Lord of the Manor

by Anton, Shari

  “I have seen the basket.”

  Collinwood boasted no healer. Women tended to their own family’s hurts. A large basket, filled with linen strips for bandages, dried herbs, jars of salves and healing oils, sat in a corner of the manor for everyone’s use.

  “If there is something you need that you cannot find, ask Connor or one of the serving women.”

  She nodded, but looked unhappy at the prospect. She’d no more than left the room when she came back in. “Do not let him off that cot,” she said, then left again.

  “That sounded suspiciously like an order, my lord. Never thought I would see the day when one of Northbryre would be giving orders around here again,” Edric said without rancor. ’Twas simply an observation, not a condemnation.

  Richard had chosen Edric for the captain of his guard from among Gerard’s highly trained men-at-arms. The old soldier had helped whip into fighting shape the capable, if not matchless, small garrison of local men who took pride in their status as soldiers in service to Richard of Wilmont.

  Without being ordered, or even asked, Edric had also taken on the task of beginning Philip’s training. Wherever Edric could be found, there would be Philip trailing close behind. Richard knew he needed to become more involved with the boy’s training and education. He’d given the matter some thought, but hadn’t yet acted on it.

  “How does Philip?” Richard asked.

  Edric thought a moment, then answered, “Not badly. Smart little tyke, that one. And a charmer. If it were not for who sired him…” Edric shrugged. “The men seem to accept him among them.”

  Edric’s doing, by example. Now, if only Connor were a better example for the rest of the people…

  “The rest of the people will take a while longer,” Richard observed.

  “Aye, and they will accept the boy before the woman. ’Tis easier to like a charming child than a haughty noblewoman.”

  Richard thought “haughty” too harsh a term, but could see where her self-protective aloofness could be seen as such.

  “Lucinda should smile more.”

  “She might, if she had something to smile about. Mayhap you should send her out to gather kindling again,” Edric suggested. “She enjoyed the outing, judging from the look on her face when the party returned.”

  Richard didn’t comment on what else she’d done in the forest that she enjoyed. Thoroughly. As had he. He’d made her his lover, and part of her look upon returning had been the result of being well pleasured.

  Edric did have a point, however. Lucinda’s delight at having some chore to do had been obvious.

  As it was this morn. Tending Edric had made her smile.

  She wasn’t smiling when she returned to the armory, empty-handed. “The women will not allow me near the herbs. Connor told them that I am not to touch anything within the manor unless he was there to watch me. He is not about.”

  Richard sighed inwardly. Of all the people at Collinwood, Connor was Lucinda’s biggest challenge. The man hated too much, too hard, to come around to accepting her any time soon. If ever.

  Richard put a hand out to Edric. “Come, lean on me. We will go into the manor. Lucinda can wrap your knee there.”

  “My lord, you cannot expect me to cross the bailey using your lordship as a crutch!”

  “Would you rather be seen draped over my shoulder? Your choice, Edric.”

  Edric grumbled during the whole, slow walk to the manor. Richard eased him onto a bench, then fetched the basket and handed it to Lucinda. He didn’t reprimand the worried-looking servants, they’d been obeying Connor’s orders. Orders he would tell Connor to rescind.

  The servants returned to the task of preparing the tables where the manor folk would soon break fast. Lucinda dug out what she wanted from the basket and set about making a compress. People straggled into the manor, among them Philip, who followed his natural inclination to seek out Edric.

  “I have a chore for you this day, Philip,” Richard said. “Edric has watched over you for many days and done a good job of it. ’Tis now your day to watch over Edric.”

  The boy’s eyes went wide. “Me?”

  “Aye, you.”

  Lucinda bent down in front of Edric, an herbcoated bandage in her hands. Edric hissed when it hit his knee.

  “’Tis best hot,” Lucinda said. “The heat will ease the soreness and speed the healing power of the herbs.”

  With deft hands she wrapped the knee, tight, and tied off the bandage.

  “What did you do to your knee?” Philip asked Edric.

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why does Mother wrap it?”

  “Because Lord Richard insisted.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “Nay, he cannot,” Richard injected. “Your duty today, Philip, is to keep Edric from using his leg unless necessary. Should he try to ignore my order to rest, you are to come and tell me. Understood?”

  Philip’s expression turned somber. “Aye, my lord.”

  “Good. Now, let us break fast.”

  Edric tried to get up. Philip put his hand on Edric’s chest and pushed him back down—not hard for the boy to do because of Edric’s unbalance.

  “Stay where you are,” Philip said with a good deal of command in his voice for one so young. “I will bring the food to you.”

  Philip scampered off.

  Edric looked up at Richard with narrowed eyes. “’Tis a sorry day, indeed, when I must answer to a whelp of six.”

  “You answer to me. The boy is my enforcer. Give him grief and I will find a way to make you suffer.”

  Edric cussed as Philip walked up, a cup of ale in one hand, a piece of cheese balanced on a chunk of bread in the other.

  Philip handed over the food to Edric. “Mayhap, when we finish, we could play a game or two.”

  “Aye, mayhap,” Edric grumbled and tucked into his cheese.

  Richard left the two to their own devices. Lucinda followed him to the table. Connor still hadn’t returned from wherever he’d gone off to.

  “I hope Edric knows other games than how to toss dice. Philip need not learn too many vices before he is grown,” Lucinda said, with a hint of suggestion that Richard should talk to Edric about it.

  “One cannot be around a group of soldiers without learning to toss dice. Besides, my father felt the game a good way to practice ciphering and the handling of coins.”

  “There are better ways to learn one’s numbers than by gambling.”

  Aye. Dull ways. Richard remembered one tutor who thought it fun to place columns of numbers on a slate and watch young boys struggle to add them up. He’d disliked it then, and didn’t care for it now, though he must to keep his accounts in order.

  The discussion with Edric about Lucinda’s lack of duties rolled around in Richard’s head. She’d once been the chatelaine of a large household, and kept Basil’s accounts. Those damn ledgers filled with all of those numbers.

  He grinned to himself. If Lucinda wanted a chore, he knew just which one to give her.

  Connor appeared and lowered onto his seat. “Forgive my tardiness, my lord. One of the mares is due to foal and I wished to check on her progress.”

  “How does she?”

  “Nicely. In a few more days we should have a foal to add to your list of possessions.” He looked down the table. “I see the servants carried on without me so no one suffered unduly.”

  “Only Edric,” Richard said, nodding Edric’s way. “His knee pains him. When I sent Lucinda for bandages the servants turned her away. ’Twas an unnecessary annoyance, Connor. Lucinda is to have the same access to the manor’s resources as everyone else. You will make that known.”

  Connor shifted on the bench. “My lord, some of those herbs could prove deadly in the wrong hands.”

  Lucinda let out a small gasp at Connor’s insinuation.

  Richard folded his arms on the table and leaned toward his steward. “If Lucinda intended to poison anyone, I suspect it would be you. And if that we
re her intent, I also suspect she would have found a way to do so long before now. Since you still live, I feel we are all safe. Lucinda is not a prisoner here, Connor. You will cease treating her as one.”

  Connor replied in the only manner he could. “As you wish, my lord.”

  Feeling the matter settled, Richard got up and retrieved several rolled pieces of parchment from a chest near his pallet.

  “Bring the remains of your meal to your hut, Lucinda. I have a chore in mind for you and wish to discuss it in private.”

  On the small table in her hut, Richard spread out the accounts of his holdings. All but two of the holdings had once belonged to Basil.

  Richard stood behind her, looking over her shoulder, almost touching her, but not quite.

  “I see you know these holdings,” Richard said, his warm breath teasing her ear.

  “Aye,” she said, struggling to concentrate on the parchment in front of her and not the man behind her. “I see many of Basil’s former English holdings. You wish me to verify these for you?” she asked, thinking it the only reason why he would expose the extent of his wealth.

  “Aye, but I also wish you to take over the recording. Soon the spring rents and goods will arrive. I like receiving them, but dislike recording them.”

  Delight warred with disbelief. “You would trust me with your ledgers?”

  “You know exactly what to expect from each holding. I have no doubt you can keep the ledgers in order.”

  She turned slightly to study his face, now very close to hers. With little movement on her part, she could wrap her arms around him, kiss him, draw his attention from the ledgers. But ’twas the ledgers they’d come to her hut to discuss, and the man was actually serious about his offer.

  “You do not fear I would steal funds from you?”

  He shook his head. “I also know exactly what to expect from each holding, and will check the recording once completed. Should you try some scheme, I would know of it.”

  Richard didn’t trust her completely, but that didn’t bother her. A smart lord checked his underling’s work, particularly when it involved large sums of coin. She took it as a compliment that he would even show her the ledgers.

  These ledgers were beautifully done, neatly lined, the words and numbers scripted in a bold hand. Richard’s hand.

  “I would find great pleasure in helping you with these accounts. My thanks.”

  He reached around her to pull one of the papers forward, brushing against her arm, sending a delicious tingle racing through her limbs.

  In the woods, he’d promised an unhurried “next time.” She’d waited for two days for him to come to her again. This morn, when she’d wakened to find him in her hut, she hoped he’d come for such a reason.

  Could he have more on his mind now than these ledgers? She dearly hoped so. She certainly did. Her body burned for want of his touch, more so than it had in the woods. Now she no longer only wondered about shared pleasure, she knew what Richard could make her feel—and craved more.

  His mouth moved in the most provocative manner. “You will find I have made changes. Durwood no longer supplies chickens, but pigs. And Southton’s…Lucinda, do you hear a word I say?”

  “Aye. You like chicken.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I prefer piglet.”

  “How nice, then, that you can get them from Southton.”

  “Your mind has wandered. To what place does it stray?”

  To beyond heaven. To wondering at how brazen she’d become in so short a time.

  “Not far, merely down to the list of goods due from Norgate.” She ran her finger over an item on that list “I see you still receive bear pelts. Bear pelts make for softer pallets than long grass.”

  Richard glanced at the bear fur he’d long ago given Lucinda to use as her pallet. A woolen coverlet lay rumpled atop the fur, turned back from when she’d crawled out of it this morn. Where, if not for Philip’s nearness and Edric’s knee to attend, he might have crawled in to join her.

  Was her comparison of fur to grass accidental, or was she truly inviting him to share the fur with him now?

  He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her around, and found his answer in sultry pools of violet

  “You prefer soft fur to coarse grass to lay upon?”

  “I prefer your skin against mine, whether on fur or grass.”

  Her door bore no bolt to slide to ensure privacy but, hopefully, they wouldn’t suffer interruption— Philip was watching Edric, and unless some urgent matter came up, none of the manor folk would come looking for him.

  Richard hoped no urgent matter beyond his own urgent need arose, for he was quickly losing interest in any activity except taking Lucinda to her pallet and having his fill of her.

  He bent to kiss her mouth, and reveled in her heated, eager response. She grabbed hold of his tunic as he slowly backed toward the fur. When he stopped, she didn’t, taking the extra step necessary to press her body fully against his.

  Locked in an embrace, he sought other skin to taste. She shivered when he nuzzled her neck just below her ear.

  Go slowly, he told himself, unraveling her heavy braid. The twists of silken black gave way easily to his busy fingers.

  Her fingers, too, were busy, undoing the leather girdle about his waist. She wore no girdle. Indeed, his exploring hands soon learned that in her hurry to dress she hadn’t donned a chemise, only her gown. Just as he’d simply tossed on a tunic, which her exploring hands discovered—and slipped under. The heat of her hands on his outer thighs spread inward, tormenting him. If she touched him now, they might not make it down to the fur.

  He pulled away and quickly slipped the boots from her feet and her gown over her head, unveiling her to his hungry eyes. He feasted on what he’d only dreamed of. Of dusky-tipped breasts that begged him to touch. Of a body beautifully curved from the long, sleek lines of her neck to the high, graceful arch of her feet. A siren’s body, singing a beckoning melody.

  Entranced, he answered, tumbling into her spell and onto the fur. Lucinda received his weight with a satisfied sigh. He turned that sigh to soft moans as he kissed, and tasted, and petted until he knew every inch of her lovely form and found each of her sensitive places.

  Suckling her nipples made them pucker. Stroking her inner thigh brought her knee up. Deep kisses drove her wild. She arched at the mere stroke of a finger through her moist heat.

  “Have you been thinking about coupling all morn, as I have?” he asked.

  “When you came into my hut to fetch me, ’twas not to tend Edric that I hoped you came,” she said, breathless.

  “Then tend me now, Lucinda. Ease my ache.”

  To his amazement, she chuckled low in her throat and teased. “Do you ache, my lord? Your knee, perhaps? Shall I begin there?”

  “Begin any place you wish, minx.”

  Lucinda began by tugging off his boots, wanting him as naked as she.

  Kneeling between his legs, she gave his calves and thighs her attention, with long strokes, purposely avoiding the source of his ache. She uncovered him to the waist and paused to admire that part of his body that made him male—a very virile and solid male. But she didn’t linger there, more intent on removing his tunic. He helped her by sitting up so she could pull the tunic up over his head.

  Almost immediately he latched onto one nipple, then the other, all the while stroking her back and bottom. She tried to foster patience, to let him fondle and kiss where he would, until patience yielded to the burning passion fanned by his skilled caresses.

  Lucinda leaned forward, pushing him back, falling with him gently to the fur.

  Her hands skimmed along the breadth of his shoulders, so wide they nearly spread the width of the pelt. She moved lower, to kiss and caress the smooth contours of his chest, that rose and fell with his deepening breaths. And lower, to his rapidly beating heart.

  And lower yet—where she stopped, and couldn’t go on.

  Across Richar
d’s lower ribs a jagged scar slashed across his body, as if someone had tried to cleave him in two.

  Someone had. One of Basil’s mercenaries.

  She stared at the scar, tremors of hate for Basil and compassion for Richard scurrying through her trembling limbs. How could Richard bear to lie with the widow of the man who’d been responsible for this horrible, life-leeching wound?

  Desire fled, pushed out by a strong, deep ache in her heart. She laid her cheek across the rough flesh of the wound that could have ended his life, fighting the overwhelming urge to cry a stream full of tears and spit venomous curses.

  “Lucinda?”

  “I knew—” Her voice broke and she had to begin again. “I knew you had been wounded, but I did not know…merciful heaven, how you must have suffered!”

  He rolled to his side and pulled her up. She threw her arms around his neck and held tight, unable to look him in the face, fearful of what she might see.

  “’Tis over,” he said roughly.

  “But not forgotten. Evil such as Basil’s can never be forgotten, nor far from your memory when you bear such a mark.”

  He was quiet for a long time, then said, “The scar I wear reminds me of him, aye. But had I died, ’twould have been a swift and honorable death. Others suffered greater agonies for a longer time before they perished. Now the scar serves to remind me that Basil’s loss was my gain, and helps me be a better lord to those Basil once abused.”

  She loosened her grip and backed far enough to see his face. She doubted that his vassals saw him as their savior. Most likely, they’d seen only one lord replacing another lord and he’d faced their hostility and mistrust. But little by little, in his quiet, steadfast way, he’d won them over.

  “Do they see the honor of your heart, I wonder?” she mused, brushing back his blond hair. “Or do they only know that you ended their suffering?”

  He claimed her hand, kissed her palm, then moved it down, ever downward to between his legs. “Make me into no more than a mere man, Lucinda. Only a man whose current suffering is in need of relief.”

  Her hand wrapped around him in an intimate caress, feeling his power, feeding his pleasure. With a tenderness so foreign and appealing, he rekindled her flame until she burned hotter than ever. When he could endure no more, he covered her and claimed her with long, firm strokes. So deep as to touch her where no man had touched before. Lucinda tumbled into that special world where only Richard could take her, taking him with her. And in the aura of its light, saw her danger.