The Thief's Countess (Border Series Book 1)

by Cecelia Mecca

  What was the point of arguing? Everyone in the room knew how it would end. She would be married to the Earl of Archbald, and these border thieves her father had summoned would come to protect her in the meantime.

  She was in charge of an entire household—a village!—but not herself.

  Sara closed her eyes, not wanting to look at their expectant faces. She was the Countess of Kenshire, but Faye and Peter had a talent for making her feel like a wayward child. Her father would never have let anyone sway him from his decisions.

  But he was the one who had wished for both of these things—the engagement and the reivers—and now he was gone.

  She stood, smoothing the front of her deep green overcoat, picking imaginary stray threads off its silver lining. “When do they arrive?”

  Both Peter and Faye looked more than a little relieved.

  “Anytime now, my lady,” Peter beamed.

  “Then thank you for preparing the kitchen. Let’s be about our day.”

  She made a quick decision as she watched Peter and Faye exit the room. Sara made her way through the door that adjoined the bedchamber. From the ornate trunk in the corner, which had belonged to her mother, she selected a soft white cloak with a fur-lined collar.

  Wrapped up in the cloak, she crept quietly to the great hall and then exited through a side door adjacent to the hall. Though she felt a tad guilty about escaping preparations for the second time that day, she knew her advisors would ensure all was ready for her unwanted guests.

  The cloak protected Sara from the crisp air that always accompanied the change in seasons. She was grateful for it as she made her way down a path known only to a few. The “sea path,” her father had called it. A gateway to the North Sea.

  Eventually she found herself walking through tall grass, her feet sinking deeper into the gritty sand with each step.

  How did he do it?

  When he was alive, her father had been both reticent and giving, uncompromising and yielding. Somehow he’d demanded respect without asking for it, and he’d always made the right decision. Or so it had seemed.

  How?

  She straightened her back, resisting the tingle in her cheeks. She would not cry. Her duty was to the hard-working people who lived and worked on the unforgiving coast of Northern England. They needed her to do everything in her power to retain her title. There were so many dangers for her in Northumbria—at least until she had a husband. The border. The Scots. Sir Randolf Fitzwarren, that vile usurper who tried to steal Kenshire from under her.

  For her people, she’d accept Lord Lyonsford. For them, she’d allow the reivers to stay at the keep.

  But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

  2

  After changing into a bright crimson surcoat adorned with as many gems as she could tolerate, which wasn’t many, Sara slowly approached the second floor stairway. The guests had arrived—Faye had come upstairs to tell her so. She willed herself to remain calm, but she already longed for her typical attire. The low-hanging sleeves of the surcoat were undeniably stylish, but they were hardly practical for anything more than folding her hands in front of her. With the announcement her “guests” had arrived, Sara willed herself to remain calm.

  This is what Father wanted.

  Sara caught her first distant glimpse of Hugh and Geoffrey Waryn as she descended the stairs leading to the great hall. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the nephew. Luckily, she reached the bottom before getting a better look at the man. She would surely have tripped and thoroughly embarrassed herself had she seen him any earlier.

  Sir Geoffrey was easily the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on. With jet-black hair, broad shoulders, and a more imposing height than any other man in the room, he commanded attention. Sir Geoffrey’s square, hard-set jaw—clean-shaven, unlike most of his peers—and obvious confidence lent him an air of superiority at odds with his station.

  Pretending composure she didn’t feel, Sara slowly approached the men. She lifted her head, ignoring her warm cheeks, and clenched her fingers to steady her hands. Clear blue eyes of steel locked with her own, boldly and without reserve. As Sir Geoffrey continued to stare, her chest tightened in a peculiar way.

  Not daring to hold his gaze any longer, she took in the nearly equally imposing figure of his uncle. Age had not diminished his erect posture. In many ways, the uncle was an older version of the nephew.

  Thank the heavens she wasn’t yet expected to speak. Sara was sure her voice would betray the odd sensations assaulting her.

  Before Peter could introduce the men as decorum dictated, Sir Geoffrey stepped forward to close the gap between them and knelt before her. Bringing her hand to his lips, he gently kissed it. She’d been greeted this way many times before, though never by a man she’d just met.

  Somehow, the greeting felt different, more intimate than any other.

  She held back a rebuke and warned off Peter with a glance.

  “Lady Sara, my uncle and I are pleased to make your acquaintance.” She separated her weakened legs ever so slightly to get a better foothold. Sir Geoffrey’s finger caressed her palm as he brought his lips to it, but the feeling was so fleeting she wondered if she’d imagined it.

  Gesturing for him to stand, she stepped backward, hoping distance would help dampen her reaction to him. Letting out her breath, Sara accepted a greeting from Sir Hugh, who also knelt before her but did not kiss her hand.

  Finally trusting her voice, which thankfully sounded strong, she welcomed both men. “Good day, gentleman. Come, I’ve had rooms prepared.”

  So much for sounding calm.

  “I’m sure you’d like time to rest and refresh before the meal.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Sir Hugh said. “We’ll gladly take you up on your offer. Geoffrey and I made great haste traveling here.”

  Sara kept her gaze fixed on Sir Hugh, not daring to look at the nephew.

  “Please accept our condolences on your father’s passing. He was a good friend and a better man.”

  “Thank you, Sir Hugh.”

  Not a hint of nervousness. Mayhap she’d get through this greeting after all.

  “I’d like to offer my condolences as well, my lady.” His voice was deep and strong.

  Sara turned to accept Geoffrey’s offer, studying the contrast between his black hair and ice blue eyes. “Thank you.”

  Dangerous.

  It was not as though Kenshire’s retinue lacked for handsome men. Her dear friend William, though she thought of the knight as a brother, was unusually good-looking.

  But even he didn’t compare to this … thief. He was perfect.

  Allowing Faye to show them to the private rooms that had been prepared for them above the great hall, Sara watched as they disappeared from view. Peter had insisted on the courtesy despite their station. The reivers were here, he’d admonished, to protect her. That fact earned his respect despite her reluctance. Peter and Faye accepted them because her father had decreed it. She was not so convinced.

  Sara would not allow Sir Geoffrey’s handsome face to distract her from the fact that he was the last person in the world who should be protecting Kenshire.

  How exactly did her father come to trust Hugh Waryn? She’d met him a few times as a girl but couldn’t recollect anything to shed light on the important station he now occupied. Sara refused to doubt her abilities to hold Kenshire.

  A short time later, Sara was wearing a new outfit—equally unsuited to actual movement—and sitting in her usual place on the dais. She watched as her guests were seated at one of the trestle tables beneath her. From the good cheer of their dinner companions, it seemed she was the only one with reservations about hosting the reivers. Trying hard to avoid Sir Geoffrey’s gaze—moments earlier Sara had caught him staring unabashedly at her—she shifted her attention to the room around her. Much to her satisfaction, the great hall displayed a woman’s touch everywhere, from the lilac-scented rushes on the floor to the intricately woven
wall tapestries that kept out the coastal chill. It currently boasted the welcoming scents of venison and freshly baked bread.

  Unfortunately, her attention kept returning to Sir Geoffrey. The man was insolent, his manners exactly what she’d expect of an out-of-favor knight who made a living by stealing from others. Kissing my hand before being introduced?

  To be fair, he and his uncle appeared almost civilized at the moment. She just couldn’t reconcile her father’s hardened sense of morals with his decision to invite these men to their home. Reivers roamed the land, taking from others and terrorizing innocents.

  “Lady Sara,” asked John, the cupbearer. “More wine?”

  Not one to overindulge, she was quite surprised to see she’d drained her glass.

  “I didn’t realized there was a hole in this goblet.” She nodded to indicate she’d have another serving.

  “My lady, you must have accidentally switched goblets with Maude.” John nodded toward the young wife of an older knight who was known for her propensity for wine.

  She laughed, grateful to concentrate on something other than her non-existent appetite.

  Dozens of men and a handful of women were dining in the great hall, which was designed to hold a large retinue. But the ordinary sounds of the meal couldn’t quite dull Lady Sara’s laughter. It felt as if she were close enough to be sitting on his lap.

  A dangerous thought.

  When Geoffrey looked up to the dais, his hostess’s transformation amazed him. Gone was the serious, dark-haired young woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders, replaced by a dazzling, carefree maiden. Simple but elegant, her pale yellow overcoat seemed to match her mood. Only the low-hanging sleeves offered a clue to her elevated station. Her deep-set eyes crinkled ever so slightly with the laugh, indicating the expression was a common one for her. The urge to touch her high, elegant cheekbones, to caress the delicate skin of her cheek was so strong, it took him aback.

  He was still reeling from the way he’d lost control earlier, but he understood why it had happened.

  The first moment he saw her, two thoughts had bloomed in his head. The first … Lady Sara was extraordinarily beautiful, every feature perfectly formed, but despite her confident manner, Geoffrey was positive the lady wasn’t aware of her effect on those around her.

  Second, he had longed for the opportunity to touch her. Never one to second-guess his instincts, that’s exactly what he’d done, despite knowing that decorum dictated his uncle make the first move. That simple touch had almost been powerful enough for him to forget his resentment at having to travel to Kenshire in the first place.

  Almost.

  Once, when he was a lad of ten and eight, Geoffrey had allowed himself to fall in love. The young maid was more beautiful and graceful than her station demanded. Though his father insisted as the eldest brother that he marry for political advantage, Geoffrey began to envision a life with the merchant’s daughter. And he would have been prepared to do just that. But the sacking of their village had ended their love—it had ended life as he knew it.

  Life was cruel, and love weakened a man. While he had lain with his share of women since then, none had diverted his attention from his mission to reclaim his home. And none had demanded his attention as firmly as the gently bred woman before him, who was even now meeting his gaze. The lady was out of bounds. Betrothed. Noble. The very one they were here to protect.

  She was nonetheless enticing, her full lips made to be kissed. Small but well proportioned, her dark features were out of place in this cold, harsh northern climate. Her large brown eyes held his gaze until Geoffrey reluctantly pulled away.

  “Geoffrey?’

  “Uncle?”

  “I asked if you are staying for the entertainment.”

  Geoffrey was rarely taken off guard. “Your pardon.”

  “Lad,” his uncle said, glancing from him to the dais and then back, “if I were a young buck like you, I’d be having the same thoughts. The pretty maid I knew has grown into a beautiful woman.”

  Geoffrey knew that tone. And the accompanying stern look. “Your concern is misplaced.”

  “The music,” Hugh repeated, pointing to a lutist setting up nearby.

  “Aye, I’ll stay. Why do you ask?’

  “I need to speak to the steward and want you to keep a close eye. I know Lady Sara is well-guarded, but it can’t hurt to be extra cautious.”

  “How close an eye are you suggesting I keep, Uncle?” He lifted his lips in a small grin.

  “Ha!” Hugh clasped him on the back and stood from the bench. “If I didn’t know you so well, I’d stay myself to watch you both. I’ll trust you to keep watch on her for the remainder of the evening.”

  “Uncle.” He grasped Hugh’s arm to prevent him from leaving and leaned close. “We don’t belong here. Sitting in this hall. Drinking, listening to music—”

  “You’re uncomfortable.”

  “Indeed, I am. We’re outsiders here. You can see for yourself that the castle and its lady are well-protected. We should be gathering men, not listening to the lute.”

  A near-mirror image of him, though more advanced in years and equipped with a bit more padding, Hugh stood his ground. “Go, if you will. My duty is here.”

  “And my duty is with you.” Geoffrey released his hold.

  “Be at ease. These last years have been difficult, Geoffrey, and you’re as deserving of good food and music as any man in this hall.”

  Geoffrey watched his uncle amble away and then asked for another mug of ale. If they weren’t leaving, he may as well take advantage of the quality of Kenshire’s brew.

  “Is it true you’re a reiver?” the young knight next to him asked, motioning for the serving maid.

  “Aye.” Ale in hand, Geoffrey tried his best to take Hugh’s advice and enjoy the evening.

  “I knew a man, a mercenary, who lived so close to the border he could spit into Scotland.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “Nay. He joined with a local family when his pa’s entire livestock was stolen. Last I heard, his whole village had been burnt to the ground.”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  But the boy’s affinity for his fallen companion must not have run deep. He’d apparently already lost interest in their discussion and was flirting with the girl as she filled his mug.

  Glancing up at the dais, Geoffrey noticed the countess was making her way down from it. Without thinking, he rose and followed her from the hall.

  “My lady.” Either she didn’t hear him or pretended not to. Sara continued to climb the stairs leading to the upper chambers.

  He wasn’t used to being ignored.

  Sara’s heart raced. While she loved the lute, she couldn’t bear to be on display tonight, nor could she bring herself to care about appearing rude by leaving before her guests. Everything had changed at once—her father, the engagement to Lord Lyonsford, the reivers—and it was all simply too much. And housing retainers meant a castle brimming to capacity. While she was grateful for the extra men, she longed for a more peaceful, quiet keep.

  “Lady Sara.” Approaching from behind, Sir Geoffrey called to her as she walked onto the gallery above the great hall.

  Sara stopped and turned with as much decorum as she could muster given her wildly beating heart. “Sir Geoffrey, how can I be of assistance?” she managed to say.

  He seemed to weigh his answer carefully before speaking. “I was asked to watch you, my lady,” he finally said. “‘Tis why my uncle and I have come to Kenshire.”

  His intent gaze unnerved her. Sara turned toward the banister, listening as the lutist began to play beneath them, watching her father’s people … nay, her people. “I apologize for retiring early, sir, but it’s been a long few days.” She was proud her voice betrayed not a hint of the nervousness she felt.

  “I understand, my lady. But my uncle swore an oath to your father that we mean to uphold. I’d like to talk to you about our role while
we wait for Lord Lyonsford to arrive.”

  Sara winced at the mention of her betrothed. “Perhaps in the morn after mass would be a better time?” Although her words spoke of dismissal, she made no move to leave.

  “I’ll speak plainly, my lady. We rode here in haste. Your steward asked my uncle to spare no time in traveling to Kenshire Castle to protect you from Sir Randolf. As his eldest nephew, I’ve accompanied him to do just that. For better or worse.”

  Sara could only imagine what he meant by that. Her defenses up, she turned from the railing to face him head on. “While I appreciate your loyalty to my father, let me be plain as well. This castle and I are well-defended against any potential threat.”

  As they squared off, Sara started to rue that second cup of wine. She felt unsteady, off-kilter. But when Geoffrey continued to stare at her rather than politely deferring to her dismissal as any trained knight ought to do, she began to wonder if it was the wine’s doing at all. The man before her was stubborn and insolent. And breathtaking. And also a bit of a mystery. He was well-dressed for a reiver, the bright white of his linen shirt unusual for a man on the run, and his manner resembled that of a highborn lord rather than a lawless thief.

  Something about him made her feel reckless.

  “Do you intend to follow me into my bedchamber to fulfill this vow?”

  His expression instantly changed, and she regretted the hastily uttered words. She could hear her father’s voice. Sara, you spend too much time in the stables listening to the lads’ wagging tongues.

  “Nay, milady.” His darkened eyes and slowly spoken words sent a strange shiver through her. “But I would like to discuss our quarters.”

  Sara, normally quick-witted, had no retort.

  “Is that your lady’s maid searching frantically for you?”

  She followed his gaze to the festivities below.

  “Aye, I left without word.” Sara grinned, wondering if Faye would resort to looking under the trestle tables for her.