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  Adam hung his head. “I no longer have a warrior’s heart.” His words were a distant echo in his ears, but he heard the self-pity and hated himself for it.

  Denis retrieved more linens. “Now, dry yourself.” He lifted his hand to his mouth. “Get ready to dine in the hall.”

  Fatigue swept over Adam. “I cannot. I will eat in my chamber.”

  Denis went to the armoire where servants had stored Adam’s clothing. He brought out a shirt, doublet and leggings, which he threw on the bed. He poked his brother in the ribs. “You are our father’s representative in this manor. You will eat with the rest of the household. I will send a servant to help you dress.”

  Adam leapt to his feet. “Non! I will dress myself.”

  Denis smiled. “As you wish.” He pressed his palm to his chest and made a mock bow. “Or, as we have done for each other innumerable times before, I can be your valet.”

  It was true. He and Denis had often acted as each other’s valet when away from home. His brother’s lack of stature had not been an issue. It seemed unreasonable now to be bothered by the notion.

  Denis had made it clear Adam’s deafness and impotency had no bearing on his feelings of brotherly love. If it were Denis who had been stricken, Adam wouldn’t love him any less.

  He raked his fingers through wet hair. “I am a coward.”

  * * *

  Fearing he might lose heart at the sight of his brother’s dejection, Denis grabbed a drying cloth and vigorously rubbed Adam’s thighs with it. “Listen.” He chopped his hand across his arm. “When Isembart Jubert lost his arm to an enemy sword, did he immediately get to his feet and carry on his life as it was before?”

  Adam inhaled deeply.

  Denis hoped mention of Izzy’s namesake would stir him. He rushed on. “Non, of course not.” He touched his arm, then his heart. “The body and the soul need time to heal. He was no longer capable of being a warrior, but Isembart became the only one-armed rat-catcher I have ever heard of, acknowledged as the best in all of Normandie. It was his courage and tenacity that saved oncle Hugh’s life.”

  Adam seemed to understand the gist of what he was saying. “And tante Devona’s.”

  He shrugged into the doublet Denis handed to him, and went down on one knee. Denis did up the fastenings. How often he had wished for his brother’s height, though he did not envy him his present predicament.

  Their eyes met. Denis determined to ignore the desolation that darkened Adam’s gaze. “Not that I seek pity for myself, but life has not been easy for me. There have been times when despair has threatened to overwhelm me, but I resolved long ago to be the best man I could be. Stature has nothing to do with courage, or honesty or valor.”

  Adam came to his feet, resting a hand on Denis’ shoulder as he stepped into his braies and then his leggings. Denis reached to fasten the points.

  “Merci, Denis,” Adam rasped. “Not only for helping me dress.”

  Denis slapped him on the thigh. “You’re welcome. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  To his surprise, the maidservant who had seen him with his hands on his shaft winked at Adam as she served his food.

  Denis leaned over. “She probably thinks you were doing what many men do to ease their needs.”

  Adam felt relieved, though he had not grasped everything Denis had said. His deafness was readily apparent, but the fewer who knew of his other problem, the better.

  The food in England was never as good as in Normandie, but tonight’s venison was excellent. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask his steward if he had employed a new cook, but he hesitated, aware he would be unable to hear Alain Cormant’s reply.

  He had always enjoyed a good conversation, but now—

  Perhaps if he watched Cormant’s mouth, he might discern what the man was saying. It was beginning to be thus with Denis, but he had known his brother all his life, recognized his mannerisms and mode of speech. Strangers would be more difficult.

  However, he had to try. He did not want to be alone in his silent world. Marriage was out of the question, but his impairment did not mean he could not enjoy friends, family. Homesickness washed over him.

  His departure had made things more difficult for his father and mother, but he feared his resentment at Mathieu’s actions might erupt and cause irreparable damage. Thank God Denis had insisted on sticking with him. He might have gone mad otherwise.

  Taking a deep breath, he turned to his left to look Cormant in the face. “The meat is tasty, Alain. Do we have a new cook?”

  His steward was the son of Barat who had come from Normandie long ago to assist in the oversight of the Sussex manors the Montbryce brothers had been granted by William the Conqueror.

  Barat, and his brother Théobald, had played an important role in the rescue of Adam’s tante Devona. They had also helped in the rebuilding of East Preston, left derelict for many years after the Conquest.

  Alain had been born there and taken over as steward of all the Sussex properties when his father and uncle retired to Normandie. He was a trusted servant.

  Alain smiled, licking his lips. He did not raise his voice in reply, but spoke slowly and clearly. “Indeed. Friselle came to us on the recommendation of the Lallements.”

  Adam frowned. “From Kingston Gorse?”

  “Oui.”

  By rights, noblesse obliged they ride to Kingston Gorse to thank their neighbors, but the prospect filled Adam with trepidation.

  Denis tapped him on the shoulder.

  Adam turned to his brother, suspecting what the persistent little devil would say.

  “We should ride over there tomorrow to thank them. I have never met the Lallements.” He winked. “Do they have daughters?”

  Adam cringed, thankful to reply in the negative. “Non. Two sons. Lucien and Vincent. Good men.”

  Denis shrugged. “Too bad. From the stories, I thought the family at Kingston Gorse were Marquands.”

  Cormant nodded. “Originally they were. Sir Stephen Marquand gave the estate to his daughter as her dowry when she married Marc Lallement.”

  Denis came to his feet. “Then we should ride there on the morrow to thank Sir Marc and his good lady.”

  Adam wrinkled his nose. “I doubt if either Sir Marc or Lady Maudine were responsible for the new cook.”

  Denis regained his seat, his brow furrowed.

  Alain Cormant interrupted. “Milord Adam is correct. Lucien Lallement directed Friselle to us.”

  The corners of Denis’ mouth turned down. “The Lallement parents are not sociable?”

  Adam laughed out loud, suddenly aware it was the first time since his illness. “That’s putting it mildly. Lady Maudine Lallement is downright unfriendly, and Sir Marc behaves as if he is shielding some deep, dark secret.”

  Denis laughed too. “We won’t concern ourselves with the parents, if the sons are good company. I am anxious to become acquainted with people in these parts.” He spread his arms wide and winked at Adam. “I wager they have never met anyone like me before.”

  Adam could not help but smile. “You are no doubt right on that score.”

  “We ride on the morrow then.”

  Adam met the challenge in his brother’s eyes. “Oui, on the morrow.”

  * * *

  Relief washed over Denis. Much depended on forcing Adam to face his impairment. It pained him to see his good natured, outgoing brother sink into despondent isolation. Heartened by Adam’s willingness to engage Cormant in conversation, he had gambled that a gentle push would persuade him to travel to Kingston Gorse.

  He worried about what he had learned of the lord and lady, but if the sons were gentlemen, there was no harm.

  Denis enjoyed meeting new people, though invariably their first reaction upon seeing him was one of shock and embarrassment. They never knew where to look. He had learned to expect that. He relished their further surprise when it quickly became apparent he was not a mad freak, but an articulate and cultured man.
r />   If only there existed a woman somewhere who might overlook his dwarfism and love him for the man he was. He had come across a few female dwarfs in his travels, mostly itinerant entertainers, part of a troupe. Their crude, bawdy humor amused him, but they did nothing to arouse his male interest.

  He was destined to live a bachelor life. Now Adam had been condemned to the same fate. Was it God’s will? The Giant and the Dwarf, boon companions to the end. A pang of guilt stabbed him—perhaps, deep within his heart, he was glad Adam had been rendered impotent.

  One thing was for certain. He would never desert his troubled brother.

  Never Seen A Dwarf Before?

  Lucien and Vincent Lallement rode out of the courtyard, bound for East Preston. At the outer gate, they reined their horses to a halt and looked back at the ivy-covered walls of their home. Their gaze inevitably travelled from the lower floor to the half-timbered sections of the second and attic stories. It had become a ritual whenever they left the house.

  Lucien clenched his jaw. “She can’t see this side of the house, but Rosamunda’s face will be pressed against the glass of their window.”

  Vincent tightened his grip on the reins. “She longs to be free, to explore the outside world. She’ll miss us.”

  They exchanged a glance, then quickly averted their eyes. Lucien’s gut roiled. The injustice had become intolerable. He recognized the torment in his brother’s eyes. “This situation must end,” he exclaimed.

  Vincent pressed his fingertips to his forehead. “You are right, brother, but I have no solution to offer.”

  Exasperated, Lucien urged his horse to a gallop. Vincent followed. They rode hard for half a mile along the southern coast of England. The brisk breeze and the smell of the sea filled Lucien’s nostrils. He loved the white cliffs, the endless beaches and inspiring coastal vistas of his native Sussex. He half-closed his eyes, wishing he might somehow stumble on a way to free his sisters without disobeying and disgracing his parents.

  Turning inland to East Preston, he crested a rise, wondering if his brother still rode close behind. He glanced over his shoulder, peering through the swirling sand stirred up by his horse’s hooves. As a result, he didn’t see riders coming the other way and almost careened into them. Four steeds snorted and bucked as their riders reined them in.

  “By the saints,” Vincent exclaimed, struggling to control his frenzied horse.

  “Merde!” one of the unknown riders shouted.

  The cloud of dust from the sandy terrain gradually settled, revealing four indignant horsemen glaring at each other, blinking away the grit, hands on the hilts of their swords.

  Lucien’s mouth fell open in astonishment; one of the other riders was a dwarf. He blurted out words without thinking. “Who the hell are you?”

  The dwarf rose in the stirrups, drawing his sword. “I am Denis de Sancerre, who the fyke are you?”

  A loud cough caught Lucien’s attention. He immediately recognized Adam de Montbryce. The Norman looked thinner than the last time he had seen him, but there was no mistaking the black hair and noble bearing.

  “Milord de Montbryce,” he exclaimed. “We were on our way to see you.”

  Adam frowned as he peered through the settling dust. “Lucien! We are coming to visit you. Put up your sword, Denis.”

  The dwarf scowled, but did as Montbryce bade him.

  Lucien’s eyes were fixed on the miniature knight.

  Adam nudged his horse alongside the dwarf’s, putting a hand on his shoulder. “May I properly introduce my brother, Denis de Sancerre. Denis, my friends and neighbors, Lucien and Vincent Lallement.”

  * * *

  Denis had long ago become inured to the rude stares of others when they first set eyes on him, but the way the Lallement brothers gaped was unnerving. They seemed struck dumb.

  “Never seen a dwarf before?” he goaded.

  They exchanged a quick glance, and swallowed hard. “A thousand apologies, milord Denis,” Lucien stammered, his face reddening. “It’s just that—er—” He looked again to his brother, as if seeking help.

  Denis curled his lip in disgust. “Didn’t you say these were gentlemen?” he asked Adam, though it was unlikely his brother would hear his aside.

  Adam nudged his horse forward. “It is a coincidence we chose the same day to call one on the other. I estimate we are closer to Kingston Gorse. We could return there with you.”

  To Denis’ further disgust, the Lallements hesitated, evidently afraid he might taint their home. “Your friends seem hesitant,” he declared loudly. “Perhaps we should invite them to East Preston instead.”

  “Again, my apologies, mes seigneurs,” Vincent offered, dismounting and bowing to both Normans. “We would be honored to escort you to Kingston Gorse. We are distracted because our mother is—not well. But that is no reason not to extend our hospitality to you.”

  When Adam frowned, Denis knew he had not heard Vincent Lallement’s explanation. Not wanting to make his brother’s impediment obvious, he looked him full in the face. “If Madame Lallement is indisposed, we should return with your friends to East Preston.”

  Adam had previously mentioned Lady Lallement’s temperament. If she was as rude as her sons, he had no wish to ever go to Kingston Gorse.

  “Please, we insist,” Vincent reiterated.

  Denis evidently did not scowl hard enough at Adam. With a shrug, his brother agreed to accompany the Lallements to Kingston Gorse.

  * * *

  As they neared his home, Vincent’s guts were in knots. Lucien’s face betrayed the same worry. A dwarf! Their mother would faint dead away.

  He pondered a thousand ways to smuggle Paulina down from the hidden chambers to meet this miniature knight, though she might be repulsed by his features. Denis de Sancerre was the right height for his tiny sister, but he was not a handsome man, though his bearing was dignified and noble. He certainly looked strong, for all he lacked stature.

  And something ailed Adam de Montbryce. He seemed detached, ignoring most of the idle chatter Vincent and Lucien directed his way. It was irritating that the dwarf kept repeating everything they said.

  Montbryce had always been an outgoing fellow. Now he appeared lost in thought, morose, as if someone dear to him died.

  “Are you well, Adam?” Vincent ventured.

  Montbryce glanced up at him sharply, then at Sancerre. “Forgive me, Vincent. I have been ill. My malady affected my hearing. I am slowly learning how to discern what people say by watching their mouths, but I am not yet proficient in the skill.”

  “Forgive me. I will try to speak more clearly. My father often complains I mumble.”

  He is deaf.

  Vincent’s heart leapt into his throat. A man who was deaf might not care if his wife was mute.

  But it would be difficult to arrange for Montbryce and Rosamunda to meet. Persuading their mother to allow a dwarf to remain under her roof loomed like an insurmountable obstacle. A thousand possibilities swirled in his mind. Lucien too seemed lost in thought. If only they’d had some foreknowledge of these incredible events.

  A groom took the reins of the four horses in the courtyard of Kingston Gorse. He seemed unable to take his eyes off Denis de Sancerre. Lucien glared at him as he motioned the visitors to the entryway of the manor.

  Adam had removed his gloves and was swatting the dust from his boots. “I hope your mother is sufficiently recovered. I wish to thank her for sending us our new cook.”

  Vincent’s heart fell. If his mother learned he and Lucien had finagled to get Friselle away from the oppressive kitchens of Kingston Gorse, there would be hell to pay.

  Lucien cleared his throat loudly as Maudine Lallement’s voice echoed off the stone floor of the entryway. “Lucien? Vincent? Why are you home already? I thought—”

  Adam and Denis both bowed as she came into view. The color drained from her face when she saw Denis.

  Lucien rushed to take her hand as she swayed. “Maman, you remember Adam de
Montbryce from East Preston. And may I introduce—”

  Maudine Lallement stood mere inches from Adam de Montbryce. If he had not already been deaf, the strident shriek that emerged from her throat would have rendered him so. The screeching went on and on as she pointed a quivering finger at Denis.

  Vincent had lived with his mother’s eccentricities his whole life, but shame washed over him as the depth of her madness dawned on him. He strode to help his brother restrain her as she tried to sweep Denis from the house. “Get that evil goblin out of my home.”

  Their father appeared. “What is going on?” His mouth fell open when he espied Denis and he seemed rooted to the spot.

  Sweat trickled down Vincent’s spine as he and his brother struggled with his demented parent. “Maman is unwell. Please summon her maid to her chamber.”

  They strong-armed her up the stairs, still shrieking. Vincent looked down at the entryway. His father had disappeared, leaving Adam de Montbryce and Denis de Sancerre to gape at the scene on the stairway.

  Vincent opened his mouth, but quickly shut it. His mother’s madness would now become known far and wide. And he was sure Adam and Denis would leave immediately, never to set foot in Kingston Gorse again.

  The Checkered Field

  Rosamunda and Paulina clung to each other in their aerie atop the house. Even here they heard frightful shrieks. What was going on? Was the house under attack? Surely, the Saxon brigands Lucien had mentioned were wreaking havoc further north.

  Rosamunda saw no evidence of invading forces through their tiny window. Seagulls soared on the breeze, but there was no sign of human life.

  The screams became more muffled, then stopped entirely. Foreboding washed over Rosamunda. Had their mother died? Would her death mean their freedom?

  Guilt and hope warred in her heart.

  She had heard Lucien’s voice amid the screaming and shouting, but didn’t understand how that could be. Her brothers had gone off to East Preston.