“Where?” she gasped.
“Cofton Grange, the home of my old master Sir Berhard Hainfroy.” He kept his voice low but reassuring.
“I don’t—?”
“His sons live here now and are letting the place go to rack and ruin.”
“S-sons?”
“Huw and Ivo Hainfroy. You met them at dinner, remember?”
He felt her relax as she became aware of her surroundings. If she recognized what was poking into her backside right now, she gave no indication.
She huffed out a big sigh. “I’m awake now,” she said in a small voice.
He grunted but did not release her. “Then go back to sleep.” He’d let her go when he was good and ready and not before.
For some reason, he was not ready, even when sleep took him under some half-hour later.
13
He woke early next morning and found Lenora wide awake and lying very still under him. “What the—?”
“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said with relief. “I’m half crushed to death!”
Garman promptly rolled off her and sat up to hide his obvious state of arousal. He glanced over at her, clearing his throat. “I didn’t—?” He broke off his words to rake her appearance. Thankfully there were no tears in her eyes or others sign he had done aught amiss. She still wore her shift and looked quite calm.
“I tried to get up and you rolled atop of me,” she explained with an upward quirk of her lips. “Any attempt to remonstrate with you met with resistance.” She yawned and then stretched.
Garman had to avert his eyes as her shift was fine and thin. He realized that whatever aversion he’d had to her too slender frame had now passed. He cleared his throat and turned his back to her as he rose carefully from the bed.
“The rain’s stopped,” she commented, turning her attention to the window.
He grunted, pulling his braies over his hips and tying the strings.
“How far is it from here to your grandfather’s farm?”
“Not far. An hour at the most.” He glanced over his shoulder to find her hugging her knees and gazing out of the window. The thick braid of her blonde curling hair had half-unraveled in the night. She looked disheveled and for some reason, he enjoyed the sight almost as much as if it had been his own handiwork. His still-hard cock twitched, and he frowned. Had he named a specific amount of time for this reprieve he had given her? Just how long did it take to fatten a woman up anyway? Lenora Montmayne had never been plump, just not scrawny from illness. He just wanted to fill out a few of those hollows, not change her shape altogether.
She turned her head toward him. “You know you’ve told me nothing about your grandfather,” she said, pulling him out of his thoughts.
He dragged his tunic over his head. “What did you want to know?”
“Which side of your family is he from?”
Garman took a deep breath. “His name’s Sutton and he’s my mother’s father. He was a steward all his life. Now he runs a farm.” Surely that’s enough for her to be going on with.
“Are you close to him?”
Garman paused. Apparently, he had not told her enough. “He raised me from the age of four, until I came to be Sir Bernhard’s squire.”
She nodded slowly. “And you were only twelve when you came here?”
“Aye.”
“When did you last see your grandfather Sutton?”
He considered this as he tied the lacings at the front of his tunic. “Some three years ago or thereabouts.”
“How do you know that all continues well with him?”
“He writes to me,” Garman said abruptly. Damn long prosy letters giving him a scrupulous account of how he had spent all the monies Garman ever sent him. Every penny was invested in the farm, and he gave detailed updates on their returns, their crops, the labor he employed, everything. As if Garman was his damned employer rather than his own kin.
“And do you write to him?”
Garman opened and closed his mouth. He usually sent some couple of lines of scrawl with the purses of gold he sent to his grandfather after his wins, but you could hardly call them letters. “I’m not much of a writer,” he said shortly and made for the door. Her voice halted him as he reached for the latch.
“Will he be disappointed?” she pursued. “About your marrying without his consent?”
Garman gave a short, dry laugh. “Hardly.”
“Should I—?”
He turned about impatiently when she did not finish. “What?”
She lifted her chin. “Should I wear my veil when I meet him, do you think?”
The faint hint of uncertainty in her eye stopped him from snapping back a harsh, instinctive negative. Instead he forced himself to look her over a moment impartially. What would his grandfather think of this woman he had married? He considered the question, but in truth he hardly knew. He bore not the slightest resemblance to his mother’s people and never had. It was the Hainfroys with whom he had found kinship and not his blood relatives.
Old Sir Bernhard had been the only father figure he had ever known. He knew what he would have said. If the wench takes your fancy, then the opinions of others be damned! And against all the odds, Lenora Montmayne did take his fancy. “You don’t need it, Lenora.” She gave a faint start and colored at his words, but he held her gaze.
“Very well.”
Garman continued downstairs but found all was in confusion. The remains of last night’s supper strewn across the table with no attempt having been made to clear it. He suspected Huw and Ivo must have stayed up drinking until the early hours and would not stir before noon. The serving wench must surely be warming one of the brother’s beds or else her slovenly ways would not be tolerated even at Cofton Grange.
Back in Isabeau’s time, she would soon have been slung her out on her ear. Though apparently done for his sake, Garman could not help but think the brother’s decision to disown their sister had been a poor one. Without a mistress, the place was clearly going to the dogs.
He wanted water for washing, so made his way to the back of the building to where the kitchen fire lay a pile of cold ash. With a scowl, Garman set about lighting it. Ten minutes later, he was outside fetching water from the well when he saw Berta stumping up the path from the barn toward him. Wordlessly, she followed him into the kitchen and took over the preparation of the water, setting a large pot in the hearth, as he went back out to fetch more wood for the fire.
“Your mistress is in the room at the top of the stairs, and needs water for washing when that is heated,” he told her as he set down an armful of logs in one corner. She grunted and Garman went through to the hall where he set about clearing the table. He had just taken the last of the supper remains through to the kitchen, when Berta finally addressed him.
“There’s rats in this kitchen,” she said, fixing her gaze on him challengingly.
“I don’t doubt it,” Garman responded. He had been about to take the cats down a plate of leftover mutton, but now he changed his mind. “Wait here.” He made his way down to the barn where he found Lenora’s cat Grizelda still curled in the hay, watching her offspring indulgently. He was somewhat alarmed to find one of the young males sat up on the stall partitions being nuzzled by Ivo Hainfroy’s horse. The cat’s eyes were shut as though he was savoring the sensation of the horse’s velvety muzzle.
“When did you get a hankering for cats?” he asked Pollux, who tossed his head and struck his large hooves against the barn floor. Garman eyed him warily as he removed the foolhardy cat from his position of danger. Neither the cat nor the horse seemed impressed at his intervening in their budding friendship. The cat craned his head over his shoulder to glare at Garman as he went in search of his siblings.
The other two overgrown kittens were chasing one another through the barn, but their curiosity led them Garman’s way and he scooped them up without too much bother and bore all three back to the house. Grizelda, he left to enjoy her leisure. Once
relieved of her charges, she sprang up into the cart and made herself comfortable on the wooden seat, washing her white face.
Once set down on the flagstone floor of the kitchen, the young cats immediately set about darting and leaping under the benches and tables in pursuit of unseen quarry.
“I wasn’t sure such pampered pets would take to ratting,” Berta admitted with a short laugh.
“They haven’t caught anything yet,” Garman responded dryly.
“Cats is cats,” Berta muttered, then shook her head as one of them skittered into the wall with a thud. “That water will be ready about now.” She pointed to the top of a dresser at a large jug and basin. Catching her meaning, Garman wordlessly lifted them down for her and grimaced at the liberal coating of cobwebs and dust.
“I’ll see to the water,” he said. Feeling the old woman’s eyes on him as he cleaned off the jug he looked up. “What is it?”
“Handy, ain’t you? For a knight, I mean.”
Garman grunted. “My old master didn’t hold with idleness.”
Berta’s eyebrows rose. Then one of the cats darted forward, laying a dead rat at Berta’s feet. He meowed loudly. “That’s a fine big one,” she acknowledged. He meowed again.
“Give him some milk,” Garman recommended.
“Milk?” Berta looked around.
“The pantry’s through there,” Garman said with a nod in the direction of a low doorway. Berta went in search of milk for the cats as he swung the pot from the fire and filled the jug with steaming warm water. A footfall in the doorway made him look up and he found Lenora there, gazing about in astonishment as one of her cats jumped down off the bench, oversetting a basket of apples and the other ran across the floor before diving behind the log-pile.
“What on earth—?”
“We’re overrun with rats,” he told her shortly. “Here’s water for washing. Shall I take it upstairs?”
Lenora shook her head and started rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll wash here.”
Which was eminently sensible as she had already dressed, but for some reason Garman found himself displeased. “Why did you not wait? I was fetching it up to you.”
She looked up as he passed her a clean cloth and soap flakes. “You did not say,” she pointed out mildly. “And I was not sure any would be forthcoming. It is of no matter.”
Garman frowned, watching her covertly as she set about washing her face and neck. He would not be happy, he realized, if either Ivo or Huw were to show up right now and see her at her ablutions and this confused him, for she was decently arrayed in a modest gown of mauve wool and he was far from prudish.
Berta reappeared, sniffing doubtfully at the contents of a jug. “It’s soured, I think,” she grimaced.
“Good morning Berta,” Lenora greeted her. “Did you sleep well?”
“Aye, well enough,” her servant admitted grudgingly. “Though this ginger one,” she said, pointing to the largest of the three cats. “Would not leave the horses be and insisted on cozying up to the fiercest one for the remainder of the night.”
“Tybalt?” asked Lenora with surprise. “I do not think he has ever met a horse before.”
Garman cleared his throat. “He was still at it this morn, when I fetched him.”
Berta gave a crack of laughter. “They always land on their feet, cats.”
“He’s a fancy to be a stable cat, has he?” asked Lenora, drying off her neck and lacing the ties at her throat. “Curious.”
“I left the white one in the barn,” Garman said, pretending he had not caught the feline’s name.
“Quite right, Grizelda is no mouser,” Lenora murmured, re-pinning a small square of muslin over the coiled golden braid which adorned her head like a coronet. She approached him with her hands outstretched and realizing she meant for him to fasten the lacings at her wrists, he complied. “Thank you.”
“Shall I toast some bread?” Berta asked. “There’s a loaf in the pantry that only seems half stale.”
Lenora started to say she was not hungry, but then caught Garman’s eye and agreed to take a slice.
Garman pulled his tunic over his head and started his own wash. By the time he had finished, the pile of rats had reached three for one apiece. Lenora was now sat on the bench with the small gray cat lay across her lap. His black and ginger brothers were still prowling restlessly about the kitchen. Garman accepted some bread and butter to break his fast and sat beside her on the bench.
“Do you think your grandfather’s kitchen will afford Purcel as much sport?” she asked, eyeing the black cat anxiously. “He seems to have found his calling.” She lowered her voice. “He caught two of those rats and Fendrel none.” Her gaze dropped to the smallest feline dozing on her lap.
“Certainly not,” Garman responded. “My grandfather would never keep such a dirty kitchen.”
Lenora sighed. “I do so want to be selfish and keep them all,” she admitted. “But it does no good. They must follow their own destiny, like the rest of us. These are Grizelda’s second litter, you know.”
He stretched out his legs before him. “What became of the first?”
“Charmian was charmed away by the most fashionable tailor in all Aphrany. She took up residence in his shop and has her very own silken cushion to sit upon. Quite the fine lady. Dastian left me for the palace kitchens and a very bad-tempered cook who fed him tidbits and he alone. As for little Minnie, she took a shine to an old soldier my father employs on his estate who is something of a rogue and a swindler. Cats choose where they will, you know. And they won’t be led where they bestow their affections.”
Garman considered this, eyeing the lazy scrap on her lap. “That one won’t leave you in haste,” he predicted.
“Dear Fendrel, I hope not,” she murmured, stroking him until he purred.
“Hold this,” Berta said, thrusting a toasting fork into Lenora’s hand. “I want to wash this table down before you eat off it.”
Lenora inspected the hunk of bread speared on the sharp end with interest.
Garman reached out and lowered the implement toward the fire. “Hold it steady,” he recommended. They both looked up when boots scuffled in the doorway. It was Huw Hainfroy, yawning and scratching his belly. He looked about with surprise at the crowded kitchen.
“You’re all in here, I see,” he said, blinking as the black cat reached up in a stretch and clawed enthusiastically at his chauses. Absently, he reached down and patted Purcel’s head. “We—er—seem to be beset with cats this morning.”
“Would you rather rats?” Lenora asked, pointing one slippered toe toward the pile of little limp rodent bodies.
Huw rubbed his eyes, then swiveled around as the maidservant Martha came up behind him. “Martha fetch a shovel and take these rats out,” he ordered irritably. She pouted, glared at Berta and then disappeared into the pantry.
Berta sniffed. “I doubt there’s very much a shovel in there,” she said loudly. Huw looked slightly embarrassed.
“We’ll be on our way shortly,” Garman interrupted, striving to keep the peace.
“So soon?” Huw’s tone was disappointed as he collapsed onto the bench next to him. “My head,” he groaned, clutching at it. “Someone had to celebrate your homecoming,” he said resentfully. “Even though you would not.”
Garman clutched Huw’s shoulder. “I can ride over and see you often, once I’m at Matchings Farm,” he pointed out.
“Aye, but will you?” Huw asked grumpily.
“Of course.”
Martha emerged unhurriedly from the pantry, eating a piece of currant cake slathered in butter.
“Are you deaf as well as idle, girl?” Berta demanded. The maidservant tossed her black hair and turned her back rudely on the old woman, before realizing her mistake. Berta, showing a wiry strength belying her years, took a running leap and landed on the younger woman’s back with a terrifying howl.
Lenora almost dropped her toasting fork as Berta set about raining blows
on the unfortunate Martha’s head, pulling her hair and boxing her ears for good measure. Martha hollered and squawked at last falling to her knees and wrapping her arms about her in attempted defense. “Mercy!” she yelled. “She’s twisted my ears clean off!”
Huw Hainfroy gave a short laugh. “I don’t suppose you’d leave your servant with us?” he asked Garman wistfully.
“Certainly not!” Lenora retorted. “I couldn’t do without Berta, although, I fear two of my cats do wish to remain with you.” They both turned to look at Purcel who was now hunched over Martha’s dropped currant bread, licking all the butter off.
“They’re welcome,” said Huw dispassionately. “Our last cat died of old age.” He turned to Garman. “You remember Winstanton?”
“Aye, he seemed ancient even then.”
“Well the ginger one is called Tybalt and apparently he likes it in the stables. But Purcel seems to hanker after being a kitchen cat,” Lenora explained, cuddling Fendrel, her remaining baby close to her chest. Fendrel gave a feeble meow of protest but did not struggle to get away.
Huw grunted then turned back to Garman. “You’ll not leave before Ivo gets up?”
Garman shrugged. “I mean to leave in the next half-hour.”
Berta hopped off the sniveling Martha. “Now go and fetch that shovel and hop to it!” she said fiercely. Martha clambered to her feet and scurried off. This time likely in search of a shovel.
“I believe I shall go down to the barn and observe Tybalt with the horses,” said Lenora.
“Eat first,” Garman reminded her, plucking the bread off the end of the abandoned toasting fork and passing it to her.
The meal was a chaotic one. Berta sliced up a currant loaf and toasted that also. Ivo emerged mid-way through and vowed he too would have to see evidence of the budding friendship between his horse and the ginger cat. They all went down to the barn where Tybalt once more charmed the temperamental horse with his presence, scaling the walled partition and when Pollux lowered his long nose, Tybalt rubbed his face enthusiastically against it.
The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2) Page 10