“It smells divine in here,” she remarked, ignoring the sour face of the very important household servant.
“What do you be needing, milady?”
They discussed the guests, and Cook voiced her need for additional male servants for the heavy lifting.
“Enough of that.” Cook wiped her hands on the front of her white linen apron. “Call me impertinent—” She pursed her lips. “Your father did many days. But I’ve known ya since you were a wee youngin’, my lady.”
“I know it.” Sara forced a smile.
“I’d ask what makes my lady sad, but I already know. I also know you’re trying to protect Kenshire by doing what you’re meant to do, but—” Cook lowered her voice, “—yer father would want your happiness above all. I know that in my bones.”
Sara stared at the woman who had been serving Kenshire’s food her whole life. What could she possibly mean by that?
“I’m not blind, and neither are you,” Cook said bluntly. “I wouldn’t be tellin’ ya what to do, but some things are worth fightin’ for.”
Sara was sure Cook spoke of Geoffrey. How could she could possibly know about her feelings for him? Cook spent as many days in the kitchen as there was light in the sky.
“I … are you saying…?”
“Aye, I’m sayin’ yer thinking you have to marry Lord Lyonsford, and maybe you do, for all this old lady knows. But I do have a few years on ya.”
The greying hair peeking out from Cook’s head covering confirmed the truth of her words.
“But maybe ya don’t.”
Then, as abruptly as she had begun the strange conversation, Cook patted her on the behind to move.
“The impertinence!” It occurred to her that Lyonsford would likely not want her to speak with the servants as if they were friends. It felt like a stab into an open wound. “I can tell when I’m not wanted.”
Cook, who had already resumed her kitchen ministrations, corrected, “Always wanted, but not needed at the moment. I know well enough how to prepare for a few knights and their lord.”
She gave Cook a quick kiss and left the kitchen.
Rather than spend time brooding over Cook’s words, she set about her duties for the afternoon. But when she rode to Kenshire’s small village, intent on visiting Mary and bringing her a basket of food, the blacksmith’s daughter, she finally had time to reflect on Cook’s advice.
Of course she must marry Lord Lyonsford. The marriage was approved by the king, or at least his council, and set in motion before her father’s death. Uniting their houses would protect her, the people of Kenshire, and her family’s other holdings.
Besides, even if she was inclined to walk away from everything her father and his father before him had built as their legacy—which she was not—Geoffrey wouldn’t have her anyway. He’d said he would never marry. She should take him at his word.
Alice, the blacksmith’s wife, welcomed her at the door of the humble, thatched-roof cruck house.
“Good day, milady,” she said, leading her into the small but well-kept home. “Thank you for the extra provisions, Lady Sara.”
“You’re welcome, Alice. Ahh, there she is. Good day, Mary.” The shy young woman stood from her chair, and the straw on the floor crunched under her feet as she approached.
“I’ve heard your babe grows fine and strong. May I hold him?”
Before she finished speaking, Mary handed her the boy, a tiny perfect bundle wrapped in linen strips.
The precious sleeping infant lay content in her arms. She looked from the babe to the contents of the small cottage. There was only one room to eat and sleep.
Could she do it?
Could she leave her home and all of its luxuries to live like Mary and her parents?
Likely she would not have to even if Kenshire was taken from her. But if everything was taken. Then what? She honestly didn’t know. Her cumbersome dresses were one thing, Cook’s fine food another. Could she live this way if it meant being with Geoffrey? Sara closed her eyes, imagining herself holding a baby of her own.
Geoffrey’s baby.
“Is everything al’right, milady?”
“Aye. Quite all right, thank you. Your son is perfect.”
She handed the babe back to his beaming mother.
“I wish you well, Mary.” She turned to Alice. “Please give Harold my best.”
She left the home, glad for the well-being of its occupants. As she headed back on Guinevere, she thought about her last visit to the blacksmith’s home. She’d held on to Geoffrey, exhausted and relieved, never imagining they would share intimacies that very night. She wished he was riding with her now.
You will have to get used to missing him.
A quick glance at the sun told her it was time to prepare for supper. Anticipation fluttered in her chest. Even though they’d avoided each other most of the day, they would have to see each other at the evening meal.
A short time later, Sara emerged from the stables. She was preparing to cross the inner bailey when Sir Hugh approached her from behind.
“Sir Hugh.” She turned, pleasantly surprised to see him. “How can I possibly thank you for the work you’ve done here?”
A smile reached the corner of his eyes, making him appear younger. Though certainly not as serious as Sir Bryce, Geoffrey’s uncle clearly took much of his family’s burden. It was nice to see the man relax a bit.
Before he could respond, she said, “You resemble your nephew when you smile.” While it was a forward remark, Sara felt comfortable with Geoffrey’s uncle. It was as if her father’s own long acquaintance with him had passed on to her.
“You’d have said the same about Geoffrey’s father.” Hugh accompanied her toward the hall.
“Tell me of him.”
He pursed his lips as if he were concentrating on a difficult problem. “Well, there’s much to tell. You’re likely not surprised to learn he had a bit of the devil in him.”
She wasn’t surprised at all.
“Emma, Geoffrey’s sister, reminds me of his wildness. Geoffrey and Bryce, his thoughtful intelligence.”
She wanted to ask more but was worried how he’d interpret her questions. She inquired instead after the state of affairs at Bristol.
“Geoffrey told me of Lord Wellingstone. I hope it would not be too forward of me to ask how it stands.”
Hugh looked surprised.
“He told you of Wellingstone’s offer?”
Immediately contrite, she was quick to answer. “I apologize if…”
“No need to apologize,” he cut in. “I’m just surprised. Geoffrey typically keeps his own counsel. Although—” he paused and glanced at her, “—I shouldn’t be.”
She knew better than to ask for clarification.
“I fear Bryce almost put us in a difficult spot,” Hugh added. “Aligning with Wellingstone wasn’t in our best interest.”
She didn’t know the man, so she couldn’t say. “I got the impression that Geoffrey would rather not be beholden to him.”
“You could say that.” Hugh extended an arm to indicate Sara should precede him into the great hall. The large wooden door of the keep had been opened for her.
Sara knew Bryce had pushed for Wellingstone’s support. If they’d decided to spurn his family’s overlord, the matter would have to be dealt with delicately.
“It doesn’t really matter now. Bryce returned to decline Wellingstone’s offer.”
Walking arm in arm with Sir Hugh, Sara could almost forget about her guests and impending marriage. There was certainly something about the Waryn men that put her at ease.
“I’m surprised. Getting Bristol back means everything to Geoffrey.”
“The decision was his, not mine. He would have needed to leave immediately if he’d decided to accept Wellingstone’s help. But I’m glad he chose to stay.”
She heard herself saying, “I’m safe, Sir Hugh. Lyonsford will be arriving in just a few days.” The words seemed to stic
k in her mouth.
As he’d done once before, Hugh turned to her and reached for both of her hands, which she gave to him freely.
“I promised your father to see you safe, and I’ll do just that. We’ll remain until you’re wed, my lady. There’ll be plenty of time to deal with our own troubles. And perhaps…” he hesitated.
“If Lyonsford doesn’t choose to help, I will remind him of who kept me safe. Who saved my life. I will do everything I can to convince him if you wish it.”
Hugh said nothing, but he looked as if he wanted to throw his arms around her. She meant every word.
“I want to thank you, Sir Hugh. My father chose his friends wisely.”
Spotting Faye out of the corner of her eye, Sara called her name. When Hugh dropped her hands and turned toward her lady’s maid, Sara noticed the long, lingering look they shared.
“Excuse me while I change for supper.” She hustled to her chamber, asking a young servant to accompany her. But later that evening, her excitement turned to disappointment.
Geoffrey never came.
A long, tedious evening entertaining their new guests. Every time she glanced at the crest on the surcoat of Lyonsford’s men, she struggled to remain unaffected.
Now that the prospect of battle had abated, more visitors had come to the keep, including Lady Maude and her aged husband, who’d returned as they passed through the area. Geoffrey had mentioned the conversation he witnessed between Lady Maude and John. Sara had to convince him the poor lady had no involvement in the plot against her.
Where is Geoffrey?
Geoffrey sauntered into the kitchen, knowing most of the evening meal had already been served.
“Does my favorite woman in the world have anything to offer her humble servant?”
“I just sat down after spending the better part of my day cookin’ the meal yer missin’. If ye’d not be eatin’ with the rest of them, ye not be eatin’.”
If Cook thought she could intimidate him, it was because she’d never met Bristol’s healer. It was thanks to Evelyn he’d perfected the smile he gave Cook now.
“What are you after, sneakin’ in here when ye’ should be out there?” Cook gestured toward the hall, the closest building to the kitchen.
“A wee lad took most of my attention this afternoon, and I only just realized the lateness of the hour.” His training session with the squire was common knowledge, mostly because Reginald told everyone and anyone who would listen that he was now squiring for Sir Geoffrey. Which was not exactly true, but Geoffrey didn’t have the heart to tell the boy it was a temporary arrangement.
“Och, that be a fine excuse.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Cook.” He cocked his head to the side and gave her his most despondent look.
“It’s not your heart I worry over.”
He glanced at the gaggle of kitchen maids huddled together and shrugged his shoulders. “Can I help it if they adore me?”
“I’m not talkin’ about those ninnies either,” Cook rebuked. “It’s her ladyship who you’ve ruined.”
He straightened, no longer amused.
“Ruined?”
“Aye, ruined. I have eyes in me head to know Sara be in love with ya’, and if I hit my mark, ya feel the same way.”
How much did she know?
“I told her as much this afternoon. I know she feels a duty to her father and her people, but she’s got one to herself too. With any luck, she’s thinking ‘bout my advice.”
He was almost afraid to ask.
“And what were these words of wisdom you shared with her?”
“To consider every possibility is all. Cook knows somethin’ or two about lost love, and it ain’t from talkin’ about it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I think you’re wrong in this case.”
“Maybe so. In the meantime—” She got to her feet, sighing all the while, and filled a trencher with food. “Off you go, beggar,” she said, handing it to him. “The kitchen is closed.”
Indeed.
He walked to the same empty staircase entrance where he’d stolen a kiss from Sara few days earlier.
Before the raid on his home, he’d thought more of himself than he should have. His father had called him arrogant. Growing up, he’d reaped praise from everyone—his mother, father, uncles and aunts, the ladies, his siblings. Bryce had followed him around like a puppy for as long as he could remember.
And then he had lost it all. Fleeing for his life and building a new one with nothing more than the clothes on his back and the sword his father had given him, he’d learned humility quickly.
When Kenshire’s cook said she knew of lost love, he didn’t doubt her. But he knew this situation between him and Sara had only one outcome.
He had nothing to offer the daughter of an earl with manors scattered through the country, whose holdings rivaled some of the greatest estates in England. He was a man whose birthright had been stolen, who lived among outlaws and could barely support his own siblings. A man like him stood no chance with the Countess of Kenshire, nor should he.
He should retire to his rooms before being tempted into the hall. He knew avoiding Sara was necessary, but it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life. The image of her naked and splayed out before him surfaced in his head. His body reacted in an instant.
The sea gate. A cold ocean swim was just what he needed.
Changing course at the last moment, he nearly ran into someone. People were exiting the great hall now, moving through the private entrance and down the steep slope below the outer curtain wall.
The sound of breaking waves assaulted his senses. The sun had dipped low, the early evening sky light enough to make out the shoreline, but dark enough to hide much beyond the beach from him.
Closing his eyes, Geoffrey allowed the rhythmic sounds to lull him into a more peaceful place. He, too, had grown up along the coast, though Bristol was not as close to the sandy shores of the North Sea as Kenshire, so he understood Sara’s obsession with the sea. There was nothing quite like the calm which accompanied wave after wave crashing on the shore.
There was a small movement on the sand dune between him and the path. Someone was here. He reached for his sword.
24
As Sara made her way through the dunes, she looked back at the castle. From this vantage point, she could see only the top of the tower and King’s Hall, the oldest building and the foundation of the sprawling estate that was her home. The closest structure, the Constable Tower, was the one her father had commissioned when she’d refused to stop using the sea gate to leave Kenshire’s grounds unattended.
Smiling, she remembered the day workers began construction. She had asked her father about the project he’d commissioned.
“It seems I’ve been outwitted by a determined daughter. A new watch tower will allow her worried father a bit of peace.”
The tower was one of her favorite structures at Kenshire. It had been built for her safety. She’d spent plenty of days running up its stairs to spy on the guards as they scanned the beach. She knew all the spots that were impossible to see because of the tall grass, like the one where Geoffrey had first given her a hint of pleasures to come.
Turning back toward the sound that had drawn her to this spot, she made her way through the dunes, thinking about the man she’d never see again in a few short days.
The one standing directly in front of her.
He was dressed casually in a loose tunic with rolled sleeves. It struck her with absolute certainty that she’d never be as attracted to another man in her whole life. Geoffrey Waryn, once the son of a baron, now an outlaw, was beyond compare.
When his uncle had informed her at dinner that Geoffrey wouldn’t be joining them, she’d attempted to hide her disappointment by acting the gracious hostess. Faye had sensed her true mood, however, and she hadn’t argued with Sara’s suggestion that they retire early. But she’d slipped out of the hall and headed towar
d the sea gate instead.
The reason she couldn’t reconcile her marriage, the life her father had so thoughtfully planned out for her, was standing in front of her now. He was clearly surprised to see her. As he gazed at her from head to toe, his look turned sensual, and a flush crept up her face as she imagined him naked, his muscular body lifted above hers. Shivering, she remembered the sound he made as he climaxed, primal and distinctly male.
“That is precisely why I didn’t dine in the hall this eve.”
She knew exactly what he meant. How could she maintain her composure after what had happened between them? How could she pretend they were nothing to each other?
“If you continue to look at me thus, there’s a good chance it will happen again.”
Sara remained rooted in her spot, not daring to move any closer, but she said, “And that would be so bad?”
He groaned. “Aye, it would. Think of the consequences.”
“I find myself caring less and less. In fact—” She was now in dangerous territory. “I’m beginning to wonder if I care at all.”
His jaw set so tightly a tic formed in his lower cheek. She knew Geoffrey was at war with himself. Good, let him experience the turmoil she’d suffered these past days.
“You have no choice but to care.”
“About Kenshire, you mean?”
“What are you implying?”
She thought of Cook’s advice, of the despair she’d felt at dinner, of the feeling Geoffrey gave her every time he was near.
“I could go with you.”
Saying the words sent a shiver down her back. If Lyonsford refused to allow her out of the betrothal or the king decided to punish her, could she really forsake everything her father had built?
“Nay, you could not.”
“Why?”
“You have to ask?” Becoming more animated, Geoffrey let her know exactly what he thought of her plan.
“You would give up all of this?” He gestured to the castle above them. “The people you love, your father’s legacy, Cook’s hot meals, your warm, feather-stuffed bed, the security of a fortress such as Kenshire? For what? To be tied to a man who calls his home a bed of grass, who runs from the law, rival families, and clans of thieving Scots. You’d leave Guinevere, who wouldn’t make it three days in the hills where we travel? Faye, who’s like a mother to you? The families whose eyes light up when you visit them?”
The Thief's Countess (Border Series Book 1) Page 22
