Somewhere Along the Way

Table Of Contents

Titles by Lynn Kurland

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Epilogue

About the Author

Praise for New York Times

bestselling author Lynn Kurland

Kurland is clearly one of romance’s finest writers—she consistently delivers the kind of stories readers dream about. Don’t miss this one.

— The Oakland Press

Kurland weaves another fabulous read with just the right amount of laughter, romance, and fantasy.

— Affair de Coeur

A story on an epic scale. Kurland has written another time- travel marvel ... Perfect for those looking for a happily ever after.

— RT Book Reviews

The superlative Ms. Kurland once again wows her readers with her formidable talent as she weaves a tale of enchantment that blends history with spellbinding passion and impressive characterization, not to mention a magnificent plot.

— Rendezvous

Written with poetic grace and a wickedly subtle sense of humor . . . the essence of pure romance. Sweet, poignant, and truly magical, this is a rare treat: romance with characters readers will come to care about and a love story they will cherish.

— Booklist

A pure delight.

— Huntress Book Reviews

A disarming blend of romance, suspense, and heartwarming humor, this book is romantic comedy at its best.

— Publishers Weekly

Titles by Lynn Kurland

Stardust of Yesterday

A Dance Through Time

This Is All I Ask

The Very Thought of You

Another Chance to Dream

The More I See You

If I Had You

My Heart Stood Still

From This Moment On

A Garden in the Rain

Dreams of Stardust

Much Ado in the Moonlight

When I Fall in Love

With Every Breath

Till There Was You

One Enchanted Evening

One Magic Moment

All For You

Roses in Moonlight

Dreams of Lilacs

Stars in Your Eyes

Ever My Love

A Lovely Day Tomorrow

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WAY

The Novels of the Nine Kingdoms

Star of the Morning

The Mage’s Daughter

Princess of the Sword

A Tapestry of Spells

Spellweaver

Gift of Magic

Dreamspinner

River of Dreams

Dreamer’s Daughter

The White Spell

The Dreamer’s Song

The Prince of Souls

Anthologies

Love came just in time

A WINTER’S MAGIC

The Traveller (ebook)

To Kiss in the Shadows (ebook)

Somewhere Along the Way

Copyright © 2023 by Kurland Book Productions, Inc.

All rights reserved.

First Edition: 2023

Print ISBN: 978-1-961496-02-6

eBook ISBN: 978-1-961496-03-3

Cover Layout and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

One

Raventhorpe, England

1256

T

here were times that being

a woman in a man’s world was damned inconvenient.

Rose Kilchurn, eldest daughter of the lord of Raventhorpe, crouched in the alcove of her father’s solar, hidden—barely—by a wooden shutter, and allowed the truth of that to distract her from the pain that had begun in her knees and was rapidly spreading everywhere else.

Take the current moment, for instance. If she had been a man, she could have been striding onto the field of battle, shouting for all and sundry to lay down their weapons and surrender to what she was confident would have been a magnanimous and prosperous rule. Had something forced her to remain inside her hall—bad weather or an excessive number of enemies prowling outside the gates—she could have been pacing in front of a gathering of warriors whilst considering which of her plans to put into action. No matter the conditions outside or the circumstances inside, she would have been deciding her own fate and acting upon it with vigor and conviction.

Yet, where was she instead? Crouching uncomfortably on a window seat, that’s where, listening to others discuss a fate that was absolutely not under her control, gritting her teeth to keep from gasping over the cramping of her legs and the stabbing pain that had begun behind her knees. Worse still, the only pacing she did of late was outside her father’s solar whilst waiting to hear what new matrimonial madness the king had planned for her. She suspected the only striding she would be doing any time soon would be straight to the front of a chapel to be wed to a man chosen by that same monarch.

At the moment, what she wanted very badly was for her younger brother to do his own bit of striding away from where she was, perhaps to annoy someone besides their sire with his endless speculations about things he should have left alone.

I think you’ve made a mistake.

Rose marveled at her brother’s cheek. Jackson Alexander Kilchurn V was heir to Raventhorpe, times being what they were, and whilst he was never shy about expressing his opinions, she had never heard him speak to their sire in quite that tone before.

Do you? Jackson the IV said mildly. How so?

These notions of independence you’ve indulged with Rose, Jackson said in a low voice. How will she ever be happy with anyone the king selects for her when you’ve allowed her to entertain thoughts of having her way in all things?

The king has given her a choice—

Aye, between a glutton and a Frenchman!

Rose had to admit her brother had that aright.

Actually, they’re both Frenchmen, Jackson IV said calmly, and don’t you have French cousins you’re fond of?

Aye, but I’m not thinking to wed with one!

Rose nodded to herself. That was true, as well.

Henry is giving her a choice, her sire repeated patiently.

Between a man who would starve her by eating through her larder and a fop who would beggar her with his demands for endless yards of cloth and chests of baubles, Jackson pointed out, also not for the first time. What manner of choice is that?

Rose agreed with him, though she was keenly aware that she bore the responsibility for her current straits. But if a man couldn’t keep from recoiling in horror at the sight of either her own poor self in a tunic and hose or her guardsmen bearing very sharp weapons, what else could she do but resign herself to the fact that there were no more men in the wide, spectacular world who could equal either her father, her brothers, or her various and sundry other relations?

I don’t understand how you can stand idly by and watch this happen.

Rose dragged herself back to the conversation at hand and realized she had missed something perhaps she should have heard. Her father was of no help given that he had failed to comment on his son’s outburst, though that wasn’t unusual. Jackson IV was ruthless in his defense of his wife and children, unwavering in his willingness to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his in-laws, and maddeningly stubborn about staying out of affairs that were not his. She imagined the look he was giving her brother might contain a bit of all those things, delivered in a way that would leave no doubt as to where he thought the line was that shouldn’t have been crossed.

That was a look he’d given his eldest son more than once over the years, as it happened.

Jackson cursed, then stomped from the solar, tossing a barely polite, with your permission back into the chamber on his way out the door.

Silence descended. Rose was tempted to break that silence with a gasp of pain over the spot in her lower back that had seemingly become one with the stone behind her, but she squeaked instead over the sight of her father standing next to her. That was the other thing about him: He was as silent as a ghost.

So was she, generally.

She looked at the man who had taught her that very useful skill, then accepted his arm to use whilst she clambered off her perch. She rubbed out the cramps in her thighs, then looked at her sire.

I was here before you arrived, she offered, straightening as best she could. I hadn’t planned on eavesdropping.

Her father smiled, then sat down on the opposite side of the alcove. Is that the truth?

Unfortunately, she said with a sigh, sitting down to face him. I’d come to find out a few details from you, but then I ran afoul of your eldest son coming into your solar. I had no choice but to hide.

It is your life, Rose, he said, smiling gravely. You have every right to have an opinion on how that life should proceed.

An opinion on how the pieces move, she said slowly, but not the board they’re played on.

He nodded silently.

Whilst ‘twas tempting to wonder if she might manage to change that board, she allowed that impulse to continue on past her. If she changed the board—or chose a different one entirely—then she wouldn’t have what she wanted, and she wanted that thing very badly.

Segrave.

She supposed most of the souls she knew would have called her mad to even consider it, but she didn’t care. She loved the way the mist hugged the mountains in the mornings, the colors of the trees in autumn, the sight of sheep dotting the green hills in the summer, the blanket of white that covered everything in the winter.

But what she loved the most, she had to admit, was the sight of the freshly turned earth in the spring.

Perhaps she’d been born into the wrong family for that kind of thing. What she wanted was a still, dependable, unchangeable plot of land where she could grow things. Her siblings craved the sea with its endless and ever-changing movements. That ocean was beautiful, true, but there were things hidden beneath its surface that she couldn’t see or control or even name.

And she’d had a lifetime full of those sorts of things already.

She turned away from that thought abruptly and concentrated on the things she could speak about freely. Obviously, she would have to resign herself to a different path to what she wanted. If that led through a tedious marriage, no doubt in name only, to either a man focused on razing her larder or one occupied with dividing his time between bedding the serving maids and gazing at himself longingly in the nearest polished surface, so be it. Best to resign herself to the truth of her situation so she could be about arranging it to her liking.

I understand that Uncle John wanted me to take charge of Segrave, she stated.

So he did.

But regardless of what anyone might like, the truth is the title and land belong to Grandfather Rhys.

Also true, her sire agreed, though the fact that he and your grandmother spend so much time enjoying the bounties of France leaves your uncle seeing to the family holdings here.

She nodded. Which means that once it comes to Uncle Robin, it will then pass to Phillip or Kendrick or Jason, or perhaps to Uncle Nicholas and down through his progeny—

Skipping the girls, of course.

She glared at him and had a faint smile in return. Aye, hopping over the girls because ‘tis impossible that a woman should manage to do aught but see to her lord’s meals.

Her father leaned back against the wall. Or not, in your mother’s case, which leaves me with the privilege of providing a peerless chef in her kitchens and a smooth floor in the chapel where I spend a great deal of my time praying that she won’t decide to leave me behind and rush off to have an adventure. Or start a war. He shrugged. I never know.

What Rose knew was that her father adored her mother beyond reason, he humored her need for journeying about without hesitation, and he looked at her always as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d ever agreed to wed him. He had set a standard that no man could ever match, which had left her contemplating retiring to one of England’s many nunneries.

It was possible she had considered that more than once.

Have you ever, she said carefully, wanted something so badly that it took your breath away?

He laughed uneasily. Of course.

What was it?

Your mother.

Fortunate were you then, that she was so easily won.

Her father only smiled. There was a bit of work involved.

She studied him. Will you ever tell me the whole tale?

Someday, perhaps, he said carefully, when the details will serve you. For now, let’s just say that I married well and haven’t regretted for a single moment what I had to do in order to win your mother’s hand. His smile faded. I would prefer that sort of marriage for you, Rose.

She hardly knew where to begin with that. She was fast approaching her dotage, to be sure, and she had encountered every available man of marriageable age in England and found not a one to suit. Even the ones who were less-than-suitable had left her firmly inviting them to look in a direction that wasn’t hers.

I want Segrave, she said simply.

I know.

And to have it, I must wed.

He nodded. I know that, too. You should know, if you don’t already, that your great-grandmother Joanna did a great deal of managing things there, even when your great-grandfather was alive.

A grand and glorious tradition, then.

Among others, he agreed, then his smile faded. I shouldn’t admit this, but I wish you could take the damned place all on your own.

So do I, she said. Hence my plan to acquire a husband who will be as little trouble as possible. Which one do I choose? Do I put a lock on my larder or my coffers?

I wouldn’t presume to offer an opinion on that. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together, then smiled at her. Is this what you truly want to discuss?

Nay, I’m just avoiding discussing who these lads are. She looked at her father seriously. I don’t fault the king for it. If I were he, I would also be bargaining with one of my wealthy, foreign-born friends in just such a manner without entertaining a single thought for the poor woman I’d pressed into the service of keeping that particular man in check.

A dangerous observation, he said quietly.

One I would make to no one but you, she said just as quietly, which you know. Are King Henry’s coffers running so low that he must needs import noblemen with full purses to refill them?

Her sire let out his breath slowly. War is expensive, crusading perhaps even more so, never mind repaying those attempting to put your son on a throne on a very lovely island south of France.

It makes seeing to my dowry seem a paltry thing, doesn’t it? she asked pleasantly.

He laughed. A bargain, my girl, truly.

But bringing in a Frenchman to take over an Englishman’s holding doesn’t seem a wise way to appease your countrymen.

I don’t think he cares. Either that, or he hopes that the bride being an Englishwoman will be enough to smooth any ruffled feathers. He studied his hands for a bit, then looked at her. I had hoped for more for you, Rose.

So had I, she said honestly, then supposed she might as well be free with a bit more of the same. This is what the landscape looks like in my day.

Her father only delivered yet another of his inscrutable looks.

Besides, she said, deciding that perhaps that was enough honesty for the moment, "what else am I to do, Father? I’m a score and seven, old enough to have a grandchild of my own by now."

Good heavens, what a thought, he said, looking a little green.

Very well, perhaps not that, but things are as they are and I’ve watched all the braver men in England walk through your gates and rush back out of them.

I should have put Jackson in the dungeon during those visits, he said thoughtfully.

If a man cannot survive a brief encounter with my brother in the lists, what does that say for him?

Her father laughed uneasily. I’m not sure, but I’ll let you know when I’ve determined it. He sighed deeply. Go have a look at these lads, then. One of them might be manageable.

And if not, I’ll take a lover.

She supposed, in hindsight, that she should have held onto that thought. Her sire looked at her evenly, but she shrugged.

’Tis been done before, with great success.

He seemed to be considering several things, but apparently found none of them worth saying.

Have either of these two paragons of chivalry been informed of their fate yet? she asked politely.

Lord Herbert de Valois a pair of days ago, allowing him plenty of time to have a final nose through his larder. I understand the lad from Chablais will be informed today. I’m guessing neither will waste any time securing a boat bound for our blessed isle. He paused and looked at her. Are you certain you want to go to Segrave with Robin alone?

Actually, I wondered if we might take Thad with us. We need some sort of nobleman to sit in the lord’s seat.

Her father rubbed his hands over his face, then laughed a little. Very well, so you’ll have a look at these possibilities from your perch in Robin’s collection of rabble—which I’m assuming will only contribute to his joy over masquerading as a traveling sword for hire—then you’ll make a production of arriving as yourself after you’ve seen enough. He smiled pleasantly. Is that close enough?

And here I thought we were being so clever, she said lightly.

Your uncle is not very imaginative, he said dryly, but he’s damned terrifying. Then again, so are you. Very well, take your brother and allow him to stride about as the head of the family for a day or two. We’ll follow in a fortnight, if that suits.

Please leave Jack behind, she said quickly. Locked in the dungeon, if you want my opinion.

He smiled. You’ll have to invite him to the wedding, you know.

I wouldn’t think to exclude him, she said, but I would prefer than he not frighten off my last two chances at matrimony until the lad’s already trapped in the chapel.

Her father’s smile faded. You deserve someone spectacular, daughter.

Thank you, Father, she said quietly, then she put her shoulders back and dredged up a smile she didn’t quite feel. I’ll have formed very definite opinions by the time you and Mother arrive.

Of course, Rose.

She nodded, kissed his cheek quickly, then left his solar and made her way to her bedchamber. She paced to the count of a hundred or so, but that didn’t ease her as it might have another time. She slipped out into the passageway and started toward the stairs, passing her parent’s bedchamber door that wasn’t quite as shut as they no doubt supposed it to be. She wasn’t one to eavesdrop, her earlier bout of it aside, but she could scarce help herself at the moment.

Her parents were speaking that oddly accented peasant’s tongue they used when they thought no one was listening. She understood it well enough, she supposed, but she tended to learn whatever language caught her ear. The saints knew her family had traveled enough over the years for her to have had ample opportunity to learn several tongues.

What else are we going to do, Mandy? her father asked quietly. This is the reality of the choice we made all those many years ago.

If she ends up with someone who is unkind to her, her mother said in a low, dangerous voice, I will meet him in a darkened passageway and unman him. See if I don’t.

Jake laughed and there was silence for a bit. Rose would have blushed, but her father adored her mother and her mother mooned over him in a particularly nauseating way. ‘Twas no wonder they had so many children.

I’m sure you will, her father said, sounding thoroughly amused. You can have a little chat with him before the wedding and your brothers and I will eye him sternly on his way out of the chapel. That will leave him properly intimidated.

I want her to marry for love, Jake.

So do I, love, he said quietly. So do I.

Rose closed her eyes briefly and ignored the tightness in her heart. She was just suffering from a bout of melancholy over leaving her home, nothing more. Her parents were very happy and she didn’t begrudge them that. She wanted something else, no matter the price or the path she would have to walk to have it.

She stepped back and ran bodily into her younger brother. He wasn’t all that much younger—her parents were who they were, after all—so they might as well have been twins. She put her finger to her lips, then made walking motions with her fingers before nodding down the passageway.

I’m coming to Segrave with you, Jackson said a low voice.

She walked down the passageway a bit, then turned and looked at her sibling. Nay, you are not, she whispered fiercely. You’ll only terrify my future husband, whoever he might be.

That’s the point.

What if I want to be off and doing? she asked. You’ll be underfoot.

And those five terrors who haunt your every step won’t? he demanded.

Four. Sir Stephen is in the healer’s house nursing his broken leg, which you know.

Four then, he growled. And those four demons are down the passageway right now, though I imagine you don’t know how far.

I imagine I do, she said coolly.

He dragged his hand through his hair, then caught her by the hand and pulled. Kitchens. Ale. Plans.

"My plans," she said, digging in her heels.

He glared at her and tugged. Perhaps.

He was strong, she would give him that, but the shadows behind him were suddenly quite a bit denser than they had been before. He turned his glare on them.

I must have gone mad, he said crisply, for I see my sister’s thugs eyeing me as if I intended to do her harm.

Thugs was one of her father’s words that she was quite certain came from that same unusual language he occasionally used, but she wasn’t about to comment on that.

Her lads only stood there, silent and terrifying.

Jackson blew out his breath in exasperation, then released her hand and offered her his arm. "A glass of ale in the kitchens, my dearest sister, then perhaps you’ll favor me with an insight into your plans."

She took his arm. Why don’t you ever mother-hen the little ones this way?

Thad is capable of watching over the wee ones, leaving me free to manage the heavier labor of watching over you.

That and she supposed she and Jackson had spent the whole of their lives combining mischief together. She took his arm and walked with him down the passageway, nodding to her lads who fell in behind them, and waited until they’d reached the kitchens and settled into their accustomed spots by the fire before she looked at him again.

You can visit me, you know.

I know, he said grimly, but that’s no comfort. I don’t like change.

She sighed deeply. It comes, Jack, whether we like it or not. And this is only marriage, not the gallows. Your turn will come.

The saints preserve me from it, he said with feeling. What daft, desperate wench would want a sour-humored bastard such as I?

She likely won’t be daft, Rose said solemnly.

He scowled at her. Your choices aren’t any better.

I know, but that is my fate. You must stay here and see to the hall. I’ll send word if I need aid.

It might be too late, he said pointedly.

She reached out and lifted her pinky finger. She waited.

He rolled his eyes, cursed, then linked his own pinky with hers. It was slightly bent, that finger of his, because she’d once slammed it in a door whilst about the endless work of reminding him to mind his own business and leave her to hers.

I suppose you can manage a journey to Segrave without an entire garrison surrounding you, he conceded gruffly.

Quite possibly.

I understand Father gave you a se’nnight before he follows.

A fortnight.

He sighed deeply and refilled her cup of wine.

She sipped until she thought she could speak calmly and firmly. I want something unremarkable.

And you’ll find that as mistress of Segrave?

She looked at him evenly. I want a life that is nothing more than it seems to be and a man who doesn’t turn out to be someone he’s not.

Jackson sighed wearily. I vow I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.

She leaned forward. Don’t you wish you could stop worrying? she asked very quietly. That someone will find out your sire is more than he seems?

I never think about it.

You’re not a very good liar.

I’m a tremendously good liar, he said seriously. I lie to myself all the time.

She rolled her eyes and sat back. You’re terrible at it. You would keep your secrets more easily otherwise.

I have no secrets, he said, shifting slightly. Not any of my own, at least.

She understood, because she could say the same thing.

I wouldn’t change the past, she admitted, and I wouldn’t change anything about my family. But I would like to have an unremarkable life with no secrets to be kept.

And you think neither a fop nor a glutton will have secrets of his own?

Nothing past where he hides his silks or his sweets.

He shook his head. What a terrible choice.

I’ll take a lover if I grow bored.

The look of shock on his face was definitely more satisfying than her father’s had been.

Rose, he said, looking thoroughly horrified. You don’t mean that.

Perhaps not, she conceded. I could sneak off to a nunnery instead.

With the choices laid before you, I’d say you were bound for one just the same.

She would have argued that, but she found herself distracted by the arrival of the rest of her siblings who flattered Cook for a taste of what would be arriving in the great hall within the hour, then drawn along with them back into that hall.

She stood with her back to the fire there and listened to their chatter with half an ear. She couldn’t bring herself to think about how much she would miss that or how much she feared, deep in a place she didn’t allow herself to go very often, that she might not find anything like it in her own marriage.

But what else was she to do? The king had decided that he’d humored them all long enough and demanded that a female with de Piaget blood in her veins arrive at Segrave with marriage on her mind within a se’nnight. The or else bit had remained unspoken, but she hadn’t needed to hear it.

‘Twas also true that she did have female cousins who could have satisfied the king’s decree, but she was the eldest and none of them wanted that pile of stones save she herself.

She put her shoulders back and set her face toward her future. She would have that glorious keep she wanted and select as the key to that same hall an unremarkable man who wouldn’t give her any trouble or do anything unexpected.

She would accept nothing less.

Two

Chablais, France

Spring 1256

T

ristan de Thierry stood in

the middle of the Duke of Chablais’s once-fine stable yard, covered in vomit that was not his own while at the same time struggling to keep a nervous stallion from trampling him to death, and came to the conclusion he’d avoiding for a least a year.

Chivalry and all its incarnations should be consigned to the cheery fires of Hell.

He wondered if anyone would begrudge him a brief moment to consider why he’d resigned himself to such a bold and possibly unchivalrous notion. Perhaps he might retrace his steps of the past few hours to see where he’d stepped amiss—no doubt directly into a pile of that aforementioned virtue—so he could avoid that particular sort of stepping in the future. He took a deep breath, regretted it immediately, then settled for breathing lightly and making himself as comfortable as possible for a proper rumination.

Compassion. He nodded to himself. That was indeed a most inconvenient trait, and it had been the first to trip him up the night before.

There he’d been, innocently lurking in another lord’s estate at the behest of an entirely different man whose errand he’d been on, when he’d stumbled upon a lovesick fool attempting to liberate a woman from the clutches of a ne’er-do-well. Had he carried on with his own business and quite sensibly left them to theirs? Of course not. His damnable chi—well, whatever it was that had risen up from the area of his heart to fair choke him into complying with its dastardly impulses had left him helping the villain into senselessness before boosting both the desperate swain and his terrified beloved over a very high wall.

He’d managed to fling himself over that selfsame wall just before the night watch had passed by, but he’d paid the price in ribs that currently protested every breath he took. Returning home had taken far longer than it should have, which had left him with only a pair of hours to sleep before the day had called with its endless number of tasks that apparently only he could see to.

Responsibility. Ah, there was another offender, lurking in the shadows and keeping him from sleeping past dawn. That morning was a perfect example of the same. He had woken before the sun out of damnable habit, crawled out of his spot in the hayloft, then gone about the usual business of the day almost without complaint.

He’d worked a stallion so ferocious that only he and the stablemaster dared attempt it, ignored the slurs a handful of lads tossed his way in an obvious effort to stir up mischief, then politely demurred when a visiting noblewoman had invited him to retrieve some species of insect that had fallen down the front of her gown.

Had he then hurried off to find a deserted part of the estate to hide in for the day? Nay, he had not. Flush from his recent successes inside the barn, he’d marched outside to see if there might be further good works for him to do.

He’d taken but a moment to pause and assess just how much damage he’d done to his poor form the night before, yet apparently that had been enough to draw the attention of whatever cadre of angels sat upon their comfortable pews in yon heavens, waiting for the perfect moment to subject him to more opportunities to exercise his—

He looked up narrowly, but the sky was as blue as it had been but a moment before, comfortably empty of any cherubic minions bent on his betterment.

Unfortunately, their dastardly work was already done, for he was already in the clutches of that most noble of all the virtues, the one he refused to name again, that same wretched code of honor that inevitably brought misery and doom to any man foolish enough to indulge in it. And it had everything to do with the little tableau of disaster he’d encountered in the yard directly adjacent to the barn.

Two paths had been converging directly upon the person of the estate’s newest stablelad, a child of twelve summers named Stefan who should have still been huddling behind his mother’s skirts. The man on the right had been the lady of the house’s youngest son, Bastien, who had no doubt mixed too much drink with an equal amount of overly rich food while indulging in a fair amount of gaming. The losses from the latter must have been great because Bastien had still been wearing his costly velvets and weeping.

The man on the left, pulling a balking stallion along with him and swearing viciously at it, had been Bastien’s elder brother, Raymon. Raymon wasn’t the lord of the hall, which no doubt had much to do with why he was so brutal to everyone around him including any horse unfortunate enough to find itself under his heavy hand.

Stefan had held out his hands as if to ward off the inevitable by sheer will alone, then sent Tristan a look of such pleading that chiv—er, that damnable virtue that caused him so bloody much trouble had reared its howling head and shouted at him to do something.

He had wanted to simply continue on his way, truly he had, but instead he’d found himself rolling his eyes, swearing with vigor, then striding out into the side yard, vowing that the current rescue would be the very last one he would ever engage in.

He’d yanked Stefan out of the way and put himself at the intersection of those two converging paths. Things had proceeded from that point onward exactly as he’d anticipated they would. Bastien had stumbled to a stop directly in front of him, reached out frantically for something to hold onto, then vomited down his front.

Tristan’s front, not Bastien’s own.

Raymon’s horse had shied violently, sending Raymon into a frenzy of his own. Tristan had managed to save himself from being whipped across the face with the reins as they were thrown at him only because he’d had a dozen years of practice at the same. Keeping the horse under control had been substantially more difficult.

All that had left him where he was at the moment, gingerly holding his tunic away from himself as best he could with one hand while trying to manage that enormous stallion with the other.

Cool the nag down, if you’re capable of it, Raymon snarled before he stomped away, leaving his heaving younger brother on his knees and his horse barely keeping his feet.

Tristan managed to elude Bastien’s clutching hands long enough for a pair of servants to fetch the fool and lead him away. He then stripped off his tunic as carefully as possible, mostly in deference to that trembling stallion—

The bucket of cold water that was thrown directly into his face came close to downing not only him, but the most valuable horse on the estate, as well.

He blinked the water out of his eyes, eased the horse out of the way, and let out his breath very slowly. Raymon seemed to have satisfied his need for abusing those he thought beneath him because he simply smirked and walked away.

Oy, master, Stefan whispered, easing up to stand next to Tristan. My thanks for the rescue.

Tristan smiled, because there was no reason to leave the lad suffering any guilt over something he couldn’t have helped, but it took more effort than it should have.

The temptation to simply toss the reins he held at Stefan, then turn and walk out the front gates without saying another word to anyone there, however, was almost overwhelming.

Surely he could have found a spot to roost that was distant enough that no one would recognize him. He could have spent a year or two living solely for himself, indulging in endless mugs of ale at the nearest inn and never lifting a finger to aid anyone no matter their peril.

In time, he might have found himself a plump, rosy-cheeked dairymaid to wed, a girl who wouldn’t ask about his past and wouldn’t expect anything from him beyond chopping wood for her fire and hauling the occasional bucket of mash for her beasts. If circumstances warranted it, he could possibly have been prevailed upon to rise from his comfortable perch by the fire and set off to hunt down a milchcow gone astray.

He was, after all, rather fond of cheese. Keeping the milchcows attending to their business of providing his potential wife with the makings for such delicacies could be considered self-serving, which he could accept.

What he could not abide, however, were his current straits. No more rescues, no more spending his days and nights trying to keep himself alive in what had turned out to be a ridiculously complicated existence, and no more of that damnable virtue that got him into the most trouble. Indeed, once he had cleaned himself up, he would immediately begin planning how to embark on what he was certain would be an extremely lengthy life of debauchery, drunkenness, and too much cheese.

I’ll find ye a new tunic, master, Stefan said, tugging on the soiled garment. If ye please.

Tristan nodded, though he supposed simply ridding himself of his shirt might not address the insult to the rest of him, but he only owned one pair of boots and those would have to suffice him. ‘Twas damned sure he wasn’t about to cool down a horse in his bare feet.

He left Stefan to go off and rummage through the rag pile, then led his equine charge to a less populated part of the yard. He ran that beautiful beast in a wide circle until his great heart had seemingly caught up with him and he could safely be brought back to a walk.

By the time the horse was fit to be put away, he almost had