Tiberius shrugged. He was hungry and somewhat irritable, so he spurred his big, brown warmblood forward.
“Come on, then,” he said. “I am famished. I must eat before I collapse. But from the looks of that place, I don’t suppose they will provide us more than a crust of bread and the dregs of the wine.”
Maximus and the knights followed, loping down the road and closing the distance between them and the manor house. As they drew closer, the structure seemed to become somewhat bigger, but certainly not what they had expected from a great marcher lord. It was run-down and the walls seemed hardly enough to hold back an army of children, much less men with wicked intentions. The gate itself was very large and seemed to be made strictly of wide, hammered, iron strips that were held together with big, iron bolts. One could see right through the slats into the yard beyond, which would have been a horrible feature in the event of an attack. Arrows, arms, and weapons could come right through the gaps at the inhabitants inside.
Maximus and Tiberius dismounted their horses and approached the odd gate, looking inquisitively at the gathering of men beyond. There were a couple of fires and men milling about, tending horses or sitting by the fire mending clothes or weapons. It was all quite casual, as if they hadn’t a care in the word. No sentries on duty, no guards. Tiberius and Maximus looked at each other curiously, shrugged, and then Maximus called out to the men.
“Greetings,” he bellowed in the loud, deep voice that Maximus was so capable of. “I am de Shera. I have come at the invitation of Kellen de Lara.”
Every man in the ward looked over at the gate as Maximus’ voice echoed off the buildings. A few of the men even stood up, as if a challenge had been issued. Clearly, Maximus’ voice was loud enough that it could be startling and he always sounded as if he were bellowing commands in battle. It was just his nature. But one of the men broke off from the group, a big, blond devil, and headed to the gate at a clipped pace. As he approached, he lifted a hand in greeting.
“Lord de Lara is expecting you,” he said. “You will leave your weapons at the gate.”
Maximus’ expression was steely. “I will leave them inside the gate and not outside.”
The man didn’t reply other than to throw the big, iron bolts on the gate and yank it open. Creaking and groaning, the gate slowly opened as the man heaved.
Not wanting to seem as if they were trying to bust into the ward, Maximus didn’t help the man as he struggled with the very big, very heavy gate. Finally, he opened it enough so that men were able to pass through, and Maximus and Tiberius did, followed by their knights. But once they were all inside the gate, they immediately began removing weapons.
“You will place someone to guard our possessions and weapons,” Maximus instructed de Lara’s man. “I do not want to return to find things missing.”
De Lara’s knight whistled sharply between his teeth and two men came away from the group in the ward, making their way over. The knight issued a few orders to the pair before returning his focus to Maximus.
“My name is St. Héver,” the knight said. “I am Lord de Lara’s second.”
Maximus cocked an eyebrow. “The house of St. Héver?”
“Aye.”
“I have heard of it.”
The big knight dipped his head politely. “I am honored, my lord.”
Maximus eyed the knight. He’d seen this man, too. He was a fighting man, a knight on the front lines, and Maximus remembered hearing somewhere that Kirk St. Héver was a fearsome fighter. He certainly seemed big and professional enough. After a moment of scrutinizing St. Héver, Maximus began to look around at the manor complex.
“Where is de Lara?” he asked. “Surely he was expecting me sooner than this. We were delayed when one of the horses came up lame and we had to return to the livery for another.”
Kirk pointed to the long, single-storied building behind them by several dozen yards. It was at the far end of the ward.
“He is in the hall,” he replied. “You may go to him.”
Maximus pushed past the knight, heading towards the building indicated. He and his men had to pass by de Lara’s men as they went and there were looks bordering on hostility as they passed. Maximus ignored them but Tiberius went so far as to sneer at a pair of young knights who were posturing angrily. He leaned into his brother’s ear.
“Why are these men so hostile?” he hissed. “Have we unknowingly offended them?”
Maximus didn’t know and he surely didn’t care. “Idiots,” he replied under his breath. “De Lara had better have a good meal to make up for the bad manners of his men.”
Tiberius glanced over at the host of unfriendly faces. “We are allied with de Lara, are we not?”
“Both de Lara and I support de Montfort, so we are, in theory.”
“I do not think his men know that.”
Maximus wouldn’t give a second thought to the soldiers who were watching him and his party trudge across the bailey towards the hall. While the bailey itself smelled of men and animals, of urine and animal dung, they were catching wafts of smells that were emerging from the hall and the scents upon the air were most appealing. He could most definitely smell bread and he thought he even smelled meat.
He was famished, that was true, but his stomach seemed to be nervous for other reasons. Every time he thought of that phial of rose oil in his tunic, that secret precious bottle, thoughts of the lovely Courtly filled his mind and he realized that he was anxious to see her again. Fearful, even. He wondered if she had only been kind to him at their first meeting earlier that day because he saved her life.
Self-doubt clutched at him as he patted the rose oil, wondering if he had acted too hastily in purchasing it. What if her smiles and pleasant conversation had only been out of gratitude and nothing more? Maximus wasn’t in the habit of being attracted to women on a daily basis, so when he was attracted to one, it meant something to him. Certainly, other knights took whores or wives. Tiberius had a glut of women who lived or died by his smile and Gallus was now married, but Maximus had always been a warrior’s warrior. He was a knight, a fighter, and that was what filled his time – thoughts and practice of how he could better himself as a warrior. His time had never been filled with the opposite sex. Until now. He secretly hoped that was about to change.
Entering the arched doorway that opened into Kennington’s hall, he was met with a rather small and narrow common room with a dramatically arched ceiling constructed of big timbers. Immediately to his left was an alcove with a feasting table, evidently meant for the lord of Kennington and his family, and then there were two long, feasting tables, side by side, in the room. Instead of a hearth, there was a fire pit at one end of the room and the pitched roof had holes in it so that smoke could escape. The fire was lit and the room was quite warm, and quite pleasant, as Maximus and his men moved into the hall.
“Sir Maximus!”
The call came from the end of the hall with the fire pit and Maximus saw Kellen emerging from a small door. Dogs trailed after him as he headed in Maximus’ direction, his expression far more pleasant than the expressions his men had presented outside.
“You have arrived,” Kellen said, somewhat happily. “I am glad you could come. We have been looking forward to supping with you this eve. And you have brought your men?”
Maximus nodded, indicating the men to his right. “I do not believe you have met my brother, Tiberius,” he said, indicating the tall, dark-haired brother. “And these are my knights, the de Wolfe brothers, de Moray, and du Bois.”
Kellen’s smile faded somewhat as he looked at the collection of knights. “De Wolfe?” he repeated. “William de Wolfe?”
Scott nodded. “Indeed, my lord,” he said. “He is our father.”
Kellen was visibly impressed. “Then the honor is mine to have the sons of the illustrious Wolfe under my roof,” he said. Then, he indicated the tables. “Please sit. Food shall be brought about shortly.”
Maximus and his men moved
to the closest table. There was a wooden tray that had a pile of what looked to be some kind of dense, cream-colored bread upon it. That was where the heavy smell of bread was coming from. As Maximus took a seat, Tiberius reached out and took a hot piece of the bread, sniffing at it.
“What manner of bread is this?” Tiberius asked, biting into it. It was puffy, rather dense, and had an abundance of salt in it and on top of it. “It is delicious.”
With that, the other knights grabbed at it, taking hunks for themselves. Kellen sat opposite Maximus and next to Troy de Wolfe. He seemed rather confused by the question.
“It is… truthfully, I am not sure,” he said. “I will have to ask my daughter.”
Maximus peered at the plate of bread. “Did she instruct the servants to bake it thusly?”
Kellen appeared uncomfortable in the slightest. “She created the recipe,” he said, avoiding the question. He didn’t want de Shera to know that his daughter had been working like a slave in the kitchen for the past two hours because Ellice was hiding most of the servants from him. The man didn’t need to know his family’s problems and, frankly, he was embarrassed by it. “Courtly fostered at Prudhoe Castle in the north and the lady of the castle was evidently quite adept in cookery. She learned in France and passed her knowledge along to my daughter. Therefore, my daughter is skilled in the art of fine cookery. You will be sampling it tonight.”
That seemed to impress Maximus. “Where is your daughter?” he asked, looking around the room. “Will she join us?”
Kellen’s discomfort grew. “She will, eventually,” he said, trying to be delicate on how he explained things. “There was some trouble with the servants this evening and she is in the kitchen at the moment, overseeing things. But she will join us at some point.”
Maximus watched Kellen as the man fidgeted a bit and had difficulty meeting his eye. He wondered why. Reaching out, he took a piece of the flat bread and bit into it. Tiberius had been correct. It was quite delicious.
“How are your daughters after their experience today?” he asked, chewing. “I hope they suffered no ill effects.”
Kellen shook his head. “Fortunately not,” he replied. “But all of their clothing and possessions were burned, so I will apologize in advance that neither one has had the opportunity to change into more appropriate clothing. Until I can secure a seamstress or material for them, they are forced to make do.”
Maximus finished one piece of bread and reached for another. “That is very unfortunate,” he said. “Had I known, I would have brought material with me. I would assume your daughters can sew.”
Kellen nodded. “They can,” he said. “Courtly can, anyway. Isadora does not have much interest in it.”
“Oh?” Maximus said. “Why not?”
Before Kellen could reply, Isadora emerged from the small doorway on the other side of the fire pit, a pitcher in one hand and several small wooden cups in the other. She was trying to be very careful about not dropping anything and when Maximus saw her, he jumped up and went to her.
“Here, lady,” he said, taking the pitcher. “Allow me to help you. I fear the pitcher is much too heavy for you.”
Isadora gazed up at the man who had a hand in saving her young life. She hadn’t a chance to speak with him at all earlier, as Courtly had seemed to do all of the talking for them, so she was a bit shy to speak with him, and his chivalrous gesture had her cheeks flushing.
“I can carry it,” she insisted.
Maximus could see that he’d either embarrassed or offended her and hastened to make amends. “Of course you can,” he said. “I only meant to help. Forgive me for offering if you did not need it.”
Isadora was growing more flushed by his sweet behavior and she smiled timidly. “I am not offended,” she said, moving towards the table of men with the cups in her hands. “I was being very careful not to drop it.”
Maximus nodded. “I could see that,” he said. “You are quite strong. In fact, I do believe your muscles are bigger than mine.”
Isadora’s smile grew as she became flustered and flattered at the same time. “I am not too strong,” she said. “You are teasing me.”
Maximus grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling just as Isadora said they did. “I never tease a lady,” he insisted, although it was obvious he was jesting. “Well, not much.”
Isadora giggled. Much like her sister had been, she too was very quickly becoming enraptured by the big, handsome knight. “I must return to the kitchen and bring out more food,” she said eagerly. “I will come back.”
Maximus’ confused expression returned. “Why must you get food?” he asked. “Why do you not sit down and join the conversation?”
Isadora spoke before her father could interject a tactful explanation. “Because we cannot find the servants,” she told him with straight honesty as only a child could give. “It is only my sister and I, and one servant Papa managed to find.”
Brow furrowed now, Maximus glanced at Kellen. “Where are your servants?” he asked the question to both of them. “Has something happened to them?”
Kellen was appalled that his youngest daughter had divulged the information he had been trying very hard not to disclose. Isadora was young, intelligent, and tactless.
“Nay, nothing has happened to them,” he said quickly. “They belong to my sister and… you see, my sister has….”
“Auntie did not want to prepare a feast tonight,” Isadora said helpfully because her father seemed to be stumbling. “She did not want to share her food or servants, so Papa became angry with her and she ran off and took her servants with her. Courtly and I have been working in the kitchen and cooking. She wanted to make a good meal for you and I have helped her.”
She said it rather proudly as Kellen put a hand over his face, appalled at the words that had just come out of his daughter’s mouth. That which he had been trying to conceal was now common knowledge for the entire room. He didn’t dare look at Maximus, who was staring at Isadora as if attempting to comprehend what she had just told him.
“Your sister has been cooking?” he repeated. “Do you mean to tell me that she has actually cooked a meal?”
Kellen’s hand came away from his face. “It is not as bad as it sounds,” he insisted weakly. “Courtly is a fine woman, my lord. Cooking is a servant’s task and she certainly would not do it habitually. She….”
Again, Isadora cut her father off, eager to tell Sir Maximus of Courtly’s accomplishments. At least, Isadora thought they were great accomplishments.
“She wanted to make sure you were presented with a great feast,” she said enthusiastically. “She did it herself, all of it. She made a stew with beans and pork, and she made a boil of vegetables that has vinegar and honey and pepper in it, and she also fried the pork and made a sauce of onions and butter to put on it. But she had trouble with the bread… it has eggs and milk and onions in it. She couldn’t make it puff up like real bread.”
Maximus listened to the child rattle on. He was stunned, but not for the reasons Kellen might have thought. True, it was shocking for a noblewoman to cook, but he was overcome with the fact that Courtly actually went to the trouble to do it. Once again, faced with a situation that was seemingly difficult, in this case an aunt running off with all of her servants, Lady Courtly showed her ingenuity by cooking a meal herself so that there would be food to eat for guests. For him. Truly, he was astonished by the lengths the woman went to in order to please her guests. The fact that cooking, by noblewomen, simply wasn’t done had never even entered her mind.
“Where is your sister?” he asked after a moment.
Isadora pointed to the door near the fire pit. “In the kitchen.”
Maximus’ gaze found the door. It was difficult to read his thoughts for his expression remained neutral. He had learned long enough never to show his emotions. After a moment, he turned to Kellen, who was not so adept at hiding his thoughts. He spoke.
“You are ashamed of this.” It w
as not a question.
Kellen was looking up at Maximus with some hesitance in his features. “I did not want you to think my daughter is anything other than a fine lady,” he said. “Noblewomen do not spend time in the kitchen, cooking, and I do not want you to think I forced my daughter into some manner of servitude. It was her idea, I assure you. She simply did not want me to be embarrassed when you attended a feast with no food.”
“So she cooked an entire meal by herself?”
Kellen nodded with some resignation. “She did,” he said. “I apologize that I have no cook or servants to offer you this evening. Although it is unseemly, it would seem my daughters must do the work tonight. I pray you can overlook that breach of etiquette.”
Maximus just looked at the man. Then, he moved away from the table and headed for the small door near the fire pit. Isadora, not to be left behind, trotted after him. When they disappeared through the door, Kellen turned his perplexed expression to Tiberius.
“Where did he go?” he asked. “Surely he does not intend to humiliate or berate my daughter.”
Tiberius wasn’t sure where Maximus had gone but he shook his head firmly in response. “Never,” he said firmly. “My brother would not do that. I am sure he intends to thank the lady for her efforts.”
Kellen, now concerned over Maximus and his daughters, alone in a kitchen, returned his focus to the small kitchen door. “Then mayhap I should go also.”
He started to rise but Tiberius put out a hand, forcing the man to stop. “No need,” he said evenly. “I am sure Maximus will return shortly. Meanwhile, you will tell me of Kennington House. I have never heard of it before, you know. How long has it been in the de Lara family?”
Kellen allowed himself to be reluctantly engaged in a conversation about the history of Kennington House, but the truth was that his thoughts were on the kitchen where Maximus had gone. He didn’t like the idea of the man being alone with his eldest daughter, even if Isadora was present. There was something unsettling and unseemly about it. He didn’t like men around his daughters as it was, not even men who had saved their lives, so it was very difficult for him to remain and allow himself to be engaged by Tiberius de Shera. All the while, he kept wondering what Maximus was doing, speaking to Courtly, unchaperoned. Nay, he didn’t like it at all. Men were only after one thing, even men like Maximus de Shera.
Fearsome Brides Page 71
