She was clever, this one. Maximus appreciated her quick wit very much, seeing how she had turned the tables against him. Oddly, it made him respect her, for this was no simple-minded woman. She was sharp. With that in mind, he sighed in contemplation.
“Very well, then,” he said, folding his arms across his broad chest and pretending to be cross. “I will tell you what my brothers and I did to our uncle if you will tell me what happens when a woman’s curiosity is not sated.”
Courtly looked at him, pointing a finger at him. “Quickly,” she hissed. “Tell me swiftly. It will be less painful that way. Hurry!”
Maximus did as he was told without hesitation. “My uncle would fart uncontrollably when he slept and my brothers and I would light his farts a-fire,” he said. “One time, we burned up his breeches.”
Courtly burst out in a loud guffaw, slapping her hand over mouth to stifle the laughter. “You didn’t!”
“We did.”
She snorted into her hand, laughing deeply, but Maximus feigned a scowl at her. “Stop laughing,” he muttered swiftly. “Quickly, tell me what would have happened had I not sated your curiosity.”
Courtly removed her hand from her mouth, displaying her lovely smile in full bloom. “Nothing,” she said, throwing up her hands. “I simply said that so you would feel sorry for me and tell me what I wanted to know.”
Maximus pretended to be very cross when, in truth, he was swept up in her gentle flirt as surely as a leaf swept up in a breeze. He had no control over anything at the moment. He was purely at her mercy.
“You are a terrible woman to tease me like that,” he said. “Can you not see how gullible I am?”
Courtly’s smile never left her face, her gaze riveted to him as if he were the only man in the entire world. “I cannot imagine the great Maximus de Shera to be gullible,” she said. “I would imagine you are the smartest brother of all. You said so yourself.”
He shook his head. “I did not say I was the smartest brother,” he corrected her. “I simply said that I remember everything I am told. If my brothers heard me say that I was the smartest of all of them, they would beat me and roll me in pitch.”
Courtly giggled at his admission. She was coming to find the man very humorous and very delightful. As she opened her mouth to reply, a distant shouting stopped her. Both she and Maximus turned in the direction of the avenue leading from St. Clement’s Church in time to see well-armed men on expensive horses heading in their direction. Maximus recognized the de Lara bird of prey immediately.
Through the smoke and ash, armored men surrounded them and the man in the lead, riding a big, dappled charger, leapt from his steed. His gaze was on the women and on Maximus in particular. His confusion, and his concern, was apparent.
“De Shera?” he addressed Maximus, his brow furrowed, before looking to Courtly. “Court, what has happened? What goes on?”
Courtly pointed to the pile of smoldering ruins that had once been their hostel. “There was a fire, Papa,” she told him seriously. “Sir Maximus and Sir Garran saved our lives. We had to jump from the window and they were here to save us.”
Kellen de Lara, Viscount Trelystan and Lord Sheriff of the Southern Marches, looked at his eldest daughter with horror. A man in his early forties, he was fair and handsome, his face weathered from the years of harsh elements and harsh campaigns. His gaze moved between the smoking building and his daughter’s earnest face. Stunned, he simply shook his head.
“Sweet Jesὑ,” he murmured, reaching out to grasp his daughters, the both of them. “Is this true?”
“It is.”
“And you jumped from the building?”
“Aye, Papa.”
Kellen was nearly beside himself. “Are you well?” he demanded softly. “Did you hurt yourself in any way?”
Courtly shook her head. “We are well,” she replied, her gaze moving to Maximus. “It is Sir Maximus you must thank, Papa. He was a hero.”
Maximus, embarrassed by the praise, was already shaking his head even as Kellen turned to him. “It was not as much as that, my lord,” he said. “Your daughter was quite resourceful and constructed a rope from bed linens, using it to lower herself with. All we did was hold the rope steady and make sure she and her sister came to no harm.”
Kellen was pale with shock. “I can never thank you enough, Sir Maximus,” he said. “What you have done… you have saved my children. I am in your debt.”
Maximus shook his head, uncomfortable. “That is unnecessary, my lord,” he assured the man. “I was happy to help. But now that you are here, I must go about my business. I did not want to leave your daughters unescorted until you returned.”
Kellen was overwhelmed with the situation and with Maximus’ chivalry. He knew the man in name and reputation only, as he’d never had the opportunity to work closely with him. De Montfort kept the de Shera brothers close to him, like personal attack dogs, so it wasn’t often that the brothers mingled with the other barons. Now, Maximus was in his midst and had evidently done him a great service. He owed the man.
“Again, you have my deepest thanks,” he said. “You as well, Sir Garran, have my thanks. May I at least invite you both to sup with us this eve? I should like to demonstrate my thanks for your heroics. Invite your brothers as well. I’ve not had the opportunity to converse with the three of you other than cursory discussions.”
Maximus was hesitant. “Your offer is generous, my lord, but my brothers may have other plans,” he said. Then, he caught a glimpse of Courtly’s hopeful expression and he knew that, come what may, he was going to accept de Lara’s invitation. It would give him another opportunity to see Courtly again. “I, however, have no such plans. I would be happy to sup with you.”
Kellen smiled and Courtly positively beamed. “Excellent,” Kellen said. Then, he turned to eye the heap of ashes behind him. “We have been supping at the hostel but it would seem our dining hall has been burned to the ground. Come out to Kennington House, south of Oxford, and we shall dine tonight in the halls of my ancestors. We shall put on such a feast as to impress even the likes of you. Will you come, then?”
Maximus nodded, trying not to stare at Courtly, who was smiling at him quite openly. “I will be honored, my lord,” he said. “I will see you this eve.”
With that, he nodded his farewells to the de Lara group, excusing himself, and together he and Garran headed back down the avenue, back to the spice merchant to reclaim the licorice root and other things he had purchased. Already, he was thinking on the evening and the time he would spend gazing at Courtly de Lara’s magnificent face. Already, he was missing her as he headed back down the avenue.
It was an effort not to turn around and look at her, but he didn’t want to do it and seem over-eager. His thoughts, however, lingered on the lovely Courtly as her father took charge of both her and her sister, ushering them onto horses and making their way to Kennington House where the vile de Lara aunt resided.
Even as they reached the spice vendor, Maximus was thinking on gold-spun hair and on luminous, blue eyes. As Garran collected the packages they had already paid for, Maximus caught sight of an entire shelf of perfumed oil. He gazed at it, a thought coming to him, as Garran headed out of the stall.
“We must find Ty,” Garran said, squinting down the avenue to see if he could catch sight of the youngest de Shera brother. “We need to get this stuff to Lady de Shera.”
Maximus was still looking at the perfumed oil, breaking from his train of thought as Garran spoke. He eyed Garran, eyed the oil, and then pretended to look at other things.
“Go and find my brother,” he instructed. “I will look the wares over one more time to see if there is something else we can purchase to help Jeniver’s belly.”
Garran went without another word. Maximus peered from the doorway of the stall, casually, watching the knight head down the avenue in search of Tiberius. When he was positive that Garran wasn’t going to turn around and head back in his direction, h
e went straight to the spice merchant and pointed to the perfumed oils on the shelf.
A few minutes later, a beautifully wrapped phial of rose-scented oil was tucked safely in Maximus’ tunic, intended for a certain young lady when he saw her at sup that night.
CHAPTER TWO
Kennington House
Oxford South
Kennington House had been built the previous century and had come into the de Lara clan through marriage. It had originally been a de Vere property those years ago and the de Veres had spared little expense for it; a very large and lavish hall was attached to a two-storied secondary building that contained four smaller chambers on the bottom floor and a massive, master’s chamber on the upper floor. The house itself was shaped like a “T”, with the window of the master’s chamber facing the church across the road because the pious de Veres liked it that way.
In the smaller chamber on the ground floor, Courtly sat on a simple, oak chair, working on a piece of embroidery that wasn’t her own. Her aunt, Lady Ellice, had given it to her when they had arrived at Kennington House earlier that day and had told her to finish it. The woman had given her and Isadora no greeting other than to hand them projects to complete, for her attention was fully on her younger brother, Kellen, and the distinct distaste they had for one another. A childless spinster, Ellice had no patience for children or even for people in general. She was a bitter, nasty shrew.
Therefore, while Ellice and Kellen went through the motions of a stiff greeting as Kellen explained the reason behind their arrival at Kennington, Courtly and Isadora disappeared into the house and into the small bedchamber they usually slept in during the times they had visited. Neither girl wanted to be around their father and aunt when the conversation turned nasty, which it usually did fairly quickly. It had, for as long as the girls could remember, an underlying hatred and bitterness from Ellice towards her brother, although that underlying hatred had never been explained. It was simply the way of things.
As Courtly sat on the chair, in a linen surcoat that smelled of smoke, working on the small piece of embroidery that was a hummingbird upon a flower, she could hear her father’s agitated voice and Ellice’s low, threatening one, both of them still out in the small courtyard. She sighed heavily as she listened. She didn’t understand how siblings could not get on with one another and it was like this every time they visited.
“Shall we stay here with Auntie now that our lodging has burned?” Isadora asked. She had a pair of Ellice’s stockings in her hand and had been commanded to sew a hole in the heel. “Court, I do not wish to stay here. I do not like staying with Auntie in the least.”
Courtly looked at her younger sister. At eleven years of age, Isadora was a frail, delicate thing. She was also quite smart and quite vocal, which could get her into trouble at times. With light brown hair and her sister’s big, blue eyes, she looked like a little, porcelain doll, and Courtly was the only mother she had ever known. Given that the girls’ mother had perished of a fever when Isadora had been two years of age, the task of raising the toddler had been given over to Courtly until she went to foster and she was, naturally, very protective of the girl, and especially protective from their shrewish aunt.
“Nor do I,” Courtly said patiently. “But until Papa can make other arrangements, we must stay where he tells us. For tonight, it will be here.”
Isadora didn’t want to sew the hole in her aunt’s smelly stocking. She threw it onto the bed.
“Why does Auntie make us do her terrible chores?” she demanded. “Her stockings stink of rot and I do not want to mend them.”
Courtly extended the half-finished bird embroidery. “Would you rather work on this?”
Isadora frowned, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest. “Nay,” she said. Then, she threw herself onto the small, spartanly-covered bed. “I do not want to stay here at all!”
Courtly watched her sister verge on a tantrum. “You may as well accept that we will at least stay the night here,” she said. “Fussing over it will not change things. Besides, Sir Maximus and Sir Garran are to join us tonight for sup. We cannot leave before we properly thank them for saving us.”
Isadora rolled over onto her back, eyeing her sister. Her tantrum was forgotten as she thought on the powerful knights who had saved them from certain death. Her thoughts lingered particularly on the de Shera brother and the way her usually-reserved sister had interacted with him. Courtly was usually quite controlled and not willing to give members of the opposite sex her attention, but she had clearly broken that rule for Sir Maximus. It was an intriguing thought.
“You like Sir Maximus,” she said bluntly. Tact was not her strong suit. “I could tell. You smiled at him a lot.”
Courtly kept her head down, resuming her embroidery. “I must be polite to him,” she said evenly. “What would you have me do? Be rude to the man who saved us?”
“You fell on his head.”
Courtly couldn’t help it, then. Her cheeks flushed a deep red as she thought on the very embarrassing position she found herself in when she had plunged from the makeshift rope. She could not have planned that fall to be any worse than it had been. She had hit him at precisely the right angle to make her legs split and go along his shoulders, his head right in between them. She could still feel his hot breath against her tender core and it caused bolts of shock to race up her spine at the mere hint of the memory.
“It was an accident, I assure you,” she told her sister, not looking at her. “Believe me when I say that if I’d had another choice on the manner in which I landed on him, I more than likely would have taken it.”
Isadora could see that her sister was humiliated by the event but, instead of avoiding the subject, she grinned. It wasn’t often that she got a rise out of her serious sister.
“Your skirt was around his head,” she giggled. “You sat right on his head!”
Courtly rolled her eyes with some misery. “Aye, I did, you little goat,” she snapped softly. “I will hear no more about it, do you understand? If I do, I shall spank you soundly.”
Isadora continued to giggle, not at all fearful of Courtly’s threat. She rolled around on the bed, silly and snorting, kicking her legs up in the air.
“He is very handsome,” she said. “I like his beard. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle.”
Courtly was growing flustered as she continued with her embroidery. “No more talk of Sir Maximus,” she snapped but it was without force, although her mind was inevitably lingering on the very big knight with the well-trimmed beard. Indeed, he was quite handsome. “We will be seeing him tonight and that will be the end of it.”
Isadora stopped kicking her legs in the air and rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. “Is that what you want?” she asked. “Never to see him again?”
Courtly eyed her sister. “Mayhap not,” she admitted. “I… I suppose I would like to see him again. But you know how Papa is. He does not like men around us. I have had six suitors and he has chased them all off.”
Isadora shrugged. “But he cannot chase Sir Maximus off,” she said. “He is bigger than Papa and more frightening. Mayhap he will be the one man Papa does not chase off.”
Courtly shook her head, looking back to her embroidery. “I would not stake my life on that,” she said, sounding defeated already. She would not have been opposed to Sir Maximus being the one man her father couldn’t chase off, but alas, she was sure it was not to be. She paused before stabbing into the material again, her expression wistful. “But I do wish… I wish that, just once, he would not chase off a suitor. I will never marry if he does that.”
Isadora sensed something in her sister, a longing she had never seen before. Courtly usually didn’t care about the men their father chased off, but perhaps Sir Maximus was different. He certainly seemed different.
“Mayhap if you speak to Papa,” she said helpfully. “Mayhap if you tell him you do not wish for him to chase away Sir Maximus, then he will not.”
Courtly shook her head, firmly. “He will not listen,” she said. “You know how he is. All men are evil and only have lust of the flesh on their mind. Therefore, I am afraid you and I will either be destined to be spinsters our entire lives or destined for the nunnery. That will be our only choices should Papa continue his ways, and I do not wish to end up at a nunnery.”
Isadora gazed at her sister, her young thoughts lingering on the bearded knight. “Would you be Lady de Shera, then?”
Courtly shrugged coyly. “Mayhap.”
Isadora was interrupted from replying when the chamber door jerked open and a rather large woman stood in the doorway. Lady Ellice de Lara, a fair-haired and somewhat masculine woman, eyed her nieces with something just short of hostility. But that was usual with her, an embittered woman with a nasty attitude, particularly towards her brother’s children. At the sight of the woman, Isadora sat bolt upright and grabbed the smelly hose she was supposed to be mending, grabbing for the needle and, in her haste, stabbing herself. The girl yelped and put the offended finger in her mouth as Ellice entered the room. Her gaze was mostly on Courtly.
“Well, well,” she said, her eyes lingering on Courtly’s fair head. “Busy at work, I see. Lady Courtly Love de Lara and her sister, Lady Isadora Adoration de Lara. Such grand names for rather small and insignificant ladies.”
Courtly forced a smile at her aunt. “It is nice to see you again, Auntie,” she said politely, not reacting to the insult dealt. “Did Papa tell you what happened in town? Issie and I were nearly killed in a fire. We lost all of our possessions.”
Ellice looked her niece over, critically. “You seem well enough to me,” she said. “And before you go begging for more clothing or other foolish trinkets, know that I have nothing for you. You will make do with what you have.”
“We have nothing.”
Ellice eyed her niece, snorting rudely after a moment, before turning her gaze to Isadora. “And you?” she said, eyeing the child. “You had better mend that stocking before nightfall or there will be consequences.”
Fearsome Brides Page 68
