by Julia Latham
Sarah hurried across the courtyard, smiling at servants and friends, shrugging at their questions about the new guests. She resisted the temptation to look back where she’d left Sir Robert and Sir Walter. Besides their names, she didn’t know who these men were, or what business they were about for the king.
But they’d looked at her too closely. She was a woman many men treated as almost invisible. Why did she suddenly merit notice?
Chapter 2
“Ye look skittish.”
Sarah jumped, almost dropping the vase of flowers she was carrying to the head table on the raised dais in the great hall. Margery Platten, the chief seamstress at Drayton Hall, gave a snort and crossed her arms over her chest.
Margery, tall and willowy, with black hair and dark blue eyes, gestured with her head toward the intricately carved hearth at the far end of the great hall. “Ye’re skittish because of those strangers.”
Sarah sighed, placing the vase on the tablecloth, near where Lord Drayton had once sat, and now Francis did. She did not look at the hearth—she didn’t need to. She knew Sir Robert and Sir Walter stood talking with Master Frobisher, the steward of the Drayton estates. She’d brought them ale herself.
“I am not skittish,” Sarah said, knowing she sounded too prim.
“Well, ye’re not yerself.”
Margery stepped closer until Sarah had to look up at her friend’s impressive height.
“That handsome one is lookin’ at you,” Margery whispered.
“I wish he would stop,” Sarah said. “He’s making me nervous.”
“Nervous to be admired?”
“I know you do not feel that way; you’re used to the attention of men.”
Margery’s amused expression softened. “Sarah—”
“Nay, do not pay any attention to me. ’Tis nothing.”
“But it is. Ye’re lettin’ the past take hold of yer mind. Don’t be doin’ that. Men are not all like yer cruel husband.”
“And women are not all like me,” Sarah answered brittlely. “I have certainly proven that I am not the sort of woman to make a man happy. I cannot even do what nature intended and give a man a child.”
“Sarah—”
She sighed. “I am not feeling sorry for myself. I am finished with that. I am barren, and ’tis something I’ve long ago accepted. I have a good life here and do not need—”
“A man’s attention? Sometimes that makes life worth livin’, gives a spark to yer day ye’d not get otherwise. I think ye’re makin’ like an old lady in her dotage, when there is Sir Simon sniffin’ round ye, and now this stranger eyein’ you with admiration.”
Sarah told herself to be admired was a good thing, but it was suddenly so overwhelming. And a man’s attention had once only meant she’d soon see his hand, raised in violence.
“But Francis needs my attention now,” she insisted, feeling like a coward for using a child as a shield from frightening emotions.
“But there will come a day, far too soon, when he does not.”
Sarah shuddered. “I never feared that Lord Drayton would dismiss me when Francis was too old for a nurse. But now Sir Anthony is in command.”
“And he appreciates yer work,” Margery soothed. “And he will see how ye run the castle as if ye were its lady. Ye’re takin’ the place of Lady Drayton—”
“Shh!” Sarah said, lowering her voice. “I am not taking that good lady’s place. I am not a noblewoman; I am just helping where I can, in gratitude for my keep. Now I must finish my duties, Margery.”
The seamstress raised both hands, smirking. “Far be it from me to bother you.”
Wincing at her own poor choice of words, Sarah reached for her dear friend. “Margery—”
The woman laughed, her voice deep and husky, causing more than one male head to turn. “Go on with you now. We will speak again later.”
Sarah smiled and turned away, but it wasn’t long before she again felt like she was being watched. She well remembered the feeling from two years before, when she’d been cast from the home of her husband’s family. The suspicion, the anger, the way eyes had followed her—
She looked over her shoulder, but saw only the valets and grooms setting up the trestle tables and positioning benches in preparation for supper. No one looked at her, not even Sir Robert, whose gaze seemed to pierce her when it touched.
She couldn’t just wait around like an ignorant fool. She’d made that mistake before, and it had almost ruined her life. She was in charge of Francis, especially while his guardian was elsewhere. It was up to her to discover if the king’s men had anything to do with him. He was under her protection. The trust placed in her by his late father, and now by his guardian, meant more to her than life itself.
“Mistress Sarah!”
That little voice touched her heart as no other could, bringing a smile to her face and a sweet softness in her breast as Francis came running toward her, sliding through the rushes scattered across the floor.
“Sir Robert said I could eat at his side,” Francis said. “He’s going to tell me about his horse. He calls it Dragon. Isn’t that funny?”
So many wonderful sentences, all said with more excitement than he’d shown in weeks. How could she caution him? How could she say no? She nodded. “May I eat with you, too? I would love to hear about Dragon.”
He rolled his eyes as if she were being ridiculous. “Of course you may. You always eat with me.”
He wanted her at his side, and the joy of that was enough—for as long as it lasted.
Robert sipped his ale and watched Sarah when she wasn’t looking. He knew he himself was being watched by Walter, so he understood how Sarah felt, he thought with grim amusement. Walter did not care for Robert’s method of getting to know their murder suspect. He’d hinted at it when they’d unpacked their few possessions in their lodgings. But they hadn’t talked, not when chambermaids were coming and going, chambermaids who gave Robert saucy grins. He was certain Walter had seen that, too. Women always flirted with him thusly. Yet he didn’t need to have Walter—and thereby the League—constantly reminded that he enjoyed women, and that the women seemed to know he enjoyed them.
After talking to Francis, Robert watched the boy run toward his nurse. He studied Sarah’s expression and saw more than simple tolerance. Did the boy love her in return? Did children know when an adult was patronizing or using them? Robert didn’t have any experience with children, so Francis’s eager friendship intrigued him. Perhaps children naturally liked him, too.
He was using Francis’s offer of friendship to assess Sarah’s devotion to the boy. But even he could tell that Francis showed no hesitation at being with his nurse—no fear, no resignation. The boy did not sense that his nurse had killed his father. She was very good at hiding her true nature.
Before Robert’s arrival at Drayton Hall, other Bladesmen had completed the initial investigation. The viscount’s death wasn’t related to the League or to the Crown. It only had to do with his personal life, and this woman he had taken as his mistress. The League had claimed no one else had as good a motive to want Drayton dead. Surely that made him a saint, if no one else had reason to be angry with him.
But the League had uncovered rumors that Sarah had killed her first husband. That made her the prime suspect.
If Sarah was leery about Francis eating his meal with Robert, she didn’t show it. When Francis came to drag him to the head table, Robert realized that Sarah must sit there with the boy every day. From Francis’s left, she gave Robert a simple smile as Francis patted the chair on his right.
“Sit here,” Francis said. “Your friend may sit next to you.”
Even Walter appeared reluctantly amused.
Over Francis’s head, Robert sent a special smile to Sarah, but she only nodded briefly and looked away. He did not think overly of himself or his skill, but usually women were more responsive to his attention. This one might prove more difficult. She let her gaze search the hall. Servants
moved about with platters of beef and lamb, bowls of salad, fresh white bread ready to be broken into chunks. Supper was a simple affair compared with dinner. Without words, the servants looked to Sarah for confirmation that they were doing their work well. The steward, Master Frobisher, had admitted that Sarah ran the household in his place. There had been reluctance in the man’s voice when he’d spoken of her, but Robert hadn’t been able to place the emotion behind it—yet. Master Frobisher, too, was sitting at the head table, although with too many people separating them for a conversation. Walter was speaking to the person on his right, so Robert turned to Francis. He noticed that although the boy carefully cut his own meat while Sarah watched with pride, he didn’t seem to eat much of it.
“Your nursemaid is a busy woman,” Robert commented to the boy.
Sarah’s sharp gaze met Robert’s, but other than incline her head, she did nothing.
Francis straightened with importance at being spoken to. “She’s good at things.”
“Women are,” Robert wanted to ask about what “things” she was good at, but knew it was too soon to be so curious.
Sarah bit her lip, eyes downcast, but he sensed that she might be hiding a smile.
“She’s in charge of me, and Master Frobisher says I can be a handful.”
The steward’s round face reddened, but he didn’t turn their way, as if he hadn’t heard.
“All boys are a handful,” Robert said.
“Were you?”
“Of course.”
“Did your mother have to scold you?”
He would use as much of the truth as he could to keep his lies straight. “I never knew my mother. She died when I was a little boy.”
Francis grew solemn. “My mama died when I was little, too.”
“I regret that we have that in common.”
“Did your father scold you?”
He almost wished he could make up a better childhood than he’d had. “I don’t remember my father either. But the people who took care of me say that I was incorrigible.”
“In—in—” Francis scrunched up his face. “What is that?”
Robert leaned closer, as if imparting a secret. “Incorrigible means I was very persistent in doing what I wanted, even if it was the wrong thing. Sometimes I did not always listen to my foster father. I had to learn many lessons before I behaved correctly and no longer needed to be scolded.”
“So you were a handful, too?”
“I was,” Robert said solemnly, then smiled at Sarah who was regarding them curiously. “I can still be incorrigible sometimes.”
Her only response was a raised eyebrow.
“Where do you live?” Francis asked.
It was second nature to Robert to use the story he and Walter had created for their lives. After breaking off a piece of bread from the loaf, he said, “London.”
“I have never been there,” Francis said. “Mistress Sarah has not either.”
“Your nurse would enjoy the excitement of the king’s court. King Henry is a young man, newly married, and there are many young people.”
“Not an easy place to raise a child,” Sarah said calmly, as if needing to discourage the boy.
Robert noticed how precisely she cut her own meat, all the while glancing at Francis’s plate, as if wishing he’d eat more. Francis was scrawny, but he was a growing boy after all. Perhaps after his father died, he had not eaten well. Robert cut a piece of lamb and ate it with relish. After a moment, Francis mimicked him.
“Sarah was raised in a manor,” Francis said between chewing.
“Was she?”
“Her father was a knight, but his liege lord was not my father.”
“Then how did she come to be with you?”
The boy frowned and turned to his nurse. “I don’t think I know. Do I?”
Sarah chucked him under the chin. “I came to help tend your mother, remember? Then you and I liked each other so much that your father allowed me to be your nurse.”
When the cook intruded for a moment of Sarah’s attention, Robert quietly said, “Mistress Sarah seems like a good nurse.”
Francis nodded. “She’s almost as good as having my mama. I think Papa was very sad when Mama died, but having Mistress Sarah with me cheered him up.”
And of course, Mistress Sarah cheered up the viscount in other ways, Robert thought cynically.
After supper, as several musicians tuned their instruments, the servants cleared the tables, then dismantled some of them, hiding them behind the tapestries.
Walter and Robert stood alone, watching the smooth way everyone worked together. For a household whose lord had recently died, they all seemed confident in their futures with their new young viscount. His guardian must have given them all assurances that life would go on as usual, which was a gracious thing to do.
Robert was not the only one watching Sarah.
Walter said, “The same young knight has talked to her several times.”
Robert nodded and regarded the tall, slim, brown-haired man who bent over Sarah and spoke without a smile. “He seems rather earnest to me. Serious.”
“Something elusive for you,” Walter said dryly.
“Oh, your barb struck home,” Robert said, clapping his partner on the back. “I did not think you had a sense of humor.”
Walter arched a brow.
“We’ll have to discover the man’s name,” Robert continued.
“Sir Simon Chapman, a knight in Sir Anthony Ramsey’s household.”
“Ah, Sir Anthony the guardian. He must have left men here to keep watch for him.”
“A guardianship is an important position, one taken with the utmost seriousness. Unlike your guardians,” Walter added softly.
Though Robert gave him a glance of surprise, inside he felt a moment of anger. “My foster father, Sir Timothy, was a good man, who disagreed with those above him but bowed to their wishes because he had no choice.”
Walter looked away. “We should not be discussing this here.”
“I agree,” Robert said. Once again, Walter was pointing out his disapproval of Robert’s childhood. The knight was a calm man who showed little of what he was feeling, so he must be decidedly bothered if he kept bringing it up.
“Back to the subject of Sir Simon,” Robert said in a quiet voice, smiling at a maid who sauntered near the musicians and boldly eyed him.
“Perhaps you have things more pressing,” Walter said dryly.
This was too much. “Sir Walter, my methods are not yours. We can discuss your concerns later tonight.”
Walter’s wintry gray eyes held him. “Aye,” he said slowly. “Your words are wise.”
That was as close to an apology as Robert was going to get, but it satisfied.
“About Sir Simon?” Robert prodded.
“My dinner partner mentioned that the knight has begun a flirtation with Mistress Sarah.”
“’Tis not much of a flirtation,” Robert said, then took a sip of his ale as he watched the knight drone on to Sarah. “He’s not even asking her to dance. I shall have to rectify that.”
Walter opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it.
“Good man,” Robert said, handing him the tankard and sauntering away.
But he didn’t begin with Sarah. He went to the maid still waiting by the musicians who’d now begun a lively country tune. Her eyes brightened at his approach, and she glanced at her friends with subtle triumph.
Athelina was her name. She was a lively dance partner, and Robert found himself turning within the crowded floor, lifting her high into the air, then linking arms with her to process within the dancers. He was pleasantly heated with exertion by the time he danced with his third partner, who pouted her disappointment when he bowed and took his leave.
As he approached Sarah, he studied her. If Simon Chapman didn’t flirt well, then Sarah was a good match. She did not bat her eyes or grin, although her smile was pleasant. She seemed personable, not like a mur
derer would be, but then he’d never known any female murderers. Women were mothers, nurturers; this crime went against everything he’d always imagined a woman to be.
Beneath that personable smile, what was she? Everyone had a deeper side of themselves not shown to many. But only facts and proof of her guilt mattered to the League.
He wanted more from her; he wanted her secrets.
Sarah seemed to notice his approach at last, and he thought she stiffened.
Chapman turned his head slowly—perhaps he did everything slowly, including courting a woman. Robert didn’t believe in wasting time.
“Sir Robert Burcot,” Sarah said, “allow me to present Sir Simon Chapman.”
They nodded to each other, and Robert felt in Chapman the wariness of a man whose territory was being encroached on. His somber eyes studied Robert.
“Good evening,” Chapman said.
“And to you as well,” Robert answered. Then he bestowed his most charming grin on Sarah. “It seems a shame for a beautiful woman to spend the entire evening conversing. Shall we dance?” He took her hand and gently pulled.
Her brown eyes widened in surprise. Was she offended by his boldness? Did she wish for a man who plodded through his courtship? He usually preferred women as carefree as he was, but there was something well hidden within Sarah. She’d been married, she’d been a man’s mistress—why the restraint? Perhaps every man she encountered was intrigued by her cool façade.
Although she glanced at Chapman, she didn’t resist as Robert tugged her away from the knight.
Robert was strangely jolted by the sensation of her hand in his. For a small woman, she had long, delicate fingers, strong but supple. Her skin felt smooth, soothing, and in his imagination he explored more of her skin, moving up her arms, dipping his tongue in the hollow above her collar bone—
