She closed her eyes for a pained moment. “No, I mean why are we at this village?”
“Lord Bolton always visits his people, milady. He moves around from castle to castle, just so he can see them all.”
“Why?” she asked, wondering how many castles he actually owned.
“They tell him their problems, things they wouldn’t come to the castle for. It makes them feel better. Less fights, too.”
She mulled his words. She did not remember her father ever bothering to discover the mood of his peasants. That was for his steward to worry about. Surely Bolton coddled his people too much. How could they learn self-reliance, if they could run to him with every little problem?
Mort continued to talk, but if he was trying to put her at ease, he needn’t have bothered. She was content to be under the brilliant sun, a dagger at her hip. Yet she couldn’t help but notice the stares she received. Nothing seemed malicious, and even the children continued to hover near. Shouldn’t they all be disgusted by her behavior?
Isabel saw a well in the center of the village green. Leaving Mort behind, she strode across the grass. The children followed her, gaping up at her height as had every child—and adult—she’d ever known. A young woman was already bent over the well, and Isabel waited for her to finish.
The girl glanced over her shoulder, giving a start. Her bucket overturned and she reached for it with a dismayed cry.
“Take your time, I can wait,” Isabel said.
The girl glanced toward a baby playing nearby on a blanket. Then she gave Isabel another frank look.
“Are you passing through, mistress?” she asked hesitantly. “I’ve never quite seen anyone like you before.”
“I live at the castle.”
“The only new person at the castle is…” Her words died off as her eyes grew very wide.
Isabel waited, feeling a small smile touch her lips at the girl’s shock. Surely she would scoop up the babe and run, upsetting Bolton.
“Are—are you the new lady of the castle?” she finally asked.
“I am.”
The girl straightened, coming up to Isabel’s neck. “You are like nothing I imagined, my lady. Of course I heard the stories, but?—”
“I am everything you imagined, and more,” she said shortly, losing her hope that the girl would run.
“Did you really wield a sword against…” She trailed off, blushing.
“Against the earl? Aye.” Maybe she should show some teeth, grimace, even growl. Why were these villagers so forthright? Weren’t they afraid of the nobility?
She heard footsteps behind her, saw the girl’s quick curtsy, and knew exactly who approached.
“Good morning, Agnes,” Bolton said in that low, honeyed voice of his.
Agnes blushed and bobbed another curtsy. Isabel wanted to rip the silly smile off the girl’s face. How dare Bolton know every woman’s name.
“Is that your youngest?” he asked. “My steward wrote me of his birth, but it seems like only yesterday.”
“He’ll be creeping about soon, my lord,” the girl said, pride in her bearing.
“I’ve missed much, being gone so long to court.” Bolton gave Isabel an amused look. “Have you been introduced to my wife, Agnes?”
“We’ve been chatting, my lord.”
“Chatting?” He raised an eyebrow.
Chatting, indeed, Isabel thought.
“My wife has such an easy way with people, don’t you think?”
