by Lynsay Sands
“Actually, I am not interested in any of them,” she said at last, grimacing when his eyebrows arched in disbelief. “Having them here was my . . . Aunt’s idea. I have no desire to marry.”
“Ever?” he asked.
“Ever,” Odel assured him firmly, then scowled at his expression. “You find that difficult to believe?”
“Well, aye, I guess I do. Most women wish to have a husband to supply all the riches and jewels they need to be happy.”
Odel’s mouth tightened at that. “I desire no man to supply riches and wealth. I have more than I need.” More than she was even used to or comfortable with at the moment, she thought a bit unhappily. While it was nice that the keep was not as mean and cold as it had been, Matilda had rather overdone it.
Suddenly realizing that Lord Suthtun had been silent quite awhile, she turned to see him examining her as if trying to decide if he should believe her. She supposed he must have decided to take her word, because he next asked quietly, “Then what of a husband to provide children?”
Odel swallowed. She had never really even considered the possibility of children. She had given up on them a long time ago, when she had realized that her father had no intention of letting her marry and leave him. Now the possibility rose before her and she actually found herself tempted for a moment. Then she recalled that she would have to marry to have them—and that a man would likely make her children’s lives as miserable as her own had been. “I would like to have children,” she admitted quietly. “But, I fear, the price of a husband seems overly steep to me.”
Lord Suthtun considered her briefly, then murmured, “Lord Roswald must have been even more of a tyrant than I had heard.”
Odel peered down at her plate uncomfortably, then changed the subject. “Inheriting Suthtun must have come as something of a surprise.”
He was silent for a minute, then followed her lead. “Aye. My uncle was still relatively young, and even had he not been, his son should have inherited. The fact that they both died within days of each other from a cold was a great surprise to all. How did your father die?”
“His heart gave out. In his sleep,” she explained, then forced a smile for the servants who suddenly appeared before them. There were four in all, carting a suckling pig.
“Shall I?” Lord Suthtun murmured, withdrawing a small jeweled dagger from his waist and gesturing toward the platter.
“Thank you, yes.” Odel watched as he sliced off some of the juicy white meat and moved it to her plate—a silver one no less, more of Matilda’s magic. Many castles, she’d heard, had a silver plate and goblet for their lord on special occasions, but Roswald had never been one of them. Odel’s father had been too cheap. Now everyone at the high table was eating off a silver plate and drinking from a silver goblet. Father would be rolling over in his sarcophagus, she thought with some enjoyment.
A small sound from her right made her realize that a small mountain of meat now sat on her plate. He was reaching to put more on, but looking quite perplexed. Obviously, he had been waiting for her to say “enough.” Her father would have given her the thinnest, toughest serving he could manage, and that would have been that. She was not used to her wants being observed. Flushing with embarrassment, she murmured, “Thank you,” and was relieved when he nodded and turned his attention to filling his own plate.
It wasn’t until he set the dagger on the table between them that Odel noticed its beautiful carved hilt. “Oh, my, how lovely,” she commented, picking it up. “Wherever did you get this?”
“It was a gift from the king.” He peered at his food as he answered, looking particularly embarrassed. Which only managed to make Odel more curious.
“What was the gift in honor of?”
Suthtun shrugged slightly. “I assisted him in an endeavor,” he answered vaguely, then changed the subject. “Did your father never arrange a marriage?”
It was Odel’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Nay.”
“And your mother?”
“She died when I was quite young.”
They were both silent for a moment, then her guest asked, “Is your Aunt Matilda the only family you have left?”
Odel nodded. “And you? Were your uncle and cousin your only family?”
He shook his head. “The former Lord Suthtun was my mother’s brother. My mother and my two sisters are both at Suthtun now, no doubt preparing for Christmas.”
“Your father?”
“He died when I was young.”
“Your sisters are younger than you, then.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Aye. How did you know?”
“Well, you did not mention any husbands, so I just assumed.”
He nodded. “Yes, my sisters are both quite a bit younger. There was another sister and a brother between us, but they didn’t survive past childhood.”
Odel murmured some suitable sounds at that, then asked, “And ere inheriting the title and estate of Suthtun, what—”
“I was a mercenary,” he answered, apparently unperturbed by the question. And quite successful at it, Odel guessed, now understanding where his expensive clothes came from. As a mercenary without land or title to eat up his funds, he had been free to spend his earnings on such things. Now a lord of an impoverished estate, he spent his money more carefully.
Suddenly, all he had said began to ring bells in her mind. The knife was in honor of a favor he had done the king. He had been a mercenary prior to inheriting Suthtun. His name was Michel—a French name, and not all that common in England. In truth, she knew of only two men with that name: the man seated beside her and a mercenary who had saved King Edward II from a suspected witch in Coventry.
She recalled her father having spoken of it with a laugh; he had been sympathetic to no one, not even his liege. The “witch,” John of Wiltham, had been arrested for attempting to poison the king with a potion. Accusations of black magic had quickly followed. Wiltham had been held in Coventry to stand trial, but when the king had gone to question the man personally, Wiltham had attacked him, trying to kill him with his bare hands.
It was said he would have succeeded, had a mercenary accompanying Edward not stepped in and killed him. The king had reputedly given this mercenary—named Michel—his own jeweled knife in thanks. She recalled her father’s jealous dismissal of the whole incident.
Odel’s gaze dropped to the knife on the table, her stomach rolling over. “You are Michel the witch-killer.”
Michel grimaced, then shook his head. “I have killed hundreds of men, yet I kill one accused of witchcraft and suddenly I am Michel the witch-killer.”
Odel relaxed somewhat at that, and even managed a smile. That was true; he had only killed one witch—and that had been one trying to kill the king. He was not exactly a witch hunter. “You have nothing against them then?” she said in a joking manner, but her gaze slid to where Matilda sat observing the guests.
“Well, I would as soon kill one as look at them,” he admitted, drawing Odel’s face back around in alarm. “But I am not interested in hunting them down. Witches are a nasty bunch. Sneaky, too. Killing with potions and elixirs rather than facing a man in fair battle. Aye. They are a nasty lot.”
The knight turned his attention to his meal then, unaware that Odel was now trembling with fear. Her poor aunt! Tildy might call herself a fairy godmother, but anyone seeing her cast dust in the air and mutter over it would surely call her a witch. And Michel would not need to hunt to find her. Dear Lord, if he saw her pull one of her stunts he would—
“Well, I had best go check on my squire,” Michel announced suddenly, getting to his feet. Pausing, he turned to take Odel’s hand and bow over it. “Thank you for the lovely meal, my lady.”
Odel nodded, then watched him leave the table. He crossed the room and jogged lightly up the steps.
“Oh, my, that is a lovely dagger, isn’t it?”
Turning, Odel glanced at Matilda, then down at the dagger she was gesturing to. Lord Suthtun
had forgotten his blade. “It was a gift from the king . . . for killing a witch!”
Tildy’s eyebrows rose, but rather than appear worried, she merely said, “Well that makes sense. The man obviously couldn’t afford to purchase it himself.”
“Wealth is not everything, Matilda,” Odel said irritably, picking up the dagger and wiping it on a crust of bread.
“Well, it may not be everything, but it certainly helps to make a body happy,” Matilda answered promptly.
Odel clucked in disgust. “Oh, aye, it certainly did that for my father.” She gave her aunt a pointed look, then rose.
“Where are you going?” Matilda shifted around in her seat to peer after her as Odel started away.
“I am going to return Lord Suthtun’s blade and check on his squire.”
She hurried away, and was at the top of the stairs before she realized anyone had followed. But just as she turned toward the room Lord Suthtun had been given, a hand on her arm made her stop and turn. The man behind her made Odel’s stomach lurch.
“Lord Cheshire.” She tried for a smile, but knew it was a bit stiff. She really wasn’t in the mood to hear any more of his complaints about rooming with his cousin. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Aye.” He hesitated briefly, then lifted his chin. “I am a very handsome hu—man, am I not?”
Odel managed to restrain a grimace. Sighing, she nodded solemnly. “Aye, my lord.” It was the truth. Lord Cheshire was quite the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. His hair was a pale brown that flowed in waves down to his shoulder. His eyes were as black as Vlaster’s jacket. His face and figure were perfection itself; she was being honest when she said, “You are very handsome.” Then she continued with, “Now, if you would excuse me?”
Odel started to turn away to continue on to Lord Suthtun’s room, but Cheshire grabbed her hand, drawing her to a halt. “Nay.”
“Nay?” She peered at him narrowly as she tried to free her hand from his.
“First we must settle this. I am the most handsome man here. Would you not agree?”
Sighing, she nodded impatiently. “Aye, my lord. In fact, you are the most handsome man I have ever seen.”
“Well, then, why do you avoid me? Do you not know how fortunate you would be to have me to husband? Why do you resist falling in love with me?”
Odel’s mouth dropped open at the forward question. “I . . .”
“I would be a good husband to you. I would let you eat all the juiciest morsels. I would give you five or six babies. I would make you happy.”
Eyes wide, Odel heard a high, almost squeaking sound slip past her lips. She quickly closed her mouth, then shook her head in the hopes of clearing it so that something useful might come to mind to say. She was still struggling when he suddenly swept her into his arms. Passionately, he breathed, “We would do well together. You will love me.” Then his mouth descended on hers.
Odel wasn’t very experienced when it came to kisses—well, all right, this was her first—but if this wet, mushy experience was what they were all like, she decided, she could do quite nicely without them. Her decision never to marry had not been a mistake. She began to struggle in Lord Cheshire’s grasp.
“Unhand her!”
That voice was rather like the crack of doom, Odel thought faintly before Lord Cheshire finally released her. Steadying herself with a hand on the wall, she turned to peer up the hall. Aunt Matilda was barreling toward them. Who would have thought such a deep authoritative voice could have issued forth from her plump, usually cherubic countenance? Although she didn’t look very cherubic at the moment. She looked furious. And, oddly enough, Tildy in a fury was quite an intimidating sight.
Odel almost felt sorry for Lord Cheshire. The man was suddenly looking terrified. Almost, but not quite, she decided, using the back of her hand to wipe away his slobbery kiss.
“How dare you overstep yourself so!” Matilda raged, coming to a halt before them, her eyes spitting fire.
“I . . .” The young nobleman looked away, anywhere but at the woman confronting him, then suddenly drew himself up and spoke. “She wanted me to. She loves me. She wants to be my wife.”
“Poppycock!” Tildy snapped, not even bothering to look at Odel for confirmation. “You cannot fool me. I can see right through your lies. You thought if you forced yourself on Odel I would have to agree to a marriage. Then you would be set up here for the rest of your miserable days.”
Lord Cheshire shrank slightly under her wilting glare, then whined, “Well, so what if I did?”
Matilda’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. She flicked her cane at him once, set it down with a snap, then smiled with satisfaction. “That is so what!”
Odel turned in bewilderment to peer at Lord Cheshire, but he was no longer there. A scuffling sound drew her gaze downward then. Her mouth dropping open, she gaped in horror at the rat now sitting where Lord Cheshire had been but a moment before. “Aunt Matilda!”
“What?” Tildy asked innocently, her gaze shifting curiously past Odel. The squeak of a door opening sounded behind her.
Odel whirled, her horrified gaze landing on Lord Suthtun as he stuck his head out into the hall. Peering down the dim hallway toward them, he arched an eyebrow in a silent question.
“Is anything amiss? I thought I heard—”
“Nay,” Odel assured him quickly, rushing down the hall to urge him back into his room. It wasn’t until she noticed the way his eyes had widened that she glanced down to see that she still held his dagger. No wonder he was backing away so quickly. “I—Here.” She turned the weapon around and held it out to him, explaining, “I just wanted to return this . . . and Aunt Matilda followed to have a discussion with me. All is well.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, accepting the weapon.
“I am positive. Everything is fine. Really. Fine.” She nearly choked on the lie, vaguely aware her voice was unnaturally high and squeaky sounding. She grabbed the door and pulled it closed, adding a slightly frantic, “Sleep well.”
After she shut the door in his face, Odel whirled and hurried back to Matilda. “You undo that right now!” she hissed fiercely, glaring at her godmother and pointing furiously downward.
“Undo what right now?” Tildy asked with bewilderment.
“Undo what?” Odel cried in amazement. “Do you not realize that Lord Suthtun would as soon kill a witch as look at her?”
Matilda looked unperturbed. “And so he should. But I am not a witch.”
“Yes, but—” Odel began, then shook her head. This was no time to explain. Trying for patience, she ground out, “Turn Lord Cheshire back into . . .” Her voice died as she glanced down and realized she was pointing at nothing. The rat that had been Lord Cheshire was gone. A frown of dismay replaced her anger. “Where did he go?”
Matilda shrugged. “No doubt he just skittered off somewhere. Rats tend to do that.” Never fear though, Vlaster shall find—Oh! There. You see! Vlaster has already found him.”
Following the woman’s gesture, Odel peered toward the stairs. She paled at once, her eyes dilating with horror. Her aunt’s “servant” stood at the top of the stairs, holding the rat by the tail as if he were about to swallow it. “Vlaster!”
Pausing, the liveried servant closed his mouth, straightened his head, and turned to look at her in silence.
Odel was at his side at once. Snatching the squirming rat from him, she held it out in front of her and turned back toward Matilda with a determined expression. But she had only taken a couple of steps when the door to Lord Suthtun’s room opened again and his head popped out once more. Obviously he had heard her shriek. Dropping her hand, she moved the rat behind her back and tried for an innocent expression.
“Aye, my lord?” she murmured, the calm image she was trying to project ruined somewhat by the way her voice rose at the end. She gave a sudden jerk as Lord Cheshire broke free of her hold, and was now scrabbling up the back of her gown. Biting her lip,
she tried not to squirm as his little clawed feet scrambled over her rump and started up her spine. If he bit her, she was going to step on the little bugg—
“I thought I heard a shriek,” Lord Suthtun explained quietly.
“Oh. Aye.” Odel almost moaned the words as the rat crawled under her long hair and made its way to the nape of her neck. She felt its cold nose against her flesh, and she had to bite her lips to keep from shrieking again. It is only Lord Cheshire, she reminded herself. It is only Lord Cheshire. Oh, God!
“Oh, ’twas nothing, my lord.” Matilda stepped in to reassure him. “Odel just thought she saw a rat.”
“Ah.” The man’s gaze shifted from Matilda to Odel, then widened. “It would seem she did see one.”
Odel closed her eyes with a groan. She had felt Lord Cheshire move to her right shoulder. No doubt the little beast was now peering from her hair. Putting her hands out before him as the rat started to climb down her front, Odel offered him a platform to stand on as she lied. “Nay. Not this rat. This rat is . . . er . . . a pet. I thought I spotted another rat!!” She shrieked, whirling away as, instead of moving onto the hand she had lifted, Lord Cheshire took a nosedive down the front of her gown. He was now nestled between her breasts, and apparently quite happy from the way he’d quit squirming.
Pulling her gown away from her chest, Odel dug her other hand in to retrieve the wayward suitor. Matilda was there at once, her cane raised as if to zap her, or the rat, or both. Releasing her gown, Odel immediately snatched the cane with her now free hand, grabbed ahold of the rat with the other, and ripped it out of her top.
“Are you quite all right?” Lord Suthtun was at her side now as well.
Taking a moment to glower in warning at Tildy, Odel handed the rat to her, then turned to Lord Suthtun. “I am fine, my lord,” she assured him, her voice unnaturally brittle. “Just a little trouble. All taken care of now,” she assured him, frowning as she realized that Matilda, Vlaster, and Cheshire were now disappearing down the stairs. “I—umm—I really have to get back to my—er—guests, my lord.” She began backing toward the stairs. “Is there anything you need, then . . .”
