the tall, arched windows set high in the walls, and chairs and settles were scattered among the benches as evidence of the de Burgh fortune.
It was very impressive—and very dirty. Marion tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of overripe food, stale rushes and dogs, which the chill air could not dispel. Even with her faulty wit, she could tell that Campion was in need of a chatelaine.
The thought made Marion pause, while tiny prickles trickled up the back of her neck, along with a sense of discovery. She could do it. She knew it with utter certainty, and with that certainty came a swell of longing and excitement. Not only could she do it, but she would do it well and find happiness in the task.
“Ho! Simon! Geoffrey!” Suddenly, there was such a din that Marion nearly covered her ears. The party was set upon by various large dogs, barking their heads off, followed closely by several large, dark-haired men, shouting even louder. She stepped back as the giants joined the equally big Geoffrey and Simon and jostled and hugged and swung at them in what she hoped was a friendly fashion.
They all seemed to talk at once in shouts and grunts while she watched, amazed by the affection apparent beneath all the gruff bellowing. And then, as if by some unspoken agreement, the noise ceased and all turned to face an approaching figure.
He was not as tall, or nearly as broad as his sons, but Marion immediately guessed that the man who drew near was their father, the earl of Campion. His hair was still as dark as theirs except where it was streaked with silver. His face was more gaunt, his mouth less generous, but the resemblance was there, marking him as an attractive man, despite his years.
Marion watched him closely, her eyes flicking away only to gauge the reaction of others to his presence. Though a patriarch and a nobleman, he did not appear to be a cruel lord and master, nor did he seem full of his own importance. He moved very gracefully, with a dignity that commanded respect, not through brute force but through wisdom, and Marion felt the tightness that had settled in her chest ease at the sight of him.
Although Campion was obviously above the kind of boisterous behavior of the others, he was nonetheless pleased to see his sons. It was evident in his smile and in his voice when he spoke their names. “Simon, Geoffrey,” he said, his tone low and rough with the measure of his affection. And then, while Marion looked on in astonishment, the elegant earl opened his arms and loosely clasped the towering body of the mail-clad Simon.
Marion’s longing returned in a rush, more piercing this time. Had she ever been part of such a family? She watched, fascinated, as the earl did the same with Geoffrey. Then, suddenly, Campion’s attention was upon her. His brows lifted a fraction in polite curiosity, and she nodded her greeting before bending her head, anxiety curling in her breast.
“Sir, we came upon a pack of thieves attacking the Lady Marion’s train,” Geoffrey explained. “Although we dispatched them, we were not in time to save her injury. She was thrown into the roadway and now knows not her own name. All of her people were either slain or fled in fright, so we have offered her our protection until she might regain her...health.”
“My lady,” Campion said, bowing slightly in a formal salute. “We shall be pleased to have you with us. It has been too long since a damsel has graced our hall. I am Campion, and these are my sons,” he said, lifting a hand to take in the group.
“You have met Simon and Geoffrey. May I introduce Stephen,” he said, and another de Burgh stepped forward, this one with a lock of the familiar dark hair hanging loosely over his forehead. He had a different air about him than Simon or Geoffrey, a careless attitude that did not seem to fit Campion’s line.
“My lady,” Stephen said. He flashed white teeth in a mocking grin, and she decided he was too handsome for his own good.
“Robin, my lady.” A man of about twenty years spoke this time. His hair was a shade lighter than the rest, and his friendliness was genuine, as if he were paying court to her. Marion nodded her greeting with pleasure.
“Reynold.” More gaunt than the others and walking with a stiff gait, as though one leg pained him, came Reynold. Although he appeared to be younger than Robin, he seemed angry and bitter beyond his years. He did not return her smile.
“And, finally, Nicholas.” At the earl’s words, no one stepped forward, and Campion repeated the name with just a hint of exasperation. Marion almost laughed aloud then as the youngest de Burgh bounded toward her. He was probably no more than fourteen, a softer, smaller version of his brothers.
“Yes, sir?”
“Please meet our guest,” Campion directed with a nod toward Marion.
“Greetings!” Nicholas said, eyeing her up and down with the eager curiosity of the young. She could see that he was bubbling over with questions for her, but apparently his father also recognized the signs, for he quickly forestalled the interrogation with a reproving look.
Campion then glanced around the hall. “Wilda,” he called. Although he did not raise his voice, a young servant girl was soon at his elbow.
“Yes, my lord?” She spoke respectfully, yet with a sincerity that caught Marion’s attention. She realized that even the servants went about their work with pride here at Campion. It was a situation that struck Marion as oddly unusual, but she could not say why.
“This lady will be staying with us,” Campion said. “Please show her to a room with a hearth, and send something up from the kitchens for her. ‘Tis late, and she will wish to seek her rest after the long journey.”
“Yes, my lord.” Wilda nodded warmly, the casually given welcome touching Marion to the bone. Although she realized that she had been graciously dismissed, Marion could not leave yet. Ignoring the urge to scurry away, she turned to face the earl.
“My lord, I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality. I promise you that you shall not regret it,” Marion said. Then she did hurry after Wilda, before he could change his mind about letting her stay.
She had seen little enough of the castle and its inhabitants, but Marion liked what she saw. Although big and gruff, the de Burgh brothers were handsome and appealing, their father was gentle and kind, and his people were happy. It seemed to Marion’s dazed senses that the very walls reached out to her in welcome.
Already, Campion seemed like home.
* * *
“Come, I have ordered some food and drink for you two,” the earl said to his returning sons.
“And me, too, sir!” Nicholas said.
Campion smiled at his youngest. “For all of us, then.”
Although supper had been cleared away, he sent a servant for bread, cheese, apples and ale. Once these were brought and they were all seated at the high table, Campion nodded toward Simon to speak. He listened intently as his warrior son reported on his trip south to collect monies from a recalcitrant tenant.
“Then, on the way home, when we were hurrying against winter’s winds, we came across a small band being attacked by murderous thieves. We killed the devils, but some of our men were injured in the skirmish,” Simon said.
“The odd thing is, the ruffians were not your usual bandits. They fought very well, like trained soldiers,” Geoffrey put in, “and on fine horseflesh, far better than you would expect such men to own.”
Simon snorted his dispute. “They fought to the death, as the bastards will when cornered, ‘tis all.”
The earl glanced back at Geoffrey, but the boy said nothing further, deferring instead to his brother, as usual. It was not Geoffrey’s way to argue, and yet Campion knew that his scholarly son was probably speaking the truth. Geoffrey might not be as bold as Simon, but he noticed things. He sat back, watched, assessed and made his plans accordingly. That was his strength, and that was why Campion often sent him to accompany his more single-minded brother.
“Some members of the attacked train fled into the woods,” Simon said with a scowl of contempt. “They appeared to be youths hardly