As he gazed at her, at the dark cloud of hair spilling over her shoulders, at her pert mouth and stubborn, elfin chin, he knew everything had changed. That change had been coming for a while, so slowly he’d barely been aware of it. But this woman had captured his heart and now held it prisoner. That was why it had felt so right to cradle her in his lap, why their kiss had been perfect, and why he’d felt no sense of sin when he’d shared his bed with her.
“Forgive me. That’s not what I meant to say at all. If I touched you, I was still half-asleep—I didn’t know what I was doing. But let me make amends.”
She glanced at the sword, frowning. He feared he’d lost her trust, and that hurt more than he cared to admit.
“How can you make amends?”
He cleared his throat, then stepped away from the hearth and indicated the chair. “Pray, sit. I have something to say to you.”
Still wary, she came back into the room and settled into the chair, drawing her cloak around her like armor. “Go on. I’m willing to listen to your apology.”
“Nay.” He softened his voice. “I have more to offer than that. This place, the old commandery, is close to your heart, is it not?”
The guarded look was back. “Why do you say that?”
“Don’t toy with me, Cecily. I know it means more to you than an easy source of small game and vegetables.”
She let out a sigh. “If you must know—it is because I was born here.”
He did a rapid calculation. “But that would surely have been—”
“When the place was still run by the Knight’s Hospitaller. I know. But there was a guest house here, and my mother was traveling—alone—when she was brought to childbed. She died.”
He shook his head, remembering his own tragedy. “I’m right sorry to hear it.” He waited, expecting her to say more, but she was lost in thought.
“You would have no memory of that moment if you were but a babe.” There must be something else that drew her here. But still she said nothing.
He chewed on his knuckle, then prepared to try again. He was about to lay his heart before her—his very fragile, wounded heart. He prayed she would be gentle with it.
“When Lettice has recovered, you will, I assume, cease your labors here.”
She sat up straighter at that, her cheeks reddening. “I suppose I must if you no longer have need of me. I’ll not deprive the girl of her employment.”
“There is one way in which you might remain here. On a permanent basis—since you love the place so much.”
Her eyes were large and dark, her expression puzzled. “I do love it.”
“Then mayhap, in time, you might come to love me, too. As your husband.”
He’d expected her to gasp in shock or slap him and rush out of the room. Or arm herself with his sword again. But she did none of those things.
“I appreciate your offer,” she said slowly, “and I understand the spirit in which it is made. But I cannot marry you.”
He had expected a refusal. At least in the first instance. But to him, it was the ideal solution for both of them. In time, she would realize that, too.
“Cannot, or will not? Why?”
“Cannot. We are too—different.”
“There are no differences that can’t be overridden. As God is my witness, I will do all I can to make it a happy union.”
Suddenly, she was on her feet. Before he could stop her, she had rushed through the door, but not before he caught a glimmer of tears in her eyes.
“Cecily, wait!” He hurried after her, leaping recklessly down the stairs and through the open front door into the courtyard.
His eyes were met by a sight that chilled him to the bone. Cecily, struggling in the brutal grasp of Kennett Clark.
Chapter Sixteen
White-hot anger flooded Allan’s body. “Let her go, Kennett.”
The man had a sword by his side and a dagger in his belt. Allan had nothing, but that didn’t deter him from striding straight up to Kennett and seizing him by the throat.
Kennett immediately released Cecily, but the determined look on his face didn’t change. “Let. Me. Go. Urgent. News.”
Allan pushed Cecily behind him, shielding her from his adversary. He relaxed his grip.
“Spit it out then, and be gone. But not before you’ve apologized to the lady.”
“I see no lady here,” Kennett growled. “But my news does concern her.”
He paused, a knowing look on his face. Allan stiffened. He didn’t take his eyes off Kennett, ready to floor the man the instant his hand moved toward one of his blades. Cecily stepped to his side, but he caught her hand, anchoring her to him. He couldn’t protect her if she moved away.
“Now you have two insults for which to make amends.” Allan didn’t know how he managed to keep his voice so even. He knew exactly what Kennett thought had happened between him and Cecily, but he was damned if he’d have the man leer at him or smirk at Cecily as if she were some kind of trollop. When he had her promise to become his wife, he’d make sure Kennett was the first to know.
“You are the one who should feel insulted, Brother.” Kennett pulled his doublet back straight and gave a mirthless grin. “That bitch has pulled the wool over your eyes, as have those so-called uncles of hers. They have made you a laughingstock.”
Allan felt Cecily’s arm stiffen and gave her a reassuring squeeze. He tipped his chin up. “You will be made to eat your words, you whoreson.”
“Not when you hear what I have to say. Yon doxy is a child of the commandery, brought up by the lay brothers, three of whom still dwell nearby, and all of them working on our manor. Each and every one of them must be evicted from the village—I’ll not have this manor sullied by a bunch of traitors who refused to take the king’s oath.”
Allan felt the tension in Cecily’s arm. He didn’t want to look at her face, dreaded to see the truth in her eyes. Had she really kept that vital knowledge from him all this time? Had he been so blind, so foolish, that he hadn’t worked it out for himself?
Or was Kennett just stirring trouble out of jealousy?
“You lie,” he growled. “You have always been a two-faced, manipulative rodent. There’ll be something in it for you if you proliferate this rumor, won’t there?”
His heart stopped. But of course, there would be an advantage in it for Kennett. If he denounced Allan as a Catholic sympathizer, harboring a group of former lay brothers and their protégé, investigations would be made. Investigations which might ultimately result in Allan losing everything he owned.
Never had he felt closer to committing cold-blooded murder than at this moment. He fought to keep his voice steady. “I assume you have evidence to support your claim. Rumor is not enough.”
“Much of this realm’s justice depends on what our neighbors are prepared to swear to. Testaments can be bought, and evidence can be found. You’re in a precarious position, Allan. How do you know these fiends aren’t plotting against our king even as we speak? You should thank me for warning you not to get involved with them.”
Plotters against the monarchy? Were Cecily and her three benign guardians capable of treasonous acts? He very much doubted that.
“Only if what you allege is true.”
“It is true,” Kennett sneered. “Look at the slut. Guilt is written all over her.”
“I will make my own investigations, Kennett. I’m still lord of this manor—not you.”
“And you’ll be able to ‘lord’ it over me as much as you want, as soon as you have bought me out.”
“Which I fully intend to do.” Allan hoped he was making a good show of having calmed down. Inside, he wanted to rip Kennett to pieces and throw those pieces to the crows.
“Ah, well.” Kennett stroked his dark beard, then narrowed his eyes at Cecily. “I doubt that stay of execution you wanted is viable now. Imagine the complications if you’re in prison, denounced as a traitor or a Catholic plotter! I would have to wait until the cogs o
f the law had completed their slow grinding—and as you know, waiting is not my strong point. However, I’m not unreasonable. Hand over your whore to me, and I’ll consider giving you those additional two sennights for you to gather your funds and buy me out.”
“You dog! I’ll make you regret your filthy words.”
Cecily darted forward, but Allan caught her just in time, hissing into her ear, “Would you fly at a man armed with both sword and dagger? Let me deal with him.”
“Still plenty of fire left in her then.” Kennett smirked. “A quality that I admire in a strumpet.”
Allan could take no more. Releasing Cecily, he strode forward, knocked Kennett to the ground, and pinned his hands so he couldn’t reach for a weapon.
“One more insult aimed at my intended, and I’ll throw you in the moat and enjoy hurling limestone blocks at you until you’re insensible. If I caved your skull in, or you happened to drown, it would be no great loss.”
This utterance was greeted by gasps from both Cecily and Kennett. Then Kennett turned his head aside and burst into laughter.
“You! And her! Married? Your wits have gone begging, Allan. Take her for a mistress, aye, but wed the bitch? That’s an insult to Hannah’s memory.”
“Enough!” Allan raised his fist, ready to strike the man who lay crushed beneath him, but the next instant, Cecily was beside him, tugging his arm down.
“Stay your hand. He’s not worth getting into trouble over. Besides, methinks that something’s amiss. That’s Simpkin running up the lane, waving to get our attention.”
Reluctantly, Allan got off Kennett and dragged the man to his feet. “You are the one who has been given a stay of execution, not me. Now—be gone. I have business to attend to.”
He turned his back, silently daring Kennett to strike him, safe in the knowledge that the man was too much of a coward to do so in cold blood, especially in front of witnesses. Not that he’d mind having the excuse of being forced to kill the man in self-defense, only… Kennett was Hannah’s brother, and he owed it to his dead wife not to slay the man, no matter how much he deserved it.
“What is it, Simpkin?” he demanded as the boy puffed up to them.
Simpkin took a moment to catch his breath, then turned his attention to Cecily. “Master Martin says you are to come at once. Goodwife Baker is brought to childbed, and your midwifery skills are needed.”
Allan blinked. He hadn’t known Cecily had any such skills. This woman would never cease to amaze him. What an accomplished wife she would make! But could he even consider wedlock if Kennett’s story turned out to be true? Because a marriage built on betrayal was doomed to fail.
“Simpkin—help our visitor onto his horse, and escort him off the manor. If he objects, set the dogs on him. Then remain here, I pray, and get the kitchen fire going. We’ll be in dire need of vittles by the time we return.”
“There’s no need for you—”
“Hush.” Allan held Cecily’s gaze until she looked away, and his heart sank. Mayhap, Kennett had spoken the truth after all. Whatever the situation was, it needed discussing. They could talk about it on the way to the village.
“Are you warm enough? Do you want to borrow a spare cloak? Do you need to take any medicinal herbs from the garden?”
Cecily, who was looking pale, shook her head. “Nay—I thank you, sir. Martin will have all he needs to hand. He cares for the mother while I help bring forth the child.”
Allan took her by the elbow again, remembering the joyous panic and nervous exhaustion that had attended Hannah’s lying in. And the desolation thereafter. Nothing must be allowed to go wrong with this birth.
“Hurry, then.” He could have Simpkin saddle up Baldur for them, but with the ground frozen solid and the lane full of potholes, he didn’t want to risk a nasty fall.
Cecily struggled to keep up with his stride as he headed for the village, so he had to slow down in order to speak with her.
“Is there any truth in that gossip of which Kennett spoke?”
He held his breath. So much depended on her answer. He’d hoped for a denial, so it felt like a dagger twisting in his gut when she whispered, “Aye, there is.”
If they hadn’t been on an urgent mission, he’d have stopped in his tracks, shaken her by the shoulders, kissed her, and pleaded with her. Done anything, in truth, to change that “aye” into a “nay”. But the admission was now made, and he couldn’t make her unsay the words.
“So—it’s all true, then?”
“Aye. Benedict, Martin, and Anselm all worked at the commandery. The younger two were lay brothers. Not full monks, and certainly nothing like the warrior monks, the former crusading Hospitallers of whom you may have heard. Benedict’s vows were more binding, since he was the chaplain. The Order did not fare too badly when the other monasteries were being torn asunder, as the Hospitallers weren’t considered true monks. But in 1540, because we were still loyal to the pope, and filthy lies about superstitious practices started flying around, the commandery was seized by the late King Henry and—” Her voice shook, and it was a moment before she continued. “And everyone associated with it, but most especially the preceptor and other officials, was made to swear the Oath of Supremacy. Some swore, and some hid to avoid doing so but we were all cast out in the end, and everything we’d worked for was stolen from us. The preceptor, one of the most senior monks on site, refused to swear.” Her voice broke.
Allan nodded. The original Act of Supremacy, confirming Henry, not the pope, as head of the Church in England, had tested the loyalty of many of the king’s subjects, including the once favored Thomas More. Allan had been a swaggering lad of fifteen summers when More was executed, and had been too interested in horses, girls and swordplay to be affected by the event. Cecily must have been little more than a child when Henry turned his attention to the Hospitallers, and tore her world asunder.
She continued, her breath forming clouds in the icy air. “I’d been living at the commandery for nine years by then—I’ve already told you part of my story. The brothers had adopted me after my mother’s death and cared for me better than any nameless bastard could hope for.”
“How do you know that you were born out of wedlock?” Though he knew she’d betrayed him, it hurt to hear her refer to herself as a bastard.
“My mother told them, in broken English, that my sire had deserted her. That was about all she managed to say—she was near exhaustion. It was assumed that her family had thrown her out, and she’d been wandering as a beggar.”
It was great-hearted of the monks to take in a pregnant vagrant. If Cecily’s looks were anything to go by, her mother, whether she had started out as a pauper or not, must have been a great beauty.
“As I said—the preceptor refused to take the oath. He was executed for treason. But we heard he was tortured first, to try and make him change his mind.”
Everyone knew the gruesome punishments that awaited traitors and rebels. But the idea of torture was abhorrent. Allan chewed on his lip, struggling to come to terms with these revelations.
They had almost reached the village now, and Cecily had fallen silent.
“Is that all?”
“Essentially, aye.”
“And do you hold secret Masses?”
There was a definite hesitation before she replied. But it wasn’t to answer his question.
“You won’t give us up, will you? We’ve lived so quietly all these years, never harming a soul. The villagers know and, until now, have kept our secret.”
There was an acid sting in the back of Allan’s throat. “And you didn’t think to tell me any of this five months ago? Nor even yesterday, when I shared my most private griefs with you? You didn’t think to tell me before I kissed you? After I’d kissed you? You didn’t see the need to explain after I’d asked you to become my wife?”
He’d found out from Kennett instead, and that was even more galling than if he’d learned the truth from Cecily’s own lips.
&nbs
p; “It wasn’t my secret to tell.” He heard tears in her voice. “If they were found out and made to take the oath, they’d refuse it, too. And now everything has become worse with the new king—with the introduction of the English prayer book, services in Latin being forbidden, all icons removed from churches, and priests being allowed to wed. Toleration of Catholics is slipping away, and naught is being done to stop it.”
She ended with a sob. Allan gritted his teeth. Aye, he could feel sympathy for her and her “uncles”—their world had been turned upside down. But she should have told him. Certainly, long before he’d allowed himself to fall in love with her.
He summoned all his strength, tapping into that same resilience that had carried him through the loss of Hannah and their babe. “Don’t think about it now. You have a child to bring into the world. That matters more. You may trust me to say naught—for now. Go.”
He didn’t wait for a proper farewell, didn’t stay to find out if the labor had a successful outcome. He needed to head home and seek solitude. He needed time to think.
As it was, he came to be granted plenty of time to consider his actions, but not in the way he’d planned. Just as he strode through the commandery gateway, he was set upon by at least three huge ruffians. He fought manfully, but being unarmed, was no match for their superior force. Someone swung a heavy implement at his head, sending him to his knees. The last thing he heard before the darkness took him were Kennett’s high-pitched laugh and the words, “How will you keep her safe from me now, Allan, eh? She’ll be mine before the year is out.”
Chapter Seventeen
It took two days for the news of Allan’s arrest to reach Cecily. Her soul had been weary from the momentous events and disclosures at Christmas, and her body exhausted after attending the long labor endured by the baker’s wife. But a lusty baby boy had eventually come forth, and Cecily had retrieved Charlemagne and then stumbled back to her cottage, collapsing onto her bed, shaking with sobs and tears.
Lord of the Manor (Trysts and Treachery Book 5) Page 12
