The Thief's Countess (Border Series Book 1)

by Cecelia Mecca

  But they were not. Geoffrey was lost to her. Had never been hers to begin with. Lying down at the edge of her bed, Sara wiped her face, not bothering to cover herself, and closed her eyes.

  The next morning Geoffrey woke with a splitting headache, gathered his few belongings, and walked out of the comfortable guest chamber for the last time. He stood in front of Sara’s door for a moment, looking at the carvings that would have taken Bristol’s carpenter a month to complete. Though the man had been skilled enough to etch the intricate roses into a piece of wood, he never could have stopped working for long enough to create such a masterpiece. It was yet another sign of the sea of titles and wealth that separated him from Sara.

  Was she still abed or already at mass? Did she worry about Bryce’s reaction? He would have to find her to reassure her that their assignation would remain private.

  The moment Bryce had opened his chamber door, he’d realized it was over. The close call had reminded him of why he and Hugh had been summoned to Kenshire in the first place—to protect Lady Sara. Instead, he’d nearly ruined her. Hugh would remain to ensure Sara’s well-being. Geoffrey would go home where he belonged. They would work with Wellingstone, and while it would smart to allow him to reap the profits of their land, at least it would be theirs. The Scottish swine living in his home would meet the same fate as Kenshire’s would-be usurper.

  Walking down the stairs into the hall, he was shocked at the late hour. The sunlight peeked through the splayed windows on the second floor, and it appeared the castle inhabitants had already broken their fast. He made his way to the kitchen.

  “There she is, the woman of my dreams.”

  Cook turned and made a distinctly unladylike sound as the kitchen maids turned to stare. “Saucy boy.”

  Geoffrey raised his eyebrows, delighting in their banter. “Only in the presence of a mistress such as yourself,” he said. Then, knowing how best to charm her, he added, “What was that third course?”

  Cook lifted her head. “Roast sparrow and baked quinces with spiced apples, sir.”

  He bowed elegantly. “It was exquisite. Many thanks for such a fine meal.” He didn’t lie. The five-course meal that had been served as a small feast to celebrate the end of a battle that had never happened was one of the best he had ever eaten.

  One of the maids tittered, and her friend joined her.

  “Ye’ll be wantin’ something. Tell me what it is so they can get back to work.”

  Her words were harsher than her expression, and Geoffrey knew Cook was beginning to thaw.

  “It seems I missed the morning meal.”

  Cook looked down at the bag in his hand. “Leavin’, are you?”

  Soon enough. “Nay, not yet. A bite to eat, if you please?”

  Cook had already walked away. She returned with two large slices of freshly baked white bread, a luxury he could easily get used to, and an assortment of cheese. He swooped down to deliver a kiss on her cheek, gladly accepting the food.

  Geoffrey caught the smile he knew was normally reserved for the lady of the manor.

  Walking from the kitchen, he made his way to the gatehouse, acknowledging acquaintances along the way. He tried not to consider how pleasant it would be to live among these people.

  He had just stepped into the sleeping quarters of the guardroom when a deep voice sounded behind him. “I can understand why you were reluctant to leave your quarters. We need to talk.”

  For a moment, Geoffrey wondered if his uncle somehow knew about last evening, but quickly dismissed the thought. His brother wouldn’t betray him that way.

  “Bryce must return to Elmhurst, and Lord Wellingstone requires an answer.”

  Relieved, Geoffrey sat on the bed, the straw mattress a far cry from the more luxurious one he had been enjoying in the castle guest room, but also much more comfortable than the hard ground on which he usually slept.

  “Where is Bryce? He should be here.”

  The subject of their discussion filled the entranceway. “Thank you, brother.”

  Sara was right. Bryce was no longer a boy. His surprising words of caution the previous night had convinced Geoffrey of that.

  “As you’re fond of saying, you’re now a man and deserve to be a part of any decisions made here today.”

  “Our decisions have already been made. It’s you who hesitates, brother.”

  He opened his mouth to give his answer, but something stopped him.

  The answer to his prayers was waiting for him at his aunt and uncle’s home. Lord Wellingstone’s men, along with the pledges of support he and Hugh had gathered these past five years, would be enough to take back his home. His title.

  But he hated the thought of bending his knee to a man who cared naught for the home he loved. Was there no other way? He’d never ask Lyonsford for support; pride would forbid it. And the ailing king would be of no help. So what then? This was their best chance.

  And yet it felt wrong.

  Two expectant faces waited for his answer.

  He imagined leaving, Sara welcoming her future husband. Walking out of Kenshire’s small chapel as Lyonsford’s wife.

  Nay, he could not leave. Not yet.

  “I’m staying.”

  Both men started talking at once, Bryce louder than their uncle.

  “Do you know what that means? We’ll lose Lord Wellingstone’s support. Goddammit, Geoffrey! You’re a damn fool.”

  He didn’t answer because he knew Bryce was right. He was a damn fool—and yet he would not change his answer.

  “There’ll be another chance,” Geoffrey said.

  His uncle, at least, didn’t look like he wanted to murder him.

  “I’ve no desire to watch Wellingstone take our profits and Lord knows what else. Prince Edward will return and turn his eyes to the border. We’ll find another way.”

  Bryce paced back and forth in the small room before finally turning to look straight at him. “I know why you’re doing this.”

  If he kept talking, Geoffrey would kill him.

  “You’re my brother, the man I’ve admired since I first practiced in the training yard with a wooden sword you showed me how to wield. But I don’t agree with you on this.”

  Geoffrey ignored the unwelcome tingle in his cheek and grasped his younger brother by both shoulders. “I know you don’t, Bryce. But I’m asking you to trust me. I don’t deserve your trust. I’m a thief by trade, no longer lord of anything. But I’m asking for it nonetheless.”

  Bryce didn’t move or even blink.

  “You are the same man I admired before the raid,” Bryce finally said. “Lord … reiver. It matters naught, Geoffrey. Only to you.” Then he looked back and forth between Geoffrey and Hugh. “I trust you both,” he added. “With my life.”

  With that, he turned toward his meager belongings, packing them up in defeat. Geoffrey watched him, wondering what the hell he’d just done.

  Sara looked up from the ledger in front of her, panicking when she saw Bryce standing at the entrance of the solar with his travel bag. He was leaving? Was Geoffrey leaving with him? “Have you seen Geoffrey?” she blurted out.

  Geoffrey would never leave without saying goodbye. Would he?

  For a moment, she thought Bryce hadn’t heard her.

  “I believe my brother planned to train this morning.”

  She released her breath. So he wasn’t accepting Wellingstone’s offer? She had been so focused on what had happened last eve that she’d nearly forgotten that it was mid-morning by the time she realize Geoffrey may be leaving. Today. She tried to take her mind off the matter by burying herself in reports.

  But if Bryce was leaving now and Geoffrey was in the training yard … had he decided to stay?

  “I hope your stay was fruitful?” Sara said, pressing him a little.

  “Unfortunately it was not,” Bryce said. “But thank you for your hospitality.” Graciously, he made no mention of the incident in Geoffrey’s room. “Good day, Lady Sara,” h
e said. “I hope we have occasion to meet in the future.”

  “As do I,” Sara replied sincerely. After all, he was Geoffrey’s brother and therefore always welcome at Kenshire.

  Calling to Faye, who stood at the door, she asked the maid to have Cook prepare a basket of food for Sir Bryce.

  Then, with a bow and a wink, he was gone.

  The gesture reminded her of another dark-haired man with light blue eyes. One, she was quite relieved to learn, who would not be leaving her just yet.

  Sara kept herself busy for the remainder of the day and did not see Geoffrey until supper. When he walked into the hall, she nearly dropped the cloth she’d used to clean her hands before sitting down to eat. She barely noticed when a servant reached out and took it from her.

  Geoffrey’s damp hair curled around his temples, and his white shirt was a stark contrast to his jet-black hair. He was magnificent in so many ways. His title might be tied to the land he’d lost, but Geoffrey was as much a noble as any man she’d met.

  Unfortunately, his polite courtesies told Sara all she needed to know about where they stood. She concentrated on speaking with Sir Hugh and barely touched her meal.

  When she rose from the table after an awkward extended silence, the voice she’d grown to love stopped her.

  “Do you play chess?”

  “Aye.”

  He stood, pulled out her chair, and offered his elbow. So formal.

  Geoffrey looked at his uncle.

  “By all means,” Hugh responded to Geoffrey’s silent question.

  As she stepped away from the dais, a signal that the meal was over, servants began to clear the tables. Geoffrey led her to a table in the corner where a chessboard was always set, waiting for players. He pulled out a large wooden chair, an elaborate carving of the Caiser family crest on its back, a favorite feature of her father’s, and she sank into the deep red cushion.

  A servant filled both of their goblets with wine.

  “I thought you prefer ale.”

  “I’m getting used to some of the refinements offered at Kenshire.”

  Sara looked down at her simple but elegantly cut green dress. Though she wore no overcoat or jewels, the material obviously marked her as a noble. She hardly noticed such things before. Knowing the hardships Geoffrey endured, it now seemed there was excess everywhere she looked.

  “We must seem extravagant to you.” She meant it not as a slight but as an honest statement of fact.

  “Aye.” He moved pieces about the chessboard automatically.

  “Tell me about what you do.” She was hoping he wouldn’t brush off the inquiry as he’d done in the past. These next days might be their last together, and she wished to know him, truly know him.

  Glancing up from the board, his eyes found hers. How could anyone think Bryce was the more handsome brother? She’d heard the servants talking. Of course Bryce’s reticence lent his good looks an air of mystery. But in her mind, the two couldn’t be compared.

  “We run with the same group of men, a mixture of farmers, blacksmiths, nobility…”

  “Nobility?” She hadn’t meant to ask the question so loudly.

  “Aye, minor barons mostly. The lawlessness of the border draws men from every walk of life … with the exception of the clergy, of course.”

  Geoffrey had to stop talking to consider his countermove. She remained quiet, allowing him to concentrate.

  “It’s a simple life, most meals cooked on an open fire. But we do have our share of enjoyment on raids as well.”

  “Do tell.” Though she tried to keep her tone neutral, she was afraid she failed miserably.

  “There are few, if any, women on raids,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I meant the pipes that my uncle plays. And games like this.”

  She could feel her cheeks turning pink.

  “Naughty wench.”

  He made it sound like an endearment.

  “Most of the men stay together during high season. Hugh and I return to Elmhurst Manor as much as possible to check on Bryce and the others.”

  “There hardly seems to be a need to check on Bryce.” Against her better judgment, she probed the subject. “Does he stay to protect the others or because you want to protect him?”

  Geoffrey glanced up from the chessboard.

  “Both. My uncle Simon is getting older, aye, but he would protect Neill and Emma with his life. Hugh and I wish to shield Bryce from a life of raiding and running. Elmhurst is no great castle, but my brothers and sister are comfortable enough there.”

  The topic was obviously an uncomfortable one for him.

  “Most of the men are just trying to survive in a place abandoned by England and Scotland. My own family’s history is proof of the harshness of life on the border.”

  As they continued to play, he told her of their struggles to secure men and of his worry about his siblings’ future.

  “Sara.” His tone told her that their comfortable discussion was coming to an end. “I’ve moved my things to the gatehouse guardroom.”

  She concentrated on her next move. What was there to say?

  “I’m aware.” But you stayed.

  “It’s for the best,” he continued.

  She moved a pawn, positioning it to capture one of his own, and looked up.

  “When Bryce entered my chamber last eve,” he said, staring into her eyes, “I realized the significance of what I could have taken from you.”

  “You cannot take what’s freely given.” And am afraid I would offer myself to you again, despite the vow I made to myself. To Kenshire.

  He was saved from responding when Peter broke the spell, calling to them from across the hall.

  “Lady Sara!” Out of breath, he rushed toward them, frantically waving his hands. “There’s been an accident. Come quickly.”

  She followed Peter, noting Geoffrey’s comfortable presence behind her as she made her way toward the latest crisis.

  21

  Two days after the small fire that had thrown her people into a panic, Sara was at her wit’s end. Although he had stayed at the castle, she’d seen little of Geoffrey since he helped to save the carpenter’s home. Both of them had kept their distance. It seemed the easiest thing to do for the helpless situation they found themselves in.

  The day before, he’d gone on an impromptu hunting party with some of the men from Kenshire. She’d longed to join them, wanting to show Geoffrey her skill with the bow and arrow. Which was precisely why she had forced herself to stay behind.

  “Milady, you should have seen him. I’ve never seen a horse so fast or a man so skilled with the bow. He took down two deer with such ease, all the men are talkin’ about it.” A young squire named Reginald had told the tale to anyone who would listen. “No disrespect, milady,” he’d added. “He’s maybe even better than you!”

  “It sounds as if Geoffrey left quite an impression,” she’d teased.

  “Aye, milady,” the squire had said, taking her quite seriously. “It was a most impressive sight!” Moving on, the young lad had continued to sing Geoffrey’s praises to everyone present.

  Now, seated in her solar, Sara wished she’d participated yesterday. She needed to get out. The air felt stifling on this unusually warm autumn day. Luckily, she wore soft cotton breeches and a shirt made especially for her.

  Vowing once again that today would be the final time she donned breeches before Lord Lyonsford’s arrival, Sara decided she ought to take full advantage. Leaving behind records and ciphers that would await her return, she gathered her long, unruly waves together in a makeshift braid and then made her way to the stables.

  Once outside, she was ambushed by her well-meaning maid. “Do ye need assistance, my lady?”

  Sara didn’t break her stride. “Nay, thank you,” she called back, determined to exercise her neglected mare. Guinevere was saddled quickly. Luckily, the stable hand said nothing of an escort.

  Sara took a wide path to St. Oswald’s Gate, the original entr
ance to Kenshire Castle’s inner bailey. The main gate housed Geoffrey and his uncle, and the men there were as loyal to them as they were to her. While she was glad the Waryn men had gained the loyalty of her own, she wanted no complications at the moment—and no company.

  As it turned out, the guard did question Sara’s lack of an escort.

  In her most authoritative voice, she called out quite firmly, “I need no escort for a short ride.”

  Looking skeptical, he turned to consult with the other guards and yelled down, “Eddard will have my hide for this.” Yet he opened the gate as she’d asked.

  She gave the young knight a brilliant smile as she charged past the gate into the open field, circling north away from the village and toward her destination.

  The niggling feeling of doubt that rode with her from the castle faded away as she rode into the dense forest, dissipating entirely when the lake appeared before her. Even though the hidden spot was one she’d visited since childhood, Sara felt awed by its beauty every time.

  She dismounted, tied off Guinevere, and walked toward the lake. Looking around to assure herself of privacy, Sara decided an impromptu swim was in order. After all, it was likely one of the last times she could be this uninhibited. An earl’s wife simply did not ride unescorted, in breeches no less, for an afternoon swim.

  Her father would strangle her.

  Sara’s mouth turned up in a secret smile. She suddenly felt deliciously daring.

  When Geoffrey saw what she intended, his breath caught in his throat. Dear Lord, please don’t let her do it.

  He’d have to speak to Sara about her blatant disregard for safety, not to mention her alarming ignorance of his presence. Granted, Geoffrey was known to be as stealthy as any tracker. He’d followed her to this place, keeping a distance close enough for easy discovery. Though apparently not for his countess.

  The reckless woman actually meant to disrobe and swim in the small lake.

  No good would come of this. He stood rooted to the spot, staring as Sara unlaced her shirt, which looked very much like his own, though was cut for a smaller wearer. He reminded himself to ask Faye who in God’s name had stitched it for her.