The Thief's Countess (Border Series Book 1)

by Cecelia Mecca

  He disagreed. “Simon isn’t as young as he looks, Bryce. But I do think Wellingstone can be trusted to take care of his own. It’s just a shock to see you here.” He may have been too quick to judge his brother, but Geoffrey hated apologizing and rarely saw the need. His uncle was fond of saying his stubbornness would get him into trouble. And it often did.

  Suddenly aware of Sara’s presence, he felt as if a knife had been thrust into his gut. He wasn’t too stubborn to recognize the emotion. Jealousy practically smacked him in the face. Would Sara be taken with the man known as The Slayer? Bryce despised the name, but it had followed him from Huntington where he’d squired. Apparently it referred to the trail of broken hearts he left everywhere he went. Geoffrey would love to meet the woman who could actually break the icy shell of his brother’s infamous cool composure. Even as children, Bryce had been the most serious of them all. But for some inexplicable reason, his little brother attracted the ladies en masse.

  “You’ve met my brother?” he forced himself to ask.

  “Aye.” Sara glanced at Bryce.

  His younger brother gazed back at her, clearly appreciative. Another trait they had in common was the ability to recognize—and appreciate—a beautiful woman. That uncomfortable feeling of jealously welled in him again, and he rather ungraciously grabbed his brother’s arm and excused them both.

  “Walk with me.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Bryce turned his head to look back at Sara. “A countess. Sure set your sights high, don’t you?”

  Geoffrey refused to respond. Ignoring his brother was always the best way to shut him up.

  “You don’t look happy.”

  Sometimes it was easier to accomplish than others.

  Geoffrey took him toward the gatehouse. Hugh had been staying in the living quarters on the upper floor. With two portcullises, heavy timber doors, and multiple murder holes to prevent enemy attacks, it was as well-defended a gatehouse as any in England. Not surprisingly, they found his uncle trading barbs with one of the guards when they approached.

  “Well done guarding the entrance, Uncle. Look who they’ve let though.”

  Both Hugh and the guard turned around.

  “Bryce! What are you doing here?”

  Scowling, Bryce said, “I’ve had a warmer welcome from the seneschal than my own family.”

  Hugh embraced him, and Bryce heartily returned the welcome despite his harsh words. “We’re surprised is all, my boy.”

  “How did he get past you, Uncle? I was shocked to see him in the training yard without you nearby.” Bryce was crafty, but hopefully not wily enough to evade the defenses they’d sought so hard to maintain.

  His normally easy-tongued uncle actually looked embarrassed.

  “I’ve only just returned.” From where? He’d been in the great hall with Hugh not too long ago. But rather than explain his answer, his uncle left it at that.

  He was deliberately being evasive.

  Bryce apparently didn’t notice anything suspicious, though, and he could tell from the look on his brother’s face that he had come with news.

  “Lord Wellingstone was injured on a hunt and recovers at the manor house as we speak—”

  “Aye, you said,” Geoffrey interrupted him, “so you thought to journey to Kenshire during what could have been the middle of a siege because you missed your brother’s good humor?”

  If he sounded cross, it was only because he tried to protect his brother. Bryce had no sense of self-preservation. He chafed at being left behind while Geoffrey and Hugh struggled to gather the resources to wrest back their land.

  “Aye. Your good humor,” Bryce said. “And I sorely missed being chastised as if I were a lad of one and ten. ”

  “Bryce, we’ve been through this. Our aunt and uncle are aging…”

  “I know, and our brother and sister need protection.’”

  Hugh intervened, halting the familiar argument. “What does bring you here, Bryce?”

  “Wellingstone is willing to help,” he said, his eyes lighting up with something Geoffrey had rarely seen in his little brother—excitement.

  He froze. Hugh looked at Bryce as if he were speaking in a foreign language.

  What the hell had Bryce been thinking?

  “It wasn’t your place to approach him,” Geoffrey snapped. “We agreed when the time was right we’d make our case. Who gave you leave to talk with him about Bristol?”

  “No one.” Bryce was anything but defensive. “But if I waited for the two of you to get around to it, we’d spend the next five years listening and waiting.”

  Geoffrey looked at Hugh, but his uncle’s face was inscrutable.

  “I’m tired of waiting,” Bryce said. “Aren’t you?”

  “Aye,” Geoffrey said. “But that doesn’t mean we can rush into a battle alone.”

  Hugh shot Geoffrey a look that clearly indicated he shouldn’t intervene. Only one person in the world could quiet him with a glance.

  Make that two. Sara had a similar effect, but for very different reasons.

  “Bryce,” Hugh said, “what exactly did Wellingstone say?” Hugh began to pace. He may have sounded calm, but Geoffrey knew better.

  “He supports our claim…”

  “He’s always supported our claim,” Geoffrey interrupted.

  “Aye, but now he’s willing to commit troops to help us take Bristol back from the bastard Scots,” Bryce finished.

  “Why would he do that?” asked Hugh.

  “‘Tis well known Father’s wool was the finest in the region, and now our enemies use it to fill their chief’s coffers,” Bryce said. “Wellingstone will aid our cause in exchange for a share of future profits.”

  Silence hung in the small room, devoid of embellishments and constructed for defense. They all understood the implications of such a deal, the politics of aligning with the northern lord and paying homage to him. While their present position was less than ideal, presently they answered to no one. The Waryn men relied on charity and the spoils of Geoffrey and Hugh’s unrespectable work, but at least they had no overlord to shackle them.

  Hugh was the one who finally broke the silence. “What’s his timeframe?”

  “He leaves for London within the fortnight. No plans to return to his northern holdings anytime soon.”

  He already knew what his brother would say next, which explained his sudden, unannounced presence at Kenshire.

  “It must be now.”

  The tension in the small room was palpable. Clearly Bryce had made his choice, and he could guess at his uncle’s response. His uncle would not leave. He’d given his word to Sara’s father, and no man was more loyal than Hugh.

  Eager to stall for time—he needed to collect his own thoughts—Geoffrey voiced a question he’d been harboring for weeks.

  “Uncle, why didn’t you ever ask Lord Kenshire to support us?”

  Despite the many different scenarios they discussed, Hugh had never raised the possibility of becoming a vassal to Caiser.

  “A good question.”

  Both men waited for an answer.

  “Richard was able to stay neutral for a time in the Baron’s War. Aiding your father could have jeopardized that.”

  “But our own overlord abandoned us.” Geoffrey began to pace.

  “Aye, he determined the ongoing conflict with the Scots was not worth holding his northern lands, including Bristol, at such considerable losses.”

  Geoffrey began to understand. “Then the battle at Lewes and Evesham.”

  “By then Richard was forced to take sides, sending men to Prince Edward in the name of the king. He was firmly not in the baron’s camp.”

  “And afterward?” Bryce watched his pacing with quiet reserve. He’d give him one thing: his little brother was more patient than he.

  “Richard was fighting his own battles fending off Fitzwarren.”

  Geoffrey finished the thought. "And now his daughter attempts to hold Kenshire. And if she
succeeds—” He knew before being told. “You planned to seek aid from her and Lyonsford?”

  Hugh nodded. “I’ve considered the possibility.”

  The men fell silent once again.

  “I won’t leave.”

  It was exactly as Geoffrey had expected, though he understood Bryce’s anger.

  “Uncle.” Bryce’s voice rose as he spoke. “This is the best chance we’ve ever had. We may not have another anytime soon.”

  To an outside observer, Bryce would probably appear mildly agitated. But Geoffrey knew better. His brother was furious.

  “You’re probably right, Bryce. But as I told your brother, I made a promise to Sara’s father that I intend to keep. Until she’s safely wed, she and Kenshire are under my protection.”

  Wed. Geoffrey was beginning to hate the word.

  They were both looking at him, waiting for his answer.

  Stay to protect Sara, who was already well protected? Or take the chance he’d been waiting for, dreaming of, every day for more than five years? He didn’t like the idea of involving Lord Wellingstone as an absentee overlord who cared only for the profit he could reap from their land.

  Could he really leave now?

  He needed time to think.

  “Hell.”

  He turned from their scrutinizing stares. “I need a moment,” he said over his shoulder as he hurried down the steps. He could hear his uncle trying to fill the gaping silence he’d left behind.

  “Bryce, it’s good to see you…”

  But Bryce wasn’t to be denied. He made the uncomfortable situation even worse by following Geoffrey down the stairs. “Shall I guess where you’re off to, brother?”

  In no mood to jest, he said, “It’s none of your damned business.”

  “I’m not sure what madness has taken you, but be careful, brother.” He lowered his voice. “Falling in love with a countess is a dangerous undertaking for someone in our position.”

  With those parting words, Bryce turned back up the stairs. Geoffrey stopped and stared after him. He wasn’t sure how his brother had discerned his feelings in so short a time. His brother wouldn’t know love if it hit him on the head with a war hammer, but he couldn’t deny that he’d guessed correctly.

  Geoffrey had never met a woman like Sara … and was doubtful he ever would again.

  He loved her.

  He’d known this stay at Kenshire would be trying, but the war they’d averted was nothing compared to the onslaught that was Lady Sara Caiser, Countess of Kenshire, soon to be Lady Lyonsford.

  It mattered naught.

  He could not have her, as well he knew.

  Mayhap it was time to leave. Randolf was no longer a threat, and Sara would be safe with his uncle. Geoffrey would return with Bryce, and the two of them would take the chance they’d been waiting for. It killed him to think of bending the knee to Lord Wellingstone, but nothing mattered more than taking back Bristol.

  Nothing.

  He groaned aloud when a vision of Sara in his mind was replaced by the real thing as he walked through the inner bailey toward the keep. The subject of his thoughts strode purposefully toward him.

  It was as good a time as any to tell her he’d be leaving after all.

  19

  “Is something amiss?”

  Sara lifted her impractical gown for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “Aye, a man has information on the maid, Margaret. Will you come with me to question the stable hand? I was on my way there when I spotted you.”

  “Of course.” Geoffrey walked alongside her toward the stables. “You have people to handle such matters, you know.”

  “Peter’s already there, but I’m worried for her safety.”

  She glanced sideways at Geoffrey, unable and unwilling to forget the intimacies they had shared the night before. Visions of their encounter had intruded on her thoughts all morning.

  “You failed to mention your brother is nearly your twin,” she said.

  “But much less handsome, of course,” he replied, the ever-so-slight crinkles at the corner of his eyes making her want to lay her hand on his cheek and touch the lines there.

  She took in his purposeful strides, perfect profile, and air of confidence, and vehemently disagreed. “I do believe you tease me, sir. I’ve no doubt who is the more handsome brother.”

  “Please enlighten me, fair maiden.”

  “Why—” She couldn't resist, “Bryce, of course.”

  “Wench,” he whispered as they entered the stables.

  Sara had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.

  The stable hand began talking as soon as they entered. “I know yer lookin’ for her and don’t mean to get her in any trouble, but she was here.”

  Geoffrey and Sara glanced at each other.

  “We had, er, a relationship and she came ta see me. She’s hiding out in the cottar’s house.” He shrugged. “It seems I weren’t the only one she had … relations with.”

  Sara thanked the boy. “My thanks for sharing this information. We do have some questions to ask her.”

  They left the stables in search of Peter.

  Geoffrey thought aloud. “There’s no doubt she ambushed me. The only question is how involved was she in Randolf and John’s plan?”

  “Do you believe John when he says she knew about the plot and was as guilty as he?”

  “Nay, I don’t. Whether he harmed her or not, I can’t be sure, but I’m certain she knew less than he claimed.”

  Switching topics, Sara asked him about Bryce.

  “My aunt and uncle’s overlord was injured and is recovering at their manor home. Apparently Bryce thought Emma and Neill were protected enough to ride here to speak to Hugh and me.”

  “May I inquire why he found a visit so urgent?” Sara was used to speaking openly to her father about matters some would consider inappropriate for a woman.

  Without hesitation, Geoffrey told her about Bristol, expanding on the story he’d already told her. They walked companionably toward the keep, Sara feeling a nervous jitter each time she looked at Geoffrey’s profile. She knew last evening wasn’t far from his thoughts either. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her.

  Sara tried hard to attend to their conversation.

  “What are you not telling me?” she finally asked.

  “My lady?”

  “I think we’re beyond formalities, Geoffrey.”

  Instead of answering her question, the scoundrel grabbed her hand and tugged her behind the kitchen. Moments later, Sara found herself in a little-used stairwell. Without preamble, he pushed her gently against the wall and brought his lips to hers in a welcome onslaught. His hands bracketed the wall on either side of her face as he leaned closer and slipped his tongue into her mouth for an increasingly familiar mating. Even through the blasted heavy gown, she could feel the hardness of his chest. She grabbed one of his outstretched arms for support, easily able to feel the line of muscles underneath his linen shirt. For all the strength there, his demanding lips moved gently across her own.

  Geoffrey abruptly pulled back, his hands still braced behind her, and looked deep into her eyes. She loved the tic in his cheek—a sign that he was losing control.

  If they were caught, it would be her ruin. Sara opened her mouth as if to speak, but then closed it abruptly.

  She didn’t want to talk. She definitely didn’t want to stop him.

  It was her last coherent thought before he claimed her lips once again.

  When Sara alluded to their breach in conduct the previous evening, Geoffrey could think of nothing but being inside her. He wanted to devour her, make her his in every way.

  Pulling away once more, he carelessly shared his thoughts. “I want to make love to you with everything that I am. If I stopped thinking through the consequences, I would take off every piece of your clothing and show you the meaning of desire.”

  His voice, raspy and belabored, sounded to his own ears like a lover’s e
ntreaty.

  Her whispered response nearly brought him to his knees.

  “I would that you could, sir.”

  Their lips met again, this time less frantic, in a kiss meant to arouse passion. Geoffrey teased and tortured them both. He knew this was a dangerously exposed spot for such an encounter, but couldn’t make himself stop. A part of him wanted Bryce, Lyonsford, everyone to know that she was his.

  Except she isn’t.

  He didn’t care.

  One of his hands moved from the wall to roam the outline of her waist before moving up the front of her bodice. His thumb dipped below the low neckline of her dress, the sensitive flesh warm to his touch. How could he possibly continue to hold back?

  He couldn’t. The discussion about Wellingstone, his leaving, could wait.

  “Come to me tonight.”

  Sara looked at him, her full, perfectly formed lips open in shock. He couldn’t resist reaching up and outlining them with his thumb.

  “Aye,” she murmured simply.

  He dropped his hands, looking around as if noticing for the first time they truly were exposed. “Go before we’re seen.”

  After giving him what could only be described as a naughty smile, she disappeared into the bailey. Geoffrey watched her go, feeling a maddening tug-of-war between his mind and his heart. Logically, this was madness.

  Every time they were together, Sara risked ruin. A broken betrothal would throw Kenshire into uncertainty and turmoil. The earl would be a powerful ally for Sara—but Lord Lyonsford could just as easily become a dangerous enemy if she were to break the engagement. Sara might even lose her own title and lands to the crown.

  Not to mention the fact that Geoffrey was probably going to leave with Bryce.

  So why had he asked her back to his chamber?

  Because he wanted Sara more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. If he were honest, his thoughts over the last weeks had been consumed by her.

  For as long as he could remember, his first waking thoughts had been for the safety of his family and revenge against those who’d murdered his parents and stolen his home.