by Sahara Kelly
It would appear that Lymington was as sloppy about his household as he was about his accounts, thought Guy, for there were no guards or men protecting the stable and the valuable beasts it sheltered.
Gilles beckoned him into the darkness and the two made their way slowly down the stalls, immediately dismissing the smaller and older mounts.
Guy knew what they were looking for, and there…two or three horses that had the look of strength about them.
The end stalls were housing animals that had clearly never pulled a plow.
Without a sound, the two men neared the stalls and entered each one, quieting the beasts with a sure hand and a muttered word.
They ran their fingers over the hooves, trying to feel each one in the darkness.
With the third horse, they found what they were seeking, and Gilles took the risk of lighting the small wick they’d brought with them for just this purpose.
The little flame flickered in the depths of the stall, as Guy once more pulled the gelding’s leg up and rested its hoof on his knee.
There it was.
A crack ran from the front of the shoe down one side. A crack that exactly matched the imprint left in the mud of the lane behind Maltby Abbey.
“He’ll lose that shoe before long,” whispered Gilles.
“We’ll bring that bastard down before he has the chance,” answered Guy, sighing a little now that they had proof of Lymington’s complicity in hand.
He dropped the horse’s leg and rubbed his hand down its nose absently, as he thought hard. “Think you our Lord is still within?”
Gilles nodded at the other horses.
“My guess is yes. He’d not leave without word to us, and I’ll warrant that perhaps one or two of those pack horses are from our train.”
“Good.” Guy nodded at the door, and the two men slipped back into the shadows of the night and retraced their steps towards Maltby Abbey.
As they cleared the Lymington dwellings, and emerged back onto the quiet country lanes, they each drew a breath of the cool air.
“Well, the proof is ours now, Gilles,” said Guy thoughtfully.
“Indeed. We have a tribute that is outrageous, a fire the origin of which can be traced directly to Lymington’s stables, along with a number of other ‘problems’ he’s already admitted…”
“And the use of Greek fire to start that blaze. Who but a Knight would know of such things? Any oil would have served to start the logs burning, and had that been the case, we’d have had to work damned hard to prove our suspicions. But the use of Greek fire truly gives him away.”
Gilles nodded his agreement. “Had it not been for Father Michael, I cannot honestly say that the thought of checking the logs would have occurred to me.”
“Me neither. And here I thought we were so damned knowledgeable, too,” muttered Guy.
Gilles smothered a laugh. “Don’t forget, my friend, Father Michael’s got a few years on us. Perhaps when we’re his age, with our children and grandchildren around us, we’ll be able to match his wisdom.”
The thought of children quickened both men’s hearts and turned their thoughts inevitably to the women now sleeping at Maltby Abbey.
By mutual accord, they strode faster, anxious now to return to the place where they had both found something neither had sought.
Their hearts.
* * * * *
The next day was a busy one, and Guy and Gilles spent the morning chopping, shaping and sawing lumber into useable board lengths to replace those damaged by the fire.
There was a change in the people around them, Gilles noticed.
Both men found their opinions were sought, a forelock was touched here and there, and a shy maid had gently bobbed a quick curtsey as she brought them water.
The people of Maltby Abbey had finally recognized and accepted the men for what they were, and were doing their quiet best to let them know.
As they took a break, the blacksmith came up to them and clapped them both on the back, making their teeth rattle.
Saints, thought Gilles, why did all blacksmiths have to be so huge?
“Faith, lads, you’ve saved this place, you know that?” he said, whistling through his teeth as he gazed at the house.
“And you also, Samuel,” said Guy quietly. “Without your quick thinking on that ladder, it would have been much, much worse.”
The blacksmith shrugged off the compliment. “‘Twas no more than my duty to Maltby,” he said absently.
He turned to the two men. “Seems ye’re of a mind to stand as protectors for our ladies, then…”
Gilles met his eyes squarely. “With our lives, Master Blacksmith.”
The simple country man returned the look, glancing over at Guy and back to Gilles. “That’ll be good then,” he said, turning on his heel and walking off.
Guy snickered. “I would hazard a guess we’ve been approved, Gilles,”
he said, holding in his mirth.
Gilles retrieved his drooping jaw. “I doubt that we’ve ever received such a high compliment, Guy, pithy though it was.”
He too laughed with Guy, and then their expressions changed as they saw two women walking towards them bearing tankards of ale and a bundle of food.
They’d been reluctant to disturb the household as it slept on that morning. Sir Dunstan needed his rest, and the women needed the chance to relax and begin putting their house in order.
So it was the first time that day for their meeting, and each was glad of it.
Linnet smiled at Gilles and offered him a tankard, while Mechele did the same to Guy.
“Good morrow, Gilles,” said Linnet softly, watching as his throat moved with each thirsty swallow.
“And good day to you, love,” he said, drawing her a little apart. “Thanks for the ale, it’s been a thirsty morning. But I find I’m hungry too…” he gazed at her lips and Linnet felt a blush start somewhere around her knees.
“Me too,” she whispered, and allowed him to draw her into his arms. Their lips met in a quick kiss, and it was over far too soon for either’s liking.
“You two have been busy, I see,” said Mechele, withdrawing herself from Guy’s embrace where she too, had been soundly kissed.
Linnet snorted. “Busy? By the Saints you have enough lumber here to build a whole new house, for Heaven’s sake.”
“There’s a thought,” murmured Gilles.
Linnet waved his comment aside, unable to comprehend his mutterings. But Guy obviously did, as it was answered with a low chuckle.
She recalled her attention to their immediate problem. “So, gentlemen? Do we have a plan in place to take Lymington out and hang him from the highest tree? You do believe it was all his doing, yes?”
“Yes,” answered Guy. “In fact…” he glanced around and tugged Mechele over to a shady spot beneath a large tree.
Linnet and Gilles followed, and the women spread their cloths and laid bread and cheese out in an impromptu picnic.
“In fact,” continued Gilles around a mouthful of food, “We paid a little visit to Lymington’s last night.”
Mechele frowned. “Wasn’t that a bit risky?”
Guy leaned over and licked her ear with his tongue. She jumped and blushed, but returned his look with a hot one of her own.
“Not for us, my love,” he purred.
Gilles sighed. “Well, anyway…” he shot an annoyed glance at Guy for distracting him.
“Anyway?” encouraged Linnet, trying to ignore the hand that was making lazy circles on her back.
“Yes. Um—oh yes, anyway…” sighed Gilles. “We found a horse whose damaged shoe matched that print Father Michael found. With that piece of evidence in our hands, coupled with a few other things, we can certainly place the blame for your troubles squarely at Lymington’s door.”
Mechele and Linnet nodded at this news, unsurprised.
“Do you think Lord Benstede would intervene on our behalf?” asked Mechele.
“Swee
theart, Lord Benstede would personally disembowel Lymington, if he was given half the chance. I swear it,” laughed Guy. “He’s a fair man who hates injustice.”
“Hmm. I’d like the chance to help him too,” muttered Linnet.
“Bloodthirsty wench, aren’t you?” whispered Gilles running his hand to her bottom and squeezing the roundness he found there.
Linnet jumped and blushed.
“So here’s our plan.” Gilles looked smug.
“We have a plan?” asked Mechele.
Guy’s eyebrow shot up. “You doubt us, sweetheart?”
Mechele subsided into a puddle of apologies.
Linnet giggled. “So tell us the plan.”
Guy straightened. “We are placing our reliance on our Lord, and the fact that Lymington is who he is. A bastard. Those two facts should just about ensure his downfall.”
Linnet and Mechele frowned at each other.
“That’s your plan?” asked Linnet, glancing from one to the other. “Sounds a bit flimsy to me.”
Identical grins spread over the two handsome faces.
“Trust us, love,” said Gilles leaning close. “Take your finest gowns and air them out, for on the morrow we are all going to Lymington’s home. We are going to pay him a visit he’ll never forget.”
“Guy—our gowns. They stink of smoke still. It’ll take more than an afternoon’s airing to rid them of the smell.” Mechele worried her bottom lip with her teeth, only to find Guy’s finger there, quieting her.
“Trust us, Mechele. Do as we ask. ‘Tis all part of the plan.”
Linnet sighed. “You have our trust. You should both know that by now.”
Mechele nodded. “But why wait? Why not go now?”
“Mistress Impatience,” chuckled Guy. “We wait because Lymington will know we’re trying to recover from the fire. He’ll be setting his plans in motion to take over this estate. We’ll give him time to do so.”
“And in the meantime…” Gilles ran his hand back up Linnet’s spine to her neck sending her mind whirling into places it shouldn’t be in the middle of the day.
She shivered.
“In the meantime,” continued Guy looking at Mechele, “We shall ready that small empty pair of cottages by the south field.”
“You will?” Mechele’s voice was low and husky as she spoke the words that trembled on the tip of Linnet’s tongue.
“We will,” smiled Guy.
“Indeed we will,” added Gilles with his own particularly brilliant grin. “Tonight, my love, you’ll not need to share a bed in the downstairs chamber of Maltby Abbey.”
“You mean…” Linnet stared at him, lost in his blue eyes and the love she saw there.
“Yes.” Guy’s words were for Mechele, but all heard them. “Tonight is for us alone.”
Chapter 13
Mechele’s thoughts tumbled every-which-way as she shook out linens and flung them over one of the many cords that had been strung across the courtyard.
The whole place looked like the brightly colored entrance to a tournament with flags of clothing waving and snapping in the busy breeze.
Linnet sighed next to her as she pulled her favorite kirtle from the pile at her feet.
“I doubt the smell will ever completely fade,” she groaned, sniffing at the deep blue fabric.
“Well, they said not to worry about it,” answered Mechele equitably, trying to stifle her own sigh as she smoothed her hands over the rich golden folds of her own special gown and tossed it over the line.
Both women stepped back, and watched as the wind took the folds of soft stuff and billowed it out like a ship in full sail.
“Well, we’ve done our best,” she said. “Are you going to bother trying to air out any more?”
Linnet turned with a little grin. “No. I shall retire for the night, slip into my night rail, and slip out to the cottage. And I don’t care if it still smells smoky. Let’s be honest, I doubt I’ll be wearing it for very long.”
Mechele grinned back. “Good point.”
“Are you happy, Mechele?” Linnet’s question was tentative, almost as if she was afraid to break the spell of joy that surrounded them like a halo of sunshine.
“Yes. In spite of our troubles, yes. A thousand times yes. I’m so in love with Guy, my heart bursts with it.”
Linnet reached over impulsively and gave her cousin a hug. “I’m so glad. For I am desperately in love with Gilles, and my heart is just so full that I’d have hated to think you didn’t feel the same for Guy.”
“Oh, I feel it. How could I not? When he touches me, loves me, takes me to wild and wanton places, it’s…well, it’s beyond anything…”
Linnet nodded. “And when I feel Gilles’ warmth, his passion, his need for me, I just melt into a puddle. I swear he could take me upside down from that tree over there, and I’d love every minute of it.”
Both of them considered that statement for a moment.
Mechele snickered. “There probably is a way to do that, too, you know.”
“And if there is, I’ll wager my best slippers those two would know about it.” Linnet’s giggle was echoed by Mechele, and both finished their chores, hearts flying, minds full of their men, and bodies aching with a need to be touched and loved.
By their two special knights.
Who were, at that exact moment, muttering and cursing as they stood before two rather dilapidated and empty cottages.
Guy disappeared inside one, only to reappear a moment later. “Well, there’s a raised pallet of sorts in this one, that would suffice I think, with plenty of pine boughs and hay. And a couple of the thickest blankets we can find…”
“And t’other one possesses a stout set of beams, which might be useful for what I have in mind,” grinned Gilles.
Guy nodded. “It’s decided then. The roofs are pretty sound, thank heavens, if you don’t mind a few squirrels.”
“Don’t bother me. Doubt we’ll hear ‘em, anyway.” Gilles spoke absently, as if his mind was already on the night to come.
Guy grinned, the warmth of that smile lighting his harsh features. “You’ll probably hear us, though. If I do my job right, anyway.”
Gilles laughed. “I plan on keeping Linnet so busy that a full battle could take place outside, and neither of us would know about it.”
He turned to Guy, a question in his eyes. “You have the flowers?”
“I do indeed,” answered Guy, reaching into the little bag that hung from his belt. “Dug ‘em out just before we came over here.”
He pulled his hand from the pouch and showed Gilles a sparkling shower of silver glitter, interspersed here and there with the flash of brightly colored gems.
“Excellent, my friend. Excellent.” His fingers poked at the glittering mass. “You want the red one or the green one?”
“Oh, the green, I think. It’s almost the color of Mechele’s eyes when she…er…well.” He paused self-consciously. “I’ll take the green one.”
“Good. That leaves me with the red one. It glows like fire. Like the fire in Linnet…” He too, paused. There were some matters even friends as close as the two of them could not share.
Both men cleared their throats.
“Well, that’s it, then. We must get blankets, perhaps beg a little food, gather hay and so on. Let’s to it, my friend. Night will come soon. I hope…” said Guy, quirking his lips.
“Not soon enough for me,” muttered Gilles.
They spent the next hour or so desperately gathering what they could to make the cottages habitable for the coming night.
However, when they returned, Gilles with his arms full of fragrant pine boughs, and Guy with a bale of hay tossed over his shoulders, they found a surprise waiting for them.
The cottages had changed.
Gone were the old rushes that had littered the floors. Now they were swept clean and spread with a mix of herbs and fresh hay.
The openings had been covered with some light and flimsy stu
ff that swayed in the breeze, and the doors swung smoothly on their newly-oiled hinges.
Peeking inside, they were astounded to find a small table set up within each, where a pair of tankards rested. Fresh bread lay on covered platters, and both small dwellings showed signs of having been carefully and lovingly tended.
“Good God,” said Guy, eyes wide.
“The girls, do you think?” asked Gilles, also astounded at the change which had been wrought so quickly.
“Nay, lads,” came a gruff voice.
The blacksmith stepped from behind one of the cottages and faced the two stunned men. “The folks hereabouts figured it was as good a way to say thank you as any. The women took it into their heads to tidy up a bit, and, well…” he looked down awkwardly at his feet. “We all sort of got into the spirit of the thing. Yon lasses know naught of any of it.”
Gilles shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then say nothing, just enjoy,” said a firm voice, as the blacksmith’s wife entered the little clearing, bearing a large tray that held two fragrant pies.
“Mistress, I cannot…I do not…” stuttered Guy, completely at a loss for one of the first times in his life.
“Now, lookee, lads,” she said, setting her burden down and putting her hands on her ample hips. “You two have done naught but work hard, and lighten the load of those two wee things who’ve turned our lives around. You proved yourselves friends with your deeds yesterday, and none of us missed those looks…”
Both men found themselves blushing.
“We would do anything for our Mistresses, lads. Anything. And it seems they want you two.” The blacksmith glanced over the handsome men before him, gauging the broad shoulders and strong bodies, and dropping his glance to the fronts of their breeches. “Can’t figure out why, o’course,” he added, hiding his grin.
“That’ll be enough of that,” snapped his wife. “Come on, ye girt great lout. Finish your business and let’s be off. We have things to attend to this night, and these folks deserve their privacy.”
The blacksmith’s grin broadened and he leaned confidentially towards the two men as his wife slipped into the cottages and left a pie in each.