Lord of Lyonsbridge

by Ana Seymour

  Connor’s lips tightened. “They’ll be chosen by the end of the day.”

  Sebastian nodded and turned back toward the castle, slithering in the thick mud. “There’s no need for us to stand here in the hot sun,” he said, looking at Sir William. William’s gaze was on Sarah Cooper, who stood quietly next to Ellen. The expression in his eyes made Connor uncomfortable, but Sarah seemed unaware of his scrutiny. Indeed, she had eyes only for a young castle page who stood conveniently nearby.

  Sebastian cleared his throat and said more loudly, “I’m going back.”

  William tore his gaze from the girl and looked over at him. “Aye, this seems to be progressing properly.”

  Both men started walking up the hill. “Are you coming, Cousin?” Sebastian asked over his shoulder.

  Ellen looked up at her cousin, then back at the yard full of horses and villagers. Finally her gaze went to Sarah, who was still peering at Rolf out of the corner of her eyes. “Sarah and I will stay a spell,” she said airily. “I’d like to bid farewell to the horses that are to go.”

  Sebastian gave a shrug of irritation. “As you will,” he said, then continued trudging up the hill.

  For a moment after they left, there was quiet among the crowd, and Connor did nothing to resume his work. Then he said, “Would you have us bring you out a litter to sit in, milady?”

  She looked around at the groups of villagers arranged in festive groups up on the grassy hill. “Nay,” she said after a moment. “I’ll make do with the ground.”

  Connor smiled and gave her gown a pointed glance. It was one of her more elaborate ones, not like the simple cotton she’d worn the other day in the solar. He was quite sure she’d never before sat on the ground in such garb, especially not in mud such as covered the stable yard. He reached behind him and plucked up the stool he’d been using. “We’ll compromise on a stool. I’d not have you soil your gown.”

  He planted it in the mud, making sure it was firmly set, then reached for her hand to hold it as she sank gracefully down on the little seat.

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile. It was not yet as sweet as the smile she’d given him the day of their race before he’d kissed her, but it was worlds from the imperious expression she’d adopted after he’d kissed her.

  Connor had never had his talk with Martin about Ellen, after all. He’d decided that his problems with the Norman maid were beyond his brother’s holy teachings. It was a dilemma he’d have to work out for himself.

  “Did you want to review the animals yourself?” he asked her.

  “Nay, horse master. I’m merely observing. Mayhap I’ll catch you in one of these spells Sir William speaks of. Pretend that I’m not here.”

  Or pretend that the sky was green, for it would be about as easy a task.

  “Aye, milady,” he said.

  Chapter Seven

  Where had the indignation fled? Ellen asked herself as her eyes followed the horse master’s every move. This servant had kissed her. The hands that were now running so smoothly and efficiently over each new horse had done the same to her. She should be repulsed and horrified, but she was nothing of the kind.

  The hands were strong, but not coarse. His touch was firm, but not rough. The horses appeared content. If they’d been cats they’d be arching their bodies and purring with pleasure. She might be, too, with those hands on her, she thought, her face reddening at the idea.

  He’d heeded her advice to ignore her. In fact, it seemed that he’d utterly forgotten about her presence.

  “What are you looking for, horse master? How are you choosing which ones to sell?” Her voice sounded louder than she’d intended.

  He shifted his gaze to her. “We’ll sell a selection, old and young, but the weaker ones.”

  “Although I see you’ve chosen some of the larger animals.”

  “Some horses are weak in bone and muscle, some in spirit. As with people.”

  He went back to his work.

  Ellen frowned. She’d grown used to young men fawning in her presence, waiting for the gift of a word or two from her. It was mildly annoying that this servant, who had dared to lay hands on her a mere week ago, now seemed totally uninterested.

  “Will you finish choosing today?” she asked.

  His glance flickered to her again, then back to the horse, and this time he answered without stopping his examination. “I have to. Your cousin’s men are ready to leave for York tomorrow.”

  She made two or three more attempts to engage him in conversation, but he was obviously concentrating on the work at hand. When she wasn’t watching him, Ellen studied the groups of peasant families, most of whom had finished their picnics. The children were tumbling up and down the hill, obviously delighted at the unofficial holiday. The wives had begun packing away the food, and some were beginning to return to the village, with fond glances back at the menfolk, who had joined the children in their tomfoolery. For a moment, Ellen envied them all their simple existence.

  “Milady should have a care that her skin doesn’t suffer from so much sun,” Connor said suddenly, breaking into her thoughts.

  She looked at him in surprise. She hadn’t seen him so much as glance at her skin or any other part of her, but the remark proved that at least he was not totally unaware of her presence.

  “My skin’s well seasoned, Master Brand. I’ve never been one for veils and unguents. But I thank you for your concern.”

  He smiled at her. “’Tis my profession to be concerned about the welfare of the living things in my care.”

  “I’m not one of your broodmares. Nor am I even remotely in your care.” She looked to be sure that none of the stable boys was within hearing. “You forget yourself yet again, horse master.”

  His grin was unapologetic and said better than words that he was thinking of the moment when he had “forgotten himself’ the last time.

  Ellen jumped to her feet, toppling the stool behind her. “I’m going to look around,” she said. “I’ve not had a thorough tour of this place.”

  Behind her, Sarah was seated on the grass next to Rolf. She got reluctantly to her feet when Ellen rose, but Ellen called to her, “Stay there if you like, Sarah, or go on home. I’ve no more need of you today.”

  She was rewarded with the girl’s instant smile as she bobbed a curtsy and murmured, “Thank you, milady.”

  “If you’re wandering alone,” Connor said, without raising his head from the horse’s hoof he was examining, “do not go out of sight of the stable yard.”

  Ellen wanted to ignore his comment, but since two of the stable boys had come up leading the next horse, she answered, “I want to look around the stables. I’ve never seen any so large. And I’ve brought a sweet cake for Jocelyn.”

  At that Connor finally looked up at her. “She’s a horse, not a babe,” he said, but his tone was more amused than chiding.

  Perhaps twenty horses remained in the yard, still to be examined. The rest had either been led into the pen of those to be sold, or placed back in their stalls in the stable. Ellen wandered through the herd, wondering idly which would be chosen to go. In truth, they all looked magnificent to her, strong in muscle as well as spirit. She was happy the decision was not hers, and she was even happier that after some argument, Sebastian had agreed to limit his sale to a fifth of the total.

  It did feel good to enter the shadowy stable after sitting so long outside. Though it was a mild day, the sun had warmed her through her heavy clothes.

  She strolled aimlessly up one aisle of stalls and down another. They smelled of fresh hay, and each was neatly raked. She’d never seen a stable quite like it back in Normandy. Of course, she’d never seen a stable master like Connor Brand either.

  At the far end of the aisle on the left was a small spiral staircase leading to a second floor. She remembered that Connor had said that he lived here. The idea was so absurd, she hadn’t known whether to believe him, but perhaps this led to his living quarters. With a sudden spurt
of mischief, she looked around to see if anyone was watching, then lifted her skirts and darted up the stairs.

  As her head ascended through the hole in the floorboard, her mouth dropped open. She’d been expecting something on the order of a hayloft. Instead, she entered a well-furnished room. Nay, lavishly furnished, she realized, as she reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the room. Where had a stable master obtained such things?

  The room was dominated by a huge table of ornate dark oak, piled with manuscripts. Cupboards and shelves lining the walls contained more wooden-and leather-bound books, and what appeared to be silver and gold plate as fine as any she’d found inside the castle itself.

  In a daze, she wandered across the room and through a doorway at the far side into what was obviously his bedchamber. The bed itself was huge, definitely no peasant’s cot, and the wardrobe was painted with designs that could only have been done by a hired master.

  On a small table by his bed was a candle and one of the manuscripts such as she’d seen in the outer room. It was in Latin, she saw at once, and appeared to be a book of law.

  Standing next to the table was, of all things, a lute. Ellen went to it and picked it up, and began to pluck the strings. The pitch was perfect. She shook her head in amazement, then sank down on the soft mattress of the bed and began to pick out a tune.

  Her music tutors back home had given her up as hopeless, but it was only because they’d insisted on making her play the dreary songs they considered proper. Finally one day she’d heard a gypsy play at a town fair, and ever since that time she had secretly played on her own, selecting the notes that struck her fancy, the wild sweet sounds that the gypsy had played that starry night.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lost in her playing, but she almost dropped the instrument when Connor Brand’s voice came suddenly from the doorway. “You’re a woman of many talents, milady,” he said softly.

  She jumped up from his bed, still holding the lute, her cheeks burning. “You startled me, Master Brand.”

  “I wager that I did. I’m a sight startled myself to come upon a beautiful noblewoman ensconced in my bed.”

  Ellen laid the lute on the bed. “I beg your pardon. ‘Twas rude of me to come up here without your knowledge.”

  He walked across the room toward her. “I forgive you. Besides,” he added, reaching out to swipe a gentle finger along her left cheek, “the discomfiture becomes you. It adds an extra blush to the rose of your cheeks.”

  She couldn’t back away from him, as the bed was behind her. All at once she realized how vulnerable she was. She’d dismissed her only attendant, and the rest of her cousin’s party had gone back to the castle. She was alone with her stable master in his bedchamber.

  Her chin went up. “Have you finished your day’s work, then, horse master?” she asked, hoping her tone befitted the mistress of the castle.

  He was smiling down at her, the skin around his blue eyes crinkled after the full day outdoors. Rays from the setting sun streamed through the small window and cast reddish highlights into his blond hair.

  “A man might think he was having an apparition to suddenly see such a sight in his bedchamber,” he murmured, ignoring both her question and her attempt to establish once again their proper roles. His thumb lingered at the base of her chin.

  Ellen closed her eyes. Mayhap ‘twas the velvet in his voice that charmed the horses.

  “An apparition sent by the faeries of the enchanted wood,” he continued with the same husky tone. She knew then that he was going to kiss her.

  Connor didn’t believe in the faeries, but he was beginning to become convinced that Ellen of Wakelin had bewitched him. When Sarah Cooper had told him that she’d never seen her mistress emerge from the stable, he’d been a little alarmed. The day’s work was finished, except for taking the remaining horses to their stalls, so he’d entrusted that task to John Cooper and the stable lads and had set off in search of Ellen. The last place he’d expected to find her was on his bed.

  But as he’d stood in the door watching her, her black hair streaming out wild around her like one of the gypsies in the song she played, he’d known that he was going to have to kiss her again. If it meant he’d end up hanged on a gibbet in the village square, so be it.

  Her lips were warm as summer sunshine and as giving. His arms went around her waist and lifted her against him, slender and pliant. “Ahh, sweetheart,” he said in a whisper. “You’ve put a spell on me.”

  She returned his kiss and sought more, opening her lips to his with a small groan of passion at the back of her throat.

  He turned sideways and braced a knee on the bed so that their bodies could rock together, seeking a communion that was impossible with the layers of clothing they wore.

  Her hands added pressure at the back of his waist, and his slid boldly up her bodice to seek the swelling of her breasts. “Thou art a rare beauty, Ellen,” he said in a cracked voice.

  The sun had faded, leaving the room in near darkness. Inches away from the comfort of his own soft mattress, his loins ached with wanting her. A pulse thrummed wildly in his throat. She looked up at him, her golden eyes hooded and reflecting his own need. With a deep, shuddering breath, he eased her down to the bed, and took a long, safe step back.

  “’Tis more than unwise for you to be here, milady,” he said, more harshly than he had intended.

  Ellen shivered with sudden cold as he released her. It took her a long moment to bring the dim room back into focus, to sort out exactly what had happened, to believe that he had actually let her go. He’d not only let her go, he was scolding her once again, as though she were a naughty child.

  She felt awkward and embarrassed, lying on his bed, looking up at him. She struggled against the soft mattress to push herself up. Had this been another one of his tests to prove to her that she shouldn’t be alone outside the castle? She felt shaky inside and a little sick.

  How could this man kiss her that way, make her lose all sense of the world around her, and then simply let her go and step back with nothing more than curt, chiding words? She’d overlooked it once, back in the forest, but this time he’d pay for his knavery.

  She stood up from the bed, her face an icy mask.

  “You underestimate me, Master Brand. You think I’m powerless to punish you for your offenses because I don’t want to call them to the attention of my cousin.”

  He seemed to wince, but his voice was strong as he answered, “Milady, believe me, I was not thinking of your cousin or much of anything else a few minutes ago. ‘Twas an error, a grievous one. I ask your forgiveness.”

  She’d not expected that. When he’d kissed her in the forest he’d not appeared in the least sorry, nor had he apologized. “I could forgive once.”

  He nodded firmly. “But not twice, you say. And you’d be absolutely right. Twice is unpardonable.” As in the forest, he seemed to be regaining his control much more quickly than she. In fact, he had the audacity to grin. “My only defense is that the first kiss was too pleasurable to leave it at one.”

  He continued grinning as she started to speak, gave a huff, tried again, and finally gave up. Just what did she intend to do about horse master Connor Brand? He was right, the first kiss had been too pleasurable to leave it at one. And just where did that put them? For if the first had been pleasurable, the second had been miraculous.

  She rolled to her feet, ignoring his offered hand, then shoved past him and stalked quickly across both rooms to the top of the stairs.

  “Milady,” he called after her. “’Tis coming on dark. You need protection back to the castle. Wait for me to escort you.”

  “I find your suggestion absurd, horse master,” she called, frustration punctuating her words, “since the only one I’ve needed protection from since I’ve come to Lyonsbridge is you!” Then she raced down the winding stairs to the dark stable below.

  It disheartened Connor more than he had suspected to see the sixteen horses led a
way by the Norman soldiers. He’d chosen well, and none of the sixteen were top-quality animals; nevertheless, they were, of a fashion, his children, the only ones he ever expected to have. He’d long ago decided that he wanted no part of bringing children of his own into this new Norman world.

  Saturday supper with the cooper’s family would brighten his spirits, he decided. John had offered the invitation after the horse examining the previous day. Connor strode down the road to the village on foot, since he considered himself too gloomy to inflict his mood even on Thunder. He tried to sing a little, a bawdy ditty that usually made him smile, but the notes came out sour.

  It wasn’t just the horses, he admitted to himself as he reached the copse of trees that marked the halfway point between the castle and the village. It was Ellen. Though he wasn’t afraid she’d report his kisses to her cousin, he knew that his behavior had been beyond reckless.

  He did not intend to sire his own children, but he’d promised his father that he would take responsibility for all their former tenants. He had a family to care for-the people of Lyonsbridge-and he had no business risking his position for a few stolen moments of selfish pleasure.

  The Coopers greeted him gaily, without the slight reserve they’d shown when he’d been accompanied by Lady Ellen. Both twins bounded into his arms and Sarah flashed him a saucy smile.

  “Whoa, Abel,” he said to the little boy, who’d almost knocked to the floor a sack he carried. “You’ll have your Sunday dinner in the dirt.”

  He reached around the clinging child and offered the sack to the widow, who was now strong enough to be moving almost normally around her home. “What have you brought us, Connor?” she asked fondly.

  She peered into the sack, then exclaimed and drew out a plump duck. The family did not lack for meat, thanks to their supply of pork, but the duck was a rare treat. Both the twins looked at the fowl with eyes wide.

  “Where did you get it, Connor?” asked the boy.