by Kris Tualla
“We can leave on the morrow if ye wish.” Kennan’s tone was much more cheerful than his expression. “Late, of course. After we recover from today’s celebration.”
Drew considered his vassal. The man’s cheeks were flushed and his hair was uncombed. “We have no’ celebrated yet.”
“Perhaps ye have no’ my lord, but—”
A stall gate swung open. A thickly-built young woman, whose blouse was pulled down to her waist exposing a very impressive bosom, stepped out and looked Drew over with obvious interest.
“Are ye next?” she asked. She shook her shoulders and sent a jiggling wave down her entire frame.
Drew looked at Kennan. “Starting early, are ye?”
“No, sir.” He coughed a laugh that soon became uncontainable. “Ending late!”
The ensuing round of laughter swept Drew into its circle, releasing his tension and dissipating his irritation.
“Will ye, sir?” Kennan prodded. “It’s been some time, since.”
Drew glanced away from the woman. He could not, despite his years of celibacy and making do with a hand, find any desire sparking within him to bed a woman who wasn’t Eryn. And that unhappy fact portended more monk-like months. Perhaps a lifetime, if the Lady Bell truly proved unmovable.
Aye, and there’s a blithe thought on Christmas.
“No, Kennan.” He clapped the man on the shoulder. “But take my turn, will ye?”
Kennan grinned. “If my lord commands it!”
Drew left the men to their diversions and entered the manor through the kitchen door. It seemed every servant in the manor filled the space—though the kitchen was not overlarge, and there were only seven servants left. Eryn was there, as well, and she cast him a wary eye.
“You will tell me later what he did to deserve it,” she stated.
He nodded. “He did, ye ken.”
She gave him her back and spoke over her shoulder. “Liam asked about you. Go.”
Drew walked out of the kitchen and down the passageway to the Great Hall. The room was already crowded with Bell tenants. Families dressed in clean clothes, heaping plates of food, settling near the huge hearth, and talking nonstop. He found himself a chair and a corner to settle into, and he watched the gathering from relative obscurity. Liam ferreted him out and sat at Drew’s feet, his own large plate plopped squarely in his lap. Drew rested his hand on the lad’s head. Liam leaned against his leg.
Very soon he was going to have to tell King David about what was happening in Scotland. There would be plenty of horror to describe; more than he wanted to consider. He was going to have to explain why men were taking positions and land which they had no legal right to. And David would call it treason, of that he had no doubt. His sovereign would rail and demand that the usurpers be publicly hung. It would be up to Lord Andrew Drummond to see those orders carried out.
Somehow, he was going to have to temper David’s wrath with reality. And one screaming reality was that this woman had done something unconventional on this struggling border estate—and it was the most effective solution he had seen. Today’s communal celebration was proof.
That was not going to set well.
A goblet bumped his hand. Drew looked up into Eryn’s glittering emerald gaze.
“Take it,” she said.
He gripped the pewter cup. “Forgiven?”
“Not yet.” She turned her head toward the laden tables. “But not condemned either.”
Drew lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Ye taste like onions.”
Eryn pulled her hand away and glanced at Liam. She shook her head slightly and disappeared into the crowd. Drew looked at the boy who stared up at him from under gathered brows.
“She is supposed to marry Geoffrey MacDougal,” Liam said.
“Who told ye that?”
“He did.”
“Has she said aught about it?” Drew probed.
Liam shook his head.
“Then ‘tis only a rumor, Young Liam.” He tousled the boy’s red hair. “A knight must always search out the truth and not listen to hearsay, aye?”
“Aye,” he grunted. His brow eased.
Aye.
The crowd was gone. The skeletons of the meal were carried off or buried. The fires, put to bed. Eryn trudged up the stairs, wondering with each step if she had the strength to achieve the upper floor. Not only had she worked since dawn, but when one of her tenants began piping, she danced with Drew until she thought her feet had been worn clean away.
She had not seen Drew for hours now, but she had not seen Liam either; she assumed the pair had gone off together. At least if the boy was with the knight, he wasn’t working mischief.
Topping the last step, she saw that her chamber door stood slightly ajar and light glowed within. She pushed the door open and stopped in shock.
A tub of water steamed by her fire. Her nightclothes were laid out, her covers pulled back, and a pitcher and goblet rested on the hearth.
“How—” she whispered.
“Forgiven?” Drew’s warm breath against her ear sent a tingle down her back.
She spun to face him. “Who—all the servants were busy!”
Drew ran his knuckle along her jaw. “Liam and I.”
“Why?”
His answer was a kiss. Deep, slow, tasting of mead. His tongue tangled in her mouth, his fingers tangled in her hair. Eryn gripped his shoulders and pressed close along his frame. Her awareness centered on his mouth and the urgent puffs of breath heating her cheek. Desire took hold of her and her resolve began to flitter away like autumn leaves in a November wind.
When he finally broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers. “Enjoy your bath. I’ll see ye in the morning.”
“Drew—”
He shook his head, rubbing his forehead against hers. “No questions. No promises. Sleep well, my lady.”
He let go of her and she grabbed the doorjamb for support, her knees bending like spring saplings. Drew walked across the landing and disappeared behind the door of the master chamber. The latch dropped into place. He had not looked back at her.
Shite.
Chapter Twelve
December 27, 1354
“Ye were generous to a fault,” Jamie said. His tone made it clear his words were not a compliment.
Eryn stood in the depleted larder and cringed. All she wanted was a day where the past could be forgotten; a day when her tenants would feel hopeful. After so many years of dying and loss, she wanted the first Christmas under her leadership to be reminiscent of happier times.
And to be truthful, she wanted to prove to Drew that she had things well in hand.
“How long can we make do with what we have left?” she asked.
Jamie shook his head. “A month. Maybe a month and a half, if we are careful.”
Eryn walked back into the kitchen. “Lord Drummond will be leaving in five days. When he’s gone, we’ll cut back as far as possible. No one will die of starvation, but we won’t be eating kingly either.”
“Yes, Lady.” Jamie closed and locked the larder door.
“And when the weather is fair, we will take turns going on hunting and foraging parties to see what else we might find.” Certainly they would find small game, she reasoned. God’s favor might bring wild boar or venison.
“And raiding parties?” Jamie prodded.
Eryn sighed. “Not unless we are forced. It’s too dangerous a pursuit to be my first choice.”
Jamie nodded his agreement and reached over Eryn’s shoulder to a shelf behind her. “Use this,” he said, placing a small clay pot in her palm. “It’s good for the soreness.”
Eryn felt her face flush and she hid her raw hands under her apron.
She cleaned the manor from dawn to sunset yesterday, scrubbing away all traces of the hundred or so tenants’ presence. Countless mud footprints, smudged by melted snow and garnished with spilled food, had left the floor an unspeak
able mess. Now her hands were red and cracked from the caustic soap and constant wetness.
But the floor looked beautiful again.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I’m going to rest in the Hall a bit.”
“An excellent idea, Lady.” Jamie reached up to pat her shoulder, but pulled his hand away. “I forget myself,” he apologized.
Eryn flashed him a wry smile. “As do I. Every single day.”
In the Hall, she pulled a chair close enough to the low hearth to prop her feet on it. She opened the little pot. The wool fat mixed with lavender oil was thick, tangy, and stung a little. But as she rubbed it into her hands, Eryn felt the salve relieve her abused skin. The heat from the fire softened the fat and helped her skin absorb it. A corner of her mouth lifted.
Too bad we can’t eat it.
Lost in her thoughts, Eryn didn’t hear the footsteps. “Good day, Lady Bell.”
She startled. “Drew! What are you about, sneaking up on me like that?”
He laughed and lifted one booted foot. “And when might it be that these feet can sneak up on anything?”
“Well, they are huge,” she retorted.
“Thank ye.” He grinned broadly and pulled another chair close to the fire. “Ye do ken what they say about men with big feet?”
Her brow lowered, suspicious of his teasing. “No. What?”
Drew glanced around as if to be certain he could not be overheard. He spoke in an intimate undertone. “Big boots.”
His self-satisfied laughter confirmed for Eryn that she had missed a joke somewhere in the exchange. She smiled indulgently. “How clever you are, Lord Drummond.”
“What have ye there?” he asked, pointing at the clay pot.
“Ointment.” Eryn tucked her red hands under her apron.
Drew nodded. “Wool fat, aye? I imagine your hands must be raw today. Ye worked exceedingly hard yesterday.”
Her heart warmed with his praise. “Thank you.”
“I had thought ye might relax after all ye did to give your tenants a happy Christmas.” His expression was pleasant, but his tone chastised.
Eryn shifted in her seat, suddenly hearing his words differently. “I prefer a clean manor. It was worth the effort to be comfortable again.”
One dark brow lifted. “Are ye comfortable, now?”
Her chin lifted as well. “Yes. I am. Are you not?”
“Very.” The word was clipped.
“Then why do you scold?” she huffed.
He leaned toward her. “Why do ye push yourself so hard, Lady Bell?”
“I only do what is right and necessary!” she snapped. “I take pride in my position and it comes with many responsibilities!”
Drew gazed at her as if he was puzzling out a mystery. Eryn forced herself not to squirm or look away. At this moment she must hold to what she wanted him to believe about her; one crack in her façade, and she would be condemned. When he leaned back and turned his gaze to the fire, she knew she had won this battle. It was time to put Drew on his own defense.
“You never told me why you punched Geoff,” she said.
“He said something very uncomplimentary…” he drawled. “About ye.”
Eryn sat up straight. “Me?”
Drew’s eyes flicked to hers. “Aye. And he needed to be corrected.”
“What—what did he say?” she stammered. Her face felt hot and she doubted it was from the fire. Oh, Lord! What now?
He waved his hand as if to swat the words away. “He was angry when ye kissed me. He’s playing the spurned suitor.”
Eryn fell back into her chair. The idea that her dalliance with Drew—innocent as it was—might lose her Geoffrey’ affection had not occurred to her. After all, Geoff had been sniffing after her for twelve years, since she was fifteen and he was twenty.
“I’ve never broken anyone’s heart,” she said softly. “None but Geoff has ever had a care for me.”
“Pardon me, my lady, but I find that hard to believe!” Drew scoffed. “Ye do own a mirror, do ye no’?”
Now her face was fully aflame. “I’m too tall,” was the first thing she thought of to say.
“No’ for me,” he countered. “And as bonny a lass as ye must have been, I don’t know why every young laird in ten miles wasn’t pounding at your door!”
Why, indeed.
Misdirect him, and quickly.
“Must have been?” She gave Drew a crooked grin. “I suppose I have faded in my old age.”
“Faded?” Drew looked surprised. “Don’t ye ken what wine does over time?”
“I…um…” Again, her tongue failed her. Shite.
“It matures. It blossoms. It becomes a thing of beauty on the palate; full bodied, rich in color, with an aroma that makes your mouth water in anticipation.” Drew smiled at her in such an intimate way that her loins flamed hotter than her face. “Eryn, I did no’ know ye then, but I can assure ye now—ye have no’ faded in the least.”
She struggled to swallow. Her mouth had gone dry, though lower bits of her were far from it. “Thank you, Drew. That’s very kind.”
“I’m no idle flatterer, Eryn,” he rumbled. “I mean what I say.”
This was dangerous territory, indeed. Eryn wished to Heaven that she could let down her barriers and encourage Drew’s courting. But once he found out the truth, he would hate her. Or worse.
Misdirect him again.
“You are very well-spoken, my lord. I imagine you’ve left your share of broken hearts all over Scotland.”
The shift her flippant words caused in him stabbed her heart with regret. Drew looked away and his features drooped. He stared into the flames. His jaw muscles rippled. Was he hurt by her apparent callousness? Her seeming dismissal of his flattery? If only he could know that—once he was gone—his words would warm her soul for the remainder of her days.
He gave a slow shake of his head. “Only my heart has been bruised, and only the one time.”
“That’s a bit hard to believe, Drew.”
“Tis the truth, even so. I have no’ been with a woman since the dying began.”
Eryn’s jaw dropped. “But that’s nigh to six years!”
“Aye. I’m aware.”
“Not even with a whore?”
He snorted and looked at her again. “Especially no’ a whore!”
“But, why?”
He pinned her gaze with his. “I did no’ wish to die.”
That was surprising. Astounding. For a man as virile, handsome, and powerful as Lord Andrew Drummond to foreswear women was unbelievable. Yet the knight had no reason to lie—he must know she could simply ask his vassal if she wished to confirm his claim. Maybe she would.
Eryn stared into the fire as her thoughts meandered through that new information and came out the other side. “Might I ask you a delicate question?”
Drew chuckled softly. “What an unusual request, my lady.”
She glared at him. “I’m serious.”
He dipped his chin. “Go on.”
Eryn shifted in her seat, mentally girding herself for the awkward subject she was about to broach. “Why don’t whores conceive children? I mean, they have ample opportunity. It seems a hazard of the occupation.”
Drew’s face reddened in the most attractive blush. Obviously she had succeeded in surprising him. “There are ways to prevent it, Eryn.”
Intrigued, she forgot to be embarrassed. “What sort of ways?”
The blush deepened. “Well… the easiest is for a man to withdraw afore he releases…”
“Oh!” Eryn sat back, frowning. “From what all the maids have said about their own experiences, that seems like stifling a sneeze.”
Drew’s brow arched. “A sneeze?”
“Yes. You can stop your nose from tickling, but the relief is not nearly so satisfactory.”
The knight’s jaw dropped and a whoosh of deep laughter rolled over her. “Michty me, Eryn! That is the funniest thing I have ever heard!” He pounded his
fist on the arm of his chair and wiped his eyes with the other. “Great God! A sneeze!”
Eryn smiled, pleased that he found humor in her words. Though she laughed along with him, her curiosity was not satisfied. She waited several minutes for Drew to get control of his mirth, then asked, “What else? There must be other ways!”
Drew still chuckled and wiped his eyes. He nodded. “Aye. There’s the sheath.”
“What’s a sheath?”
“A bit of sheep or goat intestine. It’s tied off at one end and fits over a man’s—” Drew stopped and his eyes rounded. “It catches the emission.”
“Like a sausage casing?” she prodded.
Drew snorted, but didn’t laugh outright this time. “Exactly. Like a sausage casing.”
“Do men… have those? I mean, would it be something…” she faltered, unable to find words that wouldn’t betray her unexpected and startling new consideration.
“Do ye mean are they always prepared?” He wagged his head. “No. But it’s no’ a hard thing to procure.”
“Oh.” She chewed her lower lip and turned to watch the fire’s dance.
Drew leaned close. “What’s on your mind, my lady?”
She was afraid to look at him, afraid her desire would be clear. She had to thoroughly think through the idea that currently warmed her belly before she allowed it out. And of course, what if she offered it up and he didn’t want her? Somehow, that didn’t seem possible, though he had managed to deny other young ladies for several years now. She might simply be one more.
“I’ll never bear a bastard child,” she whispered.
His voice rumbled quietly through her core. “I swear to ye, Eryn, I would never put ye in that position.”
She looked straight at him then. His eyes were open wide and she could see every nuance of color in them. The way they darkened from amber at their center to old leather at the rim. And the streaks of moss that lay between. His lashes were thick, as black as his hair. She wanted to remember this moment for the rest of her life.
“Afore you leave…” she whispered, unable to say the rest and praying he understood.
He did not answer her right away, and she died by bits, certain he would deny her. If he did, she would hide until he left; the humiliation of reaching too far above her station was an unspeakable cross to bear.
