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

assumed Smythe would keep the kitchen because he had no alternative. At least, at the moment. She very much hoped he wouldn’t demolish everything—it had, after all, once been her home.

He pushed his empty platter away and leaned toward her. “Betwixt here and the old granary and malthouse, I hope one day to build a manor house worthy of the place. In brick, it being a more flexible material than stone. Just think, you can shape a brick in a mold in a fraction of the time it takes for a stonemason to sculpt a carving. I can have the latest style of windows, with glass therein, and a kitchen attached to the house, with its own separate chimney. I could have several rooms, each one boasting its own fireplace. I could build octagonal turrets with staircases. Hold—I am losing your attention.” He pulled a wry smile.

“Not at all.” If she was turning glassy-eyed, it was because she’d never seen him so enthusiastic about anything before. When lively, animated, excited—he was easily the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She could imagine the building he wanted and had to agree it would be grand, indeed—and would dominate the neighborhood.

But how could he hope to do that, now that his partnership with Master Clark was over?

Her mouth drooped. “I fear I am the cause of your trouble with Master Clark. Were it not for you striking him in my defense, you might be well advanced with your plans by now.”

“Nay—say not so.” His smile was warm, his eyes soft. “The rot had already set in. He cannot pin his interest in one place for long—if things become too dull or difficult, he just abandons whatever project he’s involved in and looks for other occupations. He is more interested in coin than in achievement, and if his coffers aren’t full to the brim, he mopes. I am well rid of him. I suspect—”

Smythe didn’t finish his sentence, piquing her curiosity. What other sin had Master Clark committed?

“Cecily?” His gaze had become serious now. “Is your bird well trained?”

Why the abrupt change of subject? “Aye. Although he won’t always come back to me if he’s found something more interesting. Or the reward is insufficient. A little like your Master Clark, mayhap.”

“I mean, is he trained to protect you?”

“Not specifically. I wouldn’t want him put at risk. But I can make him take a man’s hat off, which would be a distraction. He’s very accurate when he dives.” Why was he asking these questions? Was he still afraid of Charlemagne?

“May I suggest you take him with you while you are out? Should Kennett lie in wait for you, you would have an ally upon whom you could call. The falcon could sink his talons into Kennett’s finger while you run to safety. And indeed, the theft of his hat would be the perfect distraction. That vain coxcomb would rather chase that than you.”

She sighed. “Mayhap, I shall not walk alone for the next few days.”

“That would, indeed, be wise. I’ll accompany you home now unless you have further visits to make.”

“Let me wash the dishes before I go. I mean, assuming we’re done. Done eating, that is. I must go. But I’ll do those first.” Holy Mother—had she forgotten how to speak?

He laid a restraining hand on her wrist. “I am well able to do those for myself.” His mouth lifted at the corners, and his gaze warmed her.

His touch sent shivers of sensation along her arm and into her body. Suddenly, her heart was thumping in her breast, and when he took his hand away, she could still feel the heat of it, like a brand on her skin.

Did she really want to walk all the way back to the village with Master Allan Smythe? There would be talk if they were seen too much together—and the odious Kennett Clark had already drawn the wrong conclusion. Or had he? As Allan pushed his shirt sleeves down and shouldered himself into his doublet, his gaze never left her face.

She looked away, flustered. It was high time she controlled her reaction to him. She had yet to make her propositions… proposals… suggestions to him, and she had no intention of sounding like a gibbering idiot, even though his nearness had mysteriously reduced her to one.

He gestured to her to leave the kitchen, then followed, closing the door behind him.

As soon as they were out in the cobbled courtyard and a safe distance apart, she ventured, “Is it safe to leave the place with the fire still in?”

He squinted up at the sun. “Aye, safe enough. Simpkin, my new shepherd and helper, will shortly be in for his vittles. He’ll know to put the curfew on if I’m not nearby.”

“Shall you not lock the door?” She remembered how enormous the key to the preceptor’s house had been. Did Smythe have the same key? Or had he changed the lock and had something made that was less like a bludgeon?

He gave her a lopsided grin. “I don’t have that much worth stealing—not as yet, anyway. And if you’re worried about that knave Kennett, I have a dog that guards the house and another roaming the grounds. Kennett loathes the animals—they bring him out in hives.”

Ah, so he had dogs now. Another reason to warn the villagers against poaching and pilfering. But did he really have naught worth stealing? For a man in joint possession of a manor, that was hard to believe.

They fell into step as they made their way down the lane, Cecily keeping very much to her side. She needed to keep her mind clear if she was to get the result that she’d set out to achieve.

“I would be willing to put my bird and my bow at your disposal,” she offered. “And cook and clean for you, too. In lieu of rent.” There, he couldn’t refuse that, surely? If he agreed, she’d be able to keep an eye on any demolition or building