Lord of the Manor (Trysts and Treachery Book 5)

by Elizabeth Keysian

  “I’m here. And Martin is below. I urged him to return home, but he refused.”

  Allan pondered this for a moment. “They should leave. All of them.”

  He paused to cough, and Cecily held a horn beaker to his lips. He swallowed a sweet liquid that numbed his throat a little. It tasted good.

  “What’s that?”

  “Hoarhound and honey, with a bit of licorice. Martin made it.”

  “It’s good. Kennett?”

  She smoothed his forehead and stroked a hand down one side of his face. “In prison. To be tried at the next assizes for arson and attempted murder.”

  “Arson?” Had Kennett started the fire deliberately? And had he known both Cecily and he were inside?

  “Indeed. Master Copeland was out early taking his pig to the common, and saw Clark shoot a fire arrow at the thatch. Later, the area where he’d been standing was searched and the bow, pitch and tinderbox were discovered.”

  Ah. Allan remembered that tinderbox—it was inscribed with Kennett’s initials. That would have sealed his fate, no doubt.

  “There’s no way on God’s earth that he can fight the charges, no matter how many people he tries to bribe. There were too many witnesses, including the constable himself.”

  “It should never have come to this. If only I’d realized sooner how immoral, how deranged—”

  “Nay.” She took the empty beaker from him. “You cannot blame yourself. No one could have predicted Kennett would go to such ends to take the commandery from you. Or to have me.”

  “To have you?” Allan sank back against his pillows. “But you were in the cottage with me. He could have killed you, too.”

  “I don’t think he meant to harm me. He didn’t lock the door until I was safe. How he knew you were in there with me, I’ve no idea.”

  “He must have been watching.” How deep did Kennett’s depravity go? How could so sweet a woman as Hannah have had so selfish, manipulative, and unprincipled a brother?

  “I had no idea he had become so obsessed with me. I never imagined your friendship with me could put you in such danger.”

  Friendship? It was a great deal more than that, especially now. But he mustn’t press her—she was probably still in shock. “It’s all over now. He can’t hurt us anymore.”

  “But your poor hands! They could be ruined.”

  He could feel the sting of the burns, but though they pained him, he could move all his fingers. “They’ll heal.”

  He stilled. Talking was an effort. And with these bandages on, he couldn’t touch Cecily, couldn’t feel the silk of her hair, or enjoy the creamy flesh of her cheek. He opened his arms.

  Moving slowly, she nestled into him, evidently on the lookout for any discomfort he might be suffering. This stubborn, determined young woman truly had a heart of gold, more valuable than any Templar treasure.

  “Are you hurt?” He kissed the top of her head, then nuzzled against her hair.

  “Nay. But Charlemagne’s gone.” There was a wobble in her voice.

  He held her tighter. This would be a blow from which it would take her a long time to recover. He understood how much the falcon had meant to her.

  “Gone? Tell me how you know this.”

  “He fought Master Clark for the key after that villain locked you in. But the last person to see Charlemagne said he was flying away, distressed, with smoke coming from his feathers. He’s not been back since the fire. I haven’t seen him since yesterday, and never before has he been absent so long.”

  Allan grimaced. He’d been lying here abed for a day and a night? Surely, he had more vigor than to lie in bed all that time, letting others attend to him after such a catastrophe?

  “I’m so sorry. I should get up and help you look for him.”

  “Nay.” She pushed gently against his chest. “You’re under the orders of your physician, Martin. He gave you a sleeping draft yesterday to calm and quiet you while he tended to your burns. Your green doublet is ruined, I fear. It was singed and hot, and sticking to you in places, so we had to cut it off.”

  He would have laughed, only he’d have ended up choking. “You fret over my doublet when you have lost your bird, your home, and—I assume—all your possessions. Did the fire spread?”

  “It did not, thanks be to Mary. I don’t know what can be saved from my cottage. Well, your cottage, in truth, since you’re the lord of the manor. But Anselm and Benedict are over there at present to see what may be saved. Speaking of possessions, I have something for you.”

  A gift? The last thing he expected at such a time. But who was sending him gifts?

  “The cache of coin? It’s been saved?” It would certainly be a help if it had. If he was to become a married man soon, he wanted his wife to have every comfort.

  But when Cecily held up the miniature portrait of Hannah for him to see, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “What is this? How does it come about that you have Hannah’s picture?”

  “You used it to buy your way out of that cell that Master Clark put you in. The constable, fearing mayhap to get into trouble, returned it to me yesterday afternoon. He must be worried Master Clark will talk freely before the magistrates in hopes of winning himself some leniency. Master Wright clearly doesn’t want wrongful arrest and the taking of bribes tainting his name, so he’s been returning his spoils to their rightful owners. Or so I imagine.”

  Allan couldn’t hold the precious jewel or even touch it. But the object mattered less than it used to. The person was gone, a treasured memory. Now he had Cecily, with whom new memories would be made. The sooner they could be wed, the better.

  But fear still clouded his hopes. “If Kennett is out for mercy, he’ll say whatever he can to gain his ends. He may once again repeat that story about you and your uncles being closet Catholics and traitors. I can protect you, but I worry about the men. The only genuinely safe place they can go is beyond these shores—think you that they are ready to quit the country?”

  Cecily laid Hannah’s miniature on the chest beside his bed and snuggled back into his embrace.

  “You shouldn’t concern yourself with them. You must get better—there’s naught you can do for now. Master Swaffham is on the manor today, making sure all is done as it should be, so that you may rest and recover.”

  It wasn’t in his nature to do such a thing, but when she tilted her face up to meet his eyes, he saw the ardent appeal in them.

  “So,” he said softly. “You intend to overrule me in this. But I’m stronger than you might imagine. I cannot keep to my bed and I don’t wish to. Unless, of course, you are in it with me.”

  He enjoyed the flush that stole over her cheeks but held back from kissing her. That would be too much of a distraction when there were still urgent matters to consider.

  “The men must move in here—all three of them. It is easier for me to protect them if they’re all together. If the world knows that we are all soon to be family, no one will question if I choose to move everyone into my own dwelling. This place is too vast for one man, in any case.”

  “What do you mean, ‘the world knows’?” The flush had intensified. She was thinking of the night before last. As was he.

  “I was not so traumatized that I failed to notice you throwing yourself at me when I escaped and covering my face with kisses. The entire village witnessed the spectacle. Our night of unparalleled joy is now a matter of common knowledge.”

  He kissed her frown. “Don’t be shy. Unless you have some discarded sweethearts amongst the village lads, I have no doubt that everyone will be glad for us. And doubtless, they will look to you to reform me, and mold me into becoming the best lord of the manor the village has ever known.”

  Before she could respond, a door banged below, and the next moment, he heard footsteps speeding up the stairs. He unwillingly relinquished Cecily, who scurried over and settled herself in his cross-framed chair. She was the picture of innocent concern when he called “Enter!” and Bened
ict came into the room.

  “Master—you’re awake. Feeling better, I trust?”

  “Aye—I thank you. I can tell by your haste that you have news.”

  “It concerns the cottage.” Benedict shot Cecily a look of sympathy. She tilted her chin, apparently resigned to hearing bad news, and Allan’s heart swelled with pride at her courage.

  “It’s all gone, isn’t it?” she stated. “Everything is ruined.”

  “Not everything. The neighbors saved the pig and your chickens. Your pots are mostly melted, and your clothing, alas, is burned to a cinder. But have no fear—I’ll make you some new shoes straightaway, better than any you have ever owned before. And Martin will weave you a new straw hat for the summer.”

  “And I’ll send to Cambridge for a bolt of wool.” Allan gave her a gentle smile. “In whatever color you would prefer.”

  “Has Charlemagne returned?”

  Allan winced to see the look of hope shining on her face. He could be forgiven for wondering at times if she cared more for that bird than she did for him.

  Benedict shook his head. “Alas, nay. But he may be too shocked as yet, and will return when he has recovered himself. Don’t give up hope, Niece. I do have some good tidings to impart, however. Anselm and I unearthed your cache of coin, and it is undamaged. It’s been concealed in Anselm’s cottage until you decide what to do with it.”

  “Good tidings, indeed—thank you. Now, we have weighty matters to discuss.” Allan reached for a beaker of water to stall an imminent coughing fit. “I’ve suggested to Cecily that you have two choices before you. Master Kennett may denounce you from his prison cell. If so, investigations could be set in motion that will be unpleasant for us all. I would have you, Martin, and Anselm come live here with me. You may continue the demolition work for, while Kennett yet lives, I still owe him for two-thirds of the commandery. And even if he is condemned, that money is owed to his family. He has uncles and cousins that I know of—they attended my wedding to Hannah.”

  He paused and took another deep draft of water. “It will be clear that you’re under my protection. I doubt anyone in the village will speak out against you, as you’ve proved yourself most useful to them over the years. But they will also be advised to hold their tongues since, as their landlord, I could evict them on a whim.”

  “But you wouldn’t, Allan, would you?”

  “Only if it was a matter of life or death, sweet lady. The alternative is for the men to depart for France in the next few days. We are past the worst storms of winter now, so you can expect a safe crossing.”

  The room fell silent as Benedict digested Allan’s words. In the fields beyond, a sheep bell tinkled, and the doves were cooing. From the walnut tree, a robin proclaimed his territory in anticipation of spring. The life of nature continued unaffected, even when the affairs of men were in turmoil. Many lives would depend on the decision Benedict made in the next few moments.

  “I think we would all elect to stay, for the time being. We would hope to see—” He paused, shooting Cecily a sober look.

  Allan finished his sentence for him. “You would like to see Cecily wed. I understand. I would do it tomorrow, but I imagine you would like the banns called first, and the old traditions to be followed.”

  Benedict’s grin lit up the room. Cecily’s cheeks glowed pink yet again, but her eyes were shining.

  “You must be recovered, Master. We wouldn’t want you choking through your vows or having to be fed your wedding feast because you can’t handle a knife or spoon yourself. We also need to be subtle in our use of the treasure. For any of us to appear to have sudden riches will arouse suspicion and jealousy, which could be dangerous. We must all deal carefully with our wealth, mayhap pay for our passage to France in installments, so it appears that we have earned the coin we will be using to pay for it. I do not,” he added, holding his hands out, palms forward, “I do not want to send the holy vessels to be melted—that pricks my conscience and sticks in my craw. I would have those reburied here, if possible. They are part of the commandery’s story and should be preserved complete for future generations.”

  “An admirable decision.” Allan grinned. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, uncle-in-law, I need to be impolite and clear my lungs.”

  Benedict nodded and excused himself, but Cecily remained.

  “I don’t need an audience,” he complained. “Haven’t you something you could be doing?”

  She ignored his pretended ill-humor and came to lean against him, kissing him on the lips.

  “Cough away. I’ll go to the kitchen and make some broth, then tell Martin you’re awake. He’ll want to see how his patient fares.”

  He reached for her hand, forgetting the problems with his own, then cursed.

  “Be patient, my love,” she advised, smiling softly at him. “All will soon be well.”

  And he knew that with her beside him, all would be well forever and anon.

  When Allan awoke from his doze, the sun had moved around, and his room was dark and gloomy. There was no rustle of linen, no quiet breathing. Cecily was gone—to rest, he hoped—and from the quiet that blanketed the manor, the men had downed tools for the day and departed.

  Soon, this place would be a hive of activity from dawn to dusk and beyond. No more privacy for him and Cecily—which he supposed was quite proper—and no more moments of quiet solitude as he tried to bury the past and look forward to the future.

  He recalled that there was a pile of old bricks in the walled garden. From that elevated position, he had discovered that he could watch the sun as it set, turning the clouds to violet, red, and gold. Soon, he would share that wondrous moment, that spectacular view, with Cecily—his wife.

  But for one last time, he wanted to enjoy it on his own, to make peace with his demons, to try and forgive Kennett his evil intentions. He needed to say a final farewell to Hannah’s spirit and to give himself heart, body, and soul into Cecily’s keeping.

  Donning hose or stockings was an impossibility without assistance. He rammed his boots on and succeeded in swinging a warm cloak over the top of his night shirt. The door latches were a struggle, but Martin had bandaged and padded his injured hands so well that he felt no additional discomfort. Soon, he was in the walled garden, ascending the brick pile and doing his utmost to avoid having to use his hands.

  It felt good to breathe the fresh air again, though its chill made his lungs ache. He was fortunate to be alive and would never cease to give thanks for that fact. Life was precious, and he meant to live it to the fullest.

  The sunset tonight was disappointing. There was little cloud to reflect the sunlight and, high above, the moon was gradually coming into view. In the gloom, he could see an odd, huddled shape in the walnut tree.

  He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dusk. It was a bird, a roosting owl, mayhap, that had yet to set about its nighttime feeding routine. It was certainly a bird of prey—the head was too large to be a pigeon.

  Then, with a shock of recognition, he realized there was something dangling from the bird’s feet. Leather jesses, perchance? Excited, he stared at the bird, then called its name softly. “Charlemagne?”

  The dark shape made a clicking sound, but there was no shuffling of wings, no adjusting of its feet. Its position looked hunched—miserable, even. Its outline was not as smooth and sleek as it ought to be—feathers were sticking out at angles, and from what he could see in the ever-decreasing light, there were bald patches of skin.

  Cecily would be devastated to see her bird in such a terrible condition. Just because it was still alive was no guarantee that it would last much longer. How distraught she would be if Charlemagne could not be saved! Would it not be better if she continued to think her feathered friend was dead?

  “Charlemagne.” Allan called again, held up his forearm, and gave an experimental whistle. “Will you come to me?” He tried to imitate the sounds he’d heard Cecily use when flying her peregrine in the meadow.

  Sud
denly, to his enormous surprise, the bird unfolded its wings and glided down, landing unsteadily on his bandaged hand and digging in with its talons. Thank heaven for those bandages, or the bird’s blade-like claws would have drawn blood. Allan just stared at it in amazement, and it stared back at him, waiting.

  He discovered he was no longer afraid of the creature. It was small, weighed virtually nothing, and was pitifully bedraggled from its encounter with the fire. It was no demon and no threat. He recalled Cecily telling him how Charlemagne had boldly taken on Kennett and made him drop the key.

  “I believe, my friend, that I owe you my life,” he murmured. Charlemagne clicked his beak and continued to stare at him, unblinking.

  “Well then, if we are now to be friends, I suppose I had better nurse you back to health. You’re too proud a creature to want your mistress seeing you in this state. Let’s see what can be done.”

  Edging gingerly down the pile of bricks, he stole out of the walled garden and made his way through the encroaching dusk to the old malthouse. He would have to admit one of the men into the secret of Charlemagne’s rescue—with his hands useless, he couldn’t nurse or feed the peregrine himself. But if the bird survived, he would present it to Cecily as a pre-wedding gift.

  It was the most fitting thing he could think of to give her, for he had already given her the most costly gift of all. His heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  By Easter, they were wed. Cecily could not have been happier—her husband loved her, and she returned his love with every fiber of her being. Each new day brought a new revelation, a fresh discovery about him that made her love him—if it was even possible—still more.

  He was generous to a fault and loved to surprise her. The first surprise was when he came to her proudly wearing a new hawking gauntlet on his fist. He had found her on her knees in the walled garden, wearing thick gloves as she harvested nettles for soup. This had been fortunate, because as she gazed at him in puzzlement, knowing how much he disliked hawking, he gave out a shrill whistle, and a peregrine falcon dived into the garden.