Wed By Proxy (Brides of Karadok Book 1)

by Alice Coldbreath

  Julia’s face fell. “Oh, what a shame! Whatever induced you to part with her? She was a beauty.”

  “You should not be so indiscreet sister,” Tristan drawled, setting down his goblet. At her questioning look, he elaborated. “Clearly Guy has bestowed the mare upon a lady he thought worthy of her.”

  “Nonsense!” she said with confidence, and threw a look at Guy to corroborate. When he merely cleared his throat, Tristan, laughed and Julia looked extremely taken aback.

  “You see?” said Tristan. “You must allow my knowledge of men to be far superior to yours, Julia.”

  “Well, if she was there for the taking, I wish you had given her to me,” she complained. “She was far superior to the mounts Cecil keeps for my use at Allworthy.” Guy said nothing, but Julia was clearly not going to let the matter pass. “I feel sure,” she said with a superior smile. “That this mysterious lady cannot be as good a rider as I.”

  Guy considered this a moment. “From what I have seen, she is easily your equal,” he said, remembering how recklessly Julia would set a horse at a hedge.

  Tristan laughed again, but Julia’s expression grew tight. “You cannot be speaking of the Countess of Strethneal at any event,” she said with determined lightness. “For I well remember his grace telling me that I have far better hands than she.” Guy refused to rise to the bait, and gestured for his ale to be refilled.

  “For some reason,” Julia carried on plaintively when no one spoke, “the countess is quite cold toward me these days, I find. I wonder why that could be?” She looked around the table. Tristan rolled his eyes, and Guy took a hearty draught of ale.

  “Did you trouble to write to her since we stayed with them last?” Tristan asked lazily. “People tend to find it quite rude when you do not formally thank your host.”

  Julia tossed her auburn hair. “’Twas the earl who was our host and not his wife who is not even a true northerner,” she said with a curl of her lip.

  Guy allowed his thoughts to wander as the second course came out of stuffed capons, accompanied by a dish of cooked onion salad and braised fennel. He wondered if Mathilde would be at her bath now. She had spoken of her intention to take one as he had left her. It was a distracting thought.

  “How wonderful it is to be back,” Julia exclaimed, clapping her hands and jolting him from his ruminations. It was all he could do not to glare at her interruption to his thoughts.

  “We are most fortunate, my lady, to accommodate your visit,” said Firmin politely when Guy did not speak.

  Julia frowned slightly, and for a moment Guy thought she would ignore his steward’s words. Then suddenly she turned a radiant smile on Firmin. “You are very kind,” she said. “I remember you from a previous visit. Firmin is it not?”

  For the rest of the course, to Guy’s relief, she turned the full force of her charm on Firmin, though from time to time he felt her gaze trained on him. The next course was a large venison pie decorated with an edible depiction of the Kerslake heraldic beast, the dolphin haurient. “Good grief,” Guy uttered.

  Julia looked gratified. “Your kitchens have outdone themselves, Guy.”

  “Don’t look to me. Firmin must have put the order in.”

  Firmin blushed. “I merely thought, for a sense of occasion,” he gave a small cough. “For the next course we will be having a parti-colored jelly representing the Kerslake colors of blue and white.

  “Quite the home-coming,” drawled Tristan. “I’ve never seen the old coat of arms represented in jelly.”

  “I haven’t seen you wear Father’s signet ring in an age, Tristan,” Julia commented with some disapproval.

  “Father and Miles both had such fat fingers,” Tristan complained. “Damn thing keeps falling off.”

  “The dolphin is very well represented in pastry,” Julia praised, though to Guy’s eye it was plain the cook had never seen one.

  “Looks more like a pike,” he commented.

  “Really, Guy!” Julia tutted. “I’m sure we are fully sensible of the honor done to us.”

  “Well, to my mind the compliment is all mine,” Tristan pointed out. “After all, you’re an Allworthy now.”

  Julia’s expression turned grave. “I assure you, brother, I will always be a Kerslake.”

  Guy muffled a yawn as the aforementioned jelly was served, along with fruit stewed in rose water. He couldn’t go back to the lodge this evening… could he? He shot a look out the window. Night had fallen, but he could easily find his way back there in the dark. He felt his heart race, even as he dismissed the idea. No, he had given her his assurance that he would not repeatedly seek her out under the cover of dark, expecting to share her bed. It was important to him that he treat her always with respect. That was the only way he would win her trust and her real name, he was sure of it.

  “Don’t look now,” Tristan murmured under the cover of his sister’s animated conversation with Firmin. “But my sister is trying to make out the considerable change in you. She is sadly puzzled by it.”

  “Change?” Guy repeated blankly.

  “You no longer seem affected by her allure,” Tristan mused. “And that’s putting it mildly.”

  Guy shot him a look. “I’ve no time for such things,” he said abruptly, and to his annoyance found himself coloring hotly at the lie.

  “And yet… The fine bay mare,” muttered Tristan musingly.

  Guy glared at him and Tristan laughed softly. He’d forgotten what a damn knowing bastard Kerslake could be.

  XX

  Mathilde woke at first light and slid her hand along the mattress, but there was no warm body in the bed next to her. He didn’t come. She huffed out a disappointed breath and reached under her pillow to don her shift. Now the fire had died down, the room was chilly. She bundled herself in her blankets and drifted back to sleep.

  She wasn’t sure how much later it was when she heard something bounce off the window pane. Could it be falling acorns, she wondered sleepily. No, for the trees were all bare. She sat up and rubbed her eyes as she heard another ping against the glass. Throwing back the covers, she padded over to the window. Something rattled hard against the pane this time. Mathilde unfastened the casement and threw it open, peering down into the garden below.

  It was Guy!

  She felt her face break out into a smile. “What are you doing?” she called down softly.

  “No one’s about,” he answered, not much louder. “Come down and let me in. The door’s fastened.”

  She hurriedly complied, pausing only to catch up a woolen mantle to drape over herself, and the embroidered slippers for her bare feet. Creeping down the stairs, she wondered at the fact that every single step seemed to creak. How was it that she did not hear Prudie every morning? You would think her tread would be lighter as she was so much smaller. Drawing back the bolt, she dragged the door open, and found herself caught up in a strong pair of arms.

  “Guy!” she breathed, and wound her arms about his neck, kissing his cheek and when he turned his head, his lips. He leaned back against the door, shutting it fast behind him. “You’re very early this morning,” she commented, before his lips descended once again on hers.

  “Aye,” he rumbled in agreement. “I could not keep away.”

  She smiled, letting him see her pleasure at his admission. “I’m glad you came,” she admitted. “When I first awoke, it was chilly without you.”

  “You were cold?” he said with a frown.

  “Only because the bed’s so large and — well, I slept naked in case you came,” she answered truthfully. “I had to don my shift in the early hours.”

  His mouth opened and then shut again. Then he cleared his throat, and to Mathilde’s disappointment, he gently released her so that she stood on her own two feet, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Let me light the fire down here, we’ll get you warmed up.”

  “We’re not going back to bed, then?” Mathilde asked, glancing back at the window. It could not be long p
ast dawn.

  He cast her a quick look but was already reaching for the kindling wood. “It won’t take me long,” he said, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

  Mathilde sighed. There was a definite nip in the air down here in the kitchen. Still, she supposed Prudie would be pleased to find the kitchen fire all lit and ready when she rose. Then she had an idea.

  She turned impulsively toward Guy. “How would it be if we were to arrange everything down here?” she said excitedly. “Toast the bread and fetch in the eggs and everything before Prudie and Rob come below stairs.” He eyed her curiously and she suddenly felt a little childish for suggesting they play house together in such a way. “Of course, if you’d rather not…” she said hurriedly giving him an excuse, but he shook his head.

  “Any distraction would be welcome,” she thought he muttered, though she wasn’t sure of it. He was leaning forward now and blowing onto the small flames he’d started.

  “I’ll fetch in the eggs,” she said, turning toward the door, but he reached out an arm to forestall her.

  “Wait for me,” he said. “I don’t want you setting a foot out there alone. It’s not fully light and you’re not even dressed.”

  “No one will see me,” she pointed out.

  “We’ll do it together.” His tone didn’t brook any argument. “You’ll need to change your shoes,” he added firmly. “And put on a cloak. The snow may be thawing, but it’s still cold and wet underfoot.”

  “There’s boots by the door, and my cloak.”

  “By the time you’re wrapped up, I’ll have this fire going.”

  Mathilde nodded, and stuffed her feet into her ankle boots, casting a furtive look his way and hoping he did not notice she had no stockings on. He was nearly as cautious as her old Nurse! She drew on her cloak and fastened the ties. By the time she pulled the hood over her curly hair, wishing she had thought to draw a comb through it, he had straightened up, and was holding his hand out for hers. She took it and then opened the door and led him up the path to where the hens were still shut up in their make-shift home.

  “You draw the flap back here — you see how it is secured with these leather ties?” He looked over her shoulder. “It was entirely of Robin’s own design,” she told him proudly.

  “Ingenious.”

  They found four eggs among the straw and released the clucking hens into their run. “One each!” Mathilde exclaimed. “Rob wants a goat next, for milk,” she told him merrily, as they returned to the kitchen. “How shall we cook our eggs?”

  “Boil them?” he suggested after a moment’s pause.

  “Oh yes, of course,” Mathilde agreed brightly. For some reason, he seemed strangely watchful as she poked among the pots, looking for a smaller pot to place above the fire and boil the water. He had to help her attach the pot to the chain as she couldn’t quite figure out the clasp. Then she burned her finger, and he immediately plunged her whole hand into a water jug.

  “Keep it there a while,” he growled at her when she went to remove it.

  “But I want to slice the bread.”

  “You’ll cut your finger off next.”

  Mathilde’s face fell. “I haven’t done it before,” she mumbled, feeling embarrassed.

  Whatever he had been going to say died on his tongue, as his expression softened. “Count to fifty,” he said. “Then you can take your hand out of the water.” Mathilde nodded. “Where’s the bread?”

  “Prudie baked a fresh batch yesterday. There should be loaves in the pantry.”

  He walked into the adjoining room and Mathilde sighed, drawing her fingers out of the cold water. One looked rather pinker than the others, but otherwise seemed none the worse for its experience. She dried her hands on a cloth and went to find a knife. Usually, when dressed in her practical green gown, she wore the knife he had given her still at her hip. But today she was not fully dressed, so she needed to find one of Prudie’s. She heard Guy’s footsteps as he returned with a round loaf.

  “The water’s boiling,” he said, peering over the edge of the bubbling pot. Mathilde looked back at him blankly. “That means you can add the eggs,” he told her, then smiled and shook his head.

  “What is it? Why do you look like that?” she asked, as she fetched the eggs from the side.

  “No reason. You need to lower those eggs into the water on a spoon,” he recommended. “If you drop them in, you’ll crack them on the bottom of the pot.”

  “Oh.” She went in search of a spoon, instead of a knife. “I’m glad you’re here, or I would be making a sad mess of this. How is it,” she asked slowly, “that you know so much about cooking?”

  “Soldiering campaigns,” he answered shortly.

  “Oh.” She was always stumbling onto the sore subject of the war, she thought with a wince. Shooting a sideways look at him, she found he was still observing her as she carefully lowered an egg into the water. “Like that?”

  “Perfect.”

  She smiled at him, pleased with herself. “Three more to go,” she said cheerfully.

  “Where does Patience keep the butter?”

  “Prudence,” she corrected him. “The pantry again, I would have thought. She doesn’t give me free reign,” she admitted.

  “I wonder why,” he murmured, as he went in search of the butter.

  She gave the matter some consideration. “I can’t think,” she admitted, “for I like it here in the kitchen very much.”

  “Doubtless it’s the novelty.” His tone was dry.

  “Maybe I should ask Prudie to teach me how to make bread. It would help while away the time when you’re not here.”

  He paused in the act of crossing the room. “What pastimes are you usually employed with?” he asked.

  “Oh, tapestry, mostly. I have my own loom.”

  “Why did you not say? I could order you one for here.”

  “Oh, would you?” In truth, she did not feel terribly enthusiastic about returning to her usual occupations. Somehow, learning new things had been much more exciting. The second egg precipitately rolled off the edge of her spoon and thudded hard against the bottom of the pan. “Oh!” she looked up at Guy in some trepidation. “What happens if I crack it?”

  “You’ll soon see.”

  Gazing down, Mathilde watched white ribbons escaping from the edges of the cracked shell into the boiling water. “Oh bother! That one can be mine,” she said guiltily.

  Unexpectedly, he laughed. A squeak on the stair alerted them someone else was about. They both turned and saw Prudence on the stairs brandishing a poker. Seeing it was them, she exhaled a sigh of relief.

  “I thought we had intruders, milady!” she exclaimed. “Why, whatever are you—?”

  “We’re relieving you of your duties for an hour,” Guy interrupted. “While I teach the Lady Mathilde how to boil an egg.”

  “Whyever should she need to?” Prude asked, bristling.

  “Lord Martindale is teaching me some of his soldiering skills,” Mathilde said, keen to soothe any ruffled feathers.

  “Oh,” the maid said looking slightly mollified. “I see.” She eyed Guy suspiciously.

  “Do sit down, Prudie. We’ve lit the fire and fetched the eggs,” she added. “What else must we do?”

  Prudie looked from one to the other. “Fetch the water from the well,” she said promptly. “And set the water on to boil for washing.”

  “We will all wash after we’ve had eggs,” put in Guy firmly.

  Prudie pursed her lips but said nothing. Mathilde stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on adding the eggs to the bubbling water. “I did it!” she said happily, turning a blind eye to the white mess that was the second egg.

  “What the devil…?” murmured another voice from the stairs.

  “Morning Rob!” sang out Mathilde. “Do come and join us!”

  Robin yawned and approached warily. “It’s early,” he pointed out. “Why aren’t you abed?”

  “Lord
Martindale woke me throwing stones at my window.”

  Prudence and Rob both turned to look at Guy with interest.

  He cleared his throat. “Mathilde, fetch the toasting fork,” he said. “I’ve cut the bread.”

  Mathilde stared down at the blackened implements next to the fire. “Which…?”

  “The double-pronged one.” He anticipated her question. She picked it up and he helped her spear a hunk of bread. “Now hold it out to the flames, but not so close as to burn it.” Placing his hands on her hips, he adjusted her stance to the correct distance from the fire, then returned to the shelves in search of bowls.

  “I’m doing it!” Mathilde said excitedly, turning to Rob.

  “Look out, it’s getting charred at the edges,” he recommended, reaching down to lift his cat to his knee.

  They all turned at a soft knock at the door, and to Mathilde’s surprise Waldon appeared in the doorway. He gave a slight start of surprise when he saw the kitchen full of people.

  “Ah Waldon,” said Prudence loudly. “Did you bring the, uh, salt I requested?

  Waldon appeared to recover himself. “Oh… yes,” he said after the slightest pause, though he did not produce any.

  “We haven’t enough eggs,” Mathilde lamented, at the new addition to their ranks. “Unless you’ve already broken your fast?” Waldon looked a little discomforted.

  “I expect he thought he’d get it here,” Guy said impassively. “Come in man and sit yourself down.”

  “There’s two eggs left over from yesterday, milady,” Prudence piped up. “In the pantry.”

  “Oh good! Guy…” she turned to address him, but he was already heading in that direction to retrieve them.

  “You’ll need to take out the first egg,” he said over his shoulder.

  “The first egg?” Mathilde peered doubtfully at the four eggs in the pan. She could only recognize the disastrous second egg. “Umm, I’m not really sure …?”

  Guy returned and glanced down at the pot. “The speckled one,” he said.