Page 11 of Lord of the Manor

Smythe eyed the bird with a grimace. “Are you sure he’s not going to fly off that and attack something? Or someone?”

She threw her head back. “Hardly! He is capable of many tricks, but flying blind isn’t one of them. Trust me—his hood shall remain in place. Anyway, I’m not the only one disliking the fines. No one in the village has coin to spare, and the summer is almost done. We will need to buy more food and firewood in preparation for winter, and fodder to keep our animals alive when ’tis too cold to forage. Or when the ground is hardened by frost or buried by snow. You could afford to buy an entire manor.” She gestured toward the commandery buildings. “Surely you can afford to give the village a stay of execution.”

Smythe was shading his eyes and staring up at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You truly are an extraordinary young woman, Cecily Neville. You fly a nobleman’s bird, converse well, and make a good argument. You are cut from a different cloth to the other villagers, which makes me think you were once something more, and have come down in the world a great deal. What’s your story?”

She swallowed. She wasn’t used to anyone being interested in her. That way, peril lay.

“You step nimbly aside from the matter in hand. The leases, sir. Naught can convince me that you are motivated by anything other than greed.”

He got to his feet so swiftly, she stepped back, afraid he would strike her for her insolence.

He didn’t. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest.

“I will forgive you your lack of knowledge in this instance. You cannot know what it costs to run a manor of this size when the fields are little more than waste ground, the livestock is gone, and the buildings are in decay. Capital is needed to get the place running again.”

“Rumor has it that your business partner has capital.”

“Rumor seems to know a good deal about us. I can’t imagine where the information comes from.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Kennett’s funds come from an inheritance, but little remains of that now. We have dug deep into our coffers to restock the commandery. As you see—I’m forced to do all the heavy labor myself.”

“You have Lettice Carter now,” she countered. “She can do a fair amount of hard work.”

“Aye. But she’s an additional expense, albeit a necessary one.” His face darkened. “Although much of the time, I seem to be eating alone, so I’m not even sure it’s worth having her do the cooking.”

So—where did Master Clark spend his time, then? And where was he now? Not prepared to get his hands dirty by clearing out a moat, evidently.

Cecily stared at the piles of spoil. “Your toil here will be in vain, I fear. You won’t be able to keep any fish in that moat. You still have the fishponds, of course, but only if you know how to maintain them properly.”

Curse it! She should watch her tongue. He wasn’t meant to know how familiar she was with the place.

“Why is that?” He had moved closer to Charlemagne. The bird remained still, as if asleep.

“Why should I tell you?” He’d better not be thinking of hurting the peregrine. Why was he working his way around behind it in that peculiarly stiff fashion?

“It would be neighborly to tell me. If you know something that I don’t.”

Her mind worked quickly. “If I tell you, it could save you money. So, you might not need to charge a whole shilling when you extend the leases.”

“Are you trying to haggle with me? Faith—I find you most entertaining. And foolish. What can you possibly know about clearing moats and fishponds?”

She was glad she entertained him—it meant she hadn’t made him angry. The men had warned her not to tackle him about the rents, but here she was, doing just that. Only—it hadn’t turned into a battle. Yet.

“I cannot change my mind about the leases. That money will have to be paid, sooner or later. I have every right to charge for what is rightfully mine—mine and Kennett’s. You must understand that.”

He was still standing behind Charlemagne, who was now awake and indicating by little shuffling movements and snaps of his beak that he was unsettled.

“But if my knowledge can save you money, you won’t need to. And pray, don’t stand behind Charlemagne like that. You’re making him nervous.”

Smythe flung up his hands. “God forbid that I should upset your precious bird.”

He moved away and came closer to Cecily. She fought to stand her ground, though it made her tingle in every limb to be so close to him. She was temporarily at a loss for words.

“Why don’t you tell me what you know and if I decide it will save me money in the long run, I might consider delaying the increase on the leases until the spring. Does that sound like a bargain?”

Quite fair. Surprisingly so. But only if Smythe was a man of his word. She gazed at him, at the drying blond hair forming a halo around his head while the bright sunlight picked out sapphire sparks in his eyes. He looked earnest, honest—but the harsh light showed lines on his cheeks and between his brows that suggested suffering. He was either older than she had at first thought him, or his life before he came to Temple Roding had been a hard one.

“Very well. I can tell you that you’ve dug through the moat’s clay lining, so all the water will drain away. You must line it with fresh clay ere you refill it.”