Lord of the Manor (Trysts and Treachery Book 5)

by Elizabeth Keysian

  Cecily became aware of a rumbling sound, followed by a soft scratching at the front door. She leaped to her feet, pressing her cheek against the wood.

  “Are you come to bid me goodnight?” she whispered into the gap by the door frame.

  “Aye. Bene darkmans, Mistress Neville.”

  It was the correct response. Besides which, she’d recognize Allan’s voice anywhere. She rapidly unlocked and unbolted the door, and he entered, rolling a small wooden cask along the ground in front of him. As she secured the door in his wake, he maneuvered the cask upright, then straightened and brushed his hands clean on his thighs.

  “That is the last of it. Two shares—yours and mine.” He gazed at her a moment, then spread his hands out to warm them at the fire. “I’m glad you’ve kept a goodly blaze going—it is colder than the grave out there.”

  “I’ll mull some ale.”

  “That would be most welcome. But I’ll not rest until this cask is hidden from view. Into your hole in the floor, as planned?”

  She nodded, and he drew the fleeces aside, opened the trapdoor, and descended into the hole.

  “Can you tip and roll the thing toward me? I want to lower it down, rather than risk breaking it by dropping it in.”

  She did as he asked, enjoying the faint clink emitted by the barrel as she rolled it into his hands. There must surely be enough coin in there to buy her safe passage. Only—it was no longer coin of the realm, so it might have to be melted down into ingots which could be sold. Which would take time, planning, and a considerable degree of cunning if the hoard’s discovery was to remain secret.

  She hoped that meant she could remain in Temple Roding a little longer and spend more time in Allan’s company. The idea of joining the men in escaping to France—thus leaving Allan behind—was so painful that she refused to think about it. There was so much she didn’t yet know about him, so much to explore. And she wanted to see him put Master Clark in his place. She yearned to see Allan triumph and turn his farming venture into a success. But most of all, she wanted to see the great house built. He had described his plans to her with such enthusiasm and clarity, she could easily visualize the building. The boyish joy she’d seen on his face quite melted her heart.

  The trapdoor snapped shut, and Allan moved the fleeces across, then seated himself atop the pile. Cecily busied herself heating the poker so she could mull the ale—he mustn’t know she’d been watching his every movement, thinking about him, feverishly imagining wicked things to which she couldn’t even give a name.

  As he took the cup of ale from her, his fingers brushed hers, and she felt that pounding jolt of awareness that his touch always produced.

  “You look cold, Cecily. Come sit by the fire with me for a moment or two. I’ll be gone as soon as I’ve warmed myself.”

  She didn’t want him to go. Now that the gold was physically inside the cottage, she felt more vulnerable than before, as if it were a lodestone invisibly attracting the attention of bandits and thieves. And the dangerous Master Kennet Clark.

  “I would have you stay awhile.” She couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice.

  He held her gaze. “I understand. Now that the money is here, you feel less safe. I will stay until the fire dies down, and you’re ready to seek your bed.”

  She didn’t want the fire to die down. She didn’t want to sleep. She would only feel safe while he remained, his quick wit and his strong arms there to protect her. She might be prepared to let him leave when the dull grey dawn penetrated the gaps in the shutters, and the villagers set about their daily tasks. But mayhap, not even then.

  “So—are you happy to go to France with the brethren, now you have the means to pay for your passage?” He raised his cup and saluted her with it before taking a deep draft.

  Happy? Nay. Go to a place full of foreign customs, habits, and a language she couldn’t hope to understand—what was appealing about that?

  She knotted her fingers together. “I don’t want to leave at all.”

  “But you would be safe to worship as you wished.” His voice was soft, his eyes bright in flickering firelight.

  That didn’t seem as important as it once had. Mayhap, as the young King Edward grew to manhood, he would see the value of tolerance. He might appreciate that not recognizing him as head of the church did not make his subjects dangerous, and did not necessarily mean they were likely to take up arms and rise against him.

  “Things might change, might they not? A new power behind the throne, a change of heart from Edward, or successful negotiations with the pope.”

  “And Edward might die, and his unrepentant Catholic sister Mary take over the throne,” Allan added, cradling his mug as he gazed at her.

  “We cannot predict what will be, alas.” Mayhap if they all left for France now, they’d be able to return in a few years—if circumstances changed.

  “Your ‘uncles’ have no qualms about leaving. I have spoken to them all, and they are set upon it. Only you, it seems, are unsure.” His eyes bored into her as if he were trying to see into her soul.

  “I would miss the village, and the commandery. They have been my life.” Her throat was dry. She turned her back on Allan and poured herself some water. Anything to break free from that knowing gaze.

  “There is one way in which you would be able to stay here.”

  She jumped. He’d come right up behind her, moving softly as a cat. The heat of him warmed her back, and she knew that if she turned around, she would be virtually in his embrace.

  “What’s that?” she asked, busying herself pointlessly with the crocks and jars on the shelf.

  His voice was even softer, his mouth close to her ear as he whispered, “You could become my wife.”

  The tension building up in her was released like the snap of a bowstring. His offer was exactly what she needed to hear. But did he truly mean it?

  She turned slowly, keeping her eyes lowered. “But I don’t deserve it. How could you want to be with me when I’ve kept so much from you and deceived you for so long?”

  He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “I understand your reasons for doing so. I like the brethren you have striven to protect—they are all good men and noble to the core. I’m happy now to protect them myself, as you have seen. And I’m more than happy to protect you.”

  “Is that all you want? To protect me?” They had both spoken of love before—words released in anger, admittedly, and therefore not to be trusted. But even though she would have her precious commandery back, what joy would there be in a marriage where Allan felt obliged to give her his name in order to protect her? She had known familial love from the former lay brothers. If she could find it nowhere else, not even in her marriage, she might as well go with them and have done.

  “You were none too keen when we spoke of it before. I sense you welcome the idea even less now. Yet, you do not try to run away from me.”

  How could she? Her legs wouldn’t carry her. Her skirts were brushing against Allan’s thighs, and he held her trapped with his strong, work-worn fingers cupping her chin.

  “I’m getting cold. Let’s go back to the fire.”

  “Wait.” He planted himself more firmly in front of her. She could feel the ridge of the shelf against her bottom—there was nowhere to retreat.

  “Cecily. Look at me.”

  She looked—and found herself drowning in his blue eyes. Her lips parted.

  “You haven’t given me a decisive ‘nay’. Am I still to hope?”

  “Hope for what?” He was only offering to wed her to keep her safe. What else was he expecting?

  “Hope that you might marry me because you care for me. As I do for you.”

  He had lowered his head, his full, firm lips but a whisper away. As she gazed at them, her own burned, hungry for the touch of his kiss. Her hand rested on his chest. How had that got there? She gazed into his eyes, blazing in their intensity, and saw reflected there that same hunger she felt herself.
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  “Kiss me.” She hadn’t meant to demand it, but as soon as he responded, she knew it didn’t matter how the kiss had begun—it was simply meant to be. His lips plundered hers as his hands dug into her shoulders, and she answered his need with a hunger of her own. When her arms went up to encircle his neck, he slipped his hands to her waist, dragging her body hard against his. She clutched him more tightly, pressing her lips more urgently against his mouth.

  He pulled away for a moment, laughing. “Not quite what I expected when I asked for your hand. But as positive a response as I could hope for.”

  Had she sealed her fate by kissing him? Her body seemed to think she had—it was urging her to explore further, to demand more. Had danger heightened her need for him? Or was it just that she’d repressed that need for far too long?

  “Could it work? For us, I mean? Might we be happy, despite our differences?”

  He smiled. “Mayhap we could be happy because of them. I don’t ask you to give up all you hold dear for me. I still respect your choice of faith. It doesn’t change who you are.”

  “And I might be able to tolerate your choices, too,” she teased. “If my conscience will allow.”

  “Will your conscience allow this?” He bent his head to kiss her again, then nuzzled at her neck and nibbled her earlobe.

  “It will. I like it.” Her voice had become breathy, seductive. This was a new, unfamiliar Cecily, a girl who was fast becoming a woman in this man’s arms.

  He chuckled again, and moved across to tantalize her other ear, then trailed a series of kisses down her neck, filling her body with delicious shivers. Her hands were plucking at his doublet, loving the hard masculine feel of the muscle beneath. She wanted to touch him underneath the cloth, be closer to the tempting heat of his skin.

  He must have had the same idea, for she felt movement against her breastbone and realized he had undone the knot that secured the lacing of her kirtle.

  This was dangerous. This was playing with fire. But her body refused to respond to her will—it became an instrument in the hands of an expert musician, and every part of her that his fingers touched thronged with excitement.

  Their lips joined again, and he pushed forward, his hips pressing against hers in poignant invitation, and the breath left her body in a great sigh.

  “I want to feel you,” she gasped. “I want to feel all of you.”

  She was drunk on his kisses, doing bold, sinful things she could never have imagined. Her fingers tore at his points, and as the kiss deepened, she pushed the thick wool of his doublet down over his shoulders, running her hands over the warm, crumpled linen of his shirt.

  Then his tongue invaded her mouth and, for a while, she was lost, all direction, all intention gone.

  Cool air brushed her shoulders as he eased the sleeves of her kirtle downward, then tugged at the lower part of her laces to release her completely. Her nipples sprang to full, urgent life as the chill touched them and remained thus when his palms cupped her breasts, eliciting another deep sigh from her.

  He released her lips for a moment. “It is too cold for undressing. What say you we seek your bed?”

  Nay—that would ruin the moment. She’d have to think of practical things like covering the fire, lighting a candle, and then climbing the ladder into the unwelcoming darkness of her bedchamber above. What if she awoke from his drugging touch? What if she lost courage?

  “There is a heap of fleeces by the fire,” she purred.

  “I’d forgotten. But you’ll be shy of me if you can see me. And you’ll want to cover yourself, too, I fear.”

  “Nay. I’ve already seen a large part of you, when you labored shirtless in the moat.”

  “That’s not the large part of me I was thinking of.” His voice was thick as velvet, promising pleasure.

  “I’ll close my eyes if I don’t like what I see,” she replied stoutly and gave him a gentle shove back toward the fire.

  He didn’t give her the opportunity to become shy. He claimed her lips again, clasped his hands behind her bottom, and lifted her against him, her erect nipples rasping against his chest. After another assault of passionate kisses, he let her slide slowly down his body, and she felt the pressure of his manhood against her belly, filling her with a heady mixture of triumph and excitement.

  She had done this to him! It was her kiss, her body, that had brought about this remarkable transformation. Eagerly, she reached down to explore him further.

  “Stay, Wench. So eager!”

  Did it matter if she was eager? They were to be wed, were they not? Unless their different faiths made it impossible.

  “Don’t look like that, my love. Pray, continue exploring, if you wish. Only—the more you incite me, the harder it will be for me to maintain my self-control. And I don’t want to rush this.”

  She pressed a hand against his chest. “Must we be wed in a Protestant church?”

  “We don’t need to be wed in any church if you don’t wish it—I can just claim you as my wife, and it will serve, so long as you accept me. Taking you to bed is as good as asserting such a claim—who would gainsay us?”

  “My uncles. They might.”

  “Hush now. They have lived long enough in the world to know the way of it. But if you would prefer to wait until all interested parties have been consulted, I will honor your wishes.”

  Wait? Could she bear it? Waiting would allow time for uncertainty to creep in. She didn’t want that. She was certain of now, of this moment, this man. She was certain of how much she wanted him.

  The men would understand, would they not? If they loved her, they’d want her to stay where she felt she belonged. And they all liked Allan. But did he love her? Could he be true to her?

  As if reading her mind, he cupped her face and held her gaze. “I love you, Mistress Cecily Neville. Be in no doubt of that. I will do whatever I can to please you, to make you at the very least content with me. Even happy, if I am able.”

  He loved her! What a heady feeling it was to know that. Should she say she loved him back? Nay—it was too soon. She was putting her body into his hands—she might make him wait a little longer before admitting he had her heart as well. She didn’t want him to start strutting about like a prideful peacock.

  “Thank you. I’m glad.” She gave him what she thought was a mysterious, provocative smile.

  It seemed to work. He bent his head and plundered her lips again, then thrust his tongue once more into her mouth, in greedy possession.

  She clung to him, alight with the thrill of his touch, and pushed her hands up under his shirt, curling them around his waist, into the small of his back, and up over the rippling muscles as far as she could reach.

  He released her mouth. “Shall I take this off?” he offered.

  She nodded, watching unashamedly as his bared torso was revealed, chuckling softly at the disarray of his hair after he pulled the shirt over his head. As he flung the garment to one side, she reached for his hair and enjoyed untidying it some more before her hands dropped to his shoulders.

  Such powerful shoulders! His muscles were as hard as iron, yet the skin felt so soft. What a wonder a man could be, especially a physically fit one in the prime of his age. She ran her eyes over the smattering of dark hair on his chest and the narrow column below his navel that disappeared tantalizingly beneath the waistband of his hose.

  “Tell me you are mine,” he demanded, taking her by the elbows.

  “I am yours,” she agreed dreamily, reaching for him again.

  “Then you’ll not mind if I do this.” Before she could move, he’d pushed her kirtle down to her feet and steadied her as she stepped out of it.

  “Now, lie down,” he commanded, “and close your eyes.”

  She didn’t want to—she didn’t want to miss any of this. “Why?”

  “You’re not used to being exposed. And you have never seen a man’s body revealed in the way mine is about to be. I want you to feel first and look second. Lovemaki
ng is not a lesson to be learned—it is a delight to be experienced.”

  So, she closed her eyes and allowed Allan to take charge. He swept her up, then knelt and laid her gently atop the fleeces. After a few moments of rustling, she felt his body stretch out alongside hers, warming her. Then she felt her shift begin to move—he was raising it with one hand as he kissed his way up the inside of her leg.

  How incredibly wicked! What an intrusion! But when he reached her inner thigh, and she could feel his hot breath on her most secret parts, he lifted his head.

  She squeezed her legs together, wishing guiltily he might have continued, but then she felt her shift pulled even higher, and her attention focused on the continuing passage of his kisses, leading directly up over her belly and toward her breasts.

  Her shift snagged under her, so she lifted her bottom, and suddenly the fabric was right up beneath her chin, exposing her breasts, and all of her lower body.

  As Allan’s hand found one breast and cupped it gently, she became aware that where his thigh rested against hers, it was no longer covered in woolen cloth. He was naked. His manhood was free and pressing firmly against her thigh. She squeezed her legs together again in a moment of incredible wantonness, feeling an intriguing tingle there.

  “Now, I have you trapped,” he murmured, imprisoning her hands on either side of her face. “I can do whatever I like with you.”

  Her nipples had peaked with the touch of the cooler air. Now, she wanted his touch there, too.

  “What can you do with your hands full?” she queried.

  “I can do this.” His hair brushed across one bared breast as he saluted its tip with his tongue. The feel of the hot moisture of his mouth, followed by the sting of cold air, was breathtaking, but when he took her nipple right into his mouth to suck it, she shattered.

  “Who says I can’t do anything,” he repeated, nudging his knee between her thighs until it pushed up against her mound. The invasion was a sign of her weakness, of his power over her. Then she pushed against his knee, and pleasure rippled through her.