Clan and Crown

PART ONE
Thrones and Dominions
1

The rocket sputtered for a moment, then rose swiftly above the worn cobblestone courtyard of the old fortress. It hissed upwards in a column of fire, trailing golden sparks and a faint smell of brimstone as it climbed until, without warning, it burst loudly into a shower of silver. The crowd gasped in wonder.

High above the courtyard, two richly dressed boys about fifteen Earth years in age clapped their hands in wonder. They huddled together in a window cut in the wall of the keep thirty meters above the gawking populace. One of the boys shouted aloud when the rocket burst above Castle Edron.

"Quiet! The Protector will hear us," the other boy said. "He'll make us join the others."

"He is nowhere about, Majesty."

"Ah." Nothing like those rockets had ever been seen on the whole planet of Tran. Even kings should be able to gawk at them without losing status.

But, Ganton thought, kings must think first of their dignity, and for the opinions of the nobility. No monarch ever needed his lords' good opinions more than I do. Another rocket arced across the darkening sky. This one trailed blue sparks. "Oh-look!" he cried. The True Sun had long set, but the Firestealer was high enough to cast baleful shadows and light the summer sky above the fortress capital of Drantos.

Ganton shouted again as yet another rocket burst. Ganton son of Loron, Wanax of Drantos, he might be; but he was also nine years old, fifteen according to the reckoning of the starman Lord Rick; and the rockets were fun to watch. "Perhaps we could make weapons from those," Ganton said. "Do you think so?"

"The Lord Rick says he will," Morrone answered.

He speaks in those tones, Ganton thought. They all do, when they speak of Lord Rick. They never sound that way when the talk is about me. They rebelled against my father. The wonder is that I lived this long. It is no time to be Wanax, but I have no choice of times.

More rockets flashed upward from the palace courtyard. Each sent down silver and gold showers. One burst with a loud sound.

"Was it like that?" Morrone asked.

"Louder," Ganton answered. "Much louder." He had no need to ask what Morrone meant. "It was just a year ago."

"A whole army," Morrone said. "All killed in an instant-"

"No. Only their leaders were killed. We yet had a battle to win. Not that it was difficult, with the Wanax Sarakos dead, and all the starmen kneeling to Lord Rick. But the armies of Sarakos were defeated by good Drantos warriors, not star weapons."

Morrone nodded, but Ganton thought his companion didn't really believe it. Sarakos had conquered nearly the whole of the Kingdom of Drantos. Until the great battle, Sarakos held the entire County of Chelm and most lands of the other great lords. His writ ran everywhere except into the hills where Ganton had hidden with the Lord Protector and the remnants of the loyalist forces. Sarakos had defeated the best Ganton had, had killed the first Lord Protector. Then the starman Lord Rick had come with the wild clansmen who obeyed his wife's father, and in one day, one grand battle- More rockets flashed upward. "You spend fire-powder with both hands," Morrone said.

Ganton shrugged. "It is no small thing, the birth of the Lady Isobel as heiress to the greatest lord of Drantos. Besides, the firepowder was given to me by Lord Rick himself. Come, can't I show my pleasure at the honor he does me, to have his child born in my capital?" And without my leave, although I would have given it cheerfully. He felt Morrone draw away, and wondered if his friend were angry. Ganton had few enough friends, and almost none his own age; soon, he supposed, Morrone too would treat him as Wanax rather than friend. All too soon. And that would be right and proper, but it would be lonely as well- "There," Morrone said. He pointed toward the horizon to the south. "I can just see it. The Demon Sun."

Ganton shuddered slightly and hoped that Morrone wouldn't notice. Only a star, the starmen had said. A star that wandered close to Tran every six hundred years. Not a demon at all, only a star.

"It might as well be a demon," Morrone said, as if reading his thoughts. "The Demon Sun comes, and we live in The Time. His voice lost its banter, and took on the singsong notes of a priest. "The Time draws near, when oceans will rise. Storms shall rage, and gods will come from the skies to offer gifts. Woe to those who trade with gods, for after the gods depart there shall be smoke and fire and destfuction-" Morrone broke off as suddenly as he had begun. "There's someone coming." He pointed. "On the south road. "There, just below the Demon Sun."

Ganton stared into the dusky light. One of the Earthmen had told him that the Firestealer was as bright as a hundred full Moons, but the words meant little to Ganton. He was willing to believe that a place called Earth was the home of humanity, but the thought held little impact for him. Tran was home enough.

The light of the Firestealer was more than bright enough to see by, but it made for tricky light, and cast strange shadows. But yes, there was a large party riding up to the south gate of the town. "Merchants, I'd say," Ganton muttered.

"Doubtless. From the southern cities, by their clothes. What would they be doing here?"

"Come to make obeisance to me," Ganton said. He chuckled.

"It may be," Morrone said. He sounded very serious.

Ganton laughed aloud. "The southern cities would sooner give up their gods than their councils and assemblies and meeting halls. What could they possibly gain?"

"Lord Rick's protection," Morrone said.

And once again that tone, Ganton thought.

"Caravan ho!" The guard's challenge faintly reached their high perch.

"They're too late," Morrone said. "The gates are locked for the night. But surely they know that.

Someone in the caravan shouted to the sentries. Ganton couldn't hear what was said, but it seemed to cause a stir. "Officer of the day!" the sentry shouted.

Ganton frowned in puzzlement and looked at his friend. "What do you see?" he asked. "Who could cause such excitement?"

Morrone shook his head. "I can't make it out."

"The starmen have tools to see with," Ganton said. "They call them binoculars." He said the unfamiliar word gingerly. "Binoculars."

"You should have them," Morrone said.

Ganton shrugged. "Whose? They are the personal equipment of the starmen, and there are no more than a dozen of those-binoculars-in all this world of Tran. How should I have them?"

"You are Wanax!" Morrone said. "These starmen are not great lords. The Lord Rick himself is no more than Eqeta of Chelm. Aye, and that only through his wife's first husband. Ach. The Eqetassa Tylara no more deserves that title than I do. Less, for I was cousin to the last Eqeta, and she no more than his unbedded wife."

Ganton stared in amazement. He had heard complaints before, but none so open. "Yet when you speak of the Lord Rick," Ganton said. "Your voice. You speak of him as you would of-of Yatar."

"Your pardon, Majesty. I spoke in haste-"

"You will not do this to me!" Ganton shouted. "Finish what you have begun. What is this you say? If you have complaints against the Lord Rick, say them now. Speak to me as friend-"

"I say no more than do hundreds of your loyal nobility," Morrone said. "We respect the Lord Rick, and we would follow him-but we fear his upstart family. We fear they will bring their kilted barbarians to Drantos by scores."

"I would they would bring tens of scores of their archers," Ganton said.

"Perhaps. But when they loose their gullfeathered arrows who will wear the grey Tamaerthan plumage? Your enemies or your friends?" His voice fell.

"Majesty. Ganton, my friend. I know it must be hard."

"Hard," Ganton said. "Hard indeed. Even the Protector fears the Lord Rick and the star weapons. As he should. You were not there, but I was there, when the other starman, Parsons, the renegade, made common cause with Sarakos, and turned those weapons on my armies. Men, horses, all destroyed, and the sounds of thunder everywhere. No one safe. My Captain-General died at my side, and we five furlongs from the battle!

"But it will change," Ganton said. "I will not be in leading strings forever. Listen."

There were more shouts below. Then a rumble. "The gates," Morrone said. "They open the gates, even at this late hour! Who?"

"We must go see," Ganton said. "Race you." He leaped from the window seat and was down half a flight of steps before Morrone could follow.

They raced down the stairs, shouting and laughing.

The Lord Protector was waiting for them at the second landing. His scarred, weatherbeaten face and the plain broadsword hung on his belt contrasted sharply with — the rich blue and scarlet court attire and jeweled chain of office. He was obviously far more at home in the saddle than the throne room.

Ganton caught himself in mid-stride and drew himself to full height, trying to walk carefully and correctly, hoping that Camithon hadn't seen him running. "Sire," Camithon began. By Yatar, I'm for it now, Ganton thought. "Sire, you should not have absented yourself for so long," the Protector said. "You do little honor to the lord and lady of Chelm, after they have so honored your house by bringing forth their first child here."

Once more, Ganton thought. Tell me once more how honored I am, and I will scream curses on your ancestors."My house is honored indeed. But perhaps there were practical reasons as well? If the Lady Tylara bore her child in Chelm, her clansmen in Tamaerthon would be slighted-and if in Tamaerthon, would not the knights and bheromen of Chelm know insult? My house was a convenience to them. And to the realm, of course. To the realm."

Camithon frowned, and the great scar across his face grew dark. For a moment Ganton was afraid. The old warrior was perfectly capable of bending his sovereign over his knee-although, Ganton reassured himself, never in public.

"It's true enough," Ganton insisted.

Camithon nodded. "Aye. Yatar's own truth. But there is such a thing as the right words at the wrong time."

"I heard a disturbance," Ganton said. "I came to see."

"Aye. A starman. Come to see Lord Rick. With a gift."

Camithon didn't have to explain the significance of that.

The walls were thick stone crowned with battlements. The gates were set in massive porticos, and made of heavy wood studded with large iron knobs. The small mounted party was barely through when the gates crashed shut, and they heard the locking bar, a log nearly as big around as a telephone pole, fall into place. Ben Murphy rode on in silence for a moment, then turned to his companion. "Guess it's too late for second thoughts now," he said in English.

In contrast to Murphy, the other man was mounted on a centaur. It didn't look much like the classical centaurs; the upper torso was more apelike than human, while the body itself resembled a moose as much as it did a horse. Its rider looked around through half-closed eyes. "I reckon we could get out of here," he said. He reached forward to stroke the centaur's back. "Dobbin and me've been through a bit on this stupid planet. Don't reckon we'd let these city types stop us."

"Naw," Murphy said. "We'd never make it."

"Hell we couldn't." Lafe Reznick patted the H amp;K battle rifle slung over his shoulder. "Say the word, Ben, and I'll hold 'em off while you break out the one-oh-six."

Murphy snorted. "And what'll you bet they don't have crosshairs on us right now?" He pointed up to the high tower of the castle that dominated the town. A skyrocket rose from the tower's base as he pointed.

"You really think the captain would do that?" Reznick demanded.

Murphy shrugged. "Maybe not. But what about Mason? Or Elliot?"

"Yeah. I forgot about Sergeant Major Elliot," Reznick said. "Guess they all went over when Captain Galloway shot Colonel Parsons. And Elliot's just the man to see we don't get away." He squinted up toward the castle. "Up there-or hell, maybe right over in one of those doorways with a submachine gun."

"He wouldn't even need that," Murphy said. "With those goddam Tamaerthan archers of his, Christ, they could have us stuck over with gullfeathers 'fore you could unsling that H amp;K."

"You do think of the cheerfullest things."

"You say what?" One of the riders drew level with Murphy and threw back her hood. She was quite pretty, and much younger than the two soldiers. "You have afraid?" she asked.

"Naw, I'm not afraid," Reznick said. "Course not, Honey. I wouldn't bring you here if I was afraid."

"I hear afraid," she said. "The mounts know we afraid."

"Just nervous in the service," Murphy said. "To your place, if you please, Lady.

The girl started to say something, but checked herself. She halted to let Murphy and Reznick draw ahead and the three other women catch up to her. Then she began to chatter to them, speaking the native language far too swiftly for Murphy to understand her words.

Murphy and Reznick rode on in silence until they reached the castle gates, which seemed at least as massive as the town portals had been. As they approached, the gates swung open.

"Expectin' us," Murphy said. "Well, here we go." He stood in his stirrups and turned to the group behind him. "No weapons," he said, grinning to himself. I don't speak this local stuff too bad, he thought. Better'n Honeypie speaks English. "No matter what happens, keep your hands off your weapons. You have seen our star weapons. These gentry will be watching us, and their captain has weapons to overpower any you have seen us use."

The women nodded solemnly. The five merchant adventurers behind them looked around uneasily.

"They could get us bloody well killed," Murphy said. "Tell them wives of yours I mean it."

"I already did," Reznick said. "Christ, Ben, there's times I can't believe any of this."

"I know what you mean." He shook his head wryly. "Fightin' in Africa, 'bout to be finished by the Cubans and we get picked up by a goddamn flyin' saucer. And even then it don't make sense. This whole planet, none of it makes sense."

"Except to Captain Galloway."

"Yeah. I guess."

"Hell, Ben, it was you said we ought to come here…"

"You agreed," Murphy reminded him. "I didn't twist your arm." He grinned. "Anyway, I still think it was best. That paper the Cap'n sent us, it said he really did understand things here. He knows why there's people here, and what those saucer critters want, and-"

"And you can believe as much of it as you want to," Reznick said. He paused a moment, then matched Murphy's grin. "And we both sure as hell want to believe a lot of it."

"Yeah. Let's go." He led the way through the open gates.

The courtyard behind the gates smelled of burned gunpowder. It was packed with people. Archers in kilts held them back to make a lane that Murphy's party could ride through. "Like MP's," Murphy said.

"Big deal." Reznick squinted upwards. "Don't look now, but there's a sniper up in the tower over the gate."

"Yeah, I spotted him. Don't matter. There's a dozen of those archer types on the wall up there, too. There's sure as hell only one way to play this now."

The wall ahead of them was taller than the first, and the gateway through it was so narrow they had to go single file. The gate itself was a long maze-like corridor, with two twists barely wide enough for their mounts. Then they came out into an inner court, empty except for half a dozen richly dressed courtiers.

"Welcome," one called. "In the name of Wanax Ganton, welcome to Castle Edron. I am Parilios, Chamberlain to Wanax Ganton and servant to the Lord Protector, in whose name I bid you welcome yet again."

"Sounds good so far," Murphy said. "Uh-we have come at the invitation of the Lord Rick, Eqeta of

Chelm, Great Captain General of the Forces of Drantos, Colonel of Mercenaries. He gave the last title in

English. "We are Benjamin Murphy do Dirstval and Lafferty Reznick do Bathis, Merchant Traders of the

Sun Lands."

"The Lord Rick is here and awaits you eagerly," the chamberlain said. "He has been foretold of your coming. He bade me say that his food will be no more than filling for his belly, and his drink no more than moisture for the tongue, until he has spoken with you at last."

"Fat chance the captain ever said that," Murphy said sotto voce. "Bid the Wanax, and the Lord Protector, and Lord Rick a thousand thanks in our names, and tell him that we came in haste to his summons."

There was more ceremony before they were invited to dismount. Eventually they were led into an antechamber. A cheerful fire blazed at one end of the room, and there was a table laid out with wine and food. Washbasins stood on a sideboard. "I will leave you to refresh yourselves," their escort said. He turned a pair of identical sand glasses, and took one with him. "I will return when this is done." The chamberlain bowed and left them.

The women began to chatter, but Murphy made a sharp gesture, and they fell quiet. He eyed the glass. "About twenty minutes. We going to take the women in with us?"

"Why not?" Reznick demanded.

Murphy shrugged. "This is royalist country," he said. "Not like the south where we were. And the girls aren't exactly out of the nobility-"

"Dirdre and Marva are now," Reznick said. "Married me, didn't they? That makes them as good as anybody."

"Okay if you say so. Wonder where the bloody plumbing is?"

"Through there, I'd say," Reznick said. He walked over to a small curtained doorway and looked inside. "Yep. Looks to me like it hangs out over the town. Shall we go relieve ourselves on the commoners?"

"Cap'n?"

Rick Galloway turned from the window as one of the skyrockets burst in crimson. "Yes?"

"Two things," Art Mason said. "Lady Tylara says you're supposed to be downstairs enjoying the fireworks-"

"Hell, I know that," Rick said. He lifted a crystal goblet and tossed off the full cup of wine it held. "Three days we've been on display. Tylara likes all the fuss." He grinned slightly. "Isobel really is a beautiful little thing. I guess Tylara's earned all this glory. But why she wants it is beyond me." He poured another drink.

Mason shrugged. "I never claimed to understand women."

"What was the other thing?"

"Murphy's here."

"Murphy?"

"Private Ben Murphy," Mason said. "Along with Lafe Reznick. Two of the troops that ran away south with Warner and Gengrich. They just showed up at the gate, dressed up like rich southern merchants and attended by some women and bullyboys. Murphy told the officer of the guard that he's got a present for the Eqeta of Chelm, the great Captain General of the Host of Drantos-"

"Humph."

"Hell, he's layin' it on thicker'n glue, Cap'n. But I think you'll like the present. It's all wrapped up in silk and gold cloth, but it's about yay long and maybe this big around-"

"The recoilless!"

"Could be," Mason said. "It just could be. Anyway, he's downstairs in the entry hall. I checked with Elliot and we had the chamberlain give him wine and some chow, and I figured I'd better get you before that Camithon gets at him."

"Yes. Good thinking. I'll come." He started toward the door.

"Not without we dress you proper," Mason protested. "Wait, Cap'n. I'll help you into your armor."

"I do not need armor."

"Hell you don't," Mason said. "Cap'n, now dammit I mean it, don't you go down there without your mail shirt. Here, take the pistol off. That's it. Now duck-" Despite Rick's protests, Mason eased him into a shirt woven of tiny metal rings.

"Damn thing's too heavy," Rick said.

"Wasn't heavy it wouldn't do much good," Mason said. "Here, lift your arm-" Deftly he buckled Rick's pistol and combat knife under his captain's left arm. "Now you look proper."

"And feel like an idiot."

"No, sir." Mason was emphatic. "You gotta be practical."

I've been practical all my life, Rick thought. I do the sensible, practical thing, and I feel like a coward half the time.

Mason saw Rick's expression. "Cap'n, you don't know what Murphy wants. I grant you, he probably didn't come to make trouble. Not coming inside the gates like that. But Christ, Cap'n, this whole place is about to explode. Ambassadors from both Roman outfits. That diplomat from the Five Kingdoms, he's nothing more than a spy-hell, they're still technically at war with us! Not to mention our own nobles. Wasn't an hour ago I had to disarm two of those barons, Dragomer and Kilantis-"

"Who?"

"Couple of the barons who went over to Sarakos," Mason said. "Took advantage of the amnesty after we beat Sarakos. They come from the north central hills."

"Yeah. I remember," Rick said. "Hard to blame them for going over, being that close to the Five Kingdoms and all. Why disarm them?"

"Fighting over something. I didn't bother to find out what. Just got their dirks."

"They drew steel in the palace?"

"Yeah."

"Where was Wanax Ganton?"

"Up watching the fireworks," Mason said. "Hell, Cap'n, if they'd drawn weapons while the kid or the old geezer was there I'd've done a lot more than disarm them, you know that."

"Yeah. Sorry. All right, let's go." He led the way to the thick nail-studded door and pulled. It opened slowly. It ought to, Rick thought. The damn thing must weigh five hundred pounds in this gravity. One heavy mother. There were men outside the door. Rick nodded to Jamiy, his orderly, and the brace of Guardsmen. Then he turned to the fourth man who stood stiffly aloof from the others. "Captain Caradoc."

"My lord." Caradoc was dressed in bright-colored kilts. He wore a jewel-handled dirk at his waist. A bow and quiver hung over his shoulder. He was no older than Rick. Caradoc bowed deeply, and waited until Rick returned the greeting before straightening.

"It's good to see you again," Rick said. "How went your journey?"

"Well enough, my lord. I had fast horses and Yatar's favor."

"I'm pleased to hear it." Rick put as much warmth in his voice as he could. More than once Caradoc had saved Rick and his family. Caradoc was really Tylara's man, henchman of her father, son of one of her father's subchiefs. Loyal men high in the Tamaerthan clan system were rare…

"We'll go down to audience hall," Mason said. One of the guards went ahead at a trot. The second walked ahead of Rick. Mason walked alongside Rick, with Jamiy and Caradoc following.

All this rigmarole just to go downstairs, Rick thought. Places of honor and all. And yet there really are damned few I can trust to walk behind me with weapons.

They went down a narrow stone stairway to a broad hall hung with tapestries, then along that to an arched entry into a much larger chamber.

Rick had just gotten inside when he heard a gravelly voice call, "Make way. Make way for the Wanax of Drantos." A party came through another entrance. First two men-at-arms. Then the King's Companion, Morrone, a lordling Rick found a bit pretentious. Next came Camithon, the scar-faced Lord Protector.

"Who ranks who?" Mason asked in English.

"I'll have to think," Rick said. It was a hell of a complex question. As Protector, Camithon ranked everyone except the king. On the other hand, before he became Lord Protector he'd been Tylara's general, and he held most of his lands as a mere bheroman in her service. If that wasn't complex enough, Rick and Tylara were technically host and hostess here, since Wanax Ganton had generously offered his palace to Tylara during her confinement and delivery. Which made Camithon guardian to Rick's honored guest- "My lord," Camithon growled. He bowed slightly.

Rick bowed in return, then bowed even deeper to Ganton as the boy came in.

"Majesty," Rick said. "I trust you have enjoyed the celebrations."

"We have," Ganton said. He looked around at the minor nobility and others who had come into the hall.

The boy's all right, Rick thought. Got a pretty level head. And he listens to Tylara. Then there's the rest of these. Half of 'em want to make me a god, and the other half want to put a knife in my ribs. "Majesty, I would ask a favor," Rick said. "The use of your hall to receive these starmen."

"This is your house," Ganton said ritually. "I wear no crowns while you and your lady are here. I would ask that you allow me the pleasure of watching you receive your friends."

"Certainly, sire. And my thanks."

One end of the room was dominated by a throne on a high dais. Below that was a lower dais with less elaborate chairs. Yanulf, chief priest of Yatar Day father, was already there. So was Sigrim, high priest of Vothan One-eye, Chooser of the Slain. They did not rise when Rick came to the dais. As he took his seat on the lower platform there was a stir at the door. Tylara had arrived.

She looks pale, Rick thought. She's still so damn beautiful it almost hurts to look at her, though. Her raven black hair shone as always, and her eyes were startlingly blue. There wasn't much to show that she'd been through a difficult labor, forty hours in the House of Yatar. Rick shuddered at the memory. If he'd lost her- He couldn't follow that thought. "Sweetheart," he said in English. Then more formally for the court, "My lady. Will you join me?"

"Thank you." Her voice was like ice, and there was winter in her smile as she sat beside Rick.

Christ. I didn't send for her, Rick thought. I should have, but I just forgot. But-"I am pleased that you were able to join us. When you did not come I worried." And that ought to make her wonder. "Chamberlain, summon our guests if you please."

"You sent for me?" Tylara demanded.

"Benjamin Murphy do Dirstval and Lafe Reznick do Bathis, Star Lords and Merchant Traders of the Sun Lands," the chamberlain announced.

"Ah," Rick said to himself as Murphy came in. I remember him now. Belfast Irishman. Made a bundle playing poker until most of the others wouldn't play with him. Nobody thought he was cheating. Just good. Good man with the light machine gun, too.

He couldn't recall very much about Reznick, except that he always teamed with Murphy.

Murphy and Reznick came to the dais, followed by two women and four men, obviously armed servants. The men carried something heavy and bulky wrapped in silk and cloth of gold. They reached the dais and looked at Rick in mild confusion. Then Murphy stamped to attention and saluted.

Automatically Rick returned the salute. Then he laughed. "You're supposed to bow or kneel or something," he said in English. He heard a strangled grunt from Tylara as she suppressed a laugh. "Welcome to my house." Rick changed to the local dialect and raised his voice. "It is good that we meet again. Your other friends among the starmen will welcome you also."

"Yeah, well, I'm happy to be signing up with you again, Captain," Murphy said. "And I've brought you something-"

"Yes. I'm damned glad to get the recoilless back. That is the one-oh-six, isn't it?"

"Sure is." Murphy turned and gestured. His companions unwrapped the tube. Another took the cover off the tripod stand, and clapped the barrel onto it.

"You've trained them to use it?" Rick asked.

"Not really, sir," Reznick said. "But they have seen us use the thing."

"Yes. We'll continue this in private," Rick said.

"Meanwhile, there's a ceremony. We'll coach you." He motioned to Murphy to kneel, and said in the local language, "We will accept you to our service. Do you offer me service, of your free will, according to the customs and uses of this land?"

"We do," Murphy and Reznick said in unison.

"Then your enemies shall be my enemies, and who wrongs you wrongs me," Rick said. He held out his hands. "Place your hands between mine. There. Now repeat after the chamberlain…"

"Thank Ghu that's over," Rick said.

"Who is Ghu?" Tylara asked seriously.

"Uh-a local deity back on Earth. Probably no jurisdiction here." He watched Murphy and Reznick leave the audience hall, and felt an overpowering urge to go with them. Fat chance, he thought. Now that the fireworks are over we have to go show Isobel off to every goddam bheroman and knight in the joint, and get the king's blessing and-"You needn't smirk about it," Rick said.

"Your desire is obvious," Tylara said. "It will do you no harm to be patient. Tonight you must be with me."

"Yeah." It was important. Tonight's ceremonies were supposed to be fun, but they would also mark his formal acknowledgment of Isobel's paternity. Until he did that, she was officially no more than a little bastard.

And Isobel was the most beautiful little thing he'd ever seen, and he certainly wanted everyone to know she was his-which still seemed like a miracle-but Lord, Lord, those lords were dull…