The Thief's Countess (Border Series Book 1) Page 13

  “I might have a different sort of … question for you later,” he said, hinting at future pleasures that would never be. “Do you recall how I asked about the cupbearer yesterday?” He could only hope her interest in him would be enough to sway her loyalty to another member of the staff.

  She nodded. “You wanted to know if he visits the kitchen often.”

  “Aye, but I never asked about his disposition.”

  He left the inquiry open.

  “Coy, fer sure. Never met a man who kept to himself more than John. He’s been here a few years, but I’d hardly say I know him. Why do ye ask, milord?”

  “He’s been attentive these past days, and I wondered how to show my gratitude.” It was a lame excuse, to be certain, but it was the best he could offer.

  Margaret gave him a knowing smile. “He fancies himself the cupbearer, though truth be told, he’s no more esteemed than I am.”

  Geoffrey knew it was an honored position in some households, though at Kenshire the servant seemed to have many duties beyond bearing the lady her drink. Margaret’s next words sparked his interest.

  “There be rumors of a relationship with Lady Maude, if you’ll excuse me saying so.” Lowering her voice, Margaret added, “Her husband is an elderly baron past the age to give her a child.”

  And then, as if she feared she said too much, Margaret swiftly changed topics. “Is there anything else I might do for ye, my lord?” Her light hazel eyes finished the thought.

  From the corner of his eye, Geoffrey caught Sara’s quick glance from across the hall. “Not at the moment, lass. Thank you for keeping our conversation private.” He emphasized that last word, giving her a playful wink.

  Giggling, Margaret moved on. The Countess of Kenshire’s frown turned into a scowl as the pretty blonde walked by. If only she knew how little he wanted to bed the girl.

  Sara was cool and quiet to him when they took their meal. Geoffrey considered explaining his conversation with the maid but thought better of it. Perhaps he should allow her to think the worst of him. Although he was unable to understand the connection between them, he could not longer deny that it existed. He did, however, question his own ability to remain detached.

  As the day wore on, Geoffrey continued to turn to the question of the suspicious cupbearer and Randolf’s threat. Finally, he could keep his suspicions to himself no longer. He asked Peter to keep a close eye on Sara, left the hall, and made for the stables at the other end of the courtyard. While he waited for his horse to be saddled, he considered informing his uncle of the impromptu plan, but Hugh would either attempt to stop him or accompany him on this fool’s errand.

  Neither possibility was acceptable.

  Riding past the gatehouse, Geoffrey admired the work his uncle had commissioned. The castle was, to his mind, impregnable, which only made him more suspicious of Randolf’s aims. Acknowledging the guards, he sped away without giving another thought to potential danger.

  Locating the camp was easy—finding Randolf proved more difficult.

  As he charged into the encampment, Geoffrey dismounted and held his hands into the air. He was immediately surrounded by a half dozen men-at-arms, their swords raised.

  “Sir Geoffrey Waryn,” he announced, his voice loud and strong, “from Kenshire Castle. I mean no harm.”

  “State your business—immediately.” The man who addressed him was armed and suited for battle, his chainmail and weapon proclaiming him a knight of means. He was fully bearded, though, and looked more like a reiver than Geoffrey did.

  “I seek Sir Randolf with a message,” Geoffrey said.

  “From Lady Sara?”

  “Nay, from me.”

  Eyeing him warily, the bearded man, evidently the spokesman of the group, gestured for the others to put down their weapons. “Randolf is not here, nor does he care to receive messages from anyone other than the Lady of Kenshire.”

  So much for cordiality.

  “Then kindly deliver a warning to your lord.” Lowering his hands, Geoffrey stared directly into the eyes of the leader as the others began to back away, still eyeing him intently.

  “If Sir Randolf dares to take Kenshire by any means other than those considered honorable, I will hunt him down and slit his cowardly throat.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in, but when they did, the mood shifted immediately. One overzealous knight charged him, sword held high as if to decapitate him. He drew his own sword just in time to deflect the worst of his attacker’s thrust.

  His opponent gave him a sizeable gash in the lower arm, but Geoffrey quickly relieved the man of his sword. The man toppled backward, and before the others could do aught to stop him, Geoffrey stepped on the man’s chest and lowered the point of his weapon until it hovered just above his throat.

  “Stop!” the bearded man shouted.

  Having made his point, Geoffrey took his booted foot off the man’s chest, backing away. He sheathed his weapon and looked at the men surrounding him. It was just as he’d thought. Less than twenty men rushed forward in total, though Randolf had claimed to be accompanied by at least twice that number.

  “I have no quarrel with you, sir,” Geoffrey spat, walking away, somewhat surprised the path cleared for him. “I expect the message to be relayed.”

  Without waiting for a response, he mounted and rode back toward the castle. His arm hurt like the devil, but the scratch hardly mattered. He’d achieved his purpose.

  The evening meal was once again more subdued than usual. The second scouting party had not yet returned, and Randolf’s two-day deadline was fast approaching. Sara, who still seemed aggrieved by the attention Geoffrey had given Margaret, gave much of her attention to Sir Hugh. The conversation turned to Sara’s mother, whom Hugh had met several times.

  The talk made Geoffrey think of his own parents, and how his youngest siblings had come of age without them. His hands clenched into fists as he thought about Bristol Manor and the bastards who’d stolen it. Even now the border clan lived in his home, among his people. How he wished to send them back to Scotland, or preferably to hell.

  A hand on his arm brought Geoffrey back to the present. He looked up into Sara’s concerned gaze. It was enough to remind him that they were where they needed to be for the time being. The bastard Kerrs could wait. But not for long.

  “Is something amiss, Sir Geoffrey?”

  “Nay, my lady.”

  She clearly didn’t believe him. What could he say? I was remembering my murdered parents, relishing the moment I can exact revenge on the blackguards who killed them.

  Instead, he changed topics. “It seems your mood is improved.” At least that made one of them.

  Sara struggled to keep a smile on her face. As if Randolf wasn’t enough to worry about, she hadn’t been able to banish the image of Geoffrey and Margaret laughing and flirting.

  “It will be improved when we have confirmation that Randolf has naught but a small retinue of men and his own empty threats.”

  “And with any luck, the Lord Lyonsford will be riding in to your rescue at any moment.”

  There was something about his tone that sounded almost … jealous. “Aye, with any luck he will be,” she said. She hadn’t yet forgiven him, and his mood was apparently as sour as her own.

  She was about to turn away when she noticed a thin line of red on his arm. His gaze followed hers, and he rolled back his sleeve to reveal a bloody bandage.

  Without thinking, she grabbed his arm to inspect the wound.

  “How did you get this?”

  They exchanged a look, and Sara became acutely aware that she was holding his arm in full view of a roomful of people.

  Her pulse raced as he parted his mouth to answer. What an inopportune time to think about the feeling of his lips on her own. So soft and hard at the same time. She swallowed, watching his eyes darken, knowing his thoughts mirrored her own.

  Realizing she was still gripping his injured arm, she forced herself to release i
t.

  The momentary spell was broken.

  “Excuse me.” Geoffrey stood abruptly, taking his leave.

  So much for protocol, which dictated she be the first to retire. She watched him walk away, only then realizing he had not answered her question about the injury.

  “I apologize for Geoffrey,” Hugh said from his seat on her other side. “He’s not usually quite so rude.”

  Sara decided not to disagree. “We’re under tremendous pressure at the moment. And I know it wears on him to remain by my side when he’d prefer to be with you and the men.”

  “Aye, it’s a different role for him. But an important one.”

  Sir Hugh seemed to read her thoughts.

  “Unlike my nephew, I’m not ashamed at what we’ve had to do to survive these last few years. Just as your father wasn’t ashamed to house a minor baron’s brother in the same quarters as an earl and his family. The character of a man, or woman, is more important than their station. I believe that, and your father did as well.”

  Sara considered his words. She knew her father would agree. Although he’d urged her to cultivate the respect that was due of an earl’s daughter, he had also warned her not to take it for granted.

  But why was Sir Hugh telling her this?

  “But it doesn’t explain why my father didn’t just tell me of your close friendship.”

  Sir Hugh ate a bite of bread and followed it with a swig of ale. He looked at her expectantly.

  Of course her father hadn’t told her. It was a lesson he’d expected her to learn on her own. There was a difference between decisiveness and making judgments without all of the facts.

  “Thank you.”

  And she meant it. Talking to Sir Hugh made her feel as if her father sat beside her again.

  Sara raised her cup. “To Lord Kenshire.”

  Hugh lifted his mug. “To your father. The finest man I’ve ever known.”

  One of the finest, she amended to herself.

  14

  With Sara safely seated beside his uncle, Geoffrey left the hall. He wasn’t sure what had tempted him to goad her by mentioning Lord Lyonsford. That the earl would be the one to secure her title and save the day irked him immensely. But taunting her with that fact had done nothing more than irritate them both.

  “My lord?”

  The voice beckoned to him from a small antechamber adjacent to the hall.

  Seeing no one about, he made his way toward the room. Margaret, the blonde-haired servant, stood just inside the doorway. Geoffrey felt immediately uneasy.

  “Were you inquiring after me?” he asked, keeping his distance.

  Certain of the answer, he looked up and down the hallway. Nothing appeared out of order.

  “Aye, milord. You asked about John earlier. I have information ye’ll be interested in.”

  He stepped closer, relaxing a little when he realized the small reception room was empty.

  But she was up to something. “There’s no need for further inquiry. ‘Tis nothing to concern yourself with.”

  Lowing her voice and reaching for his hand, Margaret said, “But you do concern me.” Pulling him into the room, she leaned closer as if conspiring with him. “And this should concern you as well. It’s about Lady Sara.”

  Slowly retrieving his hand, his curiosity allowed him to continue the conversation, though he couldn’t temper the sharp edge to his voice. “What about Sara?”

  Listening for footsteps or other unusual sounds, Geoffrey awaited her answer. Her demeanor indicated there was something more at play, but for the life of him, he couldn’t work out what it could be. Had she told John about his inquiries?

  The room was one Geoffrey had only seen briefly before. It was more richly appointed than the neighboring hall, though dwarfed in size by the great room. Coats of arms hung from the ceiling, and each wall was bedecked with an oversized tapestry.

  “Please. I don’t wish to be overheard.” She moved closer in a way that reminded him of a practiced courtesan. Could this be nothing more than an attempt at seduction? If so, he wanted none of it.

  Then she leaned in close enough for him to feel her breath on his ear. “You were right to question John,” she whispered.

  Stiffening his shoulders, Geoffrey followed her farther into the room.

  “Please, milord.” Without warning, she lunged toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips firmly to his own. He sensed a presence before seeing one and attempted to disengage himself from Margaret’s grasp. Unfortunately she was tenacious, and rather than allowing herself to be dislodged, she moaned as if in the throes of pleasure.

  A gasp at the entranceway told Geoffrey what he had already suspected.

  He’d been deceived.

  He was able to pull away from the amorous servant just in time to see Sara’s back as she practically ran from the room, but before he could hurry after her, a familiar voice stopped him.

  “You don’t want to do that.”

  The very man he’d inquired about walked toward them. Short and stocky with balding hair, John’s dress was plain and drab. His manner was tinged with an air of superiority not typical of a man in his rank.

  “And why is that?” With one fist clenched, he moved his other hand to the hilt of the sword at his side.

  “I’d like a word with you, sir.” The servant remained calm, as if he hadn’t witnessed Geoffrey’s embrace with the servant girl or Sara’s subsequent departure.

  As though he didn’t understand the threat.

  “That’s too damn bad.” He turned to leave. Whether by bad luck or something more sinister, Sara had been positioned to see him with Margaret at the worst possible moment, and Geoffrey wanted to know why. But finding Sara was his main priority. He would handle this fool later.

  “You’ve been asking about me.” It was John’s tone rather than his words that stopped Geoffrey in his tracks.

  A chill ran down Geoffrey’s back. John turned to Margaret, who’d been quietly retreating from the room. “Don’t go too far, Margaret. I’d like a word with you when we’re finished here.”

  She bobbed a quick curtsy. “Aye.” Turning, she ran away from them.

  “How may I be of assistance, Sir Geoffrey?” John said, turning to him.

  It was obvious the man wasn’t at all interested in being helpful. But what was he up to?

  “Now that you mention it—” He walked toward the small man, the hand at his side never moving from his sword. Standing more than a head above most men, he dwarfed the servant. “I wonder if you know the whereabouts of Lady Maude?”

  John’s face went decidedly pale.

  “I’d say she left Kenshire a few days ago,” he hedged, “but can’t tell ye more than that. I’m but a humble servant, after all.”

  To his credit, the man finally seemed to realize his perilous situation. He took a step away from him. Good idea. Geoffrey didn’t bother to hide his displeasure. “I know you’re acquainted, having witnessed a discussion between you.”

  John’s shoulders relaxed. “Ahh, that. ‘Twas nothing but a small disagreement. She’s overly indulgent, at times, though it ain’t my place to say so. Her husband asked that I water her wine. When she discovered it, the lady confronted me.”

  He was a liar. But Geoffrey was eager to ensure Sara’s safety and explain the situation she’d witnessed. He’d act like he accepted the meager excuse. For now.

  “In that case, it seems we’ve nothing more to discuss.”

  Before waiting for a response, Geoffrey left the room. The man called after him, but he did not slow his steps. He took the stairs leading to Sara’s chamber two at a time. Pleased to find the door unlocked, he virtually slammed it open. A quick perusal confirmed his fears.

  No Sara.

  15

  Back in the hall, the servants were cleaning and stacking the trestle tables against the wall to prepare for the night. It was quite different from the mood on Geoffrey’s first night at Kenshir
e when the great hall had buzzed with music and guests. With Kenshire Castle preparing in earnest for battle, only knights and servants remained.

  Geoffrey found Peter and Eddard talking in the corner of the hall.

  “Have either of you seen Lady Sara?”

  Her two trusted advisors exchanged a glance as they both shook their heads.

  “We’d ask the same of you,” said Peter. “You’ve not been more than ten feet away from her for days.”

  Rather than waste time responding, Geoffrey bellowed commands over his shoulder as he raced toward the door. He didn’t care that he wasn’t in a position to do so; he only cared about finding her. And John must be detained.

  He searched the kitchen next, though Cook’s bemused expression told him before he had a chance to ask that Sara wasn’t there. Everywhere he went, Geoffrey issued the same order: “Find Lady Sara.” Within minutes the castle was abuzz with activity, the search for its lady well underway.

  Standing in front of the main keep, Geoffrey tried to decide if he should head toward the gatehouse, where his uncle was likely stationed, or in the opposite direction toward the stables.

  Geoffrey assessed the situation and considered Sara’s most likely location. She was clearly upset over having seen him with Margaret, but she was also smart and level-headed, so he discounted the possibility of her traveling outside the outer curtain wall toward the village. She wouldn’t consider such a thing with Randolf just beyond Kenshire’s gates. But his gut told him something was wrong. The staged seduction, John’s behavior—somehow it was all tied to Randolf. Geoffrey knew it. He just didn’t understand how.

  A young knight came running toward him. “Sir Geoffrey!”

  Darkness had begun to descend, and it took Geoffrey a moment to make out the source of the voice. The lad looked fairly young. His dark hair and youthful face reminded him of his youngest brother Neill.

  “Has she been found?”

  The boy looked confused. “She? Your uncle sent me to find you. There’s movement at Randolf’s camp. We’re not sure…”