Suzanne Robinson Read Free

had become a vowess instead.
    Honor moved her chin back and forth, then scratched beneath the barb. It had itched since this morning when she’d donned it and the widow’s weeds for the ceremony at which she took her vows. Absently she rubbed her mare’s neck, then fidgeted with the two veils, leaving a streak of dirt on the white one. She hadn’t yet noticed the hole she’d torn in the hem of her gown when she’d mounted.
    At the moment, she was glancing covertly at one of the two noblemen who escorted her. On her right, Sir Lionel Titchwell was scowling at one of her men-at-arms. Like half a dozen others, he’dbeen furious at the news that—after four years of widowhood—she was to become a vowess rather than remarry. He coveted Castle Stafford and her inheritance. Since Sir Lionel wasn’t above abducting her and forcing a marriage, Honor had demanded a large escort, much begrudged by her brother-in-law. To sweeten the incentive, Honor had promised to go home a week early, and Isidore had finally assigned an escort.
    Lord Isidore had inherited his brother Aymer’s lands and title after Aymer died childless. One snowy winter day while Aymer and Honor were visiting Castle Stafford, he’d gone riding along the river Eske a few miles from the castle. When Aymer failed to return, Sir Walter and his steward, Baldwin Trune, had taken a search party to look for him. Eventually they found a steep, muddy bank upon which they could see signs that Aymer’s horse had lost his footing. Baldwin discovered a piece of Aymer’s tunic caught on a half-submerged rock.
    For days they searched the river, dragging it for miles in either direction, to no avail. When Aymer failed to appear after many months, he was declared dead, and Honor had been left alone among her husband’s indifferent, avaricious relatives. Honor had always suspected Isidore would have married her himself in spite of the church’s objections to men marrying their dead brothers’ wives, but he already had a wife. At the very least, he wanted her dower lands. So she made a bargainwith him. He could have the lands, and she would become a vowess and go home.
    Upon hearing this proposal, Isidore finally realized Honor wasn’t ever going to comply with his plans for her hand or her fortune. By then he would have sent an army with her to get her off Jennings property and reclaim those lands. It had been a price willingly paid, for Honor was not happy to remain near Isidore, who was openly hostile to her and now considered her a burden. Yes, it had been a wise bargain.
    “And I’m right well content with my decision,” Honor said to herself.
    “My lady?” the man to her left said.
    “Oh, naught but daydreams, my lord.” Honor inclined her head politely at Lord Andrew Swan, her other persistent suitor.
    Lord Andrew had spent the two days since they’d set out casting calculating glances, not at the men-at-arms, but at the silver bosses on the saddles and reins of the knights, at the chests of plate, jewels, and clothing and at the carts of furniture. He was a wealthy man, but always felt poor unless he was increasing his riches. Neither he nor Sir Lionel had more than glanced at Honor before making offers for her hand.
    “By my troth, Lady Honor,” said Lord Andrew, “I cannot believe you’ve become a vowess, and I’m sorely vexed thereby.”
    “I’m sure you don’t mean to be blasphemous,” Honor said gently.
    Lord Andrew reddened and crossed himself. “Blessed be God, I do not.”
    Honor gave him a beatific smile that brightened to ecstasy. “Look you, my lords. That giant hawthorn marks the boundary between the Stafford and de Marlowe lands. I’m home!” She reined in her mare and bowed in the saddle. “This is where we part, and I thank you both most heartily for your care of me.”
    Sir Lionel narrowed his eyes. “I see no escort from your father. Mayhap we should remain until Sir Walter’s men appear.”
    “Oh, there’s no need,”