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

But there was a guest house here, and my mother was traveling—alone—when she was brought to childbed. She died.”

He shook his head, remembering his own tragedy. “I’m right sorry to hear it.” He waited, expecting her to say more, but she was lost in thought.

“You would have no memory of that moment if you were but a babe.” There must be something else that drew her here. But still she said nothing.

He chewed on his knuckle, then prepared to try again. He was about to lay his heart before her—his very fragile, wounded heart. He prayed she would be gentle with it.

“When Lettice has recovered, you will, I assume, cease your labors here.”

She sat up straighter at that, her cheeks reddening. “I suppose I must if you no longer have need of me. I’ll not deprive the girl of her employment.”

“There is one way in which you might remain here. On a permanent basis—since you love the place so much.”

Her eyes were large and dark, her expression puzzled. “I do love it.”

“Then mayhap, in time, you might come to love me, too. As your husband.”

He’d expected her to gasp in shock or slap him and rush out of the room. Or arm herself with his sword again. But she did none of those things.

“I appreciate your offer,” she said slowly, “and I understand the spirit in which it is made. But I cannot marry you.”

He had expected a refusal. At least in the first instance. But to him, it was the ideal solution for both of them. In time, she would realize that, too.

“Cannot, or will not? Why?”

“Cannot. We are too—different.”

“There are no differences that can’t be overridden. As God is my witness, I will do all I can to make it a happy union.”

Suddenly, she was on her feet. Before he could stop her, she had rushed through the door, but not before he caught a glimmer of tears in her eyes.

“Cecily, wait!” He hurried after her, leaping recklessly down the stairs and through the open front door into the courtyard.

His eyes were met by a sight that chilled him to the bone. Cecily, struggling in the brutal grasp of Kennett Clark.

Chapter Sixteen

White-hot anger flooded Allan’s body. “Let her go, Kennett.”

The man had a sword by his side and a dagger in his belt. Allan had nothing, but that didn’t deter him from striding straight up to Kennett and seizing him by the throat.

Kennett immediately released Cecily, but the determined look on his face didn’t change. “Let. Me. Go. Urgent. News.”

Allan pushed Cecily behind him, shielding her from his adversary. He relaxed his grip.

“Spit it out then, and be gone. But not before you’ve apologized to the lady.”

“I see no lady here,” Kennett growled. “But my news does concern her.”

He paused, a knowing look on his face. Allan stiffened. He didn’t take his eyes off Kennett, ready to floor the man the instant his hand moved toward one of his blades. Cecily stepped to his side, but he caught her hand, anchoring her to him. He couldn’t protect her if she moved away.

“Now you have two insults for which to make amends.” Allan didn’t know how he managed to keep his voice so even. He knew exactly what Kennett thought had happened between him and Cecily, but he was damned if he’d have the man leer at him or smirk at Cecily as if she were some kind of trollop. When he had her promise to become his wife, he’d make sure Kennett was the first to know.

“You are the one who should feel insulted, Brother.” Kennett pulled his doublet back straight and gave a mirthless grin. “That bitch has pulled the wool over your eyes, as have those so-called uncles of hers. They have made you a laughingstock.”

Allan felt Cecily’s arm stiffen and gave her a reassuring squeeze. He tipped his chin up. “You will be made to eat your words, you whoreson.”

“Not when you hear what I have to say. Yon doxy is a child of the commandery, brought up by the lay brothers, three of whom still dwell nearby, and all of them working on our manor. Each and every one of them must be evicted from the village—I’ll not have this manor sullied by a bunch of traitors who refused to take the king’s oath.”

Allan felt the tension in Cecily’s arm. He didn’t want to look at her face, dreaded to see the truth in her eyes. Had she really kept that vital knowledge from him all this time? Had he been so blind, so foolish, that he hadn’t worked it out for himself?

Or was Kennett just stirring trouble out of jealousy?

“You lie,” he growled. “You have always been a two-faced, manipulative rodent. There’ll be something in it for you if you proliferate this rumor, won’t there?”

His heart stopped. But of course, there would be an advantage in it for Kennett. If he denounced Allan as a Catholic sympathizer, harboring a group of former lay brothers and their protégé, investigations would be made. Investigations which might ultimately result in Allan losing everything he owned.

Never had he felt closer to committing cold-blooded murder than at this moment. He fought to keep his voice steady. “I assume you have evidence to support your claim. Rumor is not enough.”

“Much of this realm’s justice depends on what our neighbors are prepared to swear to. Testaments can be bought, and evidence can be found. You’re in a precarious position, Allan. How do you know these fiends aren’t plotting against our king even as we speak? You should thank me for warning you not to get involved with them.”

Plotters against the monarchy? Were Cecily and her three benign guardians capable of treasonous acts? He very much doubted that.

“Only if what you allege is true.”

“It is true,” Kennett sneered. “Look at the slut. Guilt is written all over her.”

“I will make my own investigations, Kennett. I’m still lord of this manor—not you.”

“And you’ll be able to ‘lord’