Page 34 of Lord of the Manor

He ran a hand through his hair and stared at Cecily. He hadn’t touched her. Had he? Surely, he would have remembered? His heart was pumping hard from the shock of so unpleasant an awakening, and he couldn’t pull his thoughts into any kind of order.

“I seem to remember promising something of the kind, and I meant it.” He picked up Cecily’s kirtle and threw it onto the bed between them. “If we are about to have a battle, you had better dress first. This room is as cold as the grave.”

Keeping half an eye on her, he knelt to see if there was any life left in the fire and, finding none, set about kindling a fresh blaze. He had woken in shock, and his body was shaking—he would need a tisane, or something mulled when he broke his fast later. As, no doubt, would she.

To his relief, she lowered the sword, then dropped it onto the bed. She stepped into her dress and laced it up, then threw her cloak around her. She found and fastened on her shoes and then—presumably feeling safe from molestation—stood near the door, glaring at him.

He took his time doing up the points of his doublet, still gathering his scattered thoughts, then donned his own cloak and indicated the door.

“You are free to leave, Cecily. The kitchen fire will need to be built up so we may break our fast. I would welcome something warm in my belly—mayhap some frumenty would serve. Shall you make some?”

He realized he was making a half-hearted attempt to return to their respective roles of master and servant. Which he could not now, in the name of chivalry, do. Cecily had spent the night in his bed—she was now as much his as Hannah had been, whether or not he had laid a finger on her. And if he had, he damned well wished he could remember what it had felt like.

As he gazed at her, at the dark cloud of hair spilling over her shoulders, at her pert mouth and stubborn, elfin chin, he knew everything had changed. That change had been coming for a while, so slowly he’d barely been aware of it. But this woman had captured his heart and now held it prisoner. That was why it had felt so right to cradle her in his lap, why their kiss had been perfect, and why he’d felt no sense of sin when he’d shared his bed with her.

“Forgive me. That’s not what I meant to say at all. If I touched you, I was still half-asleep—I didn’t know what I was doing. But let me make amends.”

She glanced at the sword, frowning. He feared he’d lost her trust, and that hurt more than he cared to admit.

“How can you make amends?”

He cleared his throat, then stepped away from the hearth and indicated the chair. “Pray, sit. I have something to say to you.”

Still wary, she came back into the room and settled into the chair, drawing her cloak around her like armor. “Go on. I’m willing to listen to your apology.”

“Nay.” He softened his voice. “I have more to offer than that. This place, the old commandery, is close to your heart, is it not?”

The guarded look was back. “Why do you say that?”

“Don’t toy with me, Cecily. I know it means more to you than an easy source of small game and vegetables.”

She let out a sigh. “If you must know—it is because I was born here.”

He did a rapid calculation. “But that would surely have been—”

“When the place was still run by the Knight’s Hospitaller. I know. But there was a guest house here, and my mother was traveling—alone—when she was brought to childbed. She died.”

He shook his head, remembering his own tragedy. “I’m right sorry to hear it.” He waited, expecting her to say more, but she was lost in thought.

“You would have no memory of that moment if you were but a babe.” There must be something else that drew her here. But still she said nothing.

He chewed on his knuckle, then prepared to try again. He was about to lay his heart before her—his very fragile, wounded heart. He prayed she would be gentle with it.

“When Lettice has recovered, you will, I assume, cease your labors here.”

She sat up straighter at that, her cheeks reddening. “I suppose I must if you no longer have need of me. I’ll not deprive the girl of her employment.”

“There is one way in which you might remain here. On a permanent basis—since you love the place so much.”

Her eyes were large and dark, her expression puzzled. “I do love it.”

“Then mayhap, in time, you might come to love me, too. As your husband.”

He’d expected her to gasp in shock or slap him and rush out of the room. Or arm herself with his sword again. But she did none of those things.

“I appreciate your offer,” she said slowly, “and I understand the spirit in which it is made. But I cannot marry you.”

He had expected a refusal. At least in the first instance. But to him, it was the ideal solution for both of them. In time, she would realize that, too.