The King's Damsel Read Free Page A

were dashed when your brother died so unexpectedly. Griselda Wynn will bear Stephen’s bastard, not his heir.”
    I had seen them together, I realized, my brother and the daughter of our steward. Griselda kept house for her father, living with him in separate lodgings on the grounds of Hartlake Manor.
    I could understand what had drawn Stephen to her. Big brown eyes dominated Griselda’s fine-boned face. Although it was usually covered, she had lovely long dark hair, almost black in color. She was a tiny woman, soft-spoken and delicate in appearance. Only theway she pursed her lips when she was displeased, so that they formed a hard, thin line, gave away her true nature. She’d never troubled to hide that side of herself from me.
    “Hugo pushed his daughter into Stephen’s path after your father’s death,” Blanche said. “He hoped by their marriage to advance himself and his posterity. When Stephen died, he lost his chance, but he still had charge of the estate. Now he fears he will lose even that. If Sir Lionel Daggett truly has control of your inheritance, he has the authority to replace Hugo with a steward of his own choosing.”
    “But what Hugo told us cannot be right. The king of England is no kin of mine. How can he decide what is to become of me and mine?”
    Weary of questions she could not answer, Blanche closed her eyes and rested her head against the window behind her. “I do not know what to tell you, Tamsin. I understand no more of the workings of king and court than you do. I can only pray that we will hear better news tomorrow in Glastonbury.”

2
    T he church of St. John the Baptist in Glastonbury does not have a vicar. It is staffed with a parochial chaplain and four stipendiary chaplains. One of the latter, Jasper Atwell, called Sir Jasper for courtesy’s sake, had held his post for many years. Blanche trusted him as she did not trust Hugo Wynn. As soon as we arrived at the Glastonbury house, she sent for him. He came within the hour.
    In contrast to our steward, Sir Jasper was tall. He was also bald as an egg and thin as a beanpole, with a long, narrow nose, a negligible chin, and a splotchy complexion that was the result of a long-ago bout with the swine pox. He listened to Blanche’s account of events without interrupting and then squinted at Sir Lionel’s letter—he was extremely shortsighted—while Blanche and I once again sat side by side, this time with my right hand clasped tightly in her left.
    “Well,” he said, after he handed the letter back to me. “Well.”
    “Does Hugo have the right of it?” I demanded. “Must I accept this stranger as my guardian?”
    “I fear you are obliged to, Tamsin.” Sir Jasper had a soothing tenor voice, but his words had me springing to my feet in agitation.
    “It is not fair! My father’s widow should be my guardian!”
    Surely that was what he and Stephen had intended.
    “My dear child, you will discover that life is rarely fair.”
    Sir Jasper reached out to me but I avoided his touch. I could not meet his eyes, either. I did not want to confirm what I already knew—that he felt sorry for me.
    “It is a great pity,” he added, “that you had not yet attained your fourteenth year before your father and brother died.”
    “What difference would that make?” Blanche asked.
    “All the difference in the world. Under the law, a girl who is fourteen or older when she inherits, so long as she is not yet betrothed, is granted control of her own lands and chattel. She needs no guardian.”
    I calculated quickly. I knew the date of my birth. I could remember my mother, who had died when I was eight, telling me that I had been born on St. Valentine’s Day, when birds traditionally choose their mates and all true lovers rejoice. “Then, in six months’ time,” I said, “I will be free of the odious Sir Lionel!”
    Even before he spoke, the sadness in Sir Jasper’s expression told me it was not to be that simple. “As matters have