Page 33 of Lord of the Manor

“I was just thinking that you are a kindly fellow. You deserve better fortune.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He chuckled and pulled her against his chest. “Though I never expected such a compliment from your lips. However, we must deal with what the good Lord chooses to send us, whether it brings joy or sorrow. I lost not only my Hannah but the babe, too.”

She lifted her head and stared at him. “Nay! I didn’t know that. It must have been hard for you.” She cupped his cheek with one hand and gazed at him.

He turned his head to kiss her palm. “Aye. Too hard. I wallowed in my own tragedy so long I went half-mad, I think. Lunatic enough to believe that her brother, Kennett, had my best interests at heart when he offered to partner me in a business venture. Greatly to my cost, as fortune would have it. But let’s not think of that now. It is Christmas night, and we have feasted well and even frolicked a little. Thank you for dancing with me.”

She snuggled closer into his warm, male body, comforted by the strength of his arms. “I liked it.”

“Another compliment!” She felt his lips brush her hair. “Methinks the elves have taken the true Cecily Neville and put a changeling in her place.”

“Don’t jest. You still have many faults, sir, not least of them being—” that you are a Protestant and a heretic. She stopped herself from voicing her thoughts just in time.

“That I am an overbearing, untrusting, untrustworthy knave? I understand—you will find me more amenable, I assure you, once Kennett is gone from my life. Beware of him, my sweet. He wants you, and he’s a snake. Nay—that is unfair to snakes. But you know this. Are you warmer now?”

She certainly was, but the chill of the bed was unappealing right now. She nestled her head against Allan’s neck. His embrace was novel, thrilling, intoxicating. Headier, even, than the mead she’d consumed. She felt his cheek brush against her hair and realized her coif had come off. Little wonder she’d been feeling the cold.

“You smell wonderful.” His voice was a soft murmur.

“I do?” She toyed with one of the lace ends on his doublet. “After all that cooking, I must smell foul.”

“There’s a hint of hog’s fat, I confess, but overlain with woodsmoke and something else yet more pleasant—lavender, mayhap?”

If he knew that she’d washed her hair with a soap ball containing dried lavender, he’d think she’d done it to please him. Nay, never that. She’d done it to please herself. Hadn’t she?

“You smell of leather, and tallow, and woodsmoke. My feet are cold.”

“Then you’d best return to bed.” He moved beneath her and helped her to stand.

“But the bed is freezing.” As soon as she moved away from the fire, the chill air struck her skin.

The chamber fell silent, but for the spitting of the log on the fire and the thud of her heartbeat in her ears. And the echo of her own voice, and the invitation she’d unwittingly made.

“Do you want me to warm you for a little while? Just until you slumber? Then I’ll return to my chair.”

“That sounds good.” Curse it. She hadn’t meant to voice that thought. She was sober enough to know that if she let him join her in the bed, she was playing with fire.

“I’m bone-weary, and all I’m thinking of now is rest. And I’ve given you my word not to touch you, have I not? My sword hangs on the bedpost yonder. You have my permission to use it against me should I transgress.”

She glanced blearily at the weapon. If she lay on that side of the bed, nearest to the blade, it would serve, would it not? And all she wanted now was warmth and rest.

“Very well.” She clambered back into the high, cold bed and shifted across so she was within arm’s reach of the dangling scabbard. She had no intention of harming Allan with it—unless he threatened her. Even then, she’d rather use it as a deterrent than shed his blood.

The pallet crackled as he lay down behind her. The glow on the wall had taken on a deeper hue as the log in the fireplace burned down. She could hear the settling of ash in the grate and the steady rhythm of the man’s breathing as his heat gradually filled the space between them. Her pillow was soft, filled with feathers that rustled companionably when she moved her head, and it smelled faintly of rosemary.

Smiling dreamily, she closed her eyes. She had never felt so comfortable—nor so safe—before.

But when she awakened at cockcrow to discover Allan curled up tightly against her back, with one hand cupping her breast, she realized she hadn’t been safe at all.

Chapter Fifteen

Allan was jolted awake by a sharp pain jabbing into his ribs. He gasped, discovered another body wriggling away from him, and sat up alarmed, automatically reaching for his sword.

It wasn’t there.

What in heaven’s name? He blinked rapidly and flung himself out of bed, staring aghast at the scantily-clad maiden brandishing his weapon in front of her.

“You said you wouldn’t touch me. You swore it!”