Chapter 5
Julian groaned into his pillow in response to the polite rap on his door. It felt as though he had only closed his eyes a moment ago. In truth, the bit of hair beneath his cheek was still damp from his frigid bath.
He heard the door scrape open, and he raised his head slightly.
Sweet yellow light streaked through the window to his left in a rectangular beam, signaling that dawn had indeed already come, as had the morning maid, bearing a heavily laden tray to the small table.
She turned toward the hearth without a greeting and immediately set to work laying a fire.
Julian pulled himself upright and glanced at the table; whatever was inside the large silver tureen seemed to make up the bulk of his morning meal, although he was glad to see a corked flagon and cup. He shivered once violently. It would take hours for the small fire to warm him sufficiently.
“I would break my fast in the hall with Lady Foxe,” he called out to the maid’s back. “You may take the tray away.”
The maid straightened but only glanced at him, an annoyed expression on her face as she went about the room gathering up his discarded clothing and rolling them thoughtlessly into a tight bundle.
“Madam doesn’t breakfast,” the woman informed him curtly, and then turned toward the door.
“She doesn’t eat?” Julian scoffed.
“Your daughter and her nurse are in the great hall at their own meal,” the maid said, almost grudgingly, then walked to the door.
“The tray!” Julian called after her.
“Take it yourself,” the woman muttered, and slammed the door shut behind her.
Julian pursed his lips for a moment and then nodded once to himself. He should have expected such a response. After all, he was the villain in this scenario—the evil lord sent to steal Fallstowe away from their lady. They didn’t want him here.
He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He would likely have to make some changes in staffing, should this attitude persist.
But in the meantime, he was hungry. By the time he was dressed and to the hall, Lucy would be ready for a bit of play and then a morning rest, and she would not tolerate waiting on Julian to finish his meal.
He would eat in his chamber quickly then, so as to have time to spend with that sweetness before engaging the lady of Fallstowe.
He visited his trunk first and quickly laid hand to a suit of warm clothing, dressing in front of the hearth.
Then he went to the table and pulled out one of the chairs, sitting down and rubbing his palms together swiftly, blowing warm breath on them in preparation for loosing the cork of the flagon.
It was straight wine inside, not watered, and it ran rich and red into the cup.
Julian savored the first mouthful, filling his cheeks until they burned before swallowing the warming liquid.
He gave a satisfied sigh and filled the cup to the brim once more.
Then he turned his attention to the tureen. He picked up the engraved eating knife with his right hand, lifted the lid with his left, and peered down.
An entire, shiny black eel lay coiled in a weak saffron-colored broth, bits of black seaweed half floating on the liquid and half stuck to the slick-looking body.
Julian made an audible sound of disgust. Eel at the morning meal. And there wasn’t even any bread.
“Well, it’s not my favorite,” he admitted aloud. But perhaps it was still hot, and he was hungry. He reached into the tureen with his left hand, preparing to grasp the neck and remove the head with his knife.
The onyx body flashed in the morning light as the eel whipped its head around and snapped at Julian’s fingers.
He shouted his surprise as he snatched his hand away, and then in the next instant brought his eating knife down, at last subduing his breakfast. The broth turned murky with bright red swirls of blood and the body writhed for a moment.
Julian stood abruptly, his chair falling back behind him with a loud crack. He glared at the tureen as he swiped his cup from the table and drank the wine inside it straight down.
He was becoming annoyed with Sybilla Foxe’s hospitality.
Sybilla rarely left her chamber so early in the morn, but the idea that Julian Griffin presently resided under her roof placed her in such a foul mood that she was unable to tolerate her own company beyond a single cup of tea.
After her hair was dressed and coiled atop her head, she dismissed her maids even though she was still in her silk wrapper.
She felt the need for privacy as she dressed herself, choosing a gown the color of the darkest moss.
She stepped through the panel hidden in the wall behind her dais and was pleased that the hall was presently empty save for the Griffin infant and her nursemaid.
And Graves, of course, standing patiently near her chair.
Neither mistress nor servant spoke, each having determined long ago that banal pleasantries suited neither and were patently unnecessary between them first thing in the morn.
Sybilla sat down in her chair, and almost instantly a cup of her preferred tea and a small silver plate with toasted bread was set at her elbow.
Sybilla nudged it away with the back of her hand, choosing instead to concentrate on the fidgeting girl seated at a table on the floor, who glanced furtively in Sybilla’s direction several times.
At last she seemed to find her courage and nodded toward Sybilla. “Good morrow to you, milady,” she offered solemnly.
“Nurse,” Sybilla replied in kind. She glanced down at the infant, who sat on the girl’s lap playing with what seemed to Sybilla to be a knot of trailing, colorful ribbons. “What is its name again?”
The nurse’s forehead creased slightly. “Lucy, milady.”
Sybilla nodded. “How long have you been Lucy’s nurse?”
“Since she was born, milady. One hundred and twenty-six days.” The nurse smiled down at the child, who was frowning and jerking the knot side to side in a very uncoordinated manner.
It sounded as though there might be a small bell hidden inside the riotous cluster.
Then the nurse glanced up at Sybilla again while she absentmindedly stroked the baby’s head cap. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
Sybilla felt her nose wrinkle slightly but then turned her attention to her heretofore neglected tea. She picked up the cup and blew on the surface, speaking to the nurse over the rim. “Bring her to me so that I might see her properly.”
The girl hesitated for only an instant and then rose, one forearm around the infant’s middle and the other hand supporting its bottom, and Sybilla was reminded of how one might hold a piglet, if one was of a mind to do such a thing. It was rather round and pink.
The nurse walked up to the edge of the dais, and then, seeming not to know what else to do, grasped the baby under each arm and hoisted her up so that the infant’s gowned feet kicked just above the edge of Sybilla’s table.
Sybilla placed her cup back on the table and leaned forward in her chair, her hands on her thighs.
She peered at the infant’s face, and to her surprise, the baby’s blue eyes seemed to peer right back.
It was quite an appealing thing when viewed up close, Sybilla determined, and she wondered if the child resembled its mother.
“Good day, Lady Lucy,” Sybilla said levelly.
The infant’s eyes seemed to widen at the sound of Sybilla’s low voice. It stopped the futile cycling of its legs for a moment.
“Bah!” Lucy Griffin replied, then proceeded to blow a stream of spittle between her pink lips.
Sybilla felt one of her eyebrows rise.
“What on earth are you doing, Murrin?”
The baby’s head whipped around at the sound of her father’s voice, and Lucy began once more to frantically kick her legs, as if she would run to the lion-haired man if only the insufferable nurse would put her down.
“Lady Sybilla wished to examine Lady Lucy,” Murrin replied in a rather unsure voice.
Sybilla leaned back in her chair and picked up her cup once more as Julian Griffin strode toward them.
Under one arm he carried a thick, bound leather packet, which he laid on Sybilla’s table before turning to the nurse and taking charge of his daughter.
He smiled down at the infant, and Sybilla could not help but catch her breath at the way his face was transformed.
“Good morning, my darling angel! Good morning!” he repeated softly and kissed each of the baby’s cheeks and then her head through her small white cap.
Lucy reached up and grasped a handful of her father’s hair. “Bah-bah-bah!” she shouted as she jerked forcefully on the lock.
Julian chuckled. “I should say so,” he agreed. He turned his eyes to Sybilla, and she realized that she had been staring at him, studying him. The idea startled her nearly more so than his next words.
“Would you care to hold her?”
Sybilla’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lucy.” He bounced the baby on his forearm. “Most women cannot resist her prettiness, which is why, I assume, Murrin was dangling my daughter like a leg of lamb before you. Would you care to hold her?”
“No.” Sybilla took a slow sip. “I’m not terribly tempted at the idea. You will find, I think, through our time together, Lord Griffin, that I am quite unlike most women.”
“Oh, I’m already aware of that, Lady Foxe,” he replied evenly, and Sybilla glanced up to find him now studying her.
Sybilla cleared her throat delicately. “I trust your first night at Fallstowe was enjoyable? How did you find your chamber?”
His lips quirked slightly. “In truth, I—”
Suddenly, Graves spoke from behind her chair. “Where is that boy?” he muttered. Sybilla turned her head to catch him disappearing through the doorway which led to the kitchens.
She turned back to see Julian Griffin also regarding Graves’s hasty departure. The expression on his face was shrewd, thoughtful. But he shook it off and looked at Sybilla once more.