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

Was he genuinely inviting her to eat with him? An herb omelet he’d baked himself? There must surely be a catch. She swallowed.

He waved the dripping whisk. “Now, don’t be coy. Don’t claim you don’t know where to find those herbs. You must take me for a fool if you think I don’t know that you, and the other villagers, have been helping yourselves all the time the manor lay unoccupied. No need to look afeared—what’s gone is gone. So long as no one plans on continuing the habit now that I’m in residence, we need not speak of it again. Go.”

He reached for the saltbox and sprinkled a little into his mixture. Released from the prison of his penetrating gaze, Cecily scurried out to the walled garden.

The cooler air and the absence of the man gave her time to reorder her thoughts. She’d come to offer assistance with the cooking and cleaning, but did he really need it when he was prepared to cook for himself? This was a blow to her plans. She tore off the herbs, tucked them in a fold of her skirt, and returned to the kitchen.

“Shall I chop them for you?”

“Aye, if you will. I need to fry these worts in butter before they go cold and limp.”

She hurriedly chopped up the herbs, added them to the bowl of eggs, and stirred them in. Then she poured the mixture into a dish he’d set ready on the table and put it into the oven at the side of the fireplace. She tugged her cuff down as she closed the metal door, so she wouldn’t burn her hand.

“Stay!” Smythe commanded. “Don’t use your sleeve—you’ll ruin it. Use the potholder—here.” He untucked a wad of cloth from his belt and handed it to her. “For when you fetch it out again. No need to spoil your bodice on my account.”

Surprisingly thoughtful of him. “Is there aught else I can do?” She needed to make herself as helpful and amenable as possible. And stay long enough to put forth her proposal about her “uncles”.

“Does this mean you’ve accepted my invitation to eat with me?”

It was as good an opportunity to linger as any. She took it. “I’m hungry, sir, so I won’t say no.” She gave him her most dazzling smile. He grinned back, a tantalizing light in his eyes.

Her voice was husky as she added, “Besides which, I have a proposition to put to you.”

“A proposition, i’faith! I thought it was usually the gentleman who propositioned the lady.”

Smythe scowled, and Cecily realized it was not he who had spoken. She spun around, and her good humor leached away at the sight of Master Clark lounging against the doorpost, arms folded, a mocking, mirthless smile on his face.

“What do you want, Kennett?” Smythe’s tone had a hard edge to it.

“I was in the neighborhood and came to see how much longer I’ll be forced to wait for my money. The year is growing old, and the chances of you raising it by Christmas grow increasingly slender.”

“You’ll have your money,” Smythe growled. “I have building materials and land I can sell. But if you could have waited until next summer, you would have made my life far easier.”

“I’m not a patient man, Brother-in-law. I have my outgoings, too, and as you know, I invested most of my capital in this dilapidated batch of heretics’ dwellings. But I might be prepared to wait a little longer if you give me a taste of your honey.”

Cecily’s eyes strayed to the poker behind Smythe. She didn’t like where this conversation was leading.

Smythe frowned. “You’re welcome to some of my honey. I can give you a pot now if you wish it.”

Clark threw his head back and laughed. It was a high, cold laugh that raised the hairs on the back of Cecily’s neck. Instinctively, she edged farther away from the man and closer to the array of knives and other pointed implements on the kitchen table.

“Not that sort of honey, you fool. Your slut.”

Smythe’s frown deepened. “I have no slut. If you mean Cecily, she is naught to do with me—she is a free woman and is here of her own accord. But I promise, if you lay a finger on her without her permission, I will remove that finger. Permanently.”

Clark laughed again. Cecily’s hand closed around the handle of a large cook’s knife.

“Do not think to menace me, Allan,” he said evenly. “I have all the legal support I need to ruin you twice over. And if you continue to threaten me, I shall put in a complaint about that with our local magistrate. You are only lord on this manor. There are many men hereabouts who are far more powerful than you.”

Cecily’s knuckles whitened. “Your approach to wooing a woman wholly lacks finesse, Master Clark. No woman should be taken at the whim of a man. As Master Smythe said, I am not his property—only his tenant.”

“You’re my tenant, too, until yonder tomfool pays me for my share of the manor. I could have you turned out whensoever I please.”

“Kennett!” Smythe’s roar rattled the dishes on the shelves. “You will not threaten either me or my tenants. I have no fear of you, sirrah. I know you now for the weak-livered coward that you are. If only I had found out sooner… but there’s no point repining on what cannot be changed. I advise you to leave now before you insult either of us any further.”

Master Clark narrowed his eyes. “Or what? Are you going to call the dogs on me? I have every right to inquire what progress you’re making with my debt. And I only asked for a taste of this comely wench. Surely, you don’t think she’s too fine to be shared?”

Before Smythe could react, Cecily brandished the knife. “No dogs are needed, Master Clark. I’m prepared to defend myself and my honor. You, of course, have nothing