The Thief's Countess (Border Series Book 1) Read online

  “Farewell, gentlemen,” she said in parting.

  The moment she dreaded had finally arrived.

  Geoffrey watched her leave, making himself appear casual, waiting for the questions he knew his uncle would ask.

  He wasn’t disappointed.

  His uncle turned on him as soon as he handed the reins of his horse off to a stable hand. “What were you doing with Sara? Why didn’t she have an escort?”

  “I was her escort. Lady Sara convinced the guards at St. Oswald’s she would be perfectly safe alone.”

  Hugh shook his head. “Richard didn’t exaggerate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He often complained that Lady Sara acted like no other young maiden. I could tell he was secretly enamored with her wild ways, but no doubt they fought many battles over the meaning of ‘proper’ behavior for a female.”

  “Yet she carries herself like a queen when necessary.”

  Hugh stopped and grabbed Geoffrey’s arm.

  “If you’ve done anything to jeopardize her future…”

  Geoffrey wished he could reassure his uncle without deception, but he was no saint.

  “Uncle, you’ve nothing to worry over.” His gaze didn’t waver.

  “By God, son, I hope you mean it. ‘Tis obvious you have feelings for the lady, but no good will come of it.”

  “I know my place.”

  At least he thought he did.

  His place was as Baron of Bristol. His grandfather had fought for the title, his mother and father had died because of it. Bloody though it was, it was his birthright.

  “We’ll appeal to Lyonsford as you planned,” he said, though the words felt like ash in his mouth.

  His uncle gave him a grim nod. Geoffrey hated the thought of asking Sara’s husband … her husband, for God’s sake … for anything. But they were running out of options. The mercenaries who had pledged them their support were not enough to take back Bristol Manor. He tried to convince himself otherwise, but Kenshire’s well-trained army reminded him that the mercenaries they’d gathered were not as disciplined. Only the addition of well-trained knights would do the job.

  Servants hustled through the dusty inner bailey. One chased a loose chicken, her well-worn but sturdy dress hiked up as she ran after the wayward fowl. Since Randolf’s death, mundane, everyday tasks had replaced preparations for siege. His home had never been as grand, but he sorely missed listening to the village healer complain about her patients or watching his sister playing prisoner’s chase with the other children.

  He couldn’t bring back his sister’s childhood, but he could damn well give her a home.

  A familiar figure bustled toward them, snapping him out of his reverie. With her hair covered, it was hard to determine Faye’s exact age, but the lines on her smiling face put her close to his uncle’s year of birth. Her dress imitated her lady’s in style if not fabric or embellishments.

  “Faye,” he called to her, “your lady is in need of you.”

  When she answered, she looked at Hugh instead of him.

  Well, that’s interesting.

  “I’m heading to her now, sir. So the crusader has finally returned home?”

  “So it would seem,” Hugh said. “Though he couldn’t have been long overseas when he

  received word of the betrothal. I’m surprised and pleased he’s come so quickly.”

  “Aye, though the prospect of an alliance with the Caiser family would turn most men back toward the shores of England.” Then, after giving them both a quick smile that lingered longer on Hugh, she made haste for the castle.

  “Your breeches and balls be blessed.”

  “Boy.” Hugh was not amused. “Keep your ribald thoughts to yourself.”

  Laughing, he left his uncle for the training yard. He intended to keep himself far away from the main keep and its unwelcome messenger.

  Lord Lyonsford’s men had been given sustenance and a chalice of the finest wine at Kenshire. Now they waited in Sara’s solar while she stood outside the door with Peter, not wanting to enter.

  She had no choice.

  She followed her steward inside, her eyes moving from her two well-dressed guests to the wooden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A few years back, she had walked past the open door of the candlemaker’s shop and stopped to watch him work. When she’d asked to help, the man had worried the earl would not want his daughter doing the work of a common man. After numerous reassurances, he’d finally relented. And while the four unlit candles in the chandelier weren’t the ones they’d made that day, the memory reminded her why she needed to marry Lord Lyonsford. Kenshire must be protected from the possibility it could be taken from her forever. At least she knew Lyonsford was a good man. An honorable man. One who would take care of his people.

  Jumping from their seats, the men stood and knelt before Sara. She bid them stand, only half listening to Peter’s introductions. She sat, willing patience, and waited for the dreaded news.

  “Thank you, my lady, for making us most welcome at Kenshire.”

  “It is our pleasure, sir.” The badge on his surcoat stared back at her. Lyonsford’s gold and red crest. She knew he served the earl, but seeing the evidence before her was unsettling.

  “If it pleases my lady, I’ve a message from my lord, who wishes to convey his progress toward Kenshire.”

  The solar suddenly felt like a dungeon. The book-lined walls she normally loved made the space feel small, confining.

  I can’t do this.

  “Is he close?” she said, her voice remarkably composed.

  Oh God, please say no.

  “Lord Lyonsford is no more than three days ride away, barring ill weather. We were held up briefly by a blocked road, but with any luck, there’ll be no more delays.”

  “And—” the bearded man stood as straight as a poleax, “—he wishes to convey his heartfelt joy for the upcoming nuptials.”

  “Does Lord Lyonsford wish to return to Archbald for the wedding?”

  Already shaking his head, the messenger confirmed her suspicions. “Nay, my lady, he travels with a full household, prepared to wed without haste here at Kenshire.”

  It was just as she’d expected. Dreaded. He wanted to secure her hand in marriage immediately.

  Everyone else would be pleased. Peter, Eddard, Faye … all who worried over her safety these past months would only have to wait three days until her safety was secured. Hugh and Geoffrey would be free to resume their quest for Bristol.

  Geoffrey would be leaving.

  She needed to be alone.

  “Thank you for conveying my lord’s greetings. Do the two of you travel alone, sir?”

  “Nay, my lady. With a small retinue of four other men. They’ve been well-provided for.”

  She nodded. “Very good. Then I bid you a good day. I must prepare for your lord’s arrival.”

  Dismissed, he nodded once again, and he and his companion turned to leave the solar. Only she and Peter remained.

  He looked at her with such an expression of happiness, Sara could not bear to look at him.

  “Peter, please see to the men. I’d like to be alone.”

  Peter had known her since she was a babe. He was likely not fooled by her casual dismissal. Nevertheless, he nodded his assent and retired from the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

  Sara had no doubt her wish for privacy would be conveyed. When the door creaked shut, she allowed tears to flow freely.

  She was an impostor, pretending to rule Kenshire with the easy grace and firm hand of her father. He’d said she was as strong as he, but he’d clearly lied. She had never felt more lost or powerless than she did right now.

  When the door opened, she lashed out, embarrassed at having been caught in so vulnerable a position. “Give me leave!”

  Geoffrey entered the solar, closing the door behind him and walking into the room as if he belonged there. Though she hated herself for putting on such a sorrowful disp
lay, she reached out for him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She could no more help crying on Geoffrey’s hard chest than she could stop her impending marriage to a man she did not know.

  He had thought getting past Peter, who was standing sentry in front of the solar, would be the hard part, but he’d never seen her like this before. He sent the steward away with assurances Sara wanted to see him despite her request for solitude.

  His countess looked so defeated. So undone. His arms tightened around Sara, her distinctly floral scent filling his eyes with tears.

  Tears?

  He’d felt pain plenty of times. When he learned his parents had both been killed. When his face was nearly hacked to pieces by a rival family of reivers. But he knew his mother and father would be avenged someday, and the man who’d come close to ending his life had not lived to regret his actions.

  He could neither say nor do anything to console Sara. Their situation remained unchanged. But damned if he wouldn’t try anyway.

  “Shhh,” he said. “No one can take away the day we spent together.”

  It was cold comfort, and he knew it. The thought of Lyonsford’s hands on Sara made his fingers itch to strike someone. He’d made his way to the training yard to do just that before he’d changed his mind and decided to see to his lady.

  He’d made the right decision. Now … how to comfort her when he wanted nothing more than to send Lyonsford’s men back to the south of England where they belonged?

  As she quieted, he attempted to defuse the situation the only way he knew how.

  “Do you remember the first kiss we shared on the beach?”

  Sara leaned back to look at him. “Of course.”

  “And the first time I cupped these beautiful breasts,” he asked, running his hand over the rich fabric of her dress, dipping his thumb into the exposed flesh at the front of the gown.

  Her face streaked with dried tears, Sara nodded.

  “Do you recall,” he whispered, inches from her ear, “when I showed you what it meant to find release?” He followed it by kissing the sensitive skin behind her neck. Sara’s indrawn breath was evidence of his successful distraction.

  “My embarrassing display is over,” she said.

  What does that mean?

  She must have seen the question on his face because she added, “My father would never have shown such weakness.”

  He didn’t dare disagree. Instead he offered his honest opinion.

  “You’re stronger than you think.”

  “Sheltered was the word I think you used when we first met.” Sara shook her head.

  The look she gave him was filled with despair … and something more.

  “So we wait for Lyonsford, an executioner whose axe is his wedding vow?” she asked.

  “Aye, we’ve no other choice.”

  “And if we did?” She paused. “If Lyonsford and I weren’t betrothed. What then?”

  “I assume you’d be married to some other great lord whose title was worthy of the Countess of Kenshire.”

  “If I were free to choose my own husband?”

  He should lie. He should tell her he’d never think of marrying her. It was a fantasy that would never be, so why cherish it? Why share it?

  “I will never marry,” he stated.

  Sara’s brown eyes flashed, sorrow replaced by anger.

  “In that case, ‘tis just as well Lyonsford is on his way.”

  He silently agreed. Lady Sara could never be his. The future that awaited him was filled with vengeance and turmoil. There would be no place for her. No place for tender feelings of any sort.

  Without another word, Sara wrenched free, turned away, and left him standing alone in the lord’s solar. If Lyonsford was on his way, it was better they distance themselves. In a few short days, they would part, likely forever.

  The thought made him ill, but it was high time to concentrate on Bristol. He’d promised his uncle they would speak to Lyonsford—the thought made him physically ill—and that meant he would need to stay here until the man arrived. He would need to watch as preparations were made for Sara’s wedding to another man.

  He’d lived as an outlaw for five years; surely he could survive three days.

  23

  It was the longest three days of his life.

  The first night, Sara paid him no attention, and he spent the evening getting good and drunk. Watching her interact with the guests, the tantalizing cleavage he’d so recently caressed a feast for the newcomers’ eyes, Geoffrey’s biggest challenge was to refrain from knocking out the brutish knight, one of Lyonsford’s men, who kept glancing at her during the evening meal.

  The untouchable countess had returned without any sign of the vulnerabilities he’d witnessed in the solar. Now Sara was playing the perfect hostess, making her way through the hall with the ease of one who had been raised to do so. What a fool he had been for considering a future with her.

  Yet, despite what he’d told her in the solar, that’s exactly what he’d done.

  Lying next to her after their lovemaking, he’d let himself imagine what it would be like to have Sara as his wife. He’d imagined introducing her to his sister. The two would get on well, both wild to the point of recklessness.

  The next day he paid for his overindulgence with drink. Again his cool countess paid him no heed for most of the day, which was just as well. He worked out his frustrations in the training yard.

  As usual, a crowd had gathered around the yard. No one seemed disappointed when Geoffrey held his sword to the throat of a man lying on the ground who had been taunting his abilities moments before. Helping the young but able knight to his feet, Geoffrey offered a word of advice.

  “Work on your shoulder blocking,” he suggested, “and your attitude.”

  Spying a young boy out of the corner of his eye, he walked toward him. He’d seen the lad before at the training yard, always carrying a small shield and sword. A squire.

  “What’s your name, lad?”

  His eyes round, the boy looked behind him.

  “You, young squire, what’s your name?”

  “Uh … Reginald, my lord.”

  “Sir Geoffrey,” he corrected. “I lost my right to that title. Next time,” he said, “answer with conviction. No question will be easier for you than that one.”

  The blond-haired squire straightened and tried again. “My name is Reginald, Sir Geoffrey.”

  “Better,” Geoffrey said. “And a squire, correct?” He pointed to the small sword at his side.

  “In a way, my … Sir Geoffrey. My da sent me to Kenshire near seven years ago as a page to Lord Richard, but…”

  “No need to explain, Master Reginald. You must be looking forward to having a new lord.”

  Reginald stared at his feet and shuffled them around in the dirt.

  “Look a man in the eye when you speak.”

  The boy immediately heeded him, impressing him with his willingness to learn.

  “‘Tis an honor to be here, Sir Geoffrey,” he finally replied, not answering his question.

  He’s looking forward to Lyonsford’s arrival as much as I am. “Would you like to train with me in the meantime?”

  The look on the boy’s face told Geoffrey his instincts had guided him well. It was nothing short of reverence. If only poor Reginald had better judgment, he’d have chosen elsewhere to worship. But in the meantime, Geoffrey needed a distraction as much as this squire needed guidance. The other men scattered as he began instructing the new charge.

  He pointed to Reginald’s sword. A fine weapon, clearly marking his station as a noble’s son. “That’s a good-looking weapon.”

  The boy’s smile told him it was likely a gift from his father.

  “When I was your age, our blacksmith forged a miniature version of this.” He showed him the hilt of his own sword. It was the only tangible reminder of his parents.

  “My father knighted me himself and gave this to me. But I once had a
smaller one just like it.”

  The boy looked at the inscription on the blade.

  “In nomine domini.”

  “Aye.” He sheathed his sword and gestured for Reginald to hold up his weapon. “Show me how to block with your shoulder.” He made a quick adjustment. “Now turn your body to the left as you step back. There you are! Turn to the right as I come at you. Good.”

  Watching from an allure atop the wall—a vantage point she’d discovered as a girl—Sara could tell the moment Geoffrey entered the training yard. His presence commanded attention. Though he had no right to claim the loyalty of her people, he had earned it. They considered him their equal, reiver or not. After he won his match—of course he did—he turned his attention to Reginald, who’d been watching him worshipfully for days. How gentle he was with the lad, how patient. It was hard to believe this was the same fierce protector who had ended Randolf’s life.

  A sleepless night and tormented day had left Sara weary and unsure. She had nearly confided everything to Faye that morning before good sense had stopped her. Upon reflection, she shouldn’t have been angry at his response. It was no business of hers if he planned to marry or not. And since they could not marry each other, what claim did she have on him?

  Then he looked up.

  She stood rooted to the spot, unable to look away from his eyes. Nay, she did have a claim on him. He was the man she had given her virginity to. And if she were being honest, the one she’d give herself to this very moment if she could.

  Her weakness was appalling. The only option was to avoid him. To do otherwise courted danger. Turning away, she lifted her long skirts beneath her, already missing the freedom of her breeches, which now sat at the bottom of a clothes’ trunk.

  For the remainder of the day Sara kept herself busy, not a difficult task given how much needed to be prepared for the party of twenty that Lyonsford’s messengers had told them to expect. Her duties brought her to the kitchen, and she inhaled deeply when she stepped inside, savoring the scents of baking bread and drying herbs. Smiling, she startled Cook from behind and laughed when the portly woman gave her a fierce scowl.