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

He clearly liked her. Mayhap more than liked her. She felt she owed him something more significant than a kiss beneath the mistletoe.

She owed him the truth.

But how could she trust him to keep her secrets when the lives of everyone she cared about were at stake?

Chapter Thirteen

An archery butt of his very own was a great gift—he could use the part of the field where the sheep had chewed the grass short and set up the butt on a stand to practice with his longbow. Cecily had a bow, too—she could join him. What a pleasure that would be!

Only, he would have preferred it if the gift-bringers had arrived a few moments later. It was rare enough to have a moment alone with Cecily, particularly one where she wasn’t involved in some task that absorbed all her attention. They’d been held transfixed at the edge of something to which he couldn’t put a name, but he was eager to take that extra step and find out where it would lead.

He shouldn’t have taken advantage of her by kissing her like that. But she’d been deeply moved by his gift—though she’d been too proud to show it—and her reaction had loosened the chains holding his heart in check. Kissing her had made him feel whole again, had made him feel more of a man after the trials of Hannah’s death and Kennett’s betrayal. Anything seemed possible, and contentment—if not bliss—was once more within his grasp.

His pleasant musings were rudely interrupted by the sight of a familiar figure cantering into the courtyard. Kennett! Surely, the man wasn’t expecting a welcome here? But mayhap he was, as it was the season of goodwill.

Allan directed the men to put the butt in one of the barns, where the target would be protected from the worst of the weather, then strode to meet his nemesis.

“God give you good day, Brother-in-law,” Kennett greeted him cheerily as he leaped down from his steed. “Still no stable lad to look after my horse? You do not prosper, then. I’m glad I decided to withdraw from this venture—I must have been in my cups when I agreed to it.”

Kennett had come to gloat, had he? Well, he’d soon see about that. “Simpkin!”

Allan’s roar brought the boy at a run out of the kitchen. He’d trained the lad to care for Baldur—and Master Swaffham’s mount when the accountant made his regular visits. He could look after Kennett’s horse well enough.

“Ah, I see that you are not without help. Good, good.” Kennett drew off his riding gloves and stared around him at the piles of stonework, tiles, and broken timbers which had not yet been moved under cover. “This place is a mess. It must be a burden to you. Why not sell it all, and pay me what you owe me? It would save a good deal of strife.”

“If you’ve come to gloat, Kennett, then you have come too soon. The venture is not failing. I now have a flock of fat, healthy sheep and more than a score of gravid ewes who will give birth in the spring. The demolition continues apace, and I have buyers already arranged for the stone and tile. The old timbers will keep us in firewood throughout the winter, and the vegetable garden is much improved.”

Kennett raised an eyebrow. “Us?”

Allan refused to be drawn. He placed his fists on his hips and waited.

“So, you prosper, do you? Then you can give me part payment of what you owe me right now, I imagine.”

Allan clenched his jaw. He wasn’t yet ready to give up his coin—he still needed to buy root vegetables for the sheep when the fields were frosted or under snow.

“You say that I owe you money. For your two-thirds of the manor, aye, agreed—since you so churlishly chose to abandon me. But by my reckoning—or should I say—that of my bailiff, the sum I owe may be less than you claim. We lived here together for months before you deserted me—where are the account books that cover that period? You were in charge of funds at that time—you oversaw all the purchases, including an unhealthy flock of sheep, many of which I had to doctor myself in order to get them fit again. Without those accounts, I cannot know how much was spent. You have proved yourself to be untrustworthy, Brother.”

Allan forced his fists to unclench and drew in a breath, then added, “How do I know that you didn’t pay far less for the flock than you claimed, then pocketed the residue?”

Kennett’s knuckles were white as he gripped his gloves more tightly. For a moment, Allan expected to be slapped with them and challenged to a duel.

“Your accusation wounds me, sir. I have done naught wrong, but since, regrettably, I didn’t trouble to keep those accounts, I cannot prove my innocence. You’ve seen the rent books, though, so you know there was naught amiss with those. Why should the accounts be any different?”

Allan said nothing, just glared at Kennett, subtly pushing his shoulders back and flexing the muscles in his chest. Despite pretending not to have noticed this, Kennett took a step backward.

“I shall overlook your unjust insinuations, sir, as ’tis the season for goodwill and forgiveness. But I do not relieve you of your debt. I have a legal letter stating I must be paid by Christmas, but I see you have no intention of doing so. In the spirit of the season, I will give you a further two sennights in which to finish your demolition and raise the coin. If you cannot make good the payment, I’ll throw you out and seize your goods and chattels until you can.”

Anger boiled in Allan’s gut. The man was surely run mad—did he really expect the demolition to be completed in the next two weeks? It was the coldest time of the year, when ponds froze, stone cracked and spalled in the