Richard yawned, resting his elbows on the table, nodding into his trencher. Merry was a good cook; the bread did not have pebbles in it and the fish was crisp. He poked at a mess of green, not liking the taste, but he shoveled the weeds into his mouth and chewed quickly, not wishing to hurt the girl’s feelings.

The children were convinced there was a ghost wandering about Bainford. For the past fortnight they had run shrieking from their beds at night into his chamber, piling in his bed like a litter of puppies. The men had found nothing amiss. Richard had not heard the wailing, but the children swore ’twas a fearsome noise.

A se’nnight passed and still children woke screaming in the night. Richard swore he would banish the ghost. That eve, he was in the hall, staring into the fire, listening to the snores of the servants bedded down against the hearth, when he heard it. The wail was faint, coming from somewhere in the castle. The sword hissed as he pulled it from the scabbard and went in search of spirits.

The sound of snoring came from the garrison as he walked the grounds.

“Have you heard any odd noises?” he called to the guard on the wall.

The man scratched his beard. “Nay, my lord. ’Tis the wind, nothing more.”

Hrumph. Richard walked through the chapel, peering into the corners, though he did not believe a ghost would haunt a holy place, unless ’twas a priest who thought he was not dead. The stables were quiet, the horses calm; the stable boys were asleep in the hay. Convinced the sound was coming from inside the castle, he heard it again as he passed by his solar.

There was a passageway leading to the top of the east tower that was rarely used. The other towers required repair before they would be safe enough. Sword at the ready, Richard climbed the stairs, shadows appearing on the wall, and the wailing grew louder.

He pushed the wooden door open to see the newest arrival to the castle, little Maron, curled up in a ball before the cold hearth, a candle flickering. She was weeping, the sound piercing his heart like the arrow that took his eye.

Not wanting to startle her, Richard slid down the wall to sit next to her and said softly, “Tell me what ails you, child.”

Impossibly blue eyes full of tears looked up at him. The child threw herself into his arms and wailed. Not sure what to do, Richard awkwardly patted her on the back, murmuring soft words, as he did when caring for his horses or hounds.

When he shifted to ease the pain in his leg, she sniffed and blew her nose on his tunic.

“Has someone hurt you? I will run them through, lass.”

Maron wiped her face, sniffling. “I miss my mama. It’s so quiet here, not ’tall like London, and it scares me something fierce.”

She was a tiny thing, curled up in his lap and clutching his tunic. “Why are you up here, alone in the cold and the dark?”

With her long, curly black hair and those wise eyes, she looked like a tiny faerie. “I didn’t want Robin to hear me weeping. He says we must be strong or you will send us away and we will starve and die.” The weeping continued.

Her little shoulders were thin under the wool of her green dress. Richard tilted her chin up.

“Hear me well, lass. Bainford is your home. I will never send you away. You and your brother may live here the rest of your lives if you so desire. The larder is full; you will not starve.” He patted her back, almost sending her sprawling. “In time you will die—death comes to us all. But not today, and if the fates smile upon us, you will not die until you are older than Edwin.”

“You are a good man, my lord.” She wrinkled her nose, tapping a finger against her lips. “How do I stop missing my mama?”

He blew out a breath. “You will always miss her. When someone we love dies, their absence leaves a wound that never heals. In time, it will leave a scar and no longer hurt as you are being cleaved in two. Your mama is always with you.”

“How is she with me? I can’t see her.” Maron curled up like a kitten and wiped her nose on his other sleeve.

“Nay, you cannot see her—she has gone to the beyond. But her love for you will always be in your heart. Talk to Robin about her, tell each other what you remember, and you will keep her with you always.”

“I want to be strong like you.” She wound a curl around her finger.

“You are as strong as a warrior, little one. Now, no more weeping at night. You’re scaring everyone. They think there is a ghost at Bainford.”

“I told them there was no ghost,” she scoffed. “They are witless dolts.” She sounded just like him. Richard pressed his lips together so he would not laugh.

“I am sorry I scared them.” She blinked up at him. “The villagers are scared of you, but I am not. I told them Lord Bainford is not a beast, but I don’t think they believed me.”

Maron mumbled something he could not make out, yawned, and fell asleep, her tiny hand in his.

Richard did not know how long he sat holding her close, looking at her tiny fingers.

“My lord?” Edwin peered into the room, holding a candle.

Richard held a finger to his lips and whispered, “Do not wake the child.”

His steward took the child as Richard got to his feet, wincing from sitting so long.

“I will carry her.” Richard took the sleeping child, carried her to the chamber where the girls slept in a large bed, and covered her with a blanket.

As he stood there, looking at the children, an odd feeling filled him. Mayhap these unwanted children would be his family. He did not need a wife. It did not matter he wished for a woman to love him. To not care he was a bastard with a ruined face. He shut the door behind him.

Nay, ’twas a childish dream. Wishes were for children.