Page 13 of Lord of the Manor

“Mayhap, both. I wouldn’t mind getting a closer look at her. She had the kind of slender figure that a man would enjoy.”

Allan hid his grimace and gestured toward the village. “Yonder—I know not where,” he lied.

Kennett smiled. “No matter. I shall find her. I mean, them. When I go to collect the fees for the new leases.”

“About that.” Allan pulled his shirt on. “Are you sure it’s necessary?”

Kennett’s face fell as he held Allan’s gaze. “Alas, I fear it is. I have had bad tidings concerning our flock. Their arrival will be delayed since some of them have developed foot-rot and cannot travel.”

“What? I thought you said the flock was healthy?” Allan fought down the swell of panic. They needed those sheep now. Even if they wouldn’t have the fleeces until early next summer, the ewes would need to be settled and well-fed before they could be put with the rams. Even he knew that.

Yet Kennett, though solemn, did not appear to see this as a disaster. “It is merely a delay while the animals are treated. Or we could pay extra and have two separate droves—the healthy beasts could come now, and the poorly ones later, when they are recovered.”

“Jesu—how many sick creatures are there? Could they not be brought in a cart once they’re fit again?”

“I know not if that would cost less or more. But if the sheep fail us, we must garner income in some other way, and the only means I can think of is to acquire it from our tenants.”

“How stands your inheritance? Would that help us survive the winter?”

“Alas, ’tis barely enough to cover the costs of my travel and clothing. I must look my best, you understand, if I am to negotiate with farmers and villagers and maintain the upper hand.”

Allan glanced down at his damp, silt-smeared shirt, then ran his eyes over Kennett’s fancy slashed shoes, paned hose, brocade cloak, and cuffs embroidered with blackwork. Of course, the man was entitled to be profligate with his own money—but it didn’t make him much of a business partner.

So, he would be bearing the burden of the manor’s extra costs, would he? Kennett had insisted on being in control of the finances, since he’d invested more, but it didn’t sound as if he were managing the money all that well.

“Let’s go into the house. I need a drink.” There was a pitcher of small beer their servant Lettice had made and some bread she’d baked that morning. If she’d found the time, and the weather wasn’t too humid for it, there might even be some fresh butter.

“So, what was going on between you and that fair damsel?” Kennett asked as they walked back to the house.

“Nothing. As I said, she was complaining about the rents. Why do you have to suspect me of something?”

“You’re a hot-blooded man in his prime, deprived of his wife in the first year of marriage. You have your wants and needs—as do I.”

This pronouncement was distasteful. What did Kennett know of his wants or needs? The man was as shallow as a puddle on a flat rock. Kennett enjoyed the company of women but had shown no inclination to marry any of them. Mayhap, he feared that the expense of a wife would make it impossible for him to continue to dress as a coxcomb.

Allan thought of the miniature that hung suspended above his bed on a nail which must once have held the preceptor’s crucifix or a portrait of the Virgin Mary. Allan had commissioned the picture of Hannah to gift her on their wedding day, and it was an excellent likeness. If he had not planned to toil hard this day, the jewel would be in its usual place, nestling against his heart.

It was all he had left of her after she’d died tragically from a puerperal fever. The baby boy hadn’t long outlasted his mother, so Allan didn’t even have a child to dote upon. He’d sold all he had in order to buy a share of the commandery, but he hadn’t resented a single penny. He’d needed to begin his life again and bury himself in honest toil to heal the pain of his loss.

“I’m going to take a wash upstairs. Then let us hie to the old monks’ kitchen and see what Lettice has for us. Mayhap thereafter, you can show me the account books, so I know exactly how our finances stand.”

“I’ve already let you see the rent books.”

“Aye. It is the farm and household accounts that I want to see now.”

Kennett let out a hissing breath. “I’d hate to think you didn’t trust me, Allan. After all, I have hazarded much on this venture, more than you have. I’ve taken every care to ensure the books balance and that we continue to live within our means.”

“Forgive me, Brother. I’m cross from working too long in the sun, that is all. I shall be sweet-tempered once I have eaten and am refreshed.”

Wiping his hands on his hose, Allan clapped his brother-in-law on the shoulder, then picked his way across the cobbled yard to the preceptor’s house. It would not do to fall out with Kennett when so much was at stake. He must be diplomatic and also work out how he could become a buffer between the villagers and Kennett. For it sounded like Kennett was more than prepared to bleed the tenants dry. He could not, in all good conscience, sanction that. They must take no more than was absolutely necessary.

A visit to the most respected men in Temple Roding might not go amiss. And while there, he could warn Cecily Neville of his brother-in-law’s weakness when it came to women and the fact that she had come to his notice. He wouldn’t want to see Cecily fall victim to the man’s lust. Nor did he want Kennett to wrest the peregrine from her and take it for himself. The last thing Allan wanted was to have that flying devil take up residence at Temple Roding Commandery.

Chapter Seven

Hoping to speak with Cecily Neville after church that Sunday, Allan was concerned by her absence. Had she left the village? Was she unwell?

The inquiries he’d made of the few people who didn’t seem eager to avoid him gave him little satisfaction. Their evasive answers convinced him that everyone knew exactly where Cecily was and what she was doing but weren’t prepared to share that information with him. Why?