by C. C. Wiley
Baldric and Phillipa shared a look before he chimed in. “Yes, Mother and Father.”
“They would have asked: ‘Who is this man? Can he be trusted?’”
Visions of him standing on the banks of the stream, barefoot and pleasing to the eye, claimed her attention. He wore his charm like a fine tunic. And then he dared to touch her in front of everyone. Her hand slipped up, wavering over the place where he had caressed her with his thumb. The warmth had stuck to her like honey. And her serviceable dress, work-worn and faded, made her feel like a mud wren. She tugged on the bodice neckline that gaped since weight loss. The plans to repair its fit had never been deemed important enough to give it time.
“Meg,” Anna said quietly. “It is but a meal. Surely we are not so mean spirited to send him away after he took it upon himself to help our brother.”
“And we will make certain to eat quickly. Won’t we, Baldric?”
“Our duty fulfilled,” Anna added.
Meg touched the ache between her brows. Was even the ever-biddable Anna against her? They did not know of the meeting she had been forced to attend. Nor would they ever as long as she slipped into the night once darkness had set.
“I suppose, if we kept the stranger occupied, offered him a seat at our table…”
“He’s called Sir Nathan Staves,” Anna said. Their stunned looks made her lips quirk to the side. She shrugged. “Brother John does have his merits in ferreting out information.”
Meg’s insides jumped. “A knight?”
“And he is frightfully handsome.”
“And strong,” Baldric added.
“Did he say where he is from?” Meg asked. Dear Lord, please do not let him be one of DePierce’s mercenaries.
“Meg, he is the king’s man. Brother John advises that we offer him a room while he is here.”
“But we don’t know why he’s here.” Meg lowered her voice, saying through gritted teeth, “What if he discovers…things?”
“Greetings.” His moss-green eyes lit with amusement.
The man they spoke of now stood inside the solar. He had changed into a tunic that matched the color of his eyes. His dampened hair, combed away from his face, exposed the column of his neck. Golden threads wove through the whiskers on his jaw. Leads of muscle bulged from his shoulders. A wavy lock of hair fell in front of his eyes.
She fisted her hands, hiding them in the folds of her drab brown skirt and resisted the urge to smooth back her hair. Fire raced up her neck. Even her scalp tingled at having been caught in the act of gossiping about the man.
He bowed deeply. A curl teased his jerkin, drawing attention to his neck and broad shoulders. Upon rising, mischief lifted his lips. “I believe I can satisfy your questions once your Lady Margaret makes her appearance.” He winked conspiratorially.
Her middle sister glided toward him and curtsied, the rounded décolletage exposing more breast than Meg believed proper. When did Anna sew that new neckline?
“I’m Anna,” she said, her voice, ever soothing, as she rose with the help of his hand. “The middle sister.”
“A beauty to behold. In truth, I have never seen such beautiful sisters. Not even in King Henry’s court.”
Anna giggled. Meg stared at her sister and had to snap her mouth shut. Anna hadn’t giggled since their parents passed away. A blush stole over Anna’s skin, brightening her cheeks. “’Tis very kind of you to say.”
His gaze stroked over them, touching each with his attention. “Lady Phillipa and Master Baldric. ’Tis good to see that you are none the worse from the altercation in the village.”
“The smithy is a good man.” Phillipa smiled as she cut a look in Meg’s direction. “I’m certain he will think twice before setting his hands where they don’t belong.”
“Our sister has already handled it,” Baldric said. “He’s to spend time with the lambing.”
Sir Nathan’s eyes widened. “And how is that punishment?”
Baldric grinned as he rubbed his hands together with treacherous glee. “He hates the sight of blood.”
“’Tis good for him to witness life coming into the world,” Phillipa added. “Though I would have had him serve longer, our sister feels too much time away from his anvil will cause our village to suffer.”
“And when might I meet Lady Margaret? I’m told she is a veritable dragon. A paragon of impatience. Should I be afraid? Must I unsheathe my weapon to win her over?”
Meg’s brows rose. She stepped forward, refusing to retreat from him again. “I can assure you that should she be here, she would wonder why someone would speak of her in that way.”
“Meg,” Anna hissed.
“’Tis unfair to play with her, Sir Nathan,” Phillipa said. White faced, she strode to Meg’s side, looping their arms together. “Of course you recall meeting our sweet Margaret.”
His lips twisted and that mischievous gleam had returned as he met Meg’s gaze. Would he reveal that they spoke beside the stream?
“Aye, we met at your keep’s gate.”
Baldric’s elbow poked him in the side. “She’s Lady Margaret Grace,” he whispered out the corner of his mouth.
If it weren’t so mortifying to learn you were spoken of without regard, she would have found it amusing. Her brother and sisters were doing everything they could to free the knight from his misstep.
“She’s…” He turned his head, searching her from head to toe. Somehow, her fingers had found their way into his hands. Warmth seeped through her limbs. “’Tis true you are formidable, my lady, but certainly not a dragon.”
Christ’s blood. Fire had replaced the warm glow. If only she could extract her fingers from his grasp.
“’Cept we call her Meg,” Baldric yelled from across the solar.
Bless him. Meg needed to speak with Brother John regarding her brother’s training, immediately.
To his credit, Sir Nathan blushed. Good. Her skin had yet to lose its heat ever since she met him at the stream. They could endure the stew together. Meg nearly found it in her heart to let him off without an apology. Almost.
She tipped her head in acknowledgement. Until she knew his true purpose it would serve her well to be forgiving. “’Tis good of you to join us.”
“Nor are you of an age to manage this holding for the king.”
What a pity. He spoke. Meg frowned as she extracted her person from his hold and put a decent space between strangers. “Thank you for your concern. We are doing well enough. As you will see when you partake of our food.”
The bell tolled, announcing time for their evening meal.
“Ah, even time must do your bidding.” The mischievous gleam reclaimed his countenance. He bowed so deeply, she feared he might topple over his fine, calfskin boots. “If you will allow me…”
She looked down at his outstretched hand. Long tapered fingers wiggled for her acceptance. At least, no one but the children would witness his display.
“Lady Meg, I’d count it a privilege to escort you to the table.”
Hesitant, she touched his sleeve and ignored the thrill of something like summer lightning, skipping over her skin. “No doubt,” she said dryly. “Otherwise, you would be lost.”
Shadows slid over his eyes before he shielded them with ridiculously lush lashes. He turned his head. Did he murmur something to the effect that he already was?
“Come, children,” she said, hoping to regain the playfulness they had known so little of for the past five years.
Chapter 5
Meg sat in her mother’s chair at the long high table. Lady Beatrice had been no small person, and her mother’s great chair was a reminder of her own small stature. Her father, Lord Godwin’s, chair still remained empty over all those years. One day, the new lord of Fletchers Landing would take command. The only time someone had attempted to claim it, Meg ha
d feared she would surely die from heartache. Vincent DePierce, Lord of Balforth and presumably the king’s newly appointed Lord of Fletchers Landing, had foolishly thought he could take up her father’s seat. They had not seen that man for nearly a year. The next time would be too soon.
Her fingers dug into the dark polished wood. A bloodthirsty vision came to mind. She would never be the person her father or her mother had been, but she would see Father’s chair burned before that bastard sat in it again.
Brother John walked in behind them. His bushy gray brows rose as he took in the dinner scene. How long had it been since they’d had a guest at their tables? Did he question Sir Nathan’s presence? Meg sorted through appropriate responses should he question her decision to invite a stranger to their evening repast.
To her surprise, he nodded at the knight. “I bid you good eve. I see that you found your way to the table.”
The monk who had passed down so much knowledge to Meg’s family deserved a higher seat. Instead, he purposefully sat near Baldric. Meg watched the knight through the edges of her lashes. Sir Nathan kept the banter going over the next course of poached flounder.
“Tell me,” he said, carefully placing his eating knife beside his trencher. “What news have you regarding the pup? Has it settled into its new home?”
Phillipa shoved an overlarge bite of meat into her mouth. She tore off a huge chunk of bread and gave it to Baldric. If not for him ducking at the last minute, the whole thing would have been shoved in his gaping mouth. Mortified, Meg realized they had a lot to work on if they were to even think about being presented for a marital match.
They all waited while the youngest of the group continued to chew.
Anna, ever the peacemaker, shifted in her seat. “I’m certain Phillipa has the poor little thing tucked in a bed in the stables. They would never disobey you, Meg. Isn’t that right, Brother John?”
Brother John cleared his throat. “I, uh, forgot to check on the beast. Mayhap I will say a prayer before bedtime.” He plucked a bit of fish from the trencher and chewed as if it had been dried in the smokehouse over winter. His wide sleeves swung out, threatening to dip into the remains of the sauce. Draining their best honey mead wine from the cup made of horn, he rose from the table. “I must leave you now.” He paused, bowing first to Meg and then Sir Nathan. “My lady, I’ve done as you bid for our king’s guest.” Silence stretched. The chatter between Baldric and his sisters stopped as they waited for her response.
“Yes?” Dear Lord, what did he think she bade him do? She took a long drink of cool mead to drench her parched throat. “What…news have you?”
“Accommodations are set, my Lady Meg.”
“I see.” She turned on the man who’d tormented her thoughts all evening. “I hope it not too much to assume you might wish to stay in our keep.”
“Much better than sleeping under the trees beside a stream,” Sir Nathan said. The corners of his mouth twitched. “I’m honored.”
“Yes, well then,” she said. Him sleeping under the same roof brought visions of bare limbs. God help her; his bare feet. She would have to do penance for her straying thoughts. “Brother John…”
“As you requested.” The tunic and cowl nestled around the old monk’s shoulders drooped as he dipped his head. “The bedchamber that sees the morning sun is prepared for our king’s man.”
“Oh, yes, ’tis a lovely thought,” Meg whispered to no one in particular. “The morning sun is glorious there. And much cooler at night.” And far away from the shores and the coves across the firth.
Arms folded, he added, “May your evening be blessed.”
Phillipa nudged Baldric, tipping her head toward the doorway. “I think we should check on Whitefoot, don’t you?”
A flash of rebellion hardened his jaw. “But I haven’t eaten my custard.”
“Cook will save you some. I’ll see to it.” She rose from her chair so fast that it threatened to tip over. Her pocket bulged where she must have slipped an extra morsel for the puppy.
Warning bells pealed. How did no one else hear the deafening sound? Phillipa and Baldric were up to something. But when Anna rose to join them, Meg nearly fell out of the great chair.
“Welcome to our home,” Anna said. She took a breath before continuing. “’Tis certain you will enjoy our hospitality.”
“I beg your pardon,” Meg said, peering after brother and sisters. They nearly collided in their efforts to escape the room. “I’ve never seen them act this way before. Perhaps we should have more guests join us for a meal.”
The corner of his mouth tilted up and for once that evening he did not have a quick reply.
Her plan to feed the stranger and be done with him was foiled. So, they talked of farming and the many good things grown on the land.
The meal stretched into the evening. She glanced toward the window. Darkness was falling. She would have to send a message to her business partners that she had been detained. Partners. ’Twas a far stretch to define smugglers as her partners.
Her stomach churned. Please God. Keep them patient.
Nathan cut a pear in half and handed her a slice. Fire raced through her fingertips as they connected with his. She started to pull her hand away and stopped when he trapped them in his. His thumb grazed over her wrist. A shared breath hung between them before he released her.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For…protecting my brother, and…seeing that he was unharmed. He is still young, you see. His limp is not so easy to notice at times. ’Tis believed that one day it will be gone.”
His focus returned to the fruit and began slicing it into thin strips. “How do you manage it?”
Meg didn’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed that he avoided contact by holding out a plate for her to select a piece of fruit. She made a show of selecting the best one.
“When my parents died it was left to me to keep our village thriving. At first the villagers did not care for my orders. But soon they understood I did this to keep them safe and fed.”
“Vincent DePierce. He was appointed lord by King Henry.”
Her jaw clenched. How dare he bring that man’s name to her table? She fought down the desire to fling the fruit across the room. “’Tis of no concern. Soon the question of ownership will be cleared and Fletchers Landing back in the rightful heir’s control. No matter what is said, that man will not be lord here.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. Dear God, she’d said that to the king’s man?
He reached out, peeling her hand away. His finger brushed over her lips.
Meg tasted his callused flesh with the tip of her tongue. She ached to lean into him and trust that he would catch her if she fell. “Why are you here?” she croaked.
He withdrew his hand, leaving an empty cavern between them. “Vincent DePierce can no longer harm you. He died nearly a year ago.”
A sob leaked through Meg’s chest. If only that were true. His mercenaries no longer cared whose coin they took. They were there. Watching and waiting for their prey to make a mistake.
“Our king has yet to decide who shall be deemed the new lord.” He caught a tear from her cheek.
The kindness in his eyes made her feel weak and lost. She had to maintain her strength if she was to hold on to Fletchers Landing for her family. Their future.
“Then I shall offer additional prayers for our king’s improved wisdom.” Palms pressed into the trestle table, she rose from her mother’s chair. She was not abandoning her position. Only retreating until she had figured out another plan. “If you will excuse me.”
“My lady.” Nathan caught her hand. “Lady Meg. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Ignoring the warmth, the tenderness in his touch, she steeled her control. “You are here on King Henry’s orders, are you not?”
He ducked his head. “I do not mean to cause you dist
ress.”
She shivered as his breath whispered over her skin. “And yet, here you are.”
“True. But had I not been sent, we would not have met. My tender heart would have been shattered.”
“I sincerely doubt that, Sir Nathan. One’s heart cannot miss what it does not know.”
“On that I must disagree.”
Shadows swept in, furrowing his brow. If not for him still holding her hand overly long, she feared she would have smoothed away the heavy thoughts. Her gaze dropped to their joined fingers. His; callused and strong. Hers; work worn and in sore need of Anna’s unguents. She snatched back her hand. What was she thinking?
“Please, I pray,” his voice rumbled. “If you will allow it, I shall escort you to your bedchamber and then you may direct me to my own.”
How was it that his voice had the simple power to make her legs go weak? “We shall call the servants. To help you.”
“Must they be called? I am but a simple knight. I’m certain we can manage on our own. Don’t you?”
Meg lifted her shoulders, tipping her chin to grant permission. “Yes.”
How else was she to rid herself of his shadow? The smugglers had called for a meeting and she dared not be any later. They were sure to take umbrage at her tardiness and demand to renegotiate the terms of their agreement.
“My Lady Meg, lead the way.”
* * * *
Nathan walked beside Lady Meg. He’d nearly lost his control when the whisper of a groan slipped between those luscious full lips. A simple shrug of her slender shoulder tore him from his concentration of the mission of discovery. And when she rose, her curves hidden under the bodice of her serviceable gown had threatened to reveal her rosy buds…he feared he would have tumbled into the remainder of his trencher. He suppressed the need pumping through his veins. He must silence his little head, for that would only lead to trouble.
She strode purposefully beside him. Though her posture would please the staunchest of instructors for lady of the keep, he could not bring himself to think of her as the dreaded dragon, Lady Margaret. Smaller in stature she may be, but she was stronger than she looked. In mind and spirit. And that, he admired. It was a gift he once believed could never be taken from him. And he was so very wrong.