandon rose and moved swiftly toward the barn door, but Elwald raised his staff and brought it down, striking him hard on the shoulder. He raised it again, rage in his eyes, but Brandon was strong for his age and very quick. He caught the staff as it came down and yanked it from Elwald’s hand. Without a second’s hesitation he swung the staff, and the blow struck the older man in the head
Elwald crumpled to the ground. Becky—who hadn’t made it to the door—let out a scream. “You killed ’im, Brandon!”
Brandon’s heart skipped a beat. He well knew what would happen to him if Elwald were dead. All his father’s influence could not help him if he’d killed a man. He leaned over and put his hand on Elwald’s chest
He looked up at Becky with a reckless grin. “Why, he’s all right, Becky. He’ll have a headache, but he’s too mean to die.”
Becky was trembling, and her eyes were enormous. “’E’s a vengeful man, Brandon. You’d better get out of ’ere!”
Brandon laughed, came forward, took her in his arms, and kissed her. “I’ll be back. We’ll finish what we started.”
But there was real fear in Becky’s eyes as she pushed him away again. “Stay away from ’ere if you know wot’s good for you! You don’t know my pa.”
Brandon laughed, then turned and left the barn. Outside the door, a huge yellow dog rose to greet him. Brandon put a hand on his head. “Well, how about that, Eric?” he said. “If the old man hadn’t come in, I would have had Becky. What do you think of that?”
Eric barked, then reared up to put his paws on Brandon’s chest. He was covered with scars from fights with other dogs and even a few with wild pigs and their saber-like tusks
“Ah, well, there’ll come a day! Let’s get back before Father finds out I’m missing.”
Brandon broke into a loping run, and the dog came after him at a gallop. He was not even breathing hard when the shadow of Stoneybrook Castle rose before him twenty minutes later. A huge silver moon threw argent beams on the frozen earth, and a ghostly hunting owl sailed overhead as he and his dog passed through the gate. There was no one stirring at this time of the night, and Brandon loved the silence that held the castle as if in a spell. He’d taken more than one thrashing from his father for sneaking out on midnight forays, but he knew he would do it again. It was not that he did not love his father, but a wild longing took him at times, driving him to find an adventure to break the monotony of daily life. He could bear a beating but not the boredom
He whispered, “Come on, Eric. Let’s go to bed.”
Brandon moved along the stone floor to a winding stair, making no more noise than one of the tiny mice that shared the castle with the Winslows. Stoneybrook was an ancient castle; the walls were almost as strong now in 1546 as the year it took form. It was not as large as many others built during earlier days, but it was home to the Winslows and something to be proud of
Moving quietly, Brandon made his way up the stairs and entered the room on the third floor that had been his place for as long as he could remember. Without bothering to undress, he threw himself on the bed, and the big dog whined and plopped down beside him. Brandon hugged Eric for warmth but was too excited for sleep. He relived the sweet kisses he’d stolen from Becky and already was purposing in his mind how he would find her alone again—in a place where they wouldn’t be interrupted
“Get out of that bed!” Stuart Winslow grabbed his son’s hair and pulled him up and out of his slumber
Instinctively Brandon launched a blow; and his fist hit Stuart in the chest
Stuart shook him, furious now that the boy would not wake. “Why, you dare to strike your own father, do you?”
Brandon groggily said, “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to hit you. You scared me.”
“You were never scared of anything in your life, Brandon! I wish to heaven you were!” Stuart Winslow studied his son. Will he ever grow up? “Get dressed!” he commanded. He stared at his son a long moment, then said angrily, “What kind of blood has come down to you, Brandon? Some northman raider, if not worse.” He was irritated at how long it was taking for the boy to dress. “Come. Quickly.”
“Where are we going?”
“To face your sins,” Stuart said over his shoulder. He left the room, closely followed by his son and the big dog. He took the stairs two at a time. Reaching the ground floor, he found his wife, Heather, waiting for them. She was forty-one but could have passed for ten years younger. She was a woman of quiet spirit, but now there was fear in her eyes. No doubt she saw the anger in his own. They’d had a good marriage and still loved each other deeply, but Brandon had become a problem that neither one of them could solve
“Will you be able to make it right with Elwald?” she asked, following them toward the great hall
“I doubt it.” He stared at Brandon and asked harshly, “Didn’t you know James Elwald would come for you, boy?”
Brandon looked surprised, caught but not overly concerned. Stuart took a firmer hold of his son’s arm, knowing what he was thinking. “I’ve gotten you out of trouble many times, but you’ll pay up this time!”
As soon as the three entered the great hall, Stuart saw two female servants who were replacing the stale rushes on the floor with new ones. He didn’t miss the sly grins they didn’t bother to conceal. They know well what Brandon is like. Has he been sniffing around them, too?
Up ahead, in the middle of the great hall, Stuart’s brother, Quentin Winslow, waited for them. He was thirty-three. With the same blue eyes and auburn hair, he bore a striking resemblance to Stuart and Brandon
“A little trouble, Brother?” He fell into step with them
“A little? This whelp tried lifting the skirts of Elwald’s daughter!”
Quentin had been a rough enough young man himself in his youth, but he had found God and was now preaching the gospel. He said nothing, but there was grief in his eyes as he looked at his nephew. “I’m sorry to hear that, Stuart.”
“Not as sorry as he’ll be!” Stuart snapped. Grasping Brandon’s arm again, he hauled him toward the two men who were waiting for them at the end of the hall. “Here’s the boy, sheriff.”
Albert Fortner, the local sheriff, was a rather small man but well built. He had a smooth face and a pair of watchful gray eyes. “Sorry to disturb you over this problem, Lord Winslow.”
“A problem? You call it a problem?” James Elwald shouted. His face was flushed with anger. He gestured at Brandon. “That’s him! He tried to rape my girl Becky, and when I tried to help her, he tried to kill me. Arrest him, sheriff!”
“Be quiet, Elwald. I’ll handle this,” the sheriff said. He kept his voice soft and said, “As you just heard, Elwald wishes to press charges against your son fo...
