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Had the day suddenly sprouted tongues of fire to heat itself so suddenly? Colin dragged his sleeve once again across his sweating forehead.

“Not here?” he asked, trying to contain his annoyance. “He bid me come immediately.”

“He sent word that he will arrive within the se’nnight.”

Colin could not shout at his brother. It would likely cost him any potential meals from the monks, and to be sure, it wasn’t the lad’s fault. Colin took a deep breath and looked about him for some kind of distraction.

It arrived in the form of his younger sister, Agnes.

Now, that one had at least inherited a bit of their mother’s fairness. And she fairly bubbled over with good humor, something Colin couldn’t understand in the least. He watched her come running across the courtyard, then submitted to her enthusiastic embrace.

“Colin, you’re here!” she said, sounding as if his arrival had actually pleased her.

Colin never knew what to say to her. His brother he could dismiss, his father he could ignore, but Agnes he could only be baffled by. He patted her head.

“Aye,” he said, then lost all inspiration for further discourse.

“And you brought your friends. How lovely!” Then Agnes’s eyes widened and her one fatal flaw manifested itself in its fullest glory. “Oh,” she said, her hand moving briefly to her heart before that hand stretched forth with one of her fingers pointing in a most purposeful manner, “who is that ?”

Colin followed her pointing finger and found that, aye, nothing had changed with her. Give his youngest sister an entire garrison to choose from and she would choose the least suitable man there.

In this case, Sir Etienne of Maignelay-sur-mer.

Colin had the fleeting satisfaction of seeing horror sweep across the man’s face as Agnes started toward him, her eyes fixed upon his hapless self, her finger still indicating whom she had chosen to pursue during this fortnight.

His prospects for amusement having brightened considerably, Colin cast about him yet again for some kind of servant bearing sustenance.

He’d not thought but to open his mouth to demand the like from Peter when who should come striding down from the hall as if she owned the bloody place but his next youngest sister, Ermengarde.

Damn.

The only good thing Colin could find about seeing the whole cluster of his siblings in one place was that at least Magdalina, curse her rotten soul, was safely dead and buried and could not come and torment him as well.

“You’re late.”

Colin scowled. “And well met to you too, sister.”

Ermengarde came to a halt directly in front of him, put her hands on her hips, and gave him the kind of look he was wont to give errant guardsmen.

More was the pity that she didn’t have to tilt her head back all that far to meet his eye.

The wench was only a few fingers shorter than he, and he considered himself quite enormous.

’Twas little wonder Ermengarde had found no man brave enough to have wed her.

Even Colin, who considered himself the bravest of men, was often tempted to cower before her.

Not that he ever gave in to that temptation, of course.

“Where have you been?” she demanded. “Father sent for you almost a fortnight ago.”

“I had business to see to.”

“What business?” she asked, sounding as if even defending the gates of Heaven could not qualify as a proper excuse. “Decimating Blackmour’s garrison? Terrorizing the countryside? Wenching yourself into senselessness?”

“All noble pursuits,” he returned sternly.

“Not,” she said, poking him in the chest, “when you had business here. Important business. Business particular to the carrying on of the illustrious line of Berkham!”

“If that was so important, where is that damned sire of yours?” Colin asked hotly.

“Likely following you to make certain you did as you were told!”

“I am not,” Colin growled, “his trained cur to come to heel when he calls.”

“Nay, you’re of less worth than that,” Ermengarde snapped, “for you cannot follow the simplest instruction, nor see to the least taxing of your responsibilities.” She used her fingers and began to tick off his failings.

“Neglecting your estates. Shirking your duties. Befouling our illustrious name with your foolish antics.”

He suppressed the urge to hoist her above his head and heave her into the nearest cesspit. He gritted his teeth instead. “I see to my duties when they need seeing to.”

She snorted, then turned a critical eye on his company. “And who is this ragtag group of half-wits?”

Colin waved his hand expansively. “My bride, her entourage, a lordling or two, and a clutch of healers.”

Ermengarde pursed her lips, then swept him with an unfriendly glance. “Your hair is overlong.”

Colin stuck his chin out and remained silent. Better that than say the first of all the uncomplimentary things that were fighting to get out of his mouth.

“And can you not take a brush to those clothes now and then? I daresay I can divine your last years’ worth of meals from the front of your tunic.”

His hands began to flex of their own accord. Perhaps Ermengarde was still a virgin due to more than her height. Her vile tongue was enough to keep any sensible man away.

“Anything else?” he said tightly.

“Aye,” she said, reaching out to poke him sharply in the belly. “You’ve gone to fat.”

Colin threw up his hands with a curse. “That’s enough!

” he exclaimed. He turned around to face the company behind him.

“Settle yourselves. Agnes, see to Sir Etienne. No doubt he’ll enjoy your attentions.

Jason, see to the healers and our gear.” He strode over to where Sybil still sat astride her horse, her hand buried in her veil.

Fondling foodstuffs, no doubt.

Colin reached up and removed her saddlebag from her horse. Her look of horror told him all he needed to know about its contents. Well, at least he would have a decent meal.

“There will be food inside,” he said shortly.

“Seek it out, Lady Sybil. My sister Ermengarde will make you quite comfortable and direct the monks to spare no effort for you. I’ve no doubt,” he added half under his breath, “that she’s fair to booting the abbot himself from his quarters and taking over his position. ”

“I heard that!” Ermengarde bellowed.

Colin threw a glare her way, then stomped over and nodded curtly to Henri.

“Come with me. Training is the only sensible activity for the rest of the day.”

“B-b-but ... ,” Peter spluttered, “where ...”

Why did the lads around him have such unmanly articulations? Colin turned a formidable glare on his brother.

“They have a cloister, do they not?”

“But,” Peter said, aghast, “you cannot!”

“The garden then.”

The blood drained from Peter’s face and he fell to his knees. “I beg you, brother, nay!”

“Then I’ll find a bloody farmer’s bloody field and pay him for the privilege of frightening his bloody crops to failure!” Colin bellowed. “Henri! Come!”

He had the satisfaction of seeing the lad immediately descend from his horse, his sword in hand.

At least there was still someone in the company who was obeying him.

Jason had dismounted as well, but he was laughing as he called out things to be done.

Colin toyed with the idea of pausing and beating manners into that one, but decided that perhaps that was a pleasure better saved for after he’d had something to eat.

For now, teaching Henri the rudiments of swordplay would have to suffice him.

He looked at Henri as they walked out the gates.

“My family,” he said grimly.

Henri nodded in understanding. “I have one too.”

“As bad as mine?”

Henri squirmed and seemed to cast about for something polite to say. Colin sighed heavily and waved a dismissive hand Henri’s way.

“Never mind, lad. I know. There are few like them.”

“Aye, my lord. I’d have to agree.”

Colin took stock of his situation, looked to his future, then decided on his course of action. The list of his immediate activities was very short and took very little time to make.

Wed.

Escape.

Satisfied he’d planned out the next few months of his life to his satisfaction, he turned his mind back to the pleasures of the sword and looking for an appropriate place to enjoy them.