by Julia Latham
Simon frowned. “I shall fetch our meal.”
When Simon was out of earshot, Sarah elbowed Robert. “How terrible of you to tease him.”
He pressed a little closer to her. “I am enjoying myself.”
It seemed her attempt to make him jealous was working. But they could say no more as Simon returned with a leather satchel and knelt down in the grass far enough away from the mist of the stream. He removed several parcels wrapped in cloth, then two corked bottles. He had linens, plates, goblets—two of each.
“I did not have enough notice that you were joining us,” he said to Robert, his smile full of regret that was so obviously insincere.
“That is all right,” Robert replied. “Sarah will share with me.”
She sighed.
When at last they were all sitting on the blanket, Sarah with her legs tucked beneath her, she smiled with appreciation at Simon as he placed chunks of cheese and bread on her plate, as well as freshly picked berries. She chose cider while the two men opted for the red wine. Simon filled up his goblet, then offered Robert the bottle, who raised it in thanks before taking a swallow. He leaned back on one elbow, his body long and lazy.
To fill the silence, Sarah asked, “Do you have family, Simon?”
He nodded. “A sister, Isabel.” His normally peaceful expression turned faintly melancholy.
“Are you close?” she asked softly.
“Once. But we are not together often, and we do not agree on much.”
“Is she married?”
“Nay, and that is what we do not agree on,” he said dryly.
Robert looked interested. “From your words, I assume your parents are dead. Does that not make you her guardian, which gives you a say in her marriage? Not that I have any sisters…” he added, raising both hands.
“Isabel believes she knows best,” Simon said. “If I put forward a good man’s name for her consideration, ’tis a guarantee she will not be interested in him.”
He said the words lightly, but Sarah sensed a deep pain he tried to bury. To be at its best, marriage needed to be a willing partnership. Her husband hadn’t wanted the position, not in the truest sense of the word. But it was an ache that was part of her past, and she was surprised that it did not hurt quite so much.
“Perhaps she is simply confused about what she wants,” Robert offered. “I, for one, truly do not know what marriage entails.”
Simon swung his head around to stare at Robert. “And what does that mean?”
Sarah, too, waited with avid curiosity to hear the response.
“My parents died when I was very young. I did not see another marriage up close until I was nearly grown.”
“How can that be?” Simon demanded.
“For protection, my brothers and I were raised in a monastery.”
Sarah gaped at him. “You—in a monastery? With priests?”
“And no women,” Robert said with an exaggerated sigh.
“You seem to have figured out what to do with them,” Simon said flatly.
Robert laughed aloud. “Aye, I waited a long time for the chance to be near women. I even escaped once.”
“Did the monks treat you so badly?” she asked in a hesitant voice. She tried to imagine a life in the cold world of men, without a mother’s comfort. In her mind she could see dark-haired little boys, brothers who only had each other, alone in the unforgiving night. Who had taught Robert about women—and not in a sexual way? He was making light of it all, but surely he had to have felt very different and confused when he first emerged into the outside world.
“Nay, I was treated well,” Robert said. “I simply wanted to see a girl. Any girl. I had but fifteen years, and girls dominated my thoughts.”
“Why am I not surprised,” Simon muttered.
“You were fifteen once,” Robert shot back. “Do you not remember it?”
Simon shook his head with exasperation, but Sarah could sense he was suppressing a smile.
“And what happened on your daring adventure?” she asked, intrigued.
Robert stretched out onto his back, hands clasped beneath his head as he grinned. “I met a dairymaid.”
She leaned forward eagerly.
“But alas, I only was granted several kisses before my brother arrived to cart me away. But they were kisses that had to live in my solitary dreams for the next several years.”
“Are we supposed to feel sorry for you?” Simon asked.
“Nay, I have long since made up for my abnormal youth.” He smiled at Sarah.
“Why did you and your brothers need protection as children?” Simon pressed.
Robert returned his gaze to the trees. “Our parents were dead. ’Twas deemed a prudent decision.”
Not a very good explanation, for it only whetted her appetite for more. Had the king chosen him because he was far too familiar with the consequences of murder? Surely that was jumping to conclusions. She could tell he wouldn’t confide anything further to Simon. But perhaps, someday, to her…
“It goes without saying,” Robert continued, “that since I was not in the presence of married couples, I was also not near children. I was rather amazed when young Lord Drayton took to me so easily.”
“You accept him and treat him as a friend,” she said. “Children sense such things.”
Simon’s lips thinned as he pressed them together.
“Oh, but Simon, I do not mean to imply that you are supposed to befriend a five-year-old boy,” she hastened to say.
“’Twould not be my place,” Simon said. “I am a mere knight in his guardian’s household, and he is a viscount.”
“And I am only a stranger who represents something new,” Robert said. “’Tis Sarah whom Francis loves.”
She gave him a faint smile, toying with a berry in her hand until the juice ran down her fingers. She put it to her lips and saw that Robert watched her too closely, his smile fading. In just that moment, she felt a pulse deep in her belly, as if it answered him.
After Simon packed most of the left-over food and plates in the satchel, he went to the horses.
Sarah turned back to Robert, who was watching her intently, his smile gone. “I may know nothing about marriage,” he finally murmured in a low voice, “but I enjoy the softer world of women, who are like presents from God to savor as one unwraps their secrets.” He frowned and looked away, as if he regretted speaking.
Sarah’s entire body flushed with heat and she found herself moving restlessly, that pulse deep inside her ever stronger. She’d wanted to make him jealous, but she herself had learned a lesson in how easily he affected her.
As Simon returned to them, she heard a low rumble in the distance. They all looked up, none having noticed that the sky had gone gray.
“I think ’tis about to rain.” Simon lifted a hand as if to test for droplets. “And I just finished tightening the saddle girths.”
“What a shame to end our afternoon,” Robert said, rising swiftly to his feet.
Both men reached a hand down to her, then looked at each other. Simon was patient and intractable, as if he only had to wait out Robert’s infatuation—or his departure.
She took each of their hands and allowed them to pull her upright. As they rode back through the trees, droplets of water began to fall softly on her.
Robert was doing everything she wanted him to do, as if she willed it. Yet she worried about using his desire for her, should her situation grow worse. What kind of woman did that make her?
The rain began to fall harder.
Whatever kind of woman she was, she would at least be alive and free—and strong because she had to be. She wouldn’t trust Robert, of course, because she felt as if he had another purpose, one she didn’t understand. He’d lied to her already; who knew when he would do so again?
Chapter 15
As Sarah, Robert, and Simon entered the great hall after the midday meal, she felt the gazes of many people linger on them with open curiosity. The tw
o men stood at her back, one serious, the other cheerful and teasing—but with a serious mission that belied the façade he showed the world.
They were soaked through to the skin, of course, and she knew her hair had partially fallen to her shoulders, standing out in humid curls. She shivered a bit, though she felt more damp than cold.
“I regret I did not think to bring a cloak,” Simon said.
“’Tis the height of summer,” she answered, smiling back at him over her shoulder.
“And if you thought of everything,” Robert quipped, “we would think you far too perfect.”
“Mistress Sarah!”
Francis came running toward her, his white face full of relief.
“My lord?” she said curiously.
He flung his arms wide, and although she tried to stop him due to her wet garments, he managed to throw himself against her legs.
“You’re back!”
She looked up and found Margery’s gaze. The other woman could only shrug, her expression confused.
“Of course I’m back, Francis,” she said, gently separating him from her. “But you can see how wet I am. I do not need you catching a fever.”
“Are you going to catch a fever?” he asked, freckles standing out in his pale face.
Oh, she’d spoken thoughtlessly to a boy whose father had so recently died. “Of course not!” she said, chucking him under the chin as she always did. “I am just so protective of you. But though we were caught in the rain, ’tis so warm we won’t even take a chill.”
Francis looked past her to Robert and Simon, and for a moment, she thought he looked almost jealous that someone besides himself had had her attention. He worried his lip between his teeth. This was as new to him as it was to her.
Simon nodded down to him. “My lord, thank you for allowing me to spend the afternoon with your nurse.”
To her surprise, Robert squatted down on his haunches.
“I offer you my gratitude as well, my lord,” he said. “Sometimes men forget that boys need their nurses. We hope you understand.”
“Why did you need her?” Francis asked, kicking his toe repeatedly in the rushes.
Simon and Robert exchanged another look. Sarah could almost imagine the thought Simon directed at Robert: You’re so glib; you answer.
“We like her company,” Robert said, “just as you do.”
“Does she make you laugh?”
He smiled. “Sometimes she does.”
“I think you make her laugh,” Francis said. “She says I don’t laugh enough anymore, but she doesn’t much either.”
Her throat seemed to swell closed for a moment, and she had trouble swallowing back her tears.
“Is it my turn with her now?” Francis asked.
“Of course, my lord,” Robert said, rising to his feet. “And what plans do you have today?”
“We’re going to the dairy shed.”
“Oh?” Sarah stared down at him in surprise.
“Master Frobisher says there’s something wrong, and only a woman can fix it.” He frowned. “Or only you can fix it. I can’t remember which.”
“Then let me change and talk to Master Frobisher. Will you await me here?”
He nodded, looking back up at Robert and Simon again. Simon bowed and walked away, but she noticed that Robert hesitated.
“Have you learned any new songs on the lute today?” he asked.
“But are you not cold and wet like Mistress Sarah?” Francis asked.
“What is a little dampness to us men?”
Grinning, Francis took his hand and tugged him toward the hearth. Sarah knew she was wearing a silly, pleased smile.
Only a half hour on the clock had passed before she returned. She’d managed to find the steward in his office, where she learned that two of the dairymaids had been arguing, and it was affecting everyone’s work.
When Sarah returned for Francis, she half expected Robert to ask to accompany them, now that she knew his fondness for dairymaids, but he excused himself with a bow and left for his lodgings.
Outside, Sarah walked across the courtyard, holding her cloak overhead against the rain so that Francis would do the same. He skipped at her side, his cloak flapping above him. It seemed like all was right in the world now that he had her. She only wished that this could last. But he was a growing boy, and soon he’d be offended that he needed a nurse.
Most of the cattle were kept on the pastureland outside the castle, but several dozen cows were housed in a shed within the curtain walls for the convenience of the residents. Dairymaids did the milking, as well as prepared cheeses and churned butter. When Sarah and Francis walked into the dairy, already she heard the squabbling.
“He’s comin’ to see me, not you!” cried one female voice.
Young, by the sound of her. Sarah sighed. Why did the cause of arguments always have to be a man?
“Did he say that?” taunted another voice.
Francis looked up at her in confusion.
“Go on into the shed, Francis,” she said. “Be careful as you pet the cows.”
He gave her a happy smile and sped off through a timbered door frame. Sarah entered the dairy itself, where there were several large tables and stools, along with butter churns, cheese molds, and shelves of aging cheese.
Five women looked up, but only three appeared happy to see her. Two of the younger women glared at each other and sulked.
Sarah had barely begun to hear their respective stories, and already she was tired of the jealousy. She instructed the two maidservants that neither was to have a man courting her while she was on duty, and if they couldn’t agree to that, then perhaps they should work at one of the distant farms, where they would see fewer people. They quickly insisted their argument wouldn’t happen again.
She was glad to leave them and wander out to the shed, where she could see the long line of cows contentedly munching hay, their tails swishing away the summer flies.
Abruptly, she heard Francis cry out. She couldn’t see him anywhere, because he wasn’t as tall as the cows. Her heart turned over as she sped down the row, looking between each cow.
“Francis?” she cried.
Then she heard a sob. She found him at the far end on his hands and knees near the wall, almost beneath the large body of a placid cow.
He looked up at her with a tear-stained face, panting.
“What happened?” She dropped to her knees beside him and tried to pull him up into her arms.
She saw his grimace of pain. An answering pain clenched her heart.
“Where are you hurt?”
He pointed to his head and chest, and then his tears fell faster. She hugged him to her gently, and at last his shuddering began to ease. The dairymaids had followed her shout, and now crowded behind her, wide-eyed and whispering. Sarah gestured with her head to urge them away.
“Tell me, Francis, what happened?”
He sat back in the straw, looking up at the cow nearby, which seemed to tower above them. “I was…petting her,” he said, between breathy hiccups, “when she…let out a loud moo…and bumped right into me!”
“Bumped right into you?”
“She…pushed me right against…the wall. I—I couldn’t breathe.”
A shiver of fear curdled her stomach. She should have been with him, should have known he was too young to go wandering between such large animals.
“Breathe for me now, Francis. Does it hurt to do so?”
He complied, wincing when he inhaled deeply.
“It only hurts a little,” he muttered.
She had him lie down in the straw, so that she could feel his rib cage and arms. Nothing seemed broken, but that did not mean he wasn’t well and truly bruised.
“How is your head?” she asked, when at last she brought him back into her lap.
“It aches. I slammed it against the wall.” His sobbing had died down enough for him to glare at the animal ignoring them. “Stupid cow.”
; “Did you startle her?” she asked, stroking his brown curls away from his damp forehead.
“Nay! I was only petting her and talking to her. I thought she liked me,” he added, frowning.
“I’m sure she does, Francis. Something startled her. Mayhap ’twas a cat.”
He perked up. “I’ve been looking for the cat that lives in the stables.”
Sarah smiled. “Hiding from you, is he?”
“I never saw him.”
“Perhaps he was too quick for you. Shall we go see if he ran to the stables, or would you rather lie down in your bedchamber?”
“The stables!”
That answer eased her tension, but not completely. She wiped his face with her apron, then held his hand as they left the shed. She wondered if her distraction over the investigation and Robert had played a part in Francis getting injured. What was wrong with her, that all of her decisions lately seemed flawed?
When a horn sounded just before supper, Robert felt an eager satisfaction. An important visitor must have been spotted outside the walls. He was glad for the distraction, for although he was talking with members of the household in the great hall as he always did, his mind kept returning to the afternoon out of doors, and the way the dappled sunlight had shined in Sarah’s red curls—and the way her mouth had glistened with berry juice. She had been playful and teasing, so different once she was away from her duties. He’d wanted to lick the juice from her fingers, to—
He controlled a groan. It had been far too long since he’d bedded a woman. Why else would he be in this constant state of near arousal?
Then he saw Sarah coming in to the great hall through the double doors. The relaxed amusement of the early afternoon was gone from her expression; now she looked like a woman with a purpose.
“Master Frobisher!” she called, and when the steward hurried toward her, she told him, “There are travelers in the distance, a train of them with carts for luggage. I believe ’tis Sir Anthony and his wife.”
Sir Anthony Ramsey, Robert thought with satisfaction, Francis’s guardian, the man with a compelling motive to kill Drayton. Robert was looking forward to the subtle questioning, the back-and-forth of inducing a man to reveal more than he’d intended. In Robert’s view, Ramsey had a much stronger motive for murder than Sarah did.
