The Thief's Countess (Border Series Book 1) Page 6

  Sara drew her eyebrows together in confusion.

  “On my last visit, your father’s orders were strict. ‘Should anything happen to me before Sara weds, secure our holdings in the west. Know she is well taken care of,’ he commanded. Apparently he referred to Sir Hugh and his nephew,” William continued, “although I was quite concerned at the time.”

  “But never one to argue,” Sara finished for him, “you let the matter drop.”

  “Aye, I did. Although I doubt he counted on me being this close to Kenshire upon his death, hence my disregard of his wishes.”

  “I see.” Sara picked at her food, refusing to look down, though she knew their conversation was being watched.

  Geoffrey refused to look away. His uncle had excused himself for a moment, so he felt no need to mask his emotions. Instead, he glowered at the couple sitting so prettily above him. Watching Lord Thornhurst touch Lady Sara, first by the hand and then more intimately on the cheek, he itched to force a separation between two obviously well-acquainted … what? Lovers?

  Nay. She hadn’t feigned innocence that morning. If they were lovers, Thornhurst certainly didn’t know how to please a woman.

  Geoffrey was appalled at his own lack of restraint. As his uncle had been quick to remind him once they were both seated, his attraction to Lady Sara was pointless. He knew that to be true. Nevertheless, he wished Lord Thornhurst would extricate his hand. Immediately.

  “Stop staring, my boy,” Hugh said as he sat down once again.

  Rather than deny the obvious, Geoffrey changed the subject. “Do we trust this Lord Thornhurst, Uncle? Doesn’t his timing seem overly convenient?”

  Hugh watched the couple huddled in conversation. “Aye, I believe we do. Richard trusted him implicitly, which was one of the reasons he installed Sir William at Camburg.”

  “Only one of the reasons?”

  “Yes, only one.” Hugh used his knife to cut into the heavily seasoned pheasant in front of him. “As you know, he’s a fine warrior, his skills in battle tested.”

  He knew his uncle well. The blasted man had left out something significant.

  “And?”

  Clearing his throat, he finally added, “As I recall, though the two were raised like brother and sister, William developed an affinity for Lady Sara, which Richard thought to mitigate by sending him off to the west.” Having delivered the comment as if it was a mere comment on the weather, Hugh returned to his meal.

  Geoffrey, on the other hand, did not.

  I will kill him.

  His body tensed as he stared up at the couple. As usual, his instincts had been accurate. He’d immediately sensed Thornhurst’s special affection for Lady Sara, though her feelings were less easily discernible. Had they been intimate?

  Knowing his thoughts led down a precarious path, he forcibly shifted his attention to the mug of ale before him and forced himself to think of reclaiming Bristol.

  He was pulled out of his reverie when a young serving wench offered him some fine wine, which he turned down in favor of another mug of ale. Ale was a reiver’s drink. Despite Peter’s insistence they be treated like visiting nobles, he and Hugh were far from gallant rescuers. Sara had made that clear enough in what she’d said to him earlier in the day.

  “I’ll be fetchin’ ale for ye then. Does milord need anything … other than ale?” the maid asked coyly.

  “Just the ale.”

  She was comely, but a toss in the hay was the last thing on his mind. Well, at least not a toss in the hay with the serving wench. His gaze returned, unbidden, to Sara. At least she’d finally turned her attention away from Thornhurst.

  His uncle was deep in conversation with a young knight, discussing border troubles, and Geoffrey nodded along, feigning interest, while his eyes stayed fixed on the dais. This morning’s kiss had been a mistake; he knew that now. Fresh off the excitement of besting a skilled warrior, he had made an unusually rash decision. He had every reason in the world not to have led Lady Sara down that path—yet he’d done so, and relished it.

  Why?

  Yes, she was beautiful. Desirable. But Geoffrey had bedded his share of desirable women. Besides, something told him it was not simple, unbidden lust. From the moment she descended down the stairs yesterday, he had felt a heightened sense of awareness every time Lady Sara was near.

  The wise thing to do would be to distance himself, but it was a difficult task given Hugh’s admonishment that he should not let the lady out of his sight. Perhaps he and his uncle should switch roles, and he should see to the castle defenses.

  Uncle, I’m finding it difficult to restrain myself in the presence of the lady whom I adamantly refused to protect.

  That would go well.

  Nay, he could not do any such thing. He would simply have to remain as emotionally and physically distant as possible. And he would avoid repeating his mistake from earlier that day.

  Sara was trying—and failing—to give her full attention to William. He seemed as baffled by her father’s decision to send for the reivers. Of course, she told him neither about her intense attraction to Geoffrey nor the kisses he had stolen—nay, she had freely given them—earlier that day.

  Her cheeks flushed as she thought about the touch of his lips to her own. Remembered how he had opened her mouth with his tongue. Her eyes fell to the trestle table below the dais.

  He was looking at her.

  Nay, not just looking but glaring, as if he planned to pounce at any moment.

  Geoffrey was jealous—a thought that sent an unexpected thrill through her.

  “Is something amiss, Sara?” William was all concern, and he looked from her toward the table beneath them. He could not be allowed to learn of her attraction to the outlaw. There had to be some way to divert his attention…

  “What if he didn’t trust me?” she blurted out.

  William looked confused.

  “My father. Did he send Sir Hugh and his nephew because he didn’t trust my ability to lead Kenshire in his absence?”

  She’d never voiced the concern aloud, but it was too late to take the words back.

  “Sara?”

  The concern in William’s face made her regret the hastily uttered words even more.

  “Your father loved you. Believed in you. How could you think otherwise?”

  How indeed. “He adamantly refused to consider my request to remain unwed. He sent these men we don’t even know to protect me. What else am I to think?”

  Curse Geoffrey for forcing this conversation, however indirectly. She wished William wouldn’t look at her that way. With pity. It made her feel even worse.

  “Sara. A woman in breeches who shoots a bow better than her retainers? You know ‘tis not customary. I wish it were otherwise, but I have to agree with your father. Kenshire is vulnerable right now. It has nothing to do with your abilities.”

  Her only response was silence. Trying to convince him that he was wrong, that they both were, would be useless.

  An inadvertent glance at Geoffrey didn’t improve her mood. He looked positively menacing. Because of William.

  “You know, Sara, you can ask them to leave.”

  She pushed the food on her trencher from side to side. She could. Now a countess in her own right without a direct male heir, the final decisions in Kenshire were hers. It made her slightly uncomfortable. “I can, but I won’t. You and I seem to be the only ones who think a thief and his nephew are an odd choice for protection.”

  “Look at me.”

  As soon as she did, she rather wished she hadn’t. His expression told her what she already knew in her heart. Though no one had ever told her so, she knew William had been offered the position in Camburg because his feelings for her had become more than brotherly. Even if his station had permitted them to be together—it didn’t—Sara knew he wasn’t the man for her. The love she bore for him was the kind a sister felt for a brother.

  “Send him away,” William said, his voice hoarse. “Brea
k the betrothal. Sara, I…”

  “William, please don’t.”

  His handsome face, so dear, only not in the way he wished, refused to turn away.

  “William, I would be just as disillusioned to think I can marry for love as to imagine I don’t need a husband at all. My duty is to protect the earldom and its people from Randolf. I must marry the earl. And you know I love you … like a brother.”

  William tilted his head back, took a deep breath, and squared his broad shoulders. For a moment, she thought he’d argue with her. But after a long, strained moment of silence, his mouth set in a hard, straight line. He nodded to the musician preparing to play in the corner of the hall near the dais. “I’ve seen him before.”

  It was the paunchy bard she and Geoffrey had spoken to earlier. She was glad for the respite the traveler brought to Kenshire, especially now.

  “Yes, you have. He’s been here many times before.”

  She caught William’s look and felt a stab of sorrow. It hurt that she could not return his affections as he wished. Not that it would have mattered if she did.

  The musician!

  It wasn’t his melodic, clear voice that caught her attention, but the words of the ballad he sang. Phillida and her suitor. She couldn’t resist looking at Sir Geoffrey, and her pulse quickened when he gazed straight back at her. So the bard had taken the reiver’s advice. What a traitor.

  In the ballad, the lady’s suitor turned his attention to another when Phillida refused to kiss him. What had Geoffrey said earlier? Desire wasn’t the same as love? Apparently, the fickle knight in the song agreed. She’d do well to remember as much.

  And yet the slow, sensual smile that replaced Geoffrey’s intense, unhappy stare as they listened to the story unfold brought a small smile to her lips.

  6

  After the meal, Sara made her way through the trestle tables, greeting vassals and guests alike. There was no sign of the blacksmith or his kin, so she inquired after his daughter, who was prepared to give birth any day. For as many years as she could remember, the Blake family had seemed like an extension of her own. The blacksmith’s mother had once served as Kenshire’s midwife. She’d assisted with the difficult birth of the old earl and was credited for having saved both mother and son.

  The fresh rushes crunched under Sara’s feet as she exited the great hall. Peter was deep in conversation with William, who planned to stay the evening, so she felt comfortable making her way to the stables. She breathed deeply, drawing in the misty sea air.

  Her father had often said a brisk ride cleansed the soul. She missed him so much. If only she’d had more time to learn from him. Somehow he had always known the right answer to any problem, the way to make his people love him but ensure they never took advantage of his good will. She’d run the household in his absence plenty of times in the past and their staff was quite capable. But now all decisions fell to her, and it wasn’t quite the same as leading in his stead.

  She walked into the stable looking for the stable hand. The pungent, familiar smell made her feel more at ease.

  “Oh, well met, Harold,” she said, surprised to see the blacksmith emerging from a stall.

  “Good eve, Lady Sara,” he answered. “I was looking at a shoe that was recently fitted.”

  She walked toward her horse, Guinevere, and greeted her beloved palfrey, rubbing her neck. “I just inquired after your daughter. Mary’s well but resigned to her bed?”

  “Aye, milady, and none too soon if ye ask me. The midwife talked some sense into that stubborn girl. Her mother told her, ‘There’s a time for work and a time to rest,’ but it seems we’ve done a fair job instillin’ a proper work ethic,” Harold said with more than a hint of pride in his voice.

  “You’ve done a fine job and should be proud of your efforts as a husband and father,” Sara praised him honestly.

  The blacksmith, whose shoulders and arms were as thick as tree trunks, blushed. He cleared his throat as a stable boy prepared her horse for a ride.

  “If I may ask, Lady Sara—” Harold barely disguised his desire to change topics. “Who will be escorting you this afternoon?”

  During times of peace, a number of Sara’s ladies accompanied her on rides. Of late, unfortunately, her father had insisted on a guard. As much as Sara relished the idea of riding unencumbered, she knew it wasn’t possible.

  “Mayhap—”

  “I’ll escort her.” That voice. One of a great lord, someone accustomed to being in command. It was not the voice of a reiver.

  She and Harold turned toward the stable door. Her eyes widened at the sight of Sir Geoffrey filling the entranceway, broad-shouldered and striking. She swallowed, taking in the slight shadow on his face. It was still clean-shaven, but not freshly so. She had the absurd notion to touch it, to feel the light stubble beneath her fingers.

  It shocked her that Harold so easily relented. No comments were made about her virtue, no arguments were voiced about her companion’s unworthiness to protect her. Harold merely stepped aside and inclined his head.

  As if Sir Geoffrey were lord of the castle, he walked past Sara, took Guinevere’s reins from the stable hand, and asked for his own horse to be saddled.

  Sara was reminded why she found the man so insufferably arrogant.

  “Sir Geoffrey…”

  “Aye, milady, I know. You didn’t request my presence and resent being told who will escort you.”

  Geoffrey mounted and indicated she should do so as well. Then he pointed to the sky. “But you may want to save your arguments for later. Our ride may be cut short due to the weather.”

  Sara looked up and silently agreed. The sky was layered with the shades of evening even though it was yet daytime. Rain, perhaps? Silently cursing her luck, Sara nimbly mounted Guinevere, aided by the breeches she still had not shed.

  Trotting through the inner bailey, the pair fell into an amicable silence despite Geoffrey’s high-handedness. Noises began to dissipate as they entered the open countryside, and they both quickened their pace. Kenshire’s village dotted the landscape to the left. Open fields with white snowdrops, her favorite flower, dotted the still-green autumn grass.

  Sara felt better the farther they went. She loved her home but also relished the freedom of riding. A secret grin spread across her face at the thought of how surprised Geoffrey would be if he were to learn just how adept she was on horseback.

  Falling in line with Sara, Geoffrey caught her smirk and wondered what thoughts lay behind those big brown eyes. Her ever-shifting moods reflected an earnestness which was refreshing for someone of Sara’s station. In two days he’d witnessed cool disdain, haughty anger, and simple pleasure from the pampered countess.

  Well, maybe not pampered, but definitely sheltered.

  He’d followed her from the hall, and it hadn’t surprised him to find himself at the stables. It was fair to assume any maid comfortable leaving her chamber in breeches was also fond of outdoor pleasures.

  Would Lord Lyonsford allow his wife to ride in breeches? Geoffrey had only met the widower, a powerful southern earl, once. He vaguely remembered the tall, commanding noble. While he knew little about the man’s temperament, he could guess marriage to Lady Sara Caiser, Countess of Kenshire, would please any ambitious earl. Or any man with blood in his veins.

  Geoffrey found thoughts of Sara’s impending marriage distasteful. He pictured her lying beneath her future husband, her long, dark hair in disarray, her luscious body free of breeches. Shifting in his saddle, he picked up speed, leaving Sara to do the same.

  Sara.

  He really should think of her as Lady Sara despite the permission she’d given him to use her common name. Her safety was charged to him, and as much as he wanted to get the hell away from Kenshire, he was starting to believe she might need protection after all. Riding outside the gates with a madman on the loose … did she know the dangers that lay beyond her beloved castle?

  Apparently not.

  She rod
e well, outpacing him and grinning all the while. When they finally slowed to a trot, Sara pointed up ahead. “With the exception of the sea, you’ll never see a more breathtaking view.”

  “Lady Sara, do you really think it wise to be this far away from the castle?”

  Her sharp glance was all the answer he needed.

  “And you wonder why your father thought you needed extra protection.”

  “I thought we had dispensed with formalities, Sir Geoffrey.”

  “Sara. Do you really think it wise…”

  “Are you always this infuriating?” she asked, coaxing her horse to ride a little faster.

  “By infuriating do you mean practical?” he said, matching her pace.

  “No, I mean persistent.”

  “Like your knight, William?” Now where in God’s name had that come from?

  “What does William have to do with anything?”

  This time she slowed her mount, turning so she could look at him. He slowed his horse, too, and met her gaze. They were barely moving now. He tried not to notice the outline of her breasts, but it was impossible—he knew how they’d felt pressed up against his chest.

  “He doesn’t. I’m just looking after you as I have been ordered to do.”

  “If this mission is too hard for you, mayhap you should leave.”

  She thought him infuriating?

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “It appears I already have.”

  With that, Sara rode off, leading him toward an area of dense trees. She dismounted when she reached the copse, tied her horse to a tree, and started walking down a small yet clearly worn path. Geoffrey became curious despite his mood. Dismounting, he saw nothing beyond the lady in front of him. Unbidden, he continued to picture her curvaceous bottom naked beneath Lord Lyonsford’s hands. Sara turned at the sound he made and looked at him strangely.

  A few more steps ahead, she turned once again, this time beaming at him as if she’d gifted him a grand treasure.

  Indeed, she had. The view was spectacular. Weeping willow trees lined a small lake, which glistened despite the darkening sky. The salty sea smell of Kenshire had given way to a more woodsy but slightly floral scent. Tying his sturdy reiver’s horse to a tree, Geoffrey followed Sara toward the lake, unable to decide if the scenery or the girl was more striking.