Chapter 5 #2
She pushed him before her out of the room, but couldn’t resist one glance back. Renald de Lisle was watching her. A raised finger brought his squire to his side. A moment later, the young man followed her.
“I’m only going to the kitchens to check on the food. Presumably you want to eat.”
“I’ll be no trouble, lady.”
No, she thought. You’ll just stop us from running away. In such a short time Summerbourne had changed from home to prison.
To her surprise, the kitchens weren’t in disorder. The mood was somber and some women dabbed at their eyes with their aprons, but work was going ahead. There would be a decent meal shortly.
The servants all clustered around her, of course, seeking information and reassurance. She gave the best she could.
“Is it true you’re to marry him, lady?” asked the cook.
“One of us will marry him, yes.”
“Better you, lady. Better you.”
With that he turned away, but he’d placed another burden on her shoulders. Of course the people here wouldn’t want Felice as mistress. She had a quick temper and a sharp hand with punishment. Her way of always thinking the worst curdled the air.
“I can’t take everyone’s cares on myself.”
It was only when she saw sympathy in the squire’s blue eyes that she realized she’d spoken aloud.
She turned her mind firmly to efficiency and food.
As Claire was discussing a problem about the beer casks, laughter startled her.
She glanced over and saw her guard relaxed at the long table and amusing the curious servants.
Whether by accident or design, his youth, freckles, and cheerful grin were lightening the atmosphere in the kitchen by the moment.
She pushed away the hurt of that. She couldn’t stay to take care of the people here, but she didn’t want them miserable. If the squire and the master brought happiness, she must approve of that. It hurt, though, to see Thomas by his side, looking calmer as he listened to a story about London.
Oh, mercy, wasn’t that what she’d wanted—that he put his anger and fear aside and accept the situation? Claire didn’t know what she wanted anymore other than escape.
Why couldn’t she slip out to the camp now? She would persuade Felice of the advantages of the match, and her aunt could come back in to prepare for her wedding. Claire would stay with Amice in her place.
First, she tried the obvious thing and strolled out of the kitchen.
Immediately, she heard the young man behind her.
She stopped to face him. “Are you going to creep around after me everywhere?”
“I’ll stomp around after you if it’ll make you feel better, lady.”
“What point is there? Where would I go?”
He had an honest, open face, and seemed genuinely concerned. “Now that, I don’t know, lady. But Lord Renald said to stay with you, so stay with you I will.”
“Is he such a fearsome lord?”
“He expects his orders to be obeyed, lady. Doubtless you are the same.”
He had her there. She must remember that the squire was no more a fool than the master. So, how to escape him? “I’m going to the maidens’ chamber. Do you plan to follow me in there?”
“Is that upstairs, lady?”
“Yes.”
“Then I reckon I’ll make do with waiting outside. I don’t suppose you can fly.”
Claire puffed out a breath in annoyance and stalked off, but inwardly she was satisfied. So, he thought being on the upper floor would make escape impossible, did he?
The lower floor of the wooden manor house was mainly taken up by the great hall, her parents’ solar, and her father’s office. The upper floor held storage rooms, and sleeping chambers for the sons and daughters of the house. The windows were high off the ground. No wonder he thought her secure.
Claire went into the maidens’ chamber and shut the door in his face. Then she dug in a chest, looking for the coiled rope.
This had been her father’s idea after some people in a nearby town had been burned to death on the upper floor of a house. He’d ordered knotted ropes stored in each room and iron rings set into the wall to hold them.
Claire carried the rope to a window and assessed the area.
She immediately saw that it wasn’t going to work.
Both windows overlooked open spaces, and now that the rain had stopped servants were hurrying about anxious to get on with long-neglected tasks. They could hardly miss her, scrambling down a rope. Perhaps the castle people wouldn’t give her away, but she couldn’t be sure.
Impatient though she was, she’d have to wait till dark. She could afford to. No wedding was planned for today. She tucked the rope back in the chest and left the room, ignoring the squire who followed her down to the ground floor like a patient hound.
The hall was deserted except for her grandmother in her usual spot, and the servants beginning to set up for the meal.
“Where is everyone?” she asked Lady Agnes.
“In the study. Lord Renald and his clerk are going over the records with your mother and some others. He has matters well in hand.”
“Seized in a firm grasp, you mean.”
“If you want. What do you want?”
Yesterday, thought Claire. Or rather, months ago, before madness, before death. “Choice,” she said.
“Choice? That’s a luxury indeed! But you have choice. Choices, in fact. You can marry the man and keep Summerbourne as it should be. Or you can talk Felice into it, and we’ll all suffer under her bile. Or you can insist we all go out to be poor but honorable.”
Claire faced her. “There’s nothing wrong with honor.”
“There’s plenty wrong with starving to death.” Then her grandmother shook her head. “Claire, Claire. Accept reality. I’ll confess I was worried, urging you to marry a man sight-unseen. But not now. He’ll make a fair husband for a woman of sense.”
“I could never forget how he came here.”
“You’ll be surprised what you can forget.
I forget my children’s saint’s days, which I never thought I would as I struggled to give them birth.
” Her lips twisted into a smile. “But I remember, too. I remember my mother talking to me much as I’m talking to you, and I remember thinking she was a heartless monster to be going on so when her husband and sons lay dead in a pit somewhere.
Like it or not, Claire, I know what you’re going through, and it doesn’t seem so long ago, either.
I tell you, in twenty, thirty years it won’t seem much of anything.
So don’t do anything foolish. It’s not worth it. ”
Claire turned away. Persuading Felice to marry the man wasn’t foolish. True, Felice could have a sharp edge to her tongue, but she’d be gentler when contendedly married.
The question was, would she be content when married to Renald de Lisle?
Of course she would. They’d match like two icicles under the eaves.
When a servant hurried over to tell her the dairy roof was leaking, Claire thanked heaven for escape from her tangled thoughts.
It wasn’t an emergency, but she went outside anyway, raising her skirts and picking her way carefully over the logs laid down between the buildings. She still got her feet wet. It was another folly, and she knew it, but it was a relief to be outside and doing something.
A glance back showed her the squire following, grimacing as he tried to find footing in the slime. With a flicker of mischief, she thought that perhaps she’d go and check the waste-pits next.
However, by the time she’d arranged for the benches in the dairy to be moved out of harm’s way, and for the thatcher to work on the roof the next day, any inclination to drag de Lisle’s watchdog through the stinking middens had faded. The poor young man was only doing his duty.
It was only as she headed back toward the hall that she realized that taking care of Summerbourne wasn’t really her job anymore, hers or her mother’s. She could have sent the servant to de Lisle with his problems.
Ha! A war-wolf wouldn’t know thatch from farrowing.
Thinking of farrowing reminded her that a new litter had been born just before the storm. She picked and slithered her way over to the sties to find the piglets virtually swimming in mud and loving it. She even found herself smiling at their antics.
It was true. Life went on.
“Fine healthy animals.”
She swiveled and found that the squire had been replaced by his dark master.
Her smile died. “Why shouldn’t they be?”
He leaned against one of the fence posts, making it look like a stick of kindling. “I don’t know a great deal about husbandry, Lady Clarie, but I suppose healthy stock doesn’t come by accident.”
It was the first time they’d been so close, and she found herself staring at his chest, estimating the amount of cloth needed to cover it. She made herself look up and meet his eyes instead. “What do you know a lot about?”
He did have true dark eyes, a deep dark brown, and large enough to be pleasing.
But they looked bloodshot and weary. She realized he must have traveled long and hard, perhaps through the night, and wondered why.
Even bearing her father’s body, a halt for sleep, particularly in a storm, wouldn’t have been unreasonable.
Haste to see his property, she supposed.
And his bride.
“What do I know?” he echoed. “Weapons, defenses, armor, fighting.”
“Killing matters?”
“Yes. I’m very efficient at killing.”
“Efficient!”
“If it comes your time, my lady, would you rather be killed clumsily?”
Claire clutched onto a rail. Was he threatening to kill her?
He straightened. “I beg pardon, I did not mean to frighten you. It is mere truth. If a person faces death by a sword, he hopes to face a tidy killer. If death by an ax, he hopes the ax bites true. If death by sickness, he hopes it strikes swiftly.”
She stared, wondering if he had any human feelings at all. Then the horn blared for the meal and she seized the chance to escape. She turned too fast, however, and slipped in the mud. A strong hand caught her arm, steadying her. The next she knew, she was being carried in his arms.
“Put me down!” She felt helpless as a tiny child, and heaven knows she was not tiny. But her panic came from a startling jolt at being touched by him.
He stopped. “In the mud?”
“Yes!”
His face was so close she could see dark stubble, and that his lashes were long and thick.
“Lady Claire,” he said, “no one of sense would choose to wade through this mire. If you could carry me. I’d gladly let you.”
A giggle tempted her and she hastily looked away, surprised and unbalanced to discover that he wasn’t many years older than herself, and that he could make a joke.
Perhaps it hadn’t been a joke.
Navigating the muddy logs wasn’t easy, even for him, but it was clear her weight was as nothing. She wasn’t used to feeling so helpless.
Felice.
Definitely.
It must be Felice.
All the same, she couldn’t deny the effect of his body against hers. She could feel that her cheeks were flushed, and could almost count her own rapid heartbeats. And it wasn’t fear. It was, she knew, a woman’s primitive reaction to a man.
She recognized danger.
Women did foolish things under that spell.
Once on solid ground, he eased her gracefully to her feet, but it seemed to involve a moment in his arms, a moment held close against his alarming body, looking into his rather handsome face. He touched the ends of her hair. “It seems a shame.”
She fought against weakness, against this perilous attraction, and used the crudest weapon. “My father’s death is a shame.”
“True.” But it was as if he wore armor against such things.
Fingers moved in her hair, setting up a tingle on her wanton scalp. She pushed back against his arm—slightly, but enough to tell her that her whole strength wouldn’t break her free. Against her will, she began to tremble.
Abruptly, he let her go. “Your father’s death was definitely a shame, Lady Claire. He was a good and gentle man.” With that, he went to his place at the head table.
She wished she could take some insignificant seat, far away from him, from his disturbing body, but she had to go to the head table and sit at his right hand.