Lord of the Manor (Trysts and Treachery Book 5) by Elizabeth Keysian (robert munsch read aloud .txt) 📗

a good deal about us. I can’t imagine where the information comes from.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Kennett’s funds come from an inheritance, but little remains of that now. We have dug deep into our coffers to restock the commandery. As you see—I’m forced to do all the heavy labor myself.”

“You have Lettice Carter now,” she countered. “She can do a fair amount of hard work.”

“Aye. But she’s an additional expense, albeit a necessary one.” His face darkened. “Although much of the time, I seem to be eating alone, so I’m not even sure it’s worth having her do the cooking.”

So—where did Master Clark spend his time, then? And where was he now? Not prepared to get his hands dirty by clearing out a moat, evidently.

Cecily stared at the piles of spoil. “Your toil here will be in vain, I fear. You won’t be able to keep any fish in that moat. You still have the fishponds, of course, but only if you know how to maintain them properly.”

Curse it! She should watch her tongue. He wasn’t meant to know how familiar she was with the place.

“Why is that?” He had moved closer to Charlemagne. The bird remained still, as if asleep.

“Why should I tell you?” He’d better not be thinking of hurting the peregrine. Why was he working his way around behind it in that peculiarly stiff fashion?

“It would be neighborly to tell me. If you know something that I don’t.”

Her mind worked quickly. “If I tell you, it could save you money. So, you might not need to charge a whole shilling when you extend the leases.”

“Are you trying to haggle with me? Faith—I find you most entertaining. And foolish. What can you possibly know about clearing moats and fishponds?”

She was glad she entertained him—it meant she hadn’t made him angry. The men had warned her not to tackle him about the rents, but here she was, doing just that. Only—it hadn’t turned into a battle. Yet.

“I cannot change my mind about the leases. That money will have to be paid, sooner or later. I have every right to charge for what is rightfully mine—mine and Kennett’s. You must understand that.”

He was still standing behind Charlemagne, who was now awake and indicating by little shuffling movements and snaps of his beak that he was unsettled.

“But if my knowledge can save you money, you won’t need to. And pray, don’t stand behind Charlemagne like that. You’re making him nervous.”

Smythe flung up his hands. “God forbid that I should upset your precious bird.”

He moved away and came closer to Cecily. She fought to stand her ground, though it made her tingle in every limb to be so close to him. She was temporarily at a loss for words.

“Why don’t you tell me what you know and if I decide it will save me money in the long run, I might consider delaying the increase on the leases until the spring. Does that sound like a bargain?”

Quite fair. Surprisingly so. But only if Smythe was a man of his word. She gazed at him, at the drying blond hair forming a halo around his head while the bright sunlight picked out sapphire sparks in his eyes. He looked earnest, honest—but the harsh light showed lines on his cheeks and between his brows that suggested suffering. He was either older than she had at first thought him, or his life before he came to Temple Roding had been a hard one.

“Very well. I can tell you that you’ve dug through the moat’s clay lining, so all the water will drain away. You must line it with fresh clay ere you refill it.”

He went very still for a moment. Then he threw back his head and barked out a laugh.

She couldn’t see what was so funny. She pressed her lips together and glared at him.

“I already knew that, Wench. I had every intention of putting the clay back first and filling in the gaps with more. I’m a practical man, you know, as well as learned one. It is possible to be both, though I can tell from your scowl that you don’t believe it. So—what value has your information now? You haven’t saved me any money at all by telling me what I already knew.”

Fury boiled up in her, and her fists clenched. “You lie! That is a falsehood! You didn’t know!”

He stood there, arms still folded across his chest, mocking her. “Prove it,” he said.

Something snapped, and in a rage, she ran at him, hoping to knock him into the muck he’d dredged out of the moat. But he was as sturdy as a rock. He merely snorted, then opened his arms and captured her wrists.

“Whoa, enough. You must learn to control your temper, Maid.” He yanked on her wrists until she was almost chest to chest with him and looked down at her with a half-smile on his face. She could do naught but fume and struggle.

“Don’t treat me like a child,” she spat.

“I shall if you behave like one.” He had lowered his head to hold her gaze as he spoke, and his breath fanned her face. She could feel his strength, his power, pounding into her veins, coursing around her body and bringing her under his control.

This was not how she’d anticipated this conversation would go.

“Unhand me, you villain,” she growled, tugging to break free.

“I’m merely protecting myself from attack. And finding out what you look like up close.”

That stilled her struggles. The sun was full on her face now—her hat had fallen off. She hoped Smythe didn’t intend to do anything more than look. Because if he did, she would be utterly helpless against him.

He released her suddenly and stepped away. “There’s no need to fear me—I would never harm a woman. But I was getting a trifle bored of being threatened. Pray, take yourself and your insults elsewhere, and cool your temper. I do not tell falsehoods, I never break my word, and I