The Thief's Countess (Border Series Book 1)

by Cecelia Mecca

  “Did they accept an outsider so readily?” She knew little of reivers but remembered hearing of their fierce loyalty to family and clan.

  “One built like my uncle?” he said with a grin. “What do you think?”

  Understanding, she guessed what happened next. “And you eventually joined him?”

  “Aye. It’s too dangerous to stay in one place for long, so Hugh and I typically roam the border, living off the land and returning to give our family much needed supplies.”

  “So you don’t often see your siblings?” She had always wanted brothers and sisters.

  “Not as often as I’d like. But their safety is of the utmost important to me.”

  “Have you been back to Bristol since you were a child?”

  “So many questions for one day. Mayhap it’s your turn to answer a few?” Geoffrey sat back and crossed his arms. The sleeves of his white linen shirt were rolled slightly, revealing dark hair underneath. She stared at his arms, remembering what they had felt like around her waist.

  This was the longest they’d spoken since the incident in her bedchamber.

  “What do you want to know?” She hoped her voice sounded dispassionate. Somehow she knew his question would have nothing to do with her past.

  She was right.

  “Have you thought about that night?”

  Of course she had. She had thought of little else. But it was the one question she did not wish to answer. Still, she was opening her mouth to do just that when Peter came running through the open door, face flushed and panting.

  “My lady. He’s here!”

  10

  Geoffrey sprang out of his seat. Sara’s face blanched.

  This was the moment he’d been waiting for since Hugh had brought him on this fool’s errand. But could he relinquish Sara to her betrothed so soon?

  As if he had a choice.

  What the hell are you thinking?

  “Sir Randolf is at the outer gatehouse asking for permission to enter.”

  Sir Randolf?

  He shouldn’t be relieved. When Lord Lyonsford arrived, he’d be free to continue gathering the support he needed to take back Bristol. It was the only thing he cared about. Or was it? There was no time to sort through that now.

  At the moment, he needed to concentrate on the fact that the man who wished to wrest Kenshire from Sara had arrived at the castle gates. Good. He was itching for a fight.

  All three made their way down the stairs forthwith. They met with Kenshire’s marshal in the great hall, and Sara began questioning Peter and Gerald.

  “Does he bring many men?”

  “According to the tower guards, it doesn’t appear so, milady,” the marshal said, “but we’ve sent scouts ahead to be sure.”

  “Good. I assume you’ve put everyone on alert?”

  “Aye. And Sir Hugh is in the guardroom as we speak.”

  “I won’t ask you to intervene, Sir Geoffrey,” she said, turning to him, “but I’m sure you know what this means.” The woman who addressed him was self-assured and clearly in charge. It was remarkable reversal from the empathetic Sara he also knew existed.

  “If it’s a battle Sir Randolf wants, it’s a battle he’ll get.”

  They received word that Randolf was indeed escorted by less than twenty men-at-arms, and after consulting with her officers, Sara decided to allow him entry. She waited for the arrival of her archenemy with more composure than Geoffrey himself would likely have mustered if a member of Clan Kerr stood outside the castle gates. Chin lifted slightly, Sara appeared calm, collected, and regal. Yet he noticed she was biting her cheek. While she was in control, the countess was very much annoyed.

  Geoffrey knew he had no business thinking of her cheek or any other body part, for that matter, but damned if he didn’t itch to throw caution to the wind and claim those pursed lips as his.

  Although common courtesy demanded Sir Randolf be announced, this was no ordinary circumstance. This was the man who had forced Sara into the match with Lord Lyonsford. The man who wished to steal her home and title. Geoffrey gritted his teeth. If the man looked at Sara the wrong way, he’d enjoy sending the greedy bastard to his maker, lofty connection be damned.

  Moments later Sir Randolf was escorted, alone, into the keep. Geoffrey immediately despised him. Tall and thin, with brown hair hanging around his shoulders in the current fashion and more jewels than Geoffrey had seen on Sara during his entire stay, Sir Randolf Fitzwarren belonged at court.

  Or in hell.

  He declined to bow and instead stared straight at his hostess.

  “You’re in the presence of a countess, Sir Randolf,” Geoffrey said. “You obviously haven’t been taught any manners.” It wasn’t his place to speak, but he took immense pleasure in the man’s discomfort.

  Though not extraordinarily broad-shouldered, Randolf was nevertheless imposing, his bearing that of a man who fully embraced his station. He hadn’t noticed Geoffrey’s presence earlier, but he did now.

  Good.

  “I’d bow if the countess were keeping her title, but alas, she is not.”

  Sara snaked out her hand and slapped Randolf hard enough across the cheek to snap his head back.

  “That, you coxcomb, is for causing my father worry in his last days.”

  When Randolf took a step toward her, Geoffrey shifted to block her from him. “That’s close enough.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of your acquaintance.” Randolf’s terse reply and combative tone were at odds with his words.

  Geoffrey felt a feather-light touch on his shoulder. They stood apart from Randolf as if a line had been drawn. But now Sara’s captains closed ranks and began to encroach on that invisible line.

  “A fine show, Lady Sara,” Randolf said, glancing around the hall. “Where is that lovely Faye? A flask of wine would be much appreciated.”

  Aside from a slight lift of her chin, Sara hardly moved a muscle. “It has obviously escaped your notice that you are not welcome here.”

  “I see. Then mayhap we should take a seat while we discuss the terms of your surrender?”

  Geoffrey’s hand twitched.

  Sara laughed. A perfect, hearty sound that filled the otherwise eerily quiet hall devoid of its usual flurry of activity. “Go to hell.”

  Geoffrey nearly smiled at Randolf’s reaction. A lady simply didn’t demand one’s departure to the devil’s lair. Well, most of them didn’t anyway. But Sara, as he’d learned, was special.

  His beady eyes narrowing, Randolf finally got around to the purpose of his visit.

  “Well, since you’re obviously not inclined to offer a weary traveler succor, here are my terms. Vacate Kenshire within two days, or everyone you hold dear will be destroyed.”

  It was Geoffrey’s turn to laugh. From all he had learned about Randolf, the man had never enjoyed a warm welcome at Kenshire. The loose ties to Caiser went back generations, though it was only in the last years of his life when Sara’s father had explicitly forbidden Randolf from his holdings. If the man had not been so politically connected, his claim would have been laughable. As it was, he would have to fight his way to her inheritance, but his well-placed allies emboldened him.

  Looking Geoffrey straight in the eye, Randolf made a bold prediction. “I’ll start by destroying this arrogant oaf.”

  Robbing Randolf of the pleasure of the response he so clearly wanted, Geoffrey stood immobile, his face a mask of indifference.

  Randolf’s ears turned bright red as his eyes narrowed.

  It was almost too easy.

  “If that’s all you’ve come to say, I bid you adieu.” Sara spoke slowly, as if she were dismissing a young child.

  Spinning on his heels, Randolf started to leave the hall, followed closely by Eddard and Sir Jerold, but then he turned back, leveling his gaze on those who had dared to mock him.

  “I would be amiss not to mention that the Earl of Covington not only supports my claim, but backs it with a
full force of men. I’ll return with them in two days’ time. Send your scouts a bit farther west to confirm, if you’d like. Or not. It matters naught to me.”

  Turning to leave with his escorts, he called back, “Oh, yes, and your betrothed has finally landed on England’s fine soil, but alas, he’s more than two weeks’ ride from Kenshire.”

  With that, the impertinent pretender finally left the hall, having thoroughly cast a black cloud over its inhabitants.

  “Do you want me to kill him?”

  He was glad Sara appeared to seriously contemplate his offer before answering him. Because he was serious.

  “Nay, the consequences are too uncertain,” she finally said with a sigh. “My father would’ve done the deed ten times over if Sir Randolf’s friend Lord Covington didn’t have the king’s ear. The earl’s reach is broad.”

  Sara tapped her chin with her finger, deep in contemplation.

  “A word, Sir Geoffrey?” she asked.

  Hell, you can have anything you’d like.

  While the others began to issue orders, he followed Sara to a private corner of the hall. They were still visible to all, but their conversation would not be overheard.

  “If you’re going to tell me that I overstepped by addressing Sir Randolf that way, send us away now. I’ll not stay silent while that scum insults you.”

  She startled. So that wasn’t it.

  “I wasn’t planning to say any such thing. In fact, I wanted to thank you for your assistance.”

  He had jumped to the wrong conclusion, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to apologize for it.

  “I wanted to ask your opinion.”

  “Me? A common thief? Are you sure?”

  “Aye, I’m sure. Though you’re apparently no common thief at all, but a displaced lord.”

  “Displaced. What a pretty word.”

  It was impossible not to stare at her lips.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  You.

  “Nothing,” he snapped, his tone belying his answer. “I shouldn’t be surprised that my past matters so much to you. Yesterday I was one step away from being a rapist and murderer. Today I’m treated like a noble. ‘Tis enough to turn a man’s head.”

  “Sir Geoffrey Waryn…” Sara spoke for only his ears, but her sharp tone convinced him to cease talking. For the moment. “I have not treated you differently. If anything, I’ve given more of myself to you than to any other man. Before I knew anything of your background. Take your self-loathing elsewhere.”

  He grabbed her arm before she walked away.

  “Even Lord William?”

  Her narrowed eyes widened.

  Where the devil did that come from?

  “You don’t deserve an answer, but I’ll give you one anyway. Aye, much more than Lord William. I don’t feel sisterly toward you.”

  “How do you feel?”

  Suddenly aware that his hand remained on her arm, he released her. From his grip, not from answering his question.

  “Confused.”

  She pulled her arm back and walked away.

  Confused.

  At least he wasn’t the only one.

  Sara walked toward Faye, who was huddled in conversation with his uncle. He didn’t even notice them enter. Luckily, their discussion seemed to have gone unnoticed.

  He walked toward Hugh, wanting to hear his uncle’s take on the situation. The uncivilized part of him wanted to follow Sir Randolf and slay the man’s black heart before he could do Sara any damage, but he was keenly aware of the delicacy of the situation.

  “The bloody bastard,” he said to Hugh. “Did you hear his demand?”

  “I did. How fares Sara?”

  “Fine. She handled it remarkably well.”

  Hugh did not look pleased. It was obvious he’d noticed their semi-private conversation.

  Geoffrey amended his hasty reply. “She’s off with Faye at the moment. If you ask me, it’s the servant who needs smelling salts, the poor woman.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true. She seems a sturdy sort to me.”

  It was the first time he could remember his uncle remarking on a woman. While it was true the maid was handsome for her age, he couldn’t imagine thinking about her as anything other than Sara’s servant. But there was something in Hugh’s tone that gave him pause. Could his uncle be interested in her? His wife had passed away when Geoffrey was just a babe, and his uncle had been alone since.

  “Do you think he’s bluffing?”

  “Well,” Hugh began pacing back and forth. “It’s certainly possible. Richard never trusted the man. And his father was just as wily. Eddard isn’t taking any chances. He’s planning to send his fastest riders in every direction to investigate.” He paused. “What do you think?”

  Geoffrey considered the question, weighing all the possibilities. “With an ally installed at Kenshire, the earl would be as powerful as any in England. Which is precisely why I don’t believe King Henry would allow it.”

  “With Prince Edward abroad again, mayhap Covington sees an opportunity? Everyone knows the king’s health is failing.”

  “It’s just as likely Randolf is bluffing, though to what end I’m not sure.”

  But he had an idea.

  A short time later, Geoffrey was summoned to a meeting with Kenshire’s other top officials. When he and his uncle entered the solar, its inhabitants quieted and turned to look at them. They were outsiders. Everyone knew that. But Geoffrey didn’t sense the distrust he had expected. He felt welcome, and a surge of electricity filled the air the moment his eyes met Sara’s. She was the only one in the room who didn’t appear to be overly happy about his presence. He wasn’t sure why he had given her such a hard time in the hall, especially since he was so proud of the way she conducted herself.

  Sara’s nemesis was a greedy bastard who was abusing his connection to an equally greedy noble known for his role in the baron’s war against the king. The Earl of Covington was lucky not to have lost his head in the war. Although direct ties could never be found, most knew he colluded with the English barons responsible for the revolt. Given the extent of his power, most were afraid to cross him. Somehow Randolf had convinced the earl to take up his cause against Sara. Geoffrey was determined to do everything in his power to take him down.

  As the meeting went on, Geoffrey could feel himself getting sucked into a battle that wasn’t his. He silently nodded to Sara, who was engaged in a lively discussion with her marshal, and she acknowledged him with a nod in return. She was sufficiently protected at the moment, so Geoffrey headed outside, intending to inquire after Gerald to discuss his plan. He had exited the keep and was walking toward the east when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Barely in his line of sight, a servant Geoffrey recognized as John, the cupbearer, was having a heated conversation with a woman dressed as a noble. Though she was vaguely familiar, Geoffrey couldn’t place her.

  Something told him to investigate, so he waited until John moved on and followed him discreetly through the inner ward toward the back of the main keep. After looking in both directions, John entered a door. Geoffrey followed close behind. He’d entered the kitchen, and all eyes turned toward him. A swift assessment confirmed John had moved on.

  He’d use this opportunity to learn more about the man. With a bow, he found the person in charge, a rotund woman ordering the staff about.

  “Well met. I apologize for interrupting … preparations for supper?”

  The woman wasn’t that easily won over.

  “What else? Now out of my kitchen!” She turned away from him without another glance, but had a more difficult time reining in the younger kitchen maids. “What are ye starin’ at, ye witless girls? Haven’t ye seen a man before?”

  He looked at Cook as if she were the fairest maid in the world. “Of course they have, just not one as enamored of your fine talents.”

  Turning to him and shooing the young ladies back to work, the cook stood as tall as her short
stature would allow. “Take your charms elsewhere, Sir Geoffrey. I’ve got a meal to prepare.”

  Undeterred, he offered her a lopsided grin, holding his hand to his heart. “I’m wounded that my reputation precedes me. You don’t believe me to be sincere?”

  Cook’s talents were indisputable. Much better than his typical fare, especially during the harsh winter months.

  Not completely immune to his charms, she finally relented slightly. “If ye like fish pie, wash yourself and get thee gone.”

  She reminded him of the healer at Bristol who could fix a broken bone in the dead of the night with one hand. He alone could make that cranky woman smile, which was a good thing. They had become well acquainted; she’d patched him up more times than he could remember.

  “Aye, Cook, I’d never argue with the most important person at Kenshire.” He bowed again. “Good day to you.”

  With a wink he took his leave, stopping to whisper to a young kitchen servant, “A man by the name of John came through before me?”

  “Aye, milord.”

  His bearing, if not a title, had elicited the greeting. Geoffrey usually corrected it; this time he did not.

  “Does he visit the kitchen often?”

  “At times, milord.”

  While considering how to phrase another question without raising suspicion—he did not want the servant to find out he’d been asking after him—he wasn’t completely surprised she continued to offer information.

  “He keeps to himself mostly. He’s been at Kenshire mayhap three years?”

  Not one to push his luck, he changed the topic.

  “What’s your name, fair maiden?”

  He spoke the truth. She was indeed comely.

  “Margaret, milord,” she said, blushing.

  “Pleased to meet you, Margaret.” He noticed Cook’s stern gaze out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

  Stealing a handful of raisins, Geoffrey grinned and took his leave. Giggles trailed him out of the door.

  A quick search failed to turn up the servant, so he decided to return to his chamber to clean up for supper. When Hugh had committed them to protecting the countess and her title, he had done so with the knowledge that it might thrust them into the middle of a war. And Geoffrey was sure he’d stumbled onto something important. He’d learned to rely on his gut and would continue to ask after the servant. Like it or not, he was thoroughly, if temporarily, ingrained in the affairs of Kenshire Castle.