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the
subject. Do you play chess?  Might you challenge me to a match after the
evening meal?”
    As
if she would refuse any of his requests. “Mayhap.” She couldn’t believe the
words that began to spill out of her mouth. “Mayhap, I will challenge you to
target practice instead.”
    His
dark brows lifted a fraction. “Target practice, my lady?”
    “Aye.”
Where had this boldness come from?  She had thought it leached from her by
Simon’s beatings. “My papa trained me to throw the knife when Mama was not
looking. I’m quite skilled.” How dare she be such a braggart?
    “I
look forward to the competition.” A teasing sparkle lit his midnight blue eyes.
    Isabeau
took a sip of wine to dampen her throat and strengthen her courage. The time
seemed right to bring up the past. “I wanted to tell you that I grieved when
the news reached us of your loss. I did not know your lady wife well for she
spent much of her time here comforting Simon’s wife in her confinement, but I
had some grand adventures with Christian. He was so vibrant and full of energy.
I was struck dumb when word came that fever had taken him so soon after their
last visit to Olivet. My prayers are with them and with you also.”
    The
blue in his eyes darkened to black. “Thank you for your words and kind
thoughts. Time has softened the blow but it is good to know that Christian
could and did enjoy the short time he had on this earth. I was away on the
king’s business and could only say my farewells to his grave.”
    Isabeau
rested a comforting hand on his forearm. “He missed his papa, but he was brave.
Even at three, he knew he wanted to be just like you.” She laughed at a fond
memory. “He absolutely adored that rascal of a puppy you brought back for him
all the way from across the channel. He wouldn’t be separated from the
Beauceron for a minute. “Jaffey is Papa’s pup,” he would say with no little
pride.”
    “Jaffey?”
    She
could feel a bittersweet smile curve her lips. She had grown quite fond—even
dare she say it—grown to love the dark-haired little boy. He was the shining
spot in an otherwise dark period. “In many ways Christian was most articulate,
but he couldn’t quite get his tongue around Geoffrey. The name always came out
as ‘Jaffey.’ ”
    “Did
he visit long?”
    “Oh,
the countess brought him several times for lengthy visits after Simon and
Syllba moved into Olivet. She and my sister-in-law were great friends. After
the first visit, your wife’s old nurse—I think her name was Aggie?”
    “Granya?”
    “Yes.
Granya.” She smiled at him. She couldn’t help it. “Granya wasn’t able to make
the trip comfortably at her age. I spent a great deal of time with the young
lordship.  He was a joy and could melt many a heart with his smile.”
   
    “I
had no idea Marta ventured away from Bennington.”
    Something
in his tone put Isabeau on edge. “I don’t know that she visited other places.
Bennington is far enough away that an overnight stay -- or longer -- was
practical.”
    “I
see,” he agreed. He tore a large hunk of bread from the loaf they shared and
stood. She sucked in her breath as she looked up. By the saints, he was
big!  Tall and broad shouldered. He was a solid wall, a formidable
barrier. “I regret we cannot continue our conversation, but your brother’s
steward, even now, waits to give me a tour of Olivet. Anon.”
    He
gave her a fleeting smile before bringing her hand to his lips. It was but a
fleeting caress, the brush of a butterfly’s wing, but his mouth seemed to sear
her skin.
    And
then he was gone.
    But
not the sensations he left behind.
    She
reached for her goblet and promptly knocked it sideways.
    Quickly,
she mopped it up with the corner of her apron, glad that he wasn’t there to see
another of her catastrophes. She knew that Porter, Simon’s steward, had
instructed the kitchen to prepare a substantial mid-day repast for the earl’s
tour of Olivet, so Isabeau