"You will eat if I have to force you. I'll have no daughter who sulks because a man touched her."
Anne's self-pity left her. "A man! That barbarian, that pagan! You call that animal a man? I have encountered dogs with more sensibilities than that one."
"You don't know a man from a dog." Hugh snorted. "You women took tournaments, these preparations for war, and turned them into showings of fashion. Were it up to you, the man with the most feathers or gold embroidery would win the prizes. The Peregrine boy isn't—"
"Peregrine!" Anne gasped. "Is that who he was? I should have guessed. He is brother to that man who married poor Lady Liana. It is no wonder—"
"Married two years and she's given him one son, and another due any day. The father of these Peregrines bred nothing but sons."
"There is more to life than sons!" Anne spat at him.
Hugh Marshall took a step toward his daughter, but Anne didn't allow herself to flinch. "I would not look down my nose too much at him. You will perhaps join this Lady Liana in breeding Peregrine sons."
"No," Anne said under her breath. "Please…" she began, but she stopped. She wasn't going to beg her father for anything. She straightened her shoulders. Remember, she thought, it was her brains against his power. "If you wish grandsons who are stupid, then by all means marry me to the man. No doubt the king will want one of these Peregrines at his table. What I saw today assures me of the suitability of a Peregrine at court. But perhaps that means naught to you. You would no doubt like to see your grandsons jeered at when they parade before the king. Perhaps you should ask His Majesty if he plans to invite this Peregrine knight to sit above the salt with him."
Hugh glared at his daughter. He hated clever women, hated it when a woman said something he had not considered. Her mother had been like that, her tongue moving twice as fast as his brain. When she'd asked to leave and return to her people in France he had been more than happy to let her go.
But at no cost was he going to allow his too-clever daughter to know that her words had confused him.
"If I see you show your displeasure to this man, you will regret it," he said, then he quickly left the room. If he had no other considerations, he'd marry the witch to the roughest man he
could find, he thought. She needed a man who'd curb her tongue. But she knew that Hugh wanted grandsons. He'd not been able to get sons on a woman himself, so he must look to his puny daughters to give him grandsons. Much as he hated to admit it, the girl was right. He did not want grandsons who would be laughed at at a tournament. Even the king had chuckled at the sight of the dirty Peregrines.
Hugh grimaced. Damn the girl. If there was anything he hated more than a clever female, it was a female who was right. He stormed down the hall to the stairs. In the next three days he'd find a husband for the girl and get rid of her. He wasn't going to put up with her sharp tongue and sharper brain. Let another man deal with her.
After her father left Anne breathed a sigh of relief. She was going to be able to handle him—for the moment, anyway. But even as she hurriedly finished dressing she knew she would not always have the words to control him. He was as stupid as he was mean, and at one point he would forget about reason and act only on instinct. What Anne knew she had to do was to choose a man and get her father to approve of him. She had to find a man who could replace that filthy Peregrine in her father's mind.
She lifted the three-foot-long cone-shaped henna and slipped it on her head, arranging it at the perfect angle so it was tipped far back. The heavy wire loop on her forehead that held the weight of the henna cut into her skin, but the pain soon lost its bite. She adjusted the soft, transparent silk veil over the henna and gave herself one last look in the mirror. She wanted to look her best because she was going hunting. Hunting for a man.
When Zared awoke she was lying on a cot in her brother's tent, and through the open flap she could see that the sun was low in the sky. Feeling groggy, she didn't try to sit up. The last thing she clearly remembered was Colbrand picking her up in his strong arms.
She smiled up at the tent roof and remembered the look of him, the smell of him, the sound of him, the—
"So, you are awake."
Languidly she turned her head to look at the man standing over her. But the light was behind him, and she couldn't see him very well. "Is there anything to eat? I'm hungry," she said.
The man snorted. "It is, no doubt, hard work making a fool of yourself."
"A fool of myself?" In puzzlement she squinted at the man. He seemed somewhat familiar, but she couldn't quite place him. He moved out of the bright light, his back to her, and she absently listened to dishes clattering and a noggin being filled. Her mind was full of Colbrand. Perhaps she had dreamed him. Perhaps no man alive could be as he was.
"Eat this," the man said, and he thrust a wooden platter of meat and bread before her.
She took the food, sat up on her elbow, and began to eat. The man sat on a stool beside the cot. Outside a clash of arms sounded. "It has begun!" she said, sitting up. "The fighting has started. Colbrand will need me." She started to get up, but a big hand pushed her chest just below her throat, and she sat back down.
"What do you think—" she began, then her eyes widened as she looked at the man before her. It was the youngest Howard! "You!" she said under her breath, and immediately she reached for the knife hidden in her boot.
"It isn't there," he said calmly. "I have removed all your weapons, and I must say I enjoyed looking for them."
She put her head down and rammed him in the chest. He made a little woof sound, but then he caught her in his arms and easily held her.
"Severn!" she shouted.
He put his hand across her mouth. "Your brother is on the field." He paused. "As is Colbrand, the weakling."
Zared stopped struggling against him. "Colbrand is not a weakling."
"And you know so much, do you? Seen him fight a hundred times, have you?"