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“Younger sons and orphaned wards are much the same,” Salisbury answered. “They do what they’re told.”

Before Ismay could decide whether she most wanted to shout or to burst into tears, Edmund intervened with the warmth that was particularly his own. “Uncle, may I steal Lady Ismay from you? I’m afraid Richard refuses to go to bed until she tells him a story.”

After a moment in which Ismay mentally crossed her fingers, Salisbury transferred his hard stare from her to his nephew. “Far be it from me to deprive a child of comfort,” he said drily. “It speaks well for you, girl, that you have made yourself so essential to this family.”

“Lord Salisbury,” Ismay said, bobbing a hasty curtsey and forcing herself not to run as she followed Edmund out of the hall into an empty corridor. She immediately collapsed against the wall with only the bare minimum of melodrama.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Considering Richard isn’t meant to be in bed for another hour, you did me a great favor.”

“In that case, come hide with me for a little. Someplace no one will bother us.”

“Where?” She laughed. “The castle is crawling with people.”

He extended his hand. “I know a place.”

Ismay hesitated. The thought of holding Edmund’s hand, however he meant it, felt weighted with meaning. And the longer she waited, the heavier the pause became. The fear of Edmund changing his mind made her brave. She took his hand. “Show me.”

He led her outside and across the inner bailey, the muddy yard frozen and slick, to the west tower. The great ovens for the household were located on the ground floor and kept the storage rooms above warmer than might be expected in winter. They advanced up the spiral stairs for two floors and came out into a space that had been divided into storerooms. The largest looked west into Wales and contained only empty barrels and a highbacked oak settle that concealed them both from passing sight once they were seated. Indeed, it was so perfectly arranged to hide two people that Ismay just knew that Edward had shown it to his younger brother. Probably as a favorite place of his own to dally.

The thought of dalliance made her flush, and she realized they were still holding hands. Edmund looked at her with unusual intensity. “Ismay, can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t like.” He swallowed without ever breaking eye contact. “Do you want to marry my cousin Johnny?”

She could have answered in so many ways, but there was only one word that mattered. “No.”

“He’s of good birth,” Edmund pointed out. “It would please both my parents. He’s not terribly old. A good soldier. My sisters say he’s handsome.”

Ismay drew away her hand from his. “Have your parents or uncle sent you to persuade me?” she asked coldly.

Edmund dropped his head into his hands. When he looked back at her, all his assurance had vanished. “Good God, why am I so bad at this? No, I’m not trying to persuade you. Quite the opposite.”

With a dawning understanding that made her fingertips spark, Ismay turned the question back on him. “Edmund, do you want me to marry Johnny?”

“No, I don’t.”

This time Ismay was the one brave enough to reach out, laying her hands on top of his. “Why?”

He bit his lip, and in a swift movement captured her hands between his and brought them to his chest. “Because I love you, Ismay. Do you not know that?”

“I … I hoped,” she whispered.

“Do you … is there someone you want instead of Johnny?”

Ismay would never have thought herself so bold, but she seized the moment and tilted her head up. Edmund’s kiss was as gentle and kind as Edmund himself, but Ismay could feel the depths of something larger and fiercer stirring within her.

The kiss broke, and she rested her forehead against his. A little shakily, Ismay said, “I love you, Edmund. And I will never marry Johnny Neville.”

But even while Edmund held her, delirious in the first flush of being loved, Ismay offered a desperate plea to heaven: Please God, don’t let Warwick ruin things.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

JULIET