Graham lifted her into his arms.
“Are you hurt?” The gentle concern in his eyes caught her off guard.
“Please, put me down. I feel foolish. I don’t know what came over me. I only saw the fleeting shadow and—”
“M’lord, take care of Isabella. I’ll have this cleaned up,” Olivier, his left eyebrow raised in amusement, left the room.
“Lord Eden—”
“Graham,” he interrupted her, his voice calm, his gaze steady.
“Please, put me down. I caused this mess. I should clean it up.”
He didn’t move. Her arms were around his neck. She thought to scold him, but when she looked into his eyes, she forgot what she wanted to say. Flustered, she took her arm away and placed her hand on his chest to gently push him, thinking he would set her on her feet. Her fingers felt his heart beat faster. She made the mistake of gazing into his eyes again.
Finally, she found her words. “Please, Graham. I’m over my fright.” Her voice was low, her tone soft and warm.
“As you wish.” His voice was a whisper that, god help her, went straight to her heart.
With great care, he placed her on her feet.
Olivier arrived with people, buckets, and rags.
“Do you have another cask?” Her heart raced for a very different reason. If the guild master disclosed the poor quality of what she drank, the winery would be ruined.
“Alas, no. This is the only one from this vintage. You look so worried. Please. We needn’t say anything about the incident.” He paused and held her attention with his gaze. His eyes had a sheen of purpose. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Isabella stared at him. His words were innocent, but his meaning was clear.
The guild master knew this cask of wine was below standard.
“I know you enjoy burgundy, but I don’t think it should be spattered over your clothes.” Graham stared at her dress.
Isabella followed his stare, anything to avoid his eyes. She was soaked with the burgundy wine.
“I must return to the chateau.” She raised her head and got a good look at him. Her hands flew to her face. The shock of discovering Graham’s shirt stuck to his well-defined chest, stained with wine, registered on her face. “Oh dear.”
“I think we both need to return to the chateau. It looks like we rolled in the grapes.”
“What will people think?”
“We’ll walk as if this is the fashion of the day. Should anyone ask, we will tell them they should see the remains of the barrel.”
Isabella’s eyes widened, followed by a hearty laugh.
“And if that doesn’t work, have no fear,” he pulled out his dirk. “I will protect you. Shall we?” He presented her with his arm.
They left the hall and made their way to the trail.
“Are you always that skittish?”
“Of course not. There are field mice all over. The little devil caught me unawares.”
He didn’t say anything, just patted her hand. A small sign of caring. Was that possible? This man, this Englishman, hardly knew her.
Isabella stole a glance at his face as he looked straight ahead. He came running when he thought she was in danger. She felt protected, secure, and…it was the look in his eyes. The beat of his heart. It had been a long time since anyone cared, any man.
“You have my thanks. For being my gallant knight.”
“The last time I was called a gallant knight was…a long time ago.”
She wondered what memory brought a smile to his lips. It was a pleasant smile. She looked away and they continued back to the chateau without speaking another word.
Chapter Four
Day Two at the Winery
Graham sat behind the winery desk with Nolan and looked through the account journal, its neat columns of numbers next to entries with detailed descriptions.
“The winery is doing well, although the crops suffered over the last year,” Nolan said.
“Olivier mentioned the superb quality of Labatrelle wine. He said nothing about any failing crops in Châlons.” Graham continued to review the journal.
“No other vineyard has the same issue we have with our lower field. This year I’ll need to purchase grapes from other vineyards to blend with our wine in order to come close to our usual quality, but it is costly. I don’t know if the winery can continue this way.”
“Purchasing grapes is an expense.” He started to turn the page.
“Enough books and numbers.” Nolan took the journal and put it in the desk. “Come with me. If you need to report back to the earl, you must understand what we do and how we do it.
“The tasting room is at the end. Always the best part of the tour. We can’t just taste one wine. How will you be able to compare? No, my friend.” Nolan threw his arm around Graham’s shoulder and they walked to the door. “At least two, maybe three bottles… for each of us.”
They both were laughing by the time they walked among the vines.
Nolan took an exaggerated breath. “You can smell the sweetness of the grapes. They are almost ready to harvest. When the time is right, the pickers hurry along. It’s a race to pick all the grapes at the peak of their quality. A single day can make a big difference.”
“Then the rush begins.” Isabella stepped out from between the vines. She handed each man a small cluster.
“Ah, Bella.” Nolan dropped his arm from Graham’s shoulder and wiped her lips with a cloth he took from his belt. “Your lips are as red as the grapes.”
Bella? Only her grandmother used the endearment. It didn’t sound right coming out of Nolan’s mouth, and Graham resented that he dare use it. Perhaps there was more between Isabella and Nolan?
“I’m taking Graham on a tour of the winery, showing him how we make wine. Join us.”
Nolan gave her a tender smile. At once Graham became…protective. As fast as the thought arose he banished it, locked it away with those other thoughts to address at another time. Always another time. Keep focused. Think of Hugh. The winery. The chateau. One week. One week and he would be back in England.
“Tour? Is that what you call going into the tasting room. No. You go on. Unlike you, I have chores I must attend to. I’ll meet you in the tasting room.” Isabella didn’t hesitate.
No prolonged good-bye, kiss, or squeeze of the hand for Nolan. She was gone. Had it been harmless banter between Nolan and Isabella? Similar perhaps to the teasing between himself and his brothers. It didn’t matter. He was in Châlons for Charlotte and Hugh and would be gone soon.
His guide rubbed his hands together. “She may be right, but how will you understand the differences in the wines unless you sample them.”
They walked between the rows of vines heavy with grapes.
“Do you know anything about wine making?”
“There are similarities in beer and wine production. The barm in beer and yeast in wine may be different but they both produce the spirit, aroma, and taste. Glen Kirk produces beer that is clear, much like your Labatrelle wines.”
“Merchants at the fair speak about Glen Kirk beer. What makes the brew so special?” Nolan asked.
“For years, noblemen, merchants, and farmers have tried to pry that information away from Lord Reynolds. Many a man spends the night under the table after trying to get Lord Reynolds drunk enough to tell him. He protects his secret like a pirate with a buried treasure.”
“Maurice made a good wine,” Nolan said. They walked into the pressing area. “This last year was difficult. The soil is no longer giving us the grapes we’ve had in the past. We could adjust for that, but the weather was against us. In the end, the crop suffered. Some of the grapes are holding their flavor, but little by little the grapes grown in the lower field are changing.
“Maurice was a warrior, a Crusader. That’s all he spoke about. He knew a little about wine. Mostly, how to drink it. Of course, no one ever said anything to Lord Miles or Charlotte, not even Isabella or Jeanne Marie. They thou
ght he was perfect. There was no need to let them believe otherwise. First he depended on my uncle and to some extent on Miles.”
“Did you help Maurice with the winery?” Graham asked.
“As much as he would let me. The older he got the more set in his ways he became. When my uncle died, and the partnership came to me, he had no choice.”
That was not the impression Graham had. Everyone presented Maurice as someone who was dedicated to his winery and eager to pass on information. Now he wondered if the truth was somewhere in the middle.
“What do you think is the future of Labatrelle?”
Even DuClare, Rodigio and Olivier spoke of Labatrelle as a vibrant sustainable winery with an excellent wine. When he looked at the accounts the business appeared strong. But if the winery is faltering and cannot be saved now would be the best time to sell, he thought. At the moment, he had a difficult time believing the winery was in such dire difficulty. He waited. What did Nolan think the future held for the winery?
“You needn’t be concerned. Your answer will go no farther.”
“I wanted to return Labatrelle wine to what it was when my uncle was the manager. With the recent difficulties I’m not sure we can. I think now may be the best time to sell the winery. Several people approached me.”
Nolan’s words made sense and yet something in his tone sounded oddly hollow.
“Come. I’ll teach you about Labatrelle wine.”
They walked up the ramp to the second floor of the winery.
“Once the grapes are harvested they are brought here, where the stems are removed and the grapes are crushed. From here, the wine goes down a trough to the floor below, where the wine is put in barrels and taken outside for a week to ferment.”
They went down the stairs to a room stacked with clean oak barrels. “Next, we remove the grape skins and seeds, fill these barrels, and let the wine age. Aging is a taster’s skill. The wine in each barrel must be sampled weekly, sometimes more often until the wine is perfect. Labatrelle Winery is fortunate. Our reputation for quality precedes us. Our wine is sold before it is in the barrels.”
Nolan brought him into the next room. Isabella was at the table with fresh bread, cheese and goblets filled with wine.
“Now that you toured Labatrelle and understand how wine is made, you must enjoy some,” she said. She handed Graham and Nolan a goblet.
Graham took a sip.
“How long is the process, three maybe four months?”
“Yes, from harvesting to barreling the wine for aging, but wine making is a year-round task. While the current year’s wine ages, the vineyard is prepared for the following year’s grapes.”
“What do you think of our winery?” Isabella asked.
“Making wine is as impressive,” he lifted his goblet, “as the wine.”
He was sincere. The wine was to his liking, smooth not bitter, with a fruity flavor. With their hard work and dedication, they should be proud of what they’ve made.
Isabella spread creamy cheese on the bread and dribbled a bit of olive oil over it.
“You must taste this. Grand-mère makes a special goat cheese. The warm, melted cheese with the crunch of the crusty bread goes well with the wine.”
She fed the tidbit to him. His lips touched her fingers.
Startled, she stepped back, a flash of color rising up her neck and staining her cheeks.
“Delicious,” he said, his voice deep and mellow.
He let her determine if he meant the cheese or her fingers.
One moment they stared into each other’s eyes, and the next, they both exploded laughing.
This was a different Isabella. Bella. Her sharp words were tempered. She was spirited and lighthearted. He liked this version. Was that a smile on his lips? He must be a glutton for punishment. Both his mother and Isla were confident and assertive. In truth, he was attracted to strong-willed women. He glanced at her as she handed Nolan bread with cheese. She was generous with her brutal honesty. He didn’t think she had many friends tucked away as she is in the chateau. That could explain why she was fiercely loyal to her grandmother, Charlotte, and the winery.
Trust and loyalty. Aside from her determination to see to the success of the winery, from all Charlotte, Hugh, and Miles told him he knew the words fit her. He had not seen those qualities in anyone except his family and a few select friends in a long time. He spent most of his time with his horses and avoided people. A disturbing thought, he hadn’t wanted to avoid her.
A ripple of sarcastic amusement made the corner of his mouth twitch into his cheek. He smirked at the idea he had done a good job of tucking himself away and avoiding people. She turned and caught him staring. He lifted his goblet in a salute and took a healthy drink. She said more with the tilt of her head than he thought possible. If he was right, and she and Nolan were a couple, Nolan was a fortunate man.
“My thanks, Isabella. I must go.” Nolan stuffed the last piece of bread and cheese in his mouth.
Graham began to put down his goblet.
“No.” Nolan held up his hand. “No need for you to leave. Isabella, pour Graham a sample of the fortified wine. If I’m not mistaken, that will please him.” Nolan grabbed his satchel and left before either he or Isabella could say anything.
“More wine?” She held up the decanter.
He gave her his goblet. Why didn’t he leave with Nolan? He was just torturing himself. Because it was good to feel again, and he didn’t want to deny his emotions. As long as he remembered she was Nolan’s woman he was fine.
“What do you think the problem is here?” he asked as she poured the wine. Her opinion became an important issue to him. “The grapes?”
“I worried that the recent rainstorm would dilute the sweetness of the fruit, but we are fortunate. The ground drained well in the lower field.” Deep in thought, she put the decanter down. “I gave you a taste of the grapes earlier.”
“The ones you ate a few minutes ago?”
“Yes. I looked at them, tasted them. They are plump and sweet, ready for harvest. Waiting any longer they will overripen. That’s only part of the problem. Nolan and the men had a disagreement. They said the grapes were ready. He didn’t want to start the harvest. One word led to another, and they complained about repairs Miles promised. In the end, the men left to work at other vineyards.
“I wish he had spoken to me. These men were devoted to Maurice. Nolan can be so stubborn at times, demanding things his way. Spending more time writing in his journal than doing his work.”
“His journal?”
“Yes, he carries it around wherever he goes. He writes everything in it, in a secret language.”
“As a partner I’m sure he keeps his own records. What is this secret code?”
“Instead of numbers next to the accounts he uses letters. According to Nolan, the workers don’t need to know his business. I thought it was curious. Maurice never concealed anything from anyone.”
He knew about loving someone and protecting them. Not every man was secure enough to share their failures. Perhaps Nolan’s secret language was how he protected her and himself.
Graham stood at the window looking at the workers in the vineyard as he sipped his wine. She was right. The raspberry note he tasted probably came from the chateau garden. The sweetness balanced the tart wine. He liked this fortified wine.
He could recommend to Hugh that he sell the winery while the wine was still good, charging Monsieur Olivier with finding a buyer and writing up the contract. He could be back in hot sticky London sooner than he expected.
Isabella came up beside him.
“You’ll learn more if you speak to them rather than stand here. I’ll be your guide for this part of the tour.”
“Aren’t you going to the market?”
“I don’t need anything in particular. We can leave whenever you are ready.”
He put his goblet on the table.
“Shall we?” He gestured with his arm toward th
e door.
As they came down through the vineyard, he observed twenty men busily spreading dried manure around the vines.
“What are they doing?”
Isabella glanced at the sky. Her expression stilled and grew serious. She searched the grounds. “There is Louis. He manages the men in the fields. He can explain it to you.” They walked over to him. “Louis, this is Lady Charlotte’s brother-in-law, Graham Eden. He would like to know what you and the men are doing.”
“I expect a considerable drop in temperature tonight. We’re preparing the vines in case we have frost. We put a mixture of moist straw and half-rotten manure in small heaps on the windward side of the vineyard. If the fog turns cold, we’ll light the manure. The smoke and warmth will protect the vines. We’re half done.”
Graham took off his jacket, gave it to Isabella, and rolled up his sleeves. “Tell me what to do.”
Louis looked at Isabella, disoriented. She shrugged her shoulders.
“You can use another pair of hands, can’t you?” Graham asked.
Louis gave a nod. “M’lord, your help will be greatly appreciated.”
“Please, call me Graham. Somehow m’lord doesn’t sound right working with manure.”
That set them chuckling.
Isabella watched as Graham stood with the workers and pitched in. The men were a close group, not open to outsiders. Graham’s ease at working with them surprised her.
She listened, ready to translate, as he took instructions from Louis, who had him raking the manure while they waited for the next wagon.
When it arrived, he heaved himself into the back and mixed the manure and hay, then pitched the mess over the side as the wagon made its way along.
His French was tolerable. He fit in jesting with the men.
“You are a mighty force. I expected to find more men working the vineyard,” Graham said.
“These are the only men left. There are usually three times as many working our harvest,” Louis said.
Graham: Pirates of Britannia Connected World (Sons of Sagamore Book 2) Page 5