“That was very resourceful of you,” he said. “Not many women would have had the presence of mind to do that.”
Courtly smiled bashfully. “It seemed the right thing to do,” she said. “I certainly wasn’t going to wait for the flames to consume us. I had to save my sister.”
He nodded his approval. “And you did,” he said. “I shall wait with you until your father returns. That is the least I can do for the woman who saved her sister.”
Courtly was back to laughing softly, now feeling giddy in his presence. She’d never felt giddy in her entire life so this was something new and rather thrilling. Contrary to their embarrassing introduction, she was quickly overcoming it and was now feeling at ease with the man. He was kind and considerate. She rather liked talking to him.
“Truly, that is not necessary,” she said. “I am sure my father will return any moment.”
Maximus simply nodded. “And I will leave when he comes,” he said, eyeing her. “But not before.”
Courtly wasn’t sure what to say to that. She was very flattered that he should take it upon himself to remain with her until her father returned. She wanted to pretend he was doing it because there was something about her personally that he liked, not simply because he felt a sense of chivalry towards her, but it was a foolish hope and she knew it. Still, it was fun to pretend. She would probably never see him again after this so she would take what time she could with him, a handsome and honorable knight of the highest order, and make the most of it.
“You are kind, my lord,” she said, looking away rather coyly when he turned his gaze to her. “Now I am feeling quite guilty for having called you a foul beast. You are nothing of the kind.”
Maximus suppressed a grin. “You have already apologized for that.”
She glanced at him. “I realize that, but I want to make sure you understand that I am truly sorry,” she said. Then her focus moved to the building in front of them, now a heap of flaming ruins. She sighed heavily. “Oh, dear… all of our possessions were in there. I did not even have time to throw them into the street. I suppose I really did not think to because it all happened so fast.”
Garran, standing on the other side of the ladies, heard her. “Mayhap it is good that you did not, my lady,” he said. “There were thieves running off with the possessions that had been thrown out into the streets. Had they run off with yours, we would have had to tear apart the northern end of the city looking for them.”
Courtly looked at the big, broad knight with the black eyes. “I would not have asked that of you, I assure you,” she said. “But I find it quite sad that people must steal because they do not have food to eat or clothing to wear. That is why they steal, you know. They have nothing else.”
Garran glanced at Maximus over the lady’s blond head, seeing his own thoughts reflected in Maximus’ eyes. She is naïve, this one. A crystal princess raised in a crystal palace with the only true grasp of the world being what she had been told. Women such as Lady Courtly rarely had a true idea of the evils of the world, protected as they were. Garran cleared his throat politely.
“Mayhap, my lady,” he replied. “But it is also equally as likely that they are simply greedy or wicked. It could be any number of reasons.”
Courtly was still watching the smoldering ruins. “Poverty does terrible things to people.”
Maximus was looking at her. There was something sad in her tone. “Poverty and greed drive men to do bold and wicked things,” he said, changing the subject because he didn’t want to debate the morals of mankind with her. He’d seen far more than this guileless lady could ever lay claim to. “I seem to recall that the de Laras have a townhome in Oxford. Why is it that you did not stay there instead of this hostel?”
If Courtly noticed the obvious change in focus, and she would have had to have been daft not to, she didn’t comment on it. She smiled politely.
“You know a great deal about us, Sir Maximus,” she said. “I wonder what else you know?”
He gave her a half-grin. “I have always been one to remember tiny, little details,” he said. “Once I hear or read something, I never forget it. It is a gift or a curse, depending on how one looks at it.”
“How do you look at it?”
“It depends upon the information.”
Courtly’s smile turned genuine. “I think it is a wonderful gift,” she said. “As for the de Lara home, we have one in Kennington, which is a few miles south of Oxford. However, my father’s sister is in residence right now and he dislikes her intensely, so we must stay in town.”
Maximus snorted. “I had an uncle like that,” he muttered. “My father could not stand to be around him for a variety of reasons. He is the uncle that we used to… well, it does not matter what we used to do. In any case, it is a pity your stay in town resulted in the loss of your possessions, but at least you retained your lives. That is what matters most, is it not?”
Courtly was watching him intently. “What did you used to do to your uncle?”
Maximus shook his head. “Childhood antics, my lady. Not worth mentioning.”
“Will you tell me if I ask very nicely?”
“Nay.”
“Why not?”
“Because we were terrible children and I do not want you to think ill of me.”
Courtly laughed softly. “I would never do that,” she said, a mischievous glimmer in her eye. “I will beg you if I have to.”
“Do not beg.”
“I will. I am about to do it. I swear, I will.”
Maximus was trying not to grin, trying not to look at her, but she was being very charming. It was extremely difficult to resist.
“Beg all you like,” he said, turning away from her so he wouldn’t have to look at that lovely, charming face. “I will never tell you. I would rather die than tell you.”
Courtly could sense a game afoot. “That seems rather harsh,” she said, feigning seriousness. “Did you steal from him, then?”
“Nay.”
“Beat him?”
“Nay.”
She sighed deeply. “Then I cannot guess what it is,” she said, pretending to be resigned and miserable. “It would seem that I must go to my grave not knowing what you and your brothers did to this uncle. It is a terrible curse you have put upon me. Do you not know that a woman’s curiosity must be satisfied or else?”
He looked at her then, grinning. “Or else what?”
She could see she had his interest and she looked away, being playful. “I cannot tell you,” she said, turning the tables on him. “You would not like the answer.”
“Tell me.”
She shook her head. “I would rather die than tell you,” she said, using his own words. “And do not beg because it will not do any good.”
She was clever, this one. Maximus appreciated her quick wit very much, seeing how she had turned the tables against him. Oddly, it made him respect her, for this was no simple-minded woman. She was sharp. With that in mind, he sighed in contemplation.
“Very well, then,” he said, folding his arms across his broad chest and pretending to be cross. “I will tell you what my brothers and I did to our uncle if you will tell me what happens when a woman’s curiosity is not sated.”
Courtly looked at him, pointing a finger at him. “Quickly,” she hissed. “Tell me swiftly. It will be less painful that way. Hurry!”
Maximus did as he was told without hesitation. “My uncle would fart uncontrollably when he slept and my brothers and I would light his farts a-fire,” he said. “One time, we burned up his breeches.”
Courtly burst out in a loud guffaw, slapping her hand over mouth to stifle the laughter. “You didn’t!”
“We did.”
She snorted into her hand, laughing deeply, but Maximus feigned a scowl at her. “Stop laughing,” he muttered swiftly. “Quickly, tell me what would have happened had I not sated your curiosity.”
Courtly removed her hand from her mouth, displaying her lovely
smile in full bloom. “Nothing,” she said, throwing up her hands. “I simply said that so you would feel sorry for me and tell me what I wanted to know.”
Maximus pretended to be very cross when, in truth, he was swept up in her gentle flirt as surely as a leaf swept up in a breeze. He had no control over anything at the moment. He was purely at her mercy.
“You are a terrible woman to tease me like that,” he said. “Can you not see how gullible I am?”
Courtly’s smile never left her face, her gaze riveted to him as if he were the only man in the entire world. “I cannot imagine the great Maximus de Shera to be gullible,” she said. “I would imagine you are the smartest brother of all. You said so yourself.”
He shook his head. “I did not say I was the smartest brother,” he corrected her. “I simply said that I remember everything I am told. If my brothers heard me say that I was the smartest of all of them, they would beat me and roll me in pitch.”
Courtly giggled at his admission. She was coming to find the man very humorous and very delightful. As she opened her mouth to reply, a distant shouting stopped her. Both she and Maximus turned in the direction of the avenue leading from St. Clement’s Church in time to see well-armed men on expensive horses heading in their direction. Maximus recognized the de Lara bird of prey immediately.
Through the smoke and ash, armored men surrounded them and the man in the lead, riding a big, dappled charger, leapt from his steed. His gaze was on the women and on Maximus in particular. His confusion, and his concern, was apparent.
“De Shera?” he addressed Maximus, his brow furrowed, before looking to Courtly. “Court, what has happened? What goes on?”
Courtly pointed to the pile of smoldering ruins that had once been their hostel. “There was a fire, Papa,” she told him seriously. “Sir Maximus and Sir Garran saved our lives. We had to jump from the window and they were here to save us.”
Kellen de Lara, Viscount Trelystan and Lord Sheriff of the Southern Marches, looked at his eldest daughter with horror. A man in his early forties, he was fair and handsome, his face weathered from the years of harsh elements and harsh campaigns. His gaze moved between the smoking building and his daughter’s earnest face. Stunned, he simply shook his head.
“Sweet Jesὑ,” he murmured, reaching out to grasp his daughters, the both of them. “Is this true?”
“It is.”
“And you jumped from the building?”
“Aye, Papa.”
Kellen was nearly beside himself. “Are you well?” he demanded softly. “Did you hurt yourself in any way?”
Courtly shook her head. “We are well,” she replied, her gaze moving to Maximus. “It is Sir Maximus you must thank, Papa. He was a hero.”
Maximus, embarrassed by the praise, was already shaking his head even as Kellen turned to him. “It was not as much as that, my lord,” he said. “Your daughter was quite resourceful and constructed a rope from bed linens, using it to lower herself with. All we did was hold the rope steady and make sure she and her sister came to no harm.”
Kellen was pale with shock. “I can never thank you enough, Sir Maximus,” he said. “What you have done… you have saved my children. I am in your debt.”
Maximus shook his head, uncomfortable. “That is unnecessary, my lord,” he assured the man. “I was happy to help. But now that you are here, I must go about my business. I did not want to leave your daughters unescorted until you returned.”
Kellen was overwhelmed with the situation and with Maximus’ chivalry. He knew the man in name and reputation only, as he’d never had the opportunity to work closely with him. De Montfort kept the de Shera brothers close to him, like personal attack dogs, so it wasn’t often that the brothers mingled with the other barons. Now, Maximus was in his midst and had evidently done him a great service. He owed the man.
“Again, you have my deepest thanks,” he said. “You as well, Sir Garran, have my thanks. May I at least invite you both to sup with us this eve? I should like to demonstrate my thanks for your heroics. Invite your brothers as well. I’ve not had the opportunity to converse with the three of you other than cursory discussions.”
Maximus was hesitant. “Your offer is generous, my lord, but my brothers may have other plans,” he said. Then, he caught a glimpse of Courtly’s hopeful expression and he knew that, come what may, he was going to accept de Lara’s invitation. It would give him another opportunity to see Courtly again. “I, however, have no such plans. I would be happy to sup with you.”
Kellen smiled and Courtly positively beamed. “Excellent,” Kellen said. Then, he turned to eye the heap of ashes behind him. “We have been supping at the hostel but it would seem our dining hall has been burned to the ground. Come out to Kennington House, south of Oxford, and we shall dine tonight in the halls of my ancestors. We shall put on such a feast as to impress even the likes of you. Will you come, then?”
Maximus nodded, trying not to stare at Courtly, who was smiling at him quite openly. “I will be honored, my lord,” he said. “I will see you this eve.”
With that, he nodded his farewells to the de Lara group, excusing himself, and together he and Garran headed back down the avenue, back to the spice merchant to reclaim the licorice root and other things he had purchased. Already, he was thinking on the evening and the time he would spend gazing at Courtly de Lara’s magnificent face. Already, he was missing her as he headed back down the avenue.
It was an effort not to turn around and look at her, but he didn’t want to do it and seem over-eager. His thoughts, however, lingered on the lovely Courtly as her father took charge of both her and her sister, ushering them onto horses and making their way to Kennington House where the vile de Lara aunt resided.
Even as they reached the spice vendor, Maximus was thinking on gold-spun hair and on luminous, blue eyes. As Garran collected the packages they had already paid for, Maximus caught sight of an entire shelf of perfumed oil. He gazed at it, a thought coming to him, as Garran headed out of the stall.
“We must find Ty,” Garran said, squinting down the avenue to see if he could catch sight of the youngest de Shera brother. “We need to get this stuff to Lady de Shera.”
Maximus was still looking at the perfumed oil, breaking from his train of thought as Garran spoke. He eyed Garran, eyed the oil, and then pretended to look at other things.
“Go and find my brother,” he instructed. “I will look the wares over one more time to see if there is something else we can purchase to help Jeniver’s belly.”
Garran went without another word. Maximus peered from the doorway of the stall, casually, watching the knight head down the avenue in search of Tiberius. When he was positive that Garran wasn’t going to turn around and head back in his direction, he went straight to the spice merchant and pointed to the perfumed oils on the shelf.
A few minutes later, a beautifully wrapped phial of rose-scented oil was tucked safely in Maximus’ tunic, intended for a certain young lady when he saw her at sup that night.
CHAPTER TWO
Kennington House
Oxford South
Kennington House had been built the previous century and had come into the de Lara clan through marriage. It had originally been a de Vere property those years ago and the de Veres had spared little expense for it; a very large and lavish hall was attached to a two-storied secondary building that contained four smaller chambers on the bottom floor and a massive, master’s chamber on the upper floor. The house itself was shaped like a “T”, with the window of the master’s chamber facing the church across the road because the pious de Veres liked it that way.
In the smaller chamber on the ground floor, Courtly sat on a simple, oak chair, working on a piece of embroidery that wasn’t her own. Her aunt, Lady Ellice, had given it to her when they had arrived at Kennington House earlier that day and had told her to finish it. The woman had given her and Isadora no greeting other than to hand them projects to complete, for her attention was fu
lly on her younger brother, Kellen, and the distinct distaste they had for one another. A childless spinster, Ellice had no patience for children or even for people in general. She was a bitter, nasty shrew.
Therefore, while Ellice and Kellen went through the motions of a stiff greeting as Kellen explained the reason behind their arrival at Kennington, Courtly and Isadora disappeared into the house and into the small bedchamber they usually slept in during the times they had visited. Neither girl wanted to be around their father and aunt when the conversation turned nasty, which it usually did fairly quickly. It had, for as long as the girls could remember, an underlying hatred and bitterness from Ellice towards her brother, although that underlying hatred had never been explained. It was simply the way of things.
As Courtly sat on the chair, in a linen surcoat that smelled of smoke, working on the small piece of embroidery that was a hummingbird upon a flower, she could hear her father’s agitated voice and Ellice’s low, threatening one, both of them still out in the small courtyard. She sighed heavily as she listened. She didn’t understand how siblings could not get on with one another and it was like this every time they visited.
“Shall we stay here with Auntie now that our lodging has burned?” Isadora asked. She had a pair of Ellice’s stockings in her hand and had been commanded to sew a hole in the heel. “Court, I do not wish to stay here. I do not like staying with Auntie in the least.”
Courtly looked at her younger sister. At eleven years of age, Isadora was a frail, delicate thing. She was also quite smart and quite vocal, which could get her into trouble at times. With light brown hair and her sister’s big, blue eyes, she looked like a little, porcelain doll, and Courtly was the only mother she had ever known. Given that the girls’ mother had perished of a fever when Isadora had been two years of age, the task of raising the toddler had been given over to Courtly until she went to foster and she was, naturally, very protective of the girl, and especially protective from their shrewish aunt.
“Nor do I,” Courtly said patiently. “But until Papa can make other arrangements, we must stay where he tells us. For tonight, it will be here.”
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