Robyn Carr Restoration Box Set

by Robyn Carr

  “I am certain that claim cost you a tidy sum, Master Kerr, but you’ll take me nowhere without evidence to attest to that man’s word,” Wescott boomed. As he shouted, behind Stephen Kerr there appeared the raised swords of an equal number of men from the Wescott manor, not attired in a costume befitting guards, but looking authentically as though they’d been called out of their sleep to aid their master.

  Wescott relaxed his stance, his sword lowered but ready. “But of course, if you’ve a crime to investigate, you may. My men will accompany yours through this household as you attempt to discover some villain hereabouts. I accommodate you with pleasure. And should you find that any of my men have been about the country in the rain or possess some booty from the robbery, you have my leave to arrest them on behalf of Lord Trendell.”

  “You slime,” Kerr slurred. “You’re ready for me.”

  “How could I be?” Trent argued. “As you plainly see, I’ve spent this eve with my mistress...and you could not have been further from my mind.”

  “You were warned,” he accused.

  Wescott’s words came with measured care and were low and menacing. “I could not have been warned of this visit, Master Kerr, unless I had been out this eve and seen you upon the road.”

  “Shall we search the manor, milord?” one of Kerr’s men asked.

  “Yes,” he demanded. “Yes, search every corner from cookhouse to stable—and look cautiously for both the booty from my lord Trendell’s coach and evidence that sir knight has been about the countryside in the rain. This room first: for wet clothing, mud from the stables, whatever you can find.”

  “Stay with them,” Sir Trent ordered blandly. “Avery, what is the number of men Master Kerr has stationed about the manor? Have you rung out our guard?”

  “I sent a page for only a few. I can’t say the number.”

  “Ring out the guard and learn the number. Not one is to search my estate without a guide. Master Kerr will drop a bag of booty in my coffer and bring me up a murderer. Is that your plan, Master Kerr?”

  “You are a son of a bitch,” Kerr drew out slowly, his face in an ugly snarl that portrayed more his disappointment at not finding easy prey than his genuine hatred of his rival. Trent stayed calm, lazily taking two steps forward of his bed and lifting from the top of the coffer the large whip that rested there, coiled and ready. Kerr held no weapon, and knowing what he did of Wescott, he felt safer unarmed. He spoke again in a slow and malicious whine. “You are the whelp of gutter slime, Wescott, and I will see you get your due.”

  Trent smiled, then laughed outright and dropped the dangerous whip back to its place. And when his laughter stopped, he lowered his sword, but he did not discard it, and he looked at Kerr with a glitter and a firm countenance that could not be mistaken. “You had better, Master Kerr.

  You had better win...for you’ve crossed the line and I will kill you for what you dare.”

  Trent looked at Avery. “I ordered you to ring out the guard. Go.” Avery fled on shaky legs, his nightdress following him in a shudder of linen. Trent looked past Kerr to the men-at-arms. “Do what your master instructs; look first through this chamber and then my house; my men will accompany you and even give you aid. And you, Kerr, get yourself from my house before I yield to temptation and run you through.”

  Kerr looked at Wescott for a moment and then, with a frown of embarrassed disappointment, turned and quit the room. Trent stood for a few moments while one of Kerr’s men meandered about, lifted the coffer lid, and dug deep in search of treasure. The chests and drawers were briefly inspected, the clothes within the bureau carefully touched, and finally the lone man-at-arms who was left to inspect Sir Trent’s room paused by the bed and turned questioning eyes to the underdressed knight. “My lord, the bed...I dare not leave without—”

  “You’ll not disturb my lady,” he said.

  “But my lord, I—”

  “I said no,” he replied. “She is undressed and cannot accommodate you.”

  Wescott loomed over the young man, his glare penetrating the eyes of the searcher. Still, the man stammered. “But there could be something—”

  “Go tell your master to come to this chamber and roust my lady from my care to inspect the bed sheets,” Sir Trent challenged. “That is the only way it will be done; and you must come through me to do it.”

  “But she is only a—”

  “She is in my bed,” Wescott boomed. At the open door stood a guard who served Braeswood with his ready weapon, and beside the bed stood Sir Trent.

  The lad who served Kerr struggled with love of life and loyalty, and finally, shrugging, approached the open door to leave.

  Jocelyn looked up at Trent from her reclining position. “I think I could not bear to have Stephen Kerr—”

  “He will not,” Trent interrupted. “You needn’t fear. The lad will tell his master that the chamber is void of evidence.”

  “You are sure?”

  “‘Tis his choice between being beaten for his failure or rewarded for his service.” Trent shrugged. “Stephen Kerr would kill me if he could, but he will not challenge me. And I assure you, ma chere, he will not try to pass me to get to you.”

  Much to Jocelyn’s surprise, Trent did not leave the bedchamber all the while the Kerr guards were roving in and around the house. He paced, looked outside his chamber door, out the window, and listened carefully to all the sounds the house made as people were roused from sleep by guards clamoring through each room, but he stayed where he was and did not dress himself any further.

  It was the better part of an hour before Avery approached the door again, this time smiling, his crooked teeth glimmering with mirth. “They are gone, sir, and not so much as a tooth of a hound was uncovered. I would think it unwise to call the stable boy home; your mount is stabled in the village for the night and Master Kerr rides home in the rain.” Then he bowed slightly toward the bed. “Milady,” he addressed, quite pleased with himself and her. “A decent night’s work, by my way of thinking. I’m saying good night.”

  “Aye,” Trent approved. “But sleep light, man. If at all. I trust Kerr not a bit.”

  Avery nodded very agreeably and quit the room, gently closing the door. Trent turned and looked down again at Jocelyn. “He speaks the truth; ‘twas a good night’s work, my lady. You are to be complimented.”

  “I am certain it would have come to you in time, my lord.”

  “Perhaps. And perhaps I’d have followed my instincts and fled my own house; I have not been secure that it is mine in many years. In fact, of all those who reside here, you are the only one to be truly accepting of my lordship. All the others remember my family’s demise and my inability to return. And most of them fear they will see all of that again.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “What pleases you, Jocelyn? Should you like to spend the night here with me, or journey the long walk to your own bed?”

  “What?” she asked, shocked by the question.

  “What I have asked is what would please you. I shall not sleep before sunrise, given my condition with the young Kerr bastard. I am prepared to answer your requests. You might ask me for the hidden pleasures in being my mistress,” he murmured, running a finger along her ear. “Or, you might ask me for privacy.” He took a deep breath. “I would not press my desires on you on a night you’ve saved my hide.”

  She watched him suspiciously. There was no mirth in his features now and he seemed completely relaxed, yet ready to spring to his weapons at the slightest sound, should the need arise.

  She could not deny the desire to feel his arms about her again, for in spite of the earlier dangers, she had warmed to his touch. And in this strange disjointed night, she’d seen much of him; very little was left to ponder. Having him love her was not something to be feared, yet asking him for more of the same was more than she could easily do. She let her eyes gently close as she considered her position.

  “I would choose my own bed,” she said qui
etly.

  She felt his finger tease the hair at her temple and heard his voice, soft and gloomy in her ear. “You play the woman very well, and the temptress yet better. But you have much to learn of being a decent whore.”

  She turned her head and looked at him, her eyes level and her voice steady. “There has been nothing in my life to prepare me for that, milord. It may be that I will fail entirely.”

  He stared at her for a moment and then stood, sweeping an arm in invitation for her to leave his bed and frowning in disappointment as she withdrew herself without hesitation. He watched with glowing admiration as she donned her nightdress and covered herself with her wrapper.

  “Aye, you have much to learn,” he said to her back as she moved toward the door. She turned and looked in his direction, finding him watching her intensely, a puzzled wrinkle upon his brow. “Or perhaps it is I,” he added.

  “Milord?” she queried, thinking it highly likely he would in a whim revoke his reward and demand her presence in his bed.

  “I find it impossible to understand you, damsel. You are the beaten slave, selling yourself at a meager price and caught downwind with no prize to take away. I have promised you nothing, and those meager gifts you use are solely for my pleasure. You are still a pauper. Yet you do not seek to ensure your presence here, and you use no wiles to gain more from me. You further disadvantage yourself with every move, when you could easily learn to play the vixen and drug me with want of you.”

  Her hand reached out to touch the door, as if her answer to him was that while she would yield to his command, she would not play the harlot’s game. Their eyes met across the distance of the room, and finally she turned slowly and moved out of the room.

  Left alone in his chamber and knowing he dare not close his eyes through the remainder of this night, his thoughts were occupied as much by Jocelyn as by Stephen Kerr.

  “I bought a simple wench to warm my bed and I complain of her lack of wiles and sit here alone, a complete fool. While I draw myself the master and she the slave, I have only to look at her simple compliance to see who holds the fortune. I have given her nothing at all, yet I am the one paupered.”

  EIGHT

  It came as no surprise that every servant from the stable to the kitchen had the story of the nighttime raid down to the last detail by midmorning. Many were housed within the manor and were themselves rousted by the visiting guard, and those who journeyed the short distance from the town to the manor to work by day were informed most quickly.

  What was surprising to Jocelyn was that she had been credited most generously for devising a plan that would demonstrate Sir Trent’s innocence. Not only did she feel a genuine reluctance to take credit for this, but she could imagine no one other than Avery could be responsible for praising her participation in the idea. Trent, she had observed, did not hold long conversations with his staff, and aside from Avery, she believed he had no confidants. And of all of the people here, Jocelyn believed Avery disapproved of her most vehemently.

  When Glynnis arrived in her chamber, she had heard of Jocelyn’s part in the fray from Enid, who had heard it somewhere else, and Glynnis assured her everyone knew. Her initial reaction was to groan and flush in embarrassment. That they all knew she was his mistress caused her to tremble and avoid each of them, but the very idea that they had even more intimate knowledge of their escapades, the drawing of the details, her lack of clothing, and Kerr’s discovery of them naked and in bed, only made her more upset. She stood accused of whorish behavior already; now she must certainly be convicted.

  Jocelyn had to take several deep breaths to stop the flood of discomfort she felt, and as she had done on several other mornings, she endeavored to hold her head up and bear any sly smiles or sarcastic comments with as much dignity as she could muster. She judged her appearance in the mirror—a frock of light muslin sewn with blue ribbons and some lace, her hair coiled in a tight bun—and frowned at her reflection. “A pretty state of indecency, this,” she thought distractedly. “A proud whore! Ha! My poor mother must turn in her grave.”

  But her options were few and she would not shrink and weep but must wear this burden as bravely as she could. By late morning she was ready to venture below to find Glynnis, and she bolstered herself for typical abuse.

  In the foyer at the bottom of the stairs she met Agnes, the maid’s arms burdened with linens and a bucket dangling from below the stack. Jocelyn averted her eyes but reminded herself to pass cautiously, lest the woman attempt to trip her or otherwise punish her. But as Agnes passed she spoke. “Good morning, mum. You’re lookin’ fit.”

  Jocelyn stopped abruptly, frozen in her place. She was stricken speechless by Agnes’s civil tongue. But Agnes kept on her route and gained the stairs. Jocelyn collected herself and spoke in return. “Good morning to you, Agnes. And...thank you.”

  The maid nodded, granted Jocelyn a modest but recognizable smile, and went on her way. Jocelyn could barely move. She shook her head in wonder, then began again toward the rear of the house to find Glynnis.

  Avery was just leaving the drawing room, moving toward the foyer, when upon sight of her he instantly grinned. He paused and bobbed slightly, his manner most lighthearted. “Good morning, mum,” he said. “And a fine sight you are to these tired old eyes, mum.”

  Again Jocelyn was stunned. His parting words to her the night before were pleasant and complimentary ones, but she had not been so arrogant as to think that the disapproval and, indeed, disgust he felt for her were past. She felt a new lightness of heart at his friendly manner and was glad for these modest kindnesses, hoping beyond hope it would not be too short-lived. “Thank you, Avery.”

  “Aye, mum,” he bobbed, still grinning and preening before her. She raised a brow and ventured coyly, “You do not look so very tired, Avery. I think you quite enjoyed the danger.”

  There was no question but that he was energized by the events, for she had not seen him so animated before. But he frowned to her accusation and attempted to assure her otherwise. “Oh no, mum. I’ve ridden with Sir Trent nigh on fifteen years and his father before that. I’m far and away too old for these raids and fevers a man has to endure in the service of a landholder and knight. No, mum, it’d suit me well to give these old bones a rest and settle down to a heavy task of shinin’ his lordship’s boots and bringin’ him a tonic now and then.”

  The perpetual gaiety about his eyes and the quivering of his lips belied his excuses. Jocelyn was convinced, Avery had fully enjoyed the excitement and was still riding on the wave of it this morning. His grin was indeed broad and he rocked slightly on his feet, his bowed legs rising and falling as his heels found and left the floor.

  “Aye, it was a good night,” he confirmed, eyes glittering happily. And then with a kind of reverence he added, “Those of us loyal to Sir Trent get a fair amount of pleasure seeing him beat that gutless bastard at his own game. Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but that’s the kindest word I can lay to Master Kerr.”

  Jocelyn, remembering very clearly how she felt the night she was caught between Sir Trent and Stephen Kerr on a deserted country road, smiled and nodded in agreement. “Yes, Avery, I’m sure that is a fact.” She found herself not too displeased with the way the night had gone. And the morning’s benefits were a pleasure to bear. If she was in some good standing with these people, her stay here would be incredibly improved.

  Enid passed through the same foyer, a space within the manor that proved heavy of traffic. When Jocelyn had ventured from her rooms, she routinely fled through this area with as much speed as possible to avoid meeting with anyone. But with Agnes’s reaction and then Avery’s, she was feeling very confident. She caught Enid’s flight with a question. “Enid, do you know where I might find Glynnis?”

  “In the kitchen,” she grumbled, passing Jocelyn and Avery without a glance or greeting.

  Jocelyn was not beaten by Enid’s terse nature, but she was appropriately reminded that not all these people would automatically
approve of her simply because she had shown some loyalty to a common cause. But Avery was not so gracious over the old woman’s surly nature.

  “That old badger gets her tail twisted mighty tight when someone wakes her up in the middle of the night. Mark me, it’ll take her a week to stop feelin’ the insult.”

  Whether or not it was lack of sleep seemed inconsequential to Jocelyn. She reminded herself sternly to have no expectations of the people at Braeswood. And of all those present, Enid and Avery were the two most injured by Sir Trent’s blatant irreverence toward conventional morals.

  Her fourth encounter in a morning filled with surprises was with Trent. He was coming from his study and walking through the hall when he came upon her and Avery. He seemed hurried and preoccupied, as was typical, and she fully expected him to pass without a word. But he stopped and slipped a casual arm about her waist, placing a brotherly kiss on her brow.

  “You seem none the worse for your lack of sleep. Indeed, you look well rested.”

  “I slept later than usual,” she replied quietly. “And you’re looking just a bit tired.”

  “Not tired, madam, busy. I can hardly ignore what has transpired. I must set about with some response to this crime as quickly as possible. You’ll remember, our lands join, and Lord Trendell passed near my property en route to his demise.”

  “Of course,” she said, not having any idea what he meant to do.

  “Have you had breakfast?” he asked.

  Avery moved away from them as if their conversation might be private, and Trent began to lead her away with him toward the kitchen.

  “Long ago. I was just on my way to find Glynnis, who is likely in the kitchens. Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m on my way there myself. Martha and Treena were both up before sunrise getting a start on pastries, and I’m tired of waiting to see if they remember how it’s done. I haven’t had a fruit tart since my mother managed this house.”

  Jocelyn wasn’t sure she remembered who these women were, but with him close at her side, she feared the cooking rooms less. And she found his company most pleasant as they went there together.