They crested the last hill at mid-afternoon, and White Cliff lay before them.

It was a spectacular castle, massive by necessity and built of the white rocks of the cliffs below, glittering in the morning sun like a fairy story. The castle walls at the rear grew straight from the cliff itself, while to the near side a gentler hill sloped down to the harbor. A thriving little city huddled there, in the protective shadow of the castle. It was a magnificent sight.

In surprise, Eleanor breathed, "It's beautiful!"

Thomas nodded in satisfaction. He had been to White Cliff a number of times, and it took his breath away each time he arrived. Harold Devlin, lord of this castle, had been a dear friend to Thomas, when Grey was a new-made knight and Devlin an older veteran. He was looking forward to this visit.

His sons were similarly awestruck. Even Armus seemed to perk up a little at the beauty that lay before them. Richard, of course, could not let such awe lie. "Look," he said brightly, "our brother has stopped looking like he's going to the gallows!"

Armus turned his head slowly to look at him. Completely without expression, he stuck his arm out and knocked Richard cleanly from his saddle.


The Greys were met by Michael Devlin, the oldest son of the household. He was not much younger than Thomas. He greeted them warmly and showed them to their rooms himself. There was to be a dinner to open the festival and greet the guests; they would have time to clean up and change from their traveling clothes before the meal.

Armus dumped his things on his bed unceremoniously and went back down the stairs. He scowled fiercely when Cedric came out of his own room and followed. "Where you going?"

"To get something to eat," Armus growled.

"Dinner's in less than an hour."

"I'm hungry now."

"Okay." The boy continued to trail at his elbow.

"Where are you going?" Armus demanded.

"With you," Cedric answered cheerfully. "I'm hungry, too."

Armus muttered under his breath, but he did not send him away.


Richard stopped short just inside the doorway. There was a woman in his room. A beautiful woman, at that, clearly noble, dressed in scarlet, her snug, low-cut bodice trimmed with white lace. She was looking out the window, her shoulders back, her breasts outlined tightly in the daylight . . . the young man blinked. He was used to charming young women into his bed readily, but this was impossibly easy. "I . . . forgive me, Lady, I must be in the wrong room . . . "

She turned and smiled radiantly. "Are you Richard Grey?"

"Yes."

"Then this is your room. I was just . . . checking it over before your arrival." She crossed to him like a cat after cream and presented her hand languidly. "I'm Alicia. I'm Devlin's niece. I am so pleased to meet you."

Richard blinked again, bringing the offered hand to his lips. "The pleasure is all mine."

"Well, perhaps it will be," she answered warmly. "If everything is to your liking, I'll be on my way. But I'll see you at dinner, won't I?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Richard assured her.

Watching the woman leave, with the same cat-like moves, Richard just shook his head. He'd expected the people here to be friendly, but he'd had no idea they'd be this friendly.


The inner courtyard of the castle was full of activity. In one corner, half a dozen men cleaned fish and shellfish for cooking. Tables had been made of sawhorses and planks, and they were bowed under the weight of cooling breads, pies, cakes, and other assorted baked goods. There were three fires with pots bubbling over them, a fire pit with two whole hogs cooking. The two doors to the castle kitchen stood open, and serving women bustled back and forth in quick procession.

Another rough table had been made for the common travelers and servants of the noble guests. Armus and Cedric, still in their traveling clothes, attracted little enough attention when they sat at one end of the table on the low benches.

"Lots of pretty girls," Cedric said brightly.

"Lots of good food," Armus answered with appreciation. He snagged a stern-looking old woman as she passed. "Pardon me, can you spare a plate for two hungry travelers?"

"Why not?" the old woman snapped. "Feed you all in the yard, less to clean up inside. Meg! Bring plates! Two more here! Boy! Bring ale!"

The boy brought the short mugs immediately; Meg was a little slower.

Sipping his ale, Armus looked around and sighed. Such a beautiful castle, obviously wealthy and yet friendly and pleasant. He knew that Harold Devlin had been a good friend of his father's for years; he knew how badly Thomas wanted this wedding to go forward, both to ally their houses and to cement their friendship. But why couldn't his father understand?

It wasn't that he was opposed to the notion of marriage. He had known practically from his own nursery that what was most expected from him, as eldest son, was a successful marriage and the production of an heir. He didn't object to that; he liked women, and he liked children. But Armus was abundantly aware that he had not much, really, to offer of himself. Oh, he was the firstborn, he would inherit the title and the lands, and that was more than enough to satisfy most of the noble ladies who might have been matched to him. But of Armus himself - that was a different matter. He was not elegant, like his father, nor starkly handsome like Richard. He was not boyishly charming like Cedric, or engaging like William. He did not sparkle as Eleanor did. He was just Armus. Too tall, too broad, too intimidating in his simple presence. Too serious-minded, too bookish. He would rather play chess than compete in a joust. He would rather write letters than sword fight. He would rather cook than almost anything. In all, he was content with himself. But how in the world was a wife to be content with such a man?

And a wife born and raised in this fairy tale castle, surrounded by knights and sailors and men of war? How could some delicate, high-bred noble woman from this elegant place ever be content with a man as simple as Armus Grey? How would she not be bored, restless - unhappy?

And Armus was determined at least in this: whatever his father said, he would not marry a woman who was going to be unhappy with him. If he could not win her heart, he would not marry.

As badly as his father wanted this alliance, Armus didn't see any way that it was possible.

He sighed again. "Forgive me," a woman said at his elbow, "I did not mean to make you wait."

Armus looked up. She was young and pretty, her dark hair back in a heavy braid, her hazel eyes gently concerned. She put a platter down in front of him, a mountain of steaming clams in their shells. In her other hand she bore two plates, which she set in front of him and Cedric.

"I was not sighing over the wait," Armus assured her.

She smiled gently and nodded. "You're too early for the fancy dishes, but there's plenty fresh from the shell." The ale boy had followed her over with a dish of melted butter, which she also put before them.

"That's fine."

"How, um, how do we eat these?" Cedric asked nervously.

The girl flushed. "I'm sorry." She reached into her skirt pocket and produced two curious little knives. They were short, the blades scarcely longer than a man's smallest finger, with rounded blades, no edges. She set one down on Armus' plate, and picked up a clam to demonstrate with the other. She slipped the blade between the two shells, and with an expert twist of her wrist pried the shell open. Then she slid the dull blade under the muscle portion and pried it loose. She dunked the morsel in the butter and offered it to Cedric.

He looked between the meat, the girl, and his brother. "You . . . eat that?"

"It's delicious," Armus assured him.

Cedric wrapped his hand over the girl's and guided the clam to his mouth. He chewed suspiciously at first, and then swallowed and smiled. "That was good," he admitted in surprises.

He had not, Armus noted, released the girl's hand. She drew it back carefully.

"Will you join us?" Cedric said brightly.

The girl glanced around the courtyard. Evidently, she decided that there were enough other people present to keep her safe from these two travelers. "For a moment only, or Cara will have my head." She sat lightly next to Armus. "Have you traveled far?"

"Two days," Cedric answered. "I'm exhausted - I could drop into bed this instant." He winked at her.

The girl blushed deeply. "Brother," Armus said warningly, "let her be." It was one thing to chat up a kitchen maid, but quite another when the maid evidently was an actual maid. Besides, Armus found the blush quite charming.

She produced a third knife and set to work on her own shells. She was more proficient even than Armus was; Cedric was clumsy, but gaining skill.

Over the girl's shoulder, Armus spied a small boy - a noble one, from his clothes - creeping up behind her with a live crab at arms' length in front of him. "Crab," he said quietly, nodding.

She turned just as the boy sprang, snagging the waving crab with one hand, the boy with the other. "Hello there," she said to the crab. "And where did you come from?"

The boy giggled. "I caught him all by myself."

"In the tide pool?" she asked sharply.

The giggle faded. "N-no. On the beach."

The girl looked him up and down. "Your shoes are wet."

The child wiggled, but could not escape her grip on his arm. "You won't tell, will you? Papa said he'd tan me."

"Adam, you know better. You've been told a hundred times . . . "

"Please, please don't tell! He won't let me go to the festival!" The child was close to tears now.

"Aw, come on," Cedric said, "don't tell on him. He's just a boy."

The boy looked up at him in surprise, and then he did burst into tears. The young woman put the crab down on the table - where Armus promptly stopped its escape - and wrapped both arms around the child. She looked thoughtfully over his head at Cedric. "The tide pools," she said quietly, "have broken rock bottoms. When my brother was eight, he got his leg caught between the rocks. He was alone, and no one knew where he was. He drowned when the tide came in."

The young man stared, appalled. "I ... I ... forgive me, I had no idea . . . "

Meg nodded her understanding. She was not angry, merely explaining. "We have a great fear of the pools, and we try to teach it to the little ones . . . not very successfully." She pushed the boy away from her and dried his tears with her thumbs. "All right. I won't tell . . . this time. But if I catch you down there again I will beat you myself until my arms are tired, and then I'll tell your father. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She leaned to kiss him on each cheek, and the child was suddenly all smiles again.

There, Armus thought with a sudden jolt, I need a woman like that. One who loves children like that, one who's not afraid of shellfish. A normal woman, a common woman . . .

He sighed again. He was the firstborn son of Thomas Grey of Covington Cross, and there was no common woman in his future.

The kitchen maid turned to him. "As for you," she continued, taking the crab out of Armus' hands, "I have just the place for you." She walked across to the nearest pot and threw him in.

"You're going to eat that?" Cedric exclaimed.

"They're delicious, too," Armus told him. "You boil them, then take the meat out of the shell and dip it in a little salt butter . . . "

"Sea-water rinse and fresh butter," the girl countered, sitting down again. She popped open another shell and neatly devoured the clam, then opened another for the boy, who still hovered beside her.

"I never would have thought of that," Armus conceded. "I suppose it takes away some of the bitterness."

"How come you're eating now?" the boy demanded. "You'll spoil your dinner."

"Because I don't want to be seen at the table eating like a pig," the girl answered directly.

"Why?"

Cedric laughed. "She wants to impress her beau with her bird-like appetite."

"But Aunt Meg doesn't have a beau," the boy protested.

"Oh, that is a shame," Cedric answered warmly.

The girl was blushing again. "Go change your shoes," she said to the boy.

He scampered off. "Nice boy," Cedric said after him. "Very helpful."

Blushing more deeply, Meg put her knife down and stood up. "I must go."

"Stay," Armus answered quickly. He put his hand on her arm, staring at her. "Please, stay. Just a moment more." She frowned, puzzled, and shot a quick look at Cedric, who was still grinning at her. "My little brother's annoying, but he's harmless, I swear. Please, stay."

His stare was unnerving her as badly as Cedric's remarks, and he forced himself to look away, to release her arm and reach for another clam, before she fled. Because he might be wrong. The boy had said . . . the boy had said . . . but it might be a pet name, it might be anything . . .

No. No matter how beloved servants became, noble children did not address servants as 'Aunt' anything.

He felt his chest go tight. No, he told himself firmly, do not think it, do not hope it. Aunt Meg might be anybody, any number of distant relatives, there was no reason to think . . .

He wore common clothes, too, when he worked in the kitchen, he might be mistaken for a servant by anyone not familiar with the household . . .

With so many important visitors, with such a large family, might not even the members of the Lord's family be pressed into service, especially the younger ones?

His hands were damp with perspiration, the clam slipping out of his grip clumsily. He glanced up at her again. She hadn't noticed. Was it possible?

No. He could not let himself hope that this pretty, sensible, easy-going woman was . . .

"Meg!" The old woman was back, and her temper had not improved. "Go and get changed," she barked as she moved past the table.

She sprang to her feet, glad of the excuse. "I must go. I hope you enjoy the festival."

"I'm sure I shall," Armus said carefully.

"Now, Meg!" the old woman snapped on her return trip.

"Coming, Nurse," the girl answered. She went inside.

"You going to finish these, Armus?" Cedric asked. He got no answer; his brother was staring toward the castle. "Armus?"

"Peasant girls don't have nurses," Armus answered vaguely.

"What?"

Armus stood up, suddenly full of purpose. "Don't just sit there, little brother. We have to get changed for dinner."

He strode out, with his younger brother struggling to catch up.


The Grey family gathered in the corridor just outside the great hall, and waited for Cedric. "Where is he?" Armus demanded. He's had plenty of time to change.

"He'll be along," Thomas soothed. He looked his oldest son up and down. The boy was quite handsome when he was cleaned up - and he had clearly taken extra care today. It pleased Thomas at the same time is puzzled him. Armus had been so reluctant about this whole visit, yet now he seemed nervously eager.

Armus was staring back at him. "What, Father?"

"Nothing, nothing." Grey turned his attention to the other children. Eleanor was, under protest, wearing a dress, and she looked lovely, or would if she'd stop fidgeting. Richard was as elegant as always, relaxed, a little bored. A fine family, Thomas thought proudly. Now if only Cedric . . .

His youngest bounced down the hall, breathless. "Sorry, am I late? I was . . . talking to someone . . . "

Indulgently, Thomas reached out and smoothed a black lock into place. "Shall we?"

They went into the great hall. Noble guests and immediate family were gathered, milling around, no one seated yet. Harold Devlin came forward to meet them, and Armus was vaguely aware that Devlin and his father were embracing, talking . . . he scanned the room with a mix of eagerness and dread. She had to be here - she wasn't going to be here - it wasn't her - he didn't see her.

His heart sank. She wasn't here. It wasn't her.

"Armus?" Thomas prompted gently, and Armus realized that he'd missed being introduced. He turned to Devlin, shaking his hand, saving the situation as well as he could, hiding his disappointment.

"Good Lord, Thomas," Devlin started, staring at him, and Armus waited for the inevitable comment about his size; the man surprised him by finishing, "he looks just like his mother, doesn't he?"

Thomas nodded. "He favors her, yes. And these are my other children . . . "

Armus glanced around the room again even as he greeted Lady Marie. "We'll sit down as soon as Margaret comes," she said quietly.

Devlin frowned. "And my daughter is . . . ?"

Marie patted his arm. "I've sent for her, she'll be down directly."

Harold shook his head. "It's not like her to be late for anything," he said, trying to reassure Thomas. "But as she is, I'll take the opportunity to tell you, John Mullens arrived this morning."

Thomas bristled, but Richard spoke first. "Mullens is here?" he demanded.

"Richard," Thomas said sternly.

"I know, Thomas," Devlin continued, "believe me, I would sooner he wasn't. But as he is my guest . . . "

"Of course we will have a truce," Thomas completed quickly. "You have my word that neither I nor any member of my family -" this with a warning glance at Richard "- will cause any trouble with Mullens."

"Thank you, Thomas."

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Mullens came into to hall, with Alicia on his arm.

Richard growled. Cedric snorted. Armus moved to his father's right shoulder.

Mullens came over to them. "Hello, Thomas," he said brightly. "I didn't realize you'd be joining the festivities."

"Obviously," Thomas answered dryly.

"And brought all the family with you. How nice." He glanced up - way up - at Armus. "Hello, Armus. New shirt, isn't it?" He turned back to Devlin. "Oh, of course, you still have a daughter at home, don't you? I'd advise caution, old friend. Marriages with the Grey family don't always go as arranged."

"You intercepted the courier!" Thomas barked in outrage.

Mullens threw up his hands. "Oh, no, that would be wrong!"

Armus lunged at him, and stopped short. A woman stood between them, in a space so small that she had to turn sideways. No more than a girl, really, her dark hair brushed into fresh waves around her shoulders, a modest but rich gown the gray-green color of the ocean, her face flushed, her eyes dancing with nervousness. But she stood her ground between them, as if oblivious of her danger there. Armus dropped back a step. So did Mullens.

She ignored them and dropped a curtsy to her father. "Forgive my tardiness, Father. I meant no disrespect to your guests."

Harold held his hand out and she took it, moved to his side with ease. "Sir Thomas Grey, my daughter, Margaret."

She curtseyed again. "My apologies, my lord."

"Oh, I would say you arrived right in time," Thomas answered gently. "May I introduce my son, Armus." He turned and put her slender hand into Armus', where it all but disappeared.

Armus thought he might never breathe again - and he didn't care. It was her. The sensible girl from the courtyard, his wonderful common girl, and she was beautiful, she was real, and she could be his . . . if he could win her heart . . . if he could even manage to speak.

Behind him, Cedric muttered, "Hey, that's . . . "

"You haven't met my brothers," Armus said quickly, grabbing Cedric's shoulder hard with his free hand. "This is Cedric, whom you haven't met . . . "

At least the boy was quick enough to nod. "Hello."

"And Richard, and my sister Eleanor."

She smiled gratefully, nervously. He smiled back, trying to be reassuring.

Mullens came between them, almost literally. He snagged her hand and drew it to his lips, a little too slowly. "Lady Margaret. It's been years, I'd nearly forgotten you'd be grown by now. And what a lovely young woman you've turned out to be."

Armus reclaimed the hand, firmly. "I believe dinner is ready," he said firmly.

He mother joined in the rescue. "It is, thank you. Please, everyone, please be seated for grace."

It took some minutes to get everyone arranged at the long table, but they finally settled. Devlin sat at the head of the table, of course, with Thomas at his right hand and John Mullens at his left. Marie Devlin sat at the foot of the table, with Michael Devlin at her right and Armus at her left. Eleanor sat next to Michael, directly across from Margaret, who sat next to Armus. Cedric and Richard sat along one of the long sides, with Alicia between them. As soon as the friar had completed grace, the servants descended with mountains of food, amid a light clamor of conversations.


Cedric claimed a small crab from the platter in front of him and offered it to Alicia. "These are really delicious," he told her eagerly, with more confidence then he actually had. "You take the meat out of the shell and dip it in the butter, here, let me show you . . . "

As he talked, Richard drew his knife, neatly whacked a second crab in half, and offered a dainty bite to the young woman - who ate it with a smile. The brothers glared at each other.

Eleanor was trying to figure out the best approach for the clams. They were open, on half-shells, but the muscle was still attached to the lower shells and every time she tried to pry it loose with her spoon, the shell skittered away. Mindful of the company, she could not just grab it with her free hand, which would be the most sensible approach . . .

"Ten generations," Lady Margaret said quietly.

Eleanor looked across at her. "Pardon?"

"For ten generations we've been trying to figure out a polite way to do that," Meg answered.

"And what have you found?"

"Really big napkins," the girl answered. She neatly took her own shell in one hand, her spoon in the other, and ate.

Eleanor laughed and began again. She was much more successful this time. She shot a glance at her brother, who was sitting there like a lump, but he was looking at his plate.


At the head of the table, the lack of conversation at the foot of the table had not gone unnoticed. Harold Devlin shook his head. "Meg's been skittish ever since she found out about this."

Thomas nodded his agreement. "And Armus has been silent. We shouldn't have told them."

"She'd have found out," Devlin answered. "She knows everything that goes on in this house."

Mullens snorted. "Then she's probably heard what happened the last time one of your children tried to marry."

Thomas glared at him, but with a glance at his friend and host, refrained from answering.


Alicia was very much enjoying the attention of the younger Greys. "For brothers," she observed, "you're very different."

"Which of us do you prefer?" Cedric asked confidently.

The young woman considered, then nodded toward the end of the table. "I've always preferred very tall men."

"No, no," Richard countered, "he's out of the running. You have to choose between us."

She pouted prettily. "Oh, don't make me choose. I don't know how I ever would, you're both so adorable . . . can't we all be friends together?"

"No," Cedric answered.

"No," Richard confirmed.


Marie Devlin had borne twelve children, buried two, and seen nine married. She could see her husband at the far end of the table, murmuring anxiously with his friend, watching the young couple not speaking, and she knew that they were nervous about it. But she had been through these introductory dinners before, and she was not at all worried. They were sneaking glances at each other, and that was enough. In time, away from all these people, they would talk. Thanks to the length of the festival, they had that time. They would get to know each other in their own way, and unless Marie missed her guess, which she rarely did, they would find they had a great deal in common. Marie was not worried about this match. She was primarily worried about keeping the fathers from meddling in it. What these two of them needed for the moment was to be ignored.

She turned her attention to the sister. "That's a lovely dress, Eleanor. Did you make the lace yourself?"

The girl flushed. "I'm . . . not very good at lace, I'm afraid."

"No matter," Marie smoothed over, "everyone has their own gifts. Is weaving more to your taste? We have a competition at the festival, you know. Just small pieces, but you're welcome to join in."

As Eleanor fumbled for a reply, Margaret came to her rescue. "Mother, there are a hundred things more interesting than weaving at the festival."

"I'm sure she'd enjoy it," Armus teased gently. "Go on, Eleanor, show off your talent."

Eleanor glared at him. "Well, perhaps I will give it a try."

And while older brothers were teasing younger sisters, Michael Devlin ventured into the conversation. "You're not eating, Meg? You usually have such a good appetite."

The girl blushed, staring at her plate.

"Do you feel all right?" her mother worried. "You seem flushed."

"It's nothing, Mother," Margaret answered faintly, wishing she could just disappear into the floor.

"Besides weaving," Armus said, gallantly changing the subject, "what goes on at this festival?"

"Oh, any number of things," Marie answered. "There are entertainers, we have Spaniards this year, with their wonderful horses . . . "

"And there are tournaments, of course," Michael added, "archery, and horse races . . . "

Under the table, Armus tapped Meg's hand. She glanced at him, and managed a small, grateful smile.

Her mother saw it, of course, and nodded quietly to herself. Just ignore them, they'd be fine.


Armus had not even tried to sleep; he knew it would be impossible. Instead, he sat by the window with a lamp and tried to read. But his thought kept straying, and in time he gave up, sat back and thought about the girl.

The Lady Margaret Devlin. He knew so much about her - and so little. What his heart knew, that she was everything Eleanor - Eleanor, of all people - had predicted - lovely and kind and intelligent. Someone he could talk to, someone he could - admit it - learn to love. But what his mind knew was that right now he knew nothing about her. The dinner had been pleasant enough, interesting conversation, genteel and polite. But it had all been under the watchful eyes of her mother and her brother, no chance of finding out anything real about her. And after the dinner, she had done what was absolutely proper for a woman of her station: she had stayed at her father's side.

All this proper behavior was not helping Armus. He needed to really talk with her, to get to know her. He needed to get her away from all the people and just . . .

What? Because that was the sticking point, of course. If he got her away from everyone - what would he say to her? He didn't even know where to begin.

I was a cook, he thought to himself. First and foremost, she needed to know that. His father's counsel came back. A woman like Meg, raised here on the coast, with men at arms an everyday fact of life, was likely to take a dim view of a knight who had been only a cook. If he didn't tell her . . . he had to tell her. Because everything after that might be - nothing. That might be the end.

.

Armus sighed deeply. And if it was the end, then what? Could he even hope to find in this world another woman with whom he felt the instant connection he felt to Meg Devlin?

Toward dawn, he heard movement in the castle, gates opening, horses, carts, men speaking. Preparations for the festival, he thought, and put out his lamp and tried to sleep for a bit.