Netta shook her head. " 'Twas an accident," she whispered. "At least that is what Lady Euphemia told me. She insisted on having wine with her nooning meal. The color's red, if you'll remember, mi'lady, but she misjudged her reach for her goblet and she spilled it everywhere. She insisted the goblet knocked the pitcher over. Oh, mi'lady, it's ruined now. I know you stayed up half of every night our laird was away so you could finish the stitches, and it looked so lovely too, mi'lady. Why, even Quinlan remarked that it was."

Trying to hide her own disappointment, she patted Netta and tried to console her.

"Accidents will happen," she said. "I hadn't realized the cushions were uncomfortable, though. I tried them all and thought they were… all right, but if Lady Euphemia…"

"She said they were lumpy."

"I see. Well, then, I will try to do better next time. What about the rushes? They were all right, weren't they? And they certainly gave the room a pleasing scent. So did the flowers," she added. "They're gone too, aren't they?"

"Lady Euphemia also thought the rushes were nice, but she tripped as she tried to walk to the table and almost fell to the floor. She explained her eyesight isn't what it used to be and bid me to remove the rushes as soon as possible. She was certain you would understand, mi'lady."

"Yes, of course."

"The flowers she admitted she didn't like at all."

"Did she explain why?"

"She said they reminded her of death because mourners always carry them to the graves."

Brenna's shoulders slumped. What must Euphemia think of her now? "It was thoughtless of me to put flowers on the mantle. I wasn't thinking, Netta. I never once considered she would have such a reaction. I must find a way to make up for my mistake," she added with a nod.

"Mi'lady, you couldn't have known. The chair Lothar gave you has been sent back to him. I wish now he hadn't spent half the day rubbing a shine in the wood."

"Why was it sent back?"

"Lady Euphemia confessed she was afraid to sit in it because it was so wobbly. I tried to assure her it was perfectly sound, but I couldn't sway her. She seemed to be terrified of falling. I think it's because she's getting on in years and knows her bones won't heal if she breaks one. I couldn't help but wonder if she worried about such things when she was younger. No one's bones heal well, young or old," she added with a nod to let her mistress know she spoke with authority.

"Age must make her more cautious, and we must respect that."

"There's one last thing. I hate to mention it now, after the disappointment you've suffered."

Brenna was afraid to find out what else Euphemia had found unsatisfactory, but forced herself to ask anyway. "Yes?"

"She asked me if there was anything else you meant to add to the chamber. I mentioned that you were working on a banner to hang on the wall. I boasted about how fine it was," she thought to add. "Lady Euphemia wanted to see it, of course. She seemed pleased when I told her how clever you were with your needle and thread, and how you'd labored over your task such long hours."

"Did you show it to her?"

Netta nodded. "Oh, mi'lady, she looked so disappointed in your efforts. She clucked her tongue like a chicken would and shook her head."

Brenna could feel her face burning with embarrassment. "And what did she say to you?"

"She said the stitches were all lopsided, but she assured me she understood you didn't know any better."

"Where is my tapestry now."

"Lady Euphemia didn't want you to be humiliated in front of your husband and his followers." Tears of sympathy had gathered in Netta's eyes, which only made Brenna's embarrassment all the more horrible.

She felt like such a failure, and yet, at the same time, she felt guilty because she was angry. Hearing that she didn't know any better each and every time she tried to please Euphemia made Brenna feel as though her mother was being attacked for failing to properly educate her daughter.

"It's gone, isn't it?" she whispered, her voice flat with defeat.

"Yes, mi'lady. Euphemia started taking the stitches out at noon, and by the time she went up to her room to wash before dining tonight, only threads were left on the floor."

Connor called her name as he strode into the hall and looked around him with interest.

Brenna let out a weary sigh and turned to go to him. Netta caught hold of her hand. "I thought everything looked lovely, mi'lady," she whispered.

The last thing Brenna needed now was pity. She smiled so that Netta's feelings wouldn't be injured, and then said, "I'll do much better with my next attempt."

The servant bowed to her mistress and then left to tell the servants that the food should be readied to be carried to the table.

"Have you finished your discussion with your soldiers?"

His wife's question made him smile. Every one of his men wanted to ask him if they could have their things returned.

Connor hadn't understood what they were talking about until one of them pointed to the stack of items on the chest with the hint that one of the daggers looked very like the one his wife often used. They didn't dare accuse their mistress of deliberately stealing from them, for they knew she tended to be forgetful when she was in a hurry or having a fine time. Each soldier had actually defended Brenna to him, and for that reason he hadn't laughed.

Emmett had explained it to his laird. "When she's carefree, she forgets to pay attention," he explained. "She makes our wives feel as important as you do, Laird. They've all taken a fancy to her, of course, and would be very upset if they heard you were to sanction her because of this wee problem she seems to have in forgetting to bring things back. She leaves as many of her own things as she takes," he thought to add in Brenna's defense.

Connor promised not to criticize his wife and suggested that in future, whenever something was missing, they or their wives were simply to come inside the keep and look through the stack on the chest. They needn't ask his permission again.

"I can see from your smile that your meeting went well," Brenna remarked.

"It did," he assured her. "I solved the problem, but not the cause."

"You'll accomplish that soon enough," she replied.

His laughter echoed around the chamber. "I doubt that, but now I find I really don't want to anyway."

"Why don't you want to?"

"Because I like the cause. Don't ask me to explain. Show me your surprise instead. I've made you wait long enough."

"I can't."

"You can't wait?"

"Show you your surprise."

"Why can't you? Have you changed your mind?"

"Yes, that's it," she said. "I've changed my mind."

"Why?"

"Why?" Her mind raced for an excuse so he wouldn't know all her efforts had been found lacking. He was bound to think she was incompetent then, and she wasn't incompetent at all. She'd just been in too much of a hurry.

Fortunately, she remembered the medallion she'd had made for him. She'd meant to leave it for last anyway to give it importance.

"It's up in the bedroom. Would you like to see it now? I could go…"

"What would you like to do?"

"Wait," she decided.

"Then I'll wait."

"Thank you," she answered before asking him if he'd seen his stepmother yet.

"No."

"She should be coming downstairs any minute now. Have you spoken to Raen yet?"

"No, but he should be back in another hour or two according to Quinlan, and then he'll stay only one more night before he leaves for good," Connor said.

"He's leaving?"

She didn't mean to sound so blissfully happy about Raen's departure, but she couldn't help it.

He raised an eyebrow to her reaction. "He returns to his laird tomorrow."

"And where might that be?" she casually asked, hoping the man lived on the other side of England.

"A long way from here. I doubt we'll see him again for another five or ten years, Brenna, is something wrong?"

"No, no, of course not."

"Then why are you holding on to me?"

She seemed surprised, which made him shake his head in confusion. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, but she quickly moved away from him. The mere mention of his stepbrother had made her instinctively move closer to her husband. She didn't explain, of course, and ended up reminding him how much she'd missed him.

"You mentioned you did."

"Yes, but I wanted to mention it again. Will you excuse me now while I run to the kitchens and speak to the cook?"

After he granted her permission, she kissed him good-bye.

"What happened here, Connor?" Quinlan called out his question from the entrance and came striding into the hall.

Crispin followed him. "What happened where?" he asked.

"The chamber… it's back the way it was. What happened to all the changes mi'lady made?"

Connor didn't know what he was talking about. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back while he listened to his explanation.

"Did mi'lady tell you why it was changed back?"

Connor shook his head. "She said the surprise was upstairs."

"Why would she take the cushions and the cloth and the chair upstairs?" Quinlan asked.

"Perhaps she changed her mind," Crispin suggested.

"I told you she was acting strange. Did she take the rushes upstairs too?"

"It would seem so," Crispin replied.

"If that isn't peculiar…" Quinlan began

"I would appreciate it if you would stop saying that," Connor snapped. "There isn't anything wrong with my wife. She simply changed her mind, and if she didn't, there was another reason. When she's ready, she'll tell me."

The discussion ended then and there. Quinlan wanted to hear all about Dawson's capture, and while Crispin explained, Connor thought about his wife. He decided he should start paying more attention to her and to the goings-on in his home.

Euphemia joined them a few minutes later. Connor bowed to his stepmother and waited at the head of the table until she was seated before he pulled out his chair. He sat by her side for over an hour, listening to her talk about his father and the past, while Crispin and Quinlan continued their discussion over by the hearth.

Raen came in just as the trenchers were being placed on the table. Brenna and Netta entered through the back door at the very same time.

"Connor," Raen shouted. "It's about time I saw you. It's been a long time."

"It has been a long time," Connor agreed.

Raen embraced him. "You're looking fit these days. Marriage must agree with you."

After kissing his mother, Raen sat down on the opposite seat to face her. Connor was now flanked on both sides by his relatives, and though he was going to ask his stepbrother to move so that his wife could sit closer to him, he didn't make an issue out of it when Brenna hurried to the opposite end of the table, pulled up a stool, and sat down.

"I've been waiting a long time for this reunion and now feel as though my life is complete again," Euphemia announced. So overcome was the woman to have her two sons together, tears came into her eyes.

Brenna was also overcome with emotion. She wasn't overcome with joy, however, but with sadness. The affection shown by the two brothers made her want to weep. It was apparent Connor was happy to have his relatives with him, and how was she ever going to tell him what his stepbrother had done to her? Just thinking about the heartache she was going to cause made her stomach upset.

Connor spoke very little throughout the meal. He was pleased with his commanders because they chose to flank their mistress and sought to include her at every turn in the conversation.

Brenna caught her husband staring at her and quickly smiled at him, willing him with her gaze to reciprocate.

For Connor, the evening was full of revelations. Netta, he noticed, showed her affection for Brenna at every opportunity and beamed every time she received a compliment from her mistress. On the other hand, she didn't appear happy to serve Euphemia, and it was apparent she didn't like the woman.

He thought he had it all figured out and almost laughed because it had been so easy. Quinlan had mentioned that Brenna seemed to be having difficulty with Euphemia. The two women were obviously involved in some sort of tug of war as to who would give the orders. The right belonged to Brenna, of course, and while he couldn't understand why she didn't realize it, he wasn't going to interfere. He would let her solve the problem in her own way, and in her own time, because he knew, no matter how he explained it, she would end up thinking he didn't have faith in her ability.