Lord of the Manor (13 page)

Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “Richard, the boy comes from bad blood. Not only was his sire a cruel, dull-witted, greedy man, but so is this cousin of his—George. One can only assume that the bloodline is tainted. ’Tis against the rules of nature to think the child could escape the affliction.”

“Then let us pray that the blood of the mother proves stronger than that of the sire. The woman
shows no sign of avarice. Her blood could be the boy’s salvation.”

“Surely you jest! Have you learned nothing of the woman in the past months?”

Richard had learned much about Lucinda and learned more each day. He admired not only her beauty and intelligence, but her tenacity and courage, qualities that few women of his acquaintance possessed.

And her fire. Hidden behind the aloof facade that she showed the world smoldered a passion unlike any he’d ever known. Each time he tapped into Lucinda’s fire, he came away drained and warmed, body and soul.

“I know the woman,” Richard said.

“Ah, but which woman?” Stephen asked. “George told me somewhat of how she came to wed Basil. He tells of a woman skilled at disguise, of a cunning and intellect so sharp that it frightened her father. ’Tis said her father gave her in marriage for the price of a broodmare, and considered himself fortunate at Basil’s willingness to have her.”

Stephen leaned forward, intense in his assertion. “The boy is doomed, Richard. Think of Basil’s avarice, abiding within the same mind as a man with sharp wits. Think of the havoc and suffering such a man might inflict upon an ill-prepared victim.”

Richard shook his head. The thought that Philip, an endearing and obedient child, could become this monster Stephen described was too outlandish to fathom. And Lucinda? Stephen didn’t understand that her disguise shielded her vulnerability. Neither, apparently, had her father understood. How insulted and pained
she must have felt at the pittance for which she’d been sold.

“Hellfire, Stephen, you make it sound as if both should be locked away like dangerous beasts! Mayhap once you get to know them you will soften your swift and damning judgment.”

“Not I. I have no desire to have more contact with either of them than I must, and as of the mom neither must you. Even now George awaits them in Dover. The more swiftly you can get them there, the more quickly they can return to Normandy.”

A numbing chill ran though Richard’s blood. “What are you talking about?”

“George is willing to take them both, and is prepared to pay handsomely for the trouble they have already caused you. Three wagons loaded with a year’s worth of the tributes from Philip’s holdings awaits delivery of the woman and boy. I thought it a generous trade.”

Stephen looked very pleased with himself for making such a bargain. Richard held back the fist he was tempted to place squarely on his brother’s jaw.

’Twas so typical of Stephen to rush headlong into a bargain with George without thinking the whole thing through. Stephen had seen only the chance to be rid of Lucinda and Philip, but hadn’t considered the consequences.

“I see,” Richard said tightly. “And did you happen to stop and get the king’s approval for this trade?”

Stephen shrugged. “Why should you need Henry’s approval? You are the child’s protector and may do with him as you wish. The woman must go where the boy goes.”

“Henry gave them to me knowing full well that Philip had family in Normandy. If Henry wanted Philip returned to Normandy, he would have given the boy to George. Now, if I send the boy to George without Henry’s permission, once again Wilmont will suffer the king’s displeasure. Surely, Stephen, we do not need one more royal mark against us when we have just begun to win back favor.”

“Oh. Well, then you shall just have to ask Henry. I see no reason why he shouldn’t approve.”

Richard could, but it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t about to ask the king for release from this duty and risk angering Henry merely for asking. Too, he’d made a bargain with Lucinda—her bride price in exchange for the list of Philip’s lands. ’Twas a debt he owed and needed the income from Philip’s lands to pay.

That he would miss Philip’s sunny face and Lucinda’s fire played no part in his resolve to keep the pair at Collinwood. His own feelings on the matter must not influence a decision of such import.

“Nay, Stephen. This matter is settled. The boy is under my care and will remain with me.”

Stephen shifted on his stool. “Then what will you tell George?”

“Not I. ’Twas you who agreed to present this bargain and you who will give him my answer. On the morn, you will get on your horse and ride south to Dover. Give George my greetings and thank him for his offer, which I must refuse. Then send the wagons of goods to me and send George back to Normandy.”

Stephen sighed. “He will not be pleased.”

“His feelings concern me not. Henry’s royal edict will be obeyed—by me, by him.”

Connor came into the manor, a grin spread across his face, and ambled slowly toward the table.

“My lord Stephen,” he said with a slight bow. “How good to have you visit us! ’Tis too late to arrange a feast for today, but surely tomorrow—”

“There is no need, Connor,” Richard interrupted, staring pointedly at Stephen. “My brother will be leaving for Dover at first sun.”

“First sun?” Stephen complained.

Richard smiled. “Aye, the earlier the better. Take heart, Stephen. Your service to me is near an end. Afterward, you can go to Wilmont and give Gerard a report.”

While Stephen groaned, Connor nodded his approval. “Aye, my lord. If you are to be the savior who removes these loathsome persons from our midst, I agree—the earlier the better. I have already told the woman to begin her packing. On the morrow, as soon as she is gone, I will have the hut torn down and the beams returned to the woodpile.”

Richard didn’t need to ask from whom Connor had heard the news. Stephen’s guards must be spreading the tale. He could well imagine the delight running rampant in the bailey. Connor had taken his elation one step too far, however, by taking the news to Lucinda. The man’s continued hostility toward Lucinda could no longer be borne.

Richard rose from his stool to his full height, feeling not a twinge of guilt for fully intending to intimidate his frail steward.

“Well, Connor, since you took it upon yourself to tell Lucinda to pack, you may now be the one to tell her she need not. You will also apologize to her for putting her to the trouble.”

Crestfallen, Connor babbled, “But my lord, I heard…they are not leaving?”

“Nay, they are not!”

Connor looked to Stephen for confirmation.

Incensed by his steward’s impertinence, Richard slammed the table with his fist, rattling the goblets. Connor took a step back and swallowed hard.

“Do I now have your complete attention, Connor?”

“Aye, my lord,” he said, his voice small.

“Did I not just give you an order?”

Connor bowed. “I will inform the…lady.”

“And you
will
apologize! And just to ensure that you do, you will do it within my presence. If I hear one belittling word or insincere tone, you will apologize over and over again until you get it right.”

Connor’s lips went thin. “Surely, my lord, you do not expect me to grovel before that…her.”

“I expect you to show Lucinda a measure of consideration. She is as human as any other person in this manor and, by the saints, you will remember it.”

Connor began his slow trek to the door. Before Richard could follow, Stephen cleared his throat and, grinning, got to his feet.

“You know, Richard, I am quite glad that you do not lose your temper often. You look and sound just like Gerard when you do, and I find that frightening.”

“You do not look frightened, and well you might, for I am not terribly happy with you, either.”

If anything, Stephen’s smile widened. “I know, but again like Gerard, your anger flares hot and then cools. Neither of you can maintain a rage for long. Which bodes well for me, since both of you throw things while in a rage, and because I seem to have
the ability to ignite you both. While I still believe you make a mistake in not handing these two over to George, ’tis your decision to make and I will abide by it. Now, while you see to Connor, I am off to chew on two guards whose mouths flap too freely.”

They walked out of the manor side by side, then Stephen veered left toward the stables. Richard noticed that Connor stood outside the door to Lucinda’s hut, waiting. Indeed, most of his people stood about the bailey, staring at him, waiting for some pronouncement. None, however, seemed overly joyful at what they’d surely heard—that Lucinda and Philip would be gone on the morn. Some smiled, but most appeared indifferent.

Except Philip, whose sucked-in bottom lip and glittering eyes revealed his feelings. And Edric, whose hand rested lightly on the boy’s shoulder, looking askance.

Richard took the few long strides necessary to come within arm’s length of them. “Edric, I have a chore to see to, then will take Philip riding. Prepare the pony. And tomorrow, if the sleeve of my chain mail is perfectly polished, we will do so again.”

The old soldier nodded his understanding, his expression reflecting his approval. Philip’s expression remained unchanged. Richard bent down and chucked him under the chin.

“Thought you were about to get out of polishing my mail by departing for Dover, did you? Alas, boy, the chore is still yours. You are not going anywhere, except for a pony ride.”

Philip’s eyes brightened. Tears threatened. He tried to say something and choked on the words.

Unable to do otherwise, Richard hefted Philip up
and held him tight through the heartrending sobs that shook the boy’s body. The child could act so grown-up that ’twas sometimes hard to remember that he was yet a little boy. And right now, Philip was one very upset little boy.

“Shh,” Richard whispered, rubbing the child’s back. “’Tis all right, Philip. Have no fear that I would send you away. Be at ease.”

Richard held the boy close until, with one last sniffle, Philip’s head rose. Swollen eyes squinted in a face red and wet.

“Go with Edric. I will come for you in a bit.”

“You…won’t be…long?”

“Nay, not long at all,” he promised, hoping he spoke true.

If Lucinda was as upset as Philip, ‘twould take far longer to soothe her than her son and be nowhere near as easy.

S
ix strides didn’t allow for satisfactory pacing, but Lucinda paced anyway, unable to sit.

She dashed away her last tear and took a steadying breath to quell her terror and anger. Connor had relayed the details of Stephen’s unholy bargain with George with such fervor that she hadn’t questioned his tale, or doubted that all of Collinwood weren’t now celebrating their lord’s good fortune.

Richard would be sore pressed to refuse George’s offering. Any man would. A year’s worth of goods in exchange for a woman and boy whom he hadn’t wanted responsibility for in the first place was simply too tempting to resist. And he would make numerous people happy—not only his vassals, but his family, particularly his brother Gerard.

Nothing and no one could induce her to return to Normandy, especially under George’s control. Merciful heaven, if she stepped aboard the boat she was doomed. George wouldn’t have qualms about tossing her and Philip overboard in the middle of the Channel. None would be the wiser for months, and if anyone
questioned her demise, George would concoct some story and likely be believed.

Had Richard already agreed to the bargain Stephen struck with George? Was there yet time to talk him out of it? If she couldn’t convince Richard to refuse, then what?

Escape. She’d done so before and could do so again. She would take Philip and go into hiding once more, and this time remain hidden.

She glanced at the luxurious linen that had captured her thoughts earlier. Amazing how one’s concerns could drastically change in the course of an hour. At the moment, she could not care less whether or not Richard used her, not when survival took precedent.

Poor Philip. Had someone told him? He would be very upset at the prospect of leaving Collinwood. He loved his new home, along with Edric and Richard. Particularly Richard. Philip thought of his protector as a mix of mentor and father, and wouldn’t understand how Richard could send him away.

In her headlong rush out the door, she didn’t see Connor until she crashed into him and knocked him down. Impulse brought an apology to her lips and a hand out to help him rise. She withheld both. The man deserved a knocking on his arse.

He looked up at her. “I need to speak with you.”

“Wag your malicious tongue elsewhere, Connor. I have no wish to hear whatever you intend to say.”

“You must listen,” he said, struggling to gain his feet.

“I must find Philip.” Lucinda turned to see Richard standing in the middle of the bailey, his arms wrapped around her little boy, giving comfort. Her heart lurched and her ire faded. Even from this
distance she could tell Philip had been crying. A dark spot marred the shoulder of Richard’s tunic, where Philip shed his tears.

After a reassuring squeeze, Richard put Philip down and shooed him toward Edric.

She’d once thought Richard an unfit protector for Philip, being neither full Norman nor a highly placed noble. The man was of bastard birth and her late husband’s enemy. None of those things mattered to her anymore.

Richard came toward her with long strides. A tall, muscled warrior, strong of body and purpose. His arms swung at his sides in rhythm to his footfalls, his hands clenched. Hands that could skim over her with serene tenderness or stroke her with urgent hunger. Either way, guiding her to beyond the heavens. Hands that she’d heard could wield a sword with deft skill had also comforted a small child.

A hint of anger tinged Richard’s expression. All of her old defenses against a man’s anger threatened to rise, then subsided. She’d never feared the back of Richard’s hand as she had Basil’s. This might be unwise, but Richard wasn’t given to bouts of extreme fury.

She’d come to envy his inner tranquillity, admire his calm but firm treatment of his vassals, appreciate his effort to give Philip a noble’s education, and cherish the time he spent with her alone.

Nay, her former doubts of his suitability no longer existed. She couldn’t have selected a better man to act as protector for Philip.

Or found a better lover. Or chosen a better man to love.

The realization severely tested her already fractured
composure. But there it was. Undeniable. She loved Richard.

And he must never know.

Never had she felt more vulnerable to a man’s whims. This man she loved could be about to send her away.

As he came nearer, without hesitation or effort, she eased into a pose and expression of complete apathy. To give any of her feelings away now could mean disaster later.

Richard watched her muster her defenses. She didn’t yet know that he wasn’t sending her away, that Connor had too hastily told her to prepare for a journey. Later, when this confrontation was done and she no longer felt threatened, she would remove the mask.

And when she did, and her emotions came to the fore, he would be right beside her, eager to comfort.

He came to a halt a few feet in front of Lucinda, but addressed Connor. “Begin.”

“My lord, I regret my presumption—”

“Not to me. To Lucinda.”

Connor’s mouth twisted, as though the words had gone sour in his mouth. The steward clearly disliked this forced show of deference to Lucinda, but Richard didn’t care, so long as the man did what he’d been ordered to do.

“Lady…Lucinda,” Connor said tightly. “Lord Richard has refused the bargain between his brother and your husband’s family. You need not prepare for a journey. I…I regret…any disruption to your day I may have caused.”

Connor’s delivery and choice of words left much to be desired, yet should have drawn a response from
Lucinda. She gave none—not joy, not satisfaction, not even relief.

“You told Philip?” she asked of him.

“I did. He seemed pleased. Even now he and Edric prepare the pony for today’s ride.”

“Then ’twould seem all is as it should be,” she said, then turned and strode back into her hut.

Stunned, Richard merely waved Connor off when asked for permission to leave.

All was not as it should be.

Lucinda should be elated, or at the very least relieved, that he wasn’t sending her off to Dover. Didn’t he deserve a word of thanks or a small gesture of gratitude?

Or was he making too much out of nothing? Lucinda was a private woman, not given to public display of emotion. Indeed, to most people she showed only her cool demeanor.

Only when they were alone did her facade fade, allowing him a unique glimpse of the tender and passionate woman within. She certainly wasn’t a woman to throw herself in his arms and cry on his shoulder for all to see, as Philip had done.

From outside her hut, he called her name. It took an inordinate amount of time for Lucinda to open the door, and she didn’t step aside to allow his entry.

“I thought you planned to ride with Philip,” she said.

“I do.”

“Then you had best be about it. He will be disappointed if you are not prompt.”

“Philip will wait.” Richard stepped into the doorway, forcing her to take a step back. “My concern is
for his mother, who seems eager to be rid of me. Why is that?”

Lucinda backed another step, allowing room to move into the hut and secure the door behind him. Shutting out the world. Closing them into the cozy confines of the shelter where she dwelled, where she—so far—showed no qualms about welcoming him onto her pallet and into her warmth.

Her scent, a mixture of innocent wildflowers and heady earthiness, saturated his senses, urging him to take her in his arms and taste her, too.

She glanced at his wet shoulder. “Philip’s welfare is always my greatest concern. He needs your reassurance now, not me,” she said, still cool and distant

Richard put his hands on her shoulders, felt her tension. “Do not hide from me, Lucinda. I will not allow it.”

Her chin came up. A spark of defiance flashed in her violet eyes.

He continued. “You may show your blank face to the rest of the world, but not to me. I
know
you were upset, mayhap frantic. Nor have your fears eased. You, too, need succor. I give you mine. Neither you nor your son go to Dover.”

“’Tis a good bargain—a year’s worth of goods in trade for Philip and me. I doubt your brother understands why you do not accept, and he may press you further.”

Why couldn’t the woman take him at his word? All she need do is trust him, and she should know him well enough by now…or mayhap she didn’t, or mayhap Basil had broken his word far too many times for Lucinda to trust any man. And, hellfire, her father had sold her for the price of a broodmare.

“Stephen thought to free me of my responsibility as Philip’s guardian. The only man who can do so is King Henry, who gave Philip to me, in part, because he does not wish the boy returned to Basil’s family. So, until Henry says otherwise, Philip resides with me until his majority.”

He didn’t remind her that her freedom would come far sooner than her son’s. In a bit under two years, Lucinda would be free to go, or stay, as she chose.

Richard tried not to think of that bleak day very often.

“If you think George will return to Normandy without some kind of satisfaction, you had best reconsider,” she said.

“He has no choice.” Richard cupped Lucinda’s face in his hands. “George can offer me all of the riches in Normandy and my answer will be the same. I will not barter you away, Lucinda. You have my word.”

He sealed the pledge with a thorough kiss. She pushed lightly against his chest—a feeble protest. He persisted, urging a response that he knew she could give. Inevitably, Lucinda’s arms came around him.

A sweet victory, but one he had no time to celebrate in the way he wished. He broke the kiss gently.

“I will return,” he whispered against her kiss-swollen mouth, then left before his own control slipped too far.

Lucinda poked her head into the manor before she entered, searching for Connor. To her relief, the steward wasn’t inside. Actually, no one tarried within the manor except Stephen, who sat at a table, sipping on
his ale. He wouldn’t acknowledge her, much less speak with her, and that suited her very well.

She rummaged through the sewing supplies for a pair of shears, needle and thread. Working on her gowns would keep her hands busy during the long afternoon ahead.

Supplies in hand, she headed to the door, only to have her path blocked by Stephen. He glanced pointedly at the shears in her hand.

“Apparently, whatever whore’s trick you used to seduce Richard into granting you the run of the manor worked well.” He tilted his head. “I fail to see what he finds appealing. Your eyes are an unusual color, but hold no warmth. Mayhap he finds you convenient.”

“Mayhap,” she said stiffly, tamping down her rising anger and embarrassment. “Or mayhap Richard possesses compassion where others do not.”

“Ah, found that out, did you? Very good. He tends to judge people unharshly unless given reason. ’Tis a trait of his that I worry will get him into deep trouble one day. But then, those who would do him ill eventually show their true nature, and Richard can be very ruthless. I imagine you saw his scar.”

That horrible scar along his ribs. The scar she avoided looking at whenever they made love. She nodded.

“Did he tell you how he got it, or what he did to the man who gave it to him?”

Lucinda wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what Stephen seemed eager to tell her. “I know that Basil’s mercenary captain, Edward, mistook Richard for Gerard, and Richard was wounded in the fight.”

“Humph. ’Twas Edward who dealt the final blow, but only after Richard fought off ten others.”

Ten?
Her shock must have showed.

“Aye, ten,” he said. “They caught him alone, unarmored. He managed to kill three and wound several others before they left him for dead. His rage must have been a glorious sight.”

Lucinda couldn’t imagine Richard in a rage, but didn’t say so. Stephen no longer looked at her, but at some spot behind her, as if he were no longer at Collinwood.

“Richard came precariously close to breathing his last that night, and damn near died again during the trip home to Wilmont. He bled so heavily that we ripped up nearly every linen aboard ship to change his bindings.”

Lucinda shuddered, picturing Richard so near death’s door, reminding herself that this was all in the past, that Richard had lived to regain full vigor.

Stephen gave a sharp laugh. “Then he damn near killed himself all over again to recover, because Gerard needed him at court to bring Basil to his knees. I could have gladly strangled the man for thinking he knew more than the king’s surgeons and Wilmont’s healer. Stubborn man.”

The love in Stephen’s voice brought a lump to her throat. Gerard the baron, Richard the bastard, Stephen the adventurer. All so different, yet bound by a tie so strong that each would do anything for the other. Even die.

Stephen’s eyes cleared as he faced her again. Her hand closed tight on the shears, and she waited for Stephen to make his point.

“I suspect Richard lived partly to please Gerard.
He also wanted revenge, which he got. Did you know that Richard slew Edward?”

No, she hadn’t, but she wasn’t surprised.

“At court?” she asked.

“Nay, months later, when we rescued Ardith and Daymon from Northbryre.”

Richard claimed to have let go of the old hate, claimed his scar now served as a reminder to be a better lord. But could one ever really put aside all the pain, both his own and that of those he loved dearly?

Stephen hadn’t forgotten or forgiven. His anger yet smoldered. As did Gerard’s.

“If there were some way I could undo…” she began, then stopped. She wasn’t responsible for what Basil had done to those of Wilmont or anyone else, and he’d died for his sins. “I had no say in Basil’s affairs, as most wives have no say in their husbands’ affairs. Richard knows this and treats Philip and me accordingly.”

“Which leaves him open to betrayal, and therein lies my concern. For you, Lucinda, were wed to a man to whom treachery came as easily as breathing, whose lies flowed from his mouth as swiftly as water down a stream. That vermin’s blood flows within your son’s body, and the male bloodline
will
tell. One has only to look to Richard to see the proof.