11
That evening, Geoffrey watched John closely at supper. He also searched for the lady the cupbearer had spoken to earlier, but there was no sign of her.
Randolf’s visit had cast a pall over the gathering, and it was a more subdued meal than usual. Hugh had left earlier that evening with a scouting party.
Sara entered the hall accompanied by her maid. Typically, her attire reflected the active role she took at Kenshire—most of her gowns were less ornate than custom dictated, their hems falling short of the ground—but this eve she’d dressed the part of royalty. She walked toward him in a bright lavender dress pooling around her feet.
Sara made her way toward the dais with her head held high, her clasped hands hidden by folds of hanging fabric. As she approached, he spied rich gold thread delicately framing a neckline that offered a tantalizing glimpse of the creamy skin below.
Another image flashed through his mind … her breast being freed from the fabric of the dress she had asked him to unlace. The perfectly shaped mound had come alive under his fingers. And he would never forget her look of wonder when he bent his head to circle her hard nipple with his tongue, finally taking it in his mouth. Standing to greet her, Geoffrey forced his mind elsewhere.
“Good evening, my lady.”
“Good evening, Sir Geoffrey.”
John approached to fill her chalice, but she didn’t pay him any heed. “My apologies for being late.”
“The meal waits for you.” Geoffrey gestured to the hall filled with vassals, servants, and visitors. Every detail so richly appointed. “I noticed a noblewoman at the castle earlier,” he said after waiting for the cupbearer to walk away. “Shouldn’t she be seated with us?”
“Lady Maude. Before you arrived, Peter apprised our visitors of the position we’ve found ourselves in. Most left for their own holdings, with the exception of Lady Maude and her husband, Lord Edmund.”
“Yet she’s not in attendance?”
Sara gave him a strange look. Too many questions. “I was told they left earlier this evening. It’s curious they’d not wait till morn, but even more curious they stayed so long. Still, Kenshire never turns away a guest. With the exception of Sir Randolf, of course.”
They exchanged a smile, but Geoffrey decided to keep pressing her. Something just wasn’t right about that woman.
“Tell me about her.”
Sara grabbed her cup so quickly a drop of red wine splashed onto her sleeve. He stared at the spot she attempted to remove with the dining cloth, his gaze moving toward her fingers before stopping on the long, slender one he had taken into his mouth not so many nights before.
“She’s quite beautiful, although you seem to have drawn that conclusion already.”
He could enjoy this. “Jealousy becomes you, Lady Sara. I find it quite endearing.”
“How absurd,” she sputtered. “If you’re tempted by the likes of Lady Maude…”
“I’m tempted by only one woman here, and you know it.” He leaned closer. “One who makes the room come alive when she walks into it. A lady as comfortable in breeches as she is in a dress fit for a queen.”
Sara cast her eyes downward. Was she embarrassed to be the object of his endearments? She was trying hard not to look pleased, but he was learning to sense her moods. At least she was no longer angry.
He lowered his voice. “One whose flesh is as creamy and delicate as the finest silk. A lady unlike any I’ve ever known, one I’d lay down and make love to this very moment if she were mine.”
Her lips parted. He’d give no quarter. “Are you remembering how I tasted your finger—” His voice lowered even more. “Or my hand on your lovely breast?”
She swallowed hard. “Why?”
He knew what she was asking, so he didn’t waste their time with questions.
“I’m not sure, since I’m torturing us both.”
That much was true, and two could play this game.
Warming to the exercise, Sara took a deliberately slow sip of wine before turning back to her target. Could she say it out loud? If Geoffrey could do it, so could she and they were, after all, seated alone.
“If you must know, it’s your mouth on my breast I was remembering.”
As if they were discussing something so mundane as the latest fashion at court, Sara turned back to the first course being served. If the sound he uttered was any indication, her barb had found its mark. Pleased with herself for maintaining her composure, she continued to press.
“Actually, upon further reflection, I wonder what would have happened had we not been interrupted.”
This time his guttural groan was unmistakable. Taking a dainty bite of cheese, she presented him with her nicest manners.
“Thank you for allowing me the finest portion. It seems you do know a thing or two of courtly manners.”
“I know a thing or two about many topics more interesting than proper manners,” he said in a near growl. “Shall I enlighten you?”
There was a strange, clenching sensation in her core. Was this desire? It left her breathless and wanting … something.
“Please,” she said. “You’re obviously much more worldly than I.”
His look told her he wasn’t fooled by her mock deference.
She had once thought this man a dishonorable thief. There was no doubt Sir Geoffrey Waryn was not everything he seemed. If he had been completely lacking in honor, it would have been easy for him to take her virtue.
“Well, I could tell you why you’ve been so sheltered here at Kenshire. I’ve tales of the border that would shock your innocent ears.”
“With a battle coming to my own gates more likely than not, I’d prefer not to speak of such things at the moment.” That was precisely why she was enjoying the conversation so much. She had no stomach to dwell on the troubles that awaited her outside the safety of this hall.
“Fair enough. Maybe you’d like to talk about politics. I have a lot to say about the taxes levied to finance our prince’s crusade.” Geoffrey took a bite of the fish pie.
It was an exceptional meal. She would have to be sure to thank Cook. But at the moment, Sara couldn’t stop staring. Wiping her mouth, she pretended to consider it. “Hmmm. It sounds stimulating, but I’ll have to decline. Any other ideas?”
Geoffrey tilted his head up and clenched his jaw in mock concentration. She nearly laughed aloud at his attempt to be serious.
“Aye. Since you mentioned stimulation, what if we venture back to our original conversation?”
“You are incorrigible.”
“I’ve been called much worse, milady.”
“What think you to add to our discussion?”
He leaned even closer to her. Scandalously close. A musky, distinctly male scent filled her nostrils. “While you were thinking of my hand’s exploration of your breast, I was imagining my body pressed against yours. Free of clothing, of course.”
She willed her hands not to tremble. The intensity of his gaze made her nervous. Excited.
Though she willed it otherwise, her father was right about one thing. The world did not look kindly on a woman alone, and as much as she cherished the independence her father had allowed her, she knew it was his strength and authority that had made it possible. Would Geoffrey be as indulgent with the women in his life? Did it matter?
It didn’t, but she wanted to know anyway.
“I’ve heard it said a woman is good for wedding and bedding but not much else. It seems you agree, Sir Geoffrey?”
Again, mock contemplation. “Come to think of it, yes, Lady Sara, I believe you have the right of it. Wedding and bedding. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“Ugh!”
His laugh stopped her from physically assaulting him. She liked when he forgot to be serious.
“I seem to have misspoken,” he said, putting his chin in his hand as if deep in thought. “They may be useful for other things.”
“Such as?”
“Well
, that depends.”
“On?”
“On the station of the lady in question.”
Sara dreaded his line of thinking but forged ahead. “For a noblewoman?”
“If she’s a typical noblewoman, she’s likely good for wedding, bedding, and bearing children. And maybe overseeing servants if the lord is lucky.”
“’Tis as I thought.”
Why should she feel disappointed?
“On the other hand, if she was raised by an overly indulgent but intelligent parent, surrounded by the love of her people, it’s just as likely she’d be ‘good’ for much more.”
“Such as?”
He paused for so long she thought he might not continue.
“Such as aiding in the birth of babes, nearly outriding an expert horseman, effortlessly commanding castle officials.” He shrugged negligently. “Stirring the passions of at least one man but likely more.”
Unable to look away, she stared into his eyes.
“A woman any monk would envy with her extensive education. A lady with such an unconventional upbringing may also have learned to use the bow on horseback, reputably better than many knights.”
She was speechless.
Luckily, Geoffrey had more to say. “Of course, such a woman would be extremely rare.”
Sara knew why his answers were so important. She was falling for the reiver.
“And if you found such a woman?”
Geoffrey finally broke Sara’s gaze, looking instead at the great hall around them. How could he answer that question? Every day for the past five years, he had wanted nothing more than to take back what had been stolen from him. He had no time for a relationship. Even if such a thing were possible.
His first instinct was to brush off her question with sexual innuendo, but he changed his mind. She deserved the truth.
“If she were mine for the taking, I’d thank the heavens for my good fortune. But I’d tell her the time wasn’t right. There’s something I still need to do.”
“Bristol.”
“Aye. I was raised there—my brothers and sister deserve more than to live off the charity of relatives.
“And you deserve your inheritance. You’re a lord.”
“Was a lord. Bristol was a land grant. I lost the right to that feudal title when our land was taken.”
“I understand. But you’re a lord in the ways that matter.”
No, he was not. According to the law, he was nothing. But he didn’t want to argue with Sara. He wanted her to think he was worthy of nobility.
“If this extraordinary woman was not mine, I’d memorize every detail of her beautiful face and every curve of her luscious body for the inevitable day ahead when I find myself lying on the cold, hard ground before a raid, wondering why a baron’s son keeps company with men who steal cattle for a living.”
They sat in silence. He had nothing more to say. Or to offer. Just words.
“Thank you.” Sara’s soft voice was barely louder than a whisper.
“No thanks are necessary. ‘Tis the truth.”
12
After supper, the subdued mood sent most of the castle’s inhabitants to their respective stations. Sara was loath to leave Geoffrey’s company, but Faye whisked her away to retire early. She was hard-pressed to disagree; it had been a long day and she knew tomorrow would be just as taxing.
After bidding Geoffrey good night, she made her way through the hall as the servants moved the benches to prepare the area for sleeping.
“Faye, I’ll be along in a moment.” Sara had nearly forgotten. “I’ve a quick errand to run.”
“My lady, your guard is watching your every move. He’ll be at your heels unless we retire as planned.”
Would that be so bad?
“I’m just visiting the kitchen. I’ll be but a moment.”
Without waiting for a response, she found her way to the building behind the main keep. She stepped inside, nearly running into the very person she sought.
“Cook! There you are.”
“Aye, Lady Sara, right where I should be.”
Sara put her arms around the portly woman. “Imagine finding you in the kitchen.”
“My lady, how many times do I have to tell you not to come in here when you’re in your finery? Your gown will get soiled. Wearin’ the purple to show who’s in charge, are you?”
Purple indeed. She would not be driven from her birthright.
“You’ll have to tell me as many times as I have to tell you that I don’t give a fig about my gowns.” She planted a kiss on the side of Cook’s cheek.
“And what was that for?”
“That should be obvious. Do not deny it. You went to great pains tonight to lift our spirits with that meal.”
Cook beamed. “Well, Sir Randolf’s visit was a trying ordeal for you, milady. Don’t you deny it.”
Sara twisted one of her soft waves of brown hair around her fingers. “I’d never argue with you, Cook.”
“There you are!” A booming male voice shouted from the door. “Is this how you retire to your chamber?”
Sir Geoffrey needed to be reminded of exactly who was in charge here. The purple dress clearly hadn’t conveyed its message to him. But Cook replied before Sara could answer his high-handed greeting.
“And who are you to speak so harshly to milady?” The fact that Cook, a servant, would admonish Geoffrey spoke of her high regard at Kenshire Castle.
Visibly more relaxed, he smiled at Cook. “You missed me then, my buxom miss?”
“Hmph.”
If Sara didn’t know her better, she’d say Cook was blushing. Staring from one of them to the other, she was about to ask how they could possibly have become acquainted when Cook stumbled through an explanation.
“This lumbering knight thinks to charm me as he does all the ladies.” Cook gave the knight in question a blistering stare. “But this old gal is on to him.”
Winking at Sara, Geoffrey challenged the truth of Cook’s words. “Thank you for the meal. As you promised, it was a culinary treat.” Taking the woman’s hand, Geoffrey raised it to his lips for a quick kiss, his eyes never leaving her face.
Then, lowering his voice, although not enough to conceal his words from everyone present, he unabashedly flirted. “And I know ‘twas a special treat for me.”
A sterner woman than Cook couldn’t be found in these parts, and Sara’s father had often joked that she could frighten even the most fearsome warrior. And yet here she was, taken with an outsider.
Geoffrey turned to Sara. “When your business is finished, will you allow me to escort you back to your chamber, my lady?”
“Thank you, Sir Geoffrey, I’m finished here.” Nodding to Cook, she said, “Thank you again. It was a fine meal indeed.” She took Geoffrey’s extended arm, making a grand show of accepting his offer to escort her—just for fun. It was impossible to stay angry with him when he was this charming.
She could hear Cook remark to Faye, who’d followed Sara to the kitchen, “I never thought I’d see the day.”
Her quick acceptance of an escort was a bit unusual for her, but Sara couldn’t deny she wanted his company. Still, he’d taken a tone with her when he’d first followed her into the kitchen. “I’ve been coming and going without you for some time. There was no need to panic over a quick visit to the kitchen.”
“That may be so, but with a madman at your gates, I’m not taking any chances.” He looked behind them. “I expected to find Faye at your heels. The woman does travel close.”
“Aye. Faye is dear to me,” she said in an undertone. “She and her husband were never able to have children, so she treats me very much like her own daughter, especially after her husband passed away.”
They walked the short distance back to the hall, but for the second time that week Geoffrey tugged on Sara’s hand, changing course.
“Where are we going?”
“Your favorite place.”
“The lake is in the oth
er direction. And out of the question with Randolf so near.”
“Your second favorite place, then.”
She sucked in her breath. Would he really take her there now? What would he do with her when they got there?
“Is it safe?”
“Aye, never safer. Randolf is being closely watched. Lord Henry’s men arrived this morning. Eddard stationed them as extra guards at the north and south towers.”
“He told me as much. I’ll have to thank our vassal when I see him.”
As they made their way down the path, a few passersby shot curious glances their way.
“My men will wonder where we’re going.” She wasn’t very concerned, but there would be questions.
“Aye, they will. I’ll spread the word that you offered to show me Kenshire’s dungeons. They’re located that way, no?” Geoffrey pointed to a narrow hallway before continuing on toward the secret entrance to the beach.
“They are, but they’ve gone unused for years. That’s a curious excuse.”
“Not for someone fascinated with dungeon lore.”
“You’re fascinated with dungeons?”
They exited the hidden archway, following the path that spilled onto the beach. The clear, salty air filled Sara’s lungs and the sound of ocean waves breaking in the distance became louder with every step. Geoffrey wasted no time with words. He spun her around, pulling her into his arms. “Nay. But I am fascinated with you.”
With that he claimed her lips, kissing her as fervently as if this was to be their last encounter. His tongue dove into her mouth, and she met it with her own. One of them groaned, she couldn’t be sure which, as he deftly untied the laces at her back and pulled her gown down from her shoulders.
She let him. Didn’t even consider telling him to stop.
The Thief's Countess (Border Series Book 1) Page 11