Page 44 of Lord of the Manor

“I would have you stay awhile.” She couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice.

He held her gaze. “I understand. Now that the money is here, you feel less safe. I will stay until the fire dies down, and you’re ready to seek your bed.”

She didn’t want the fire to die down. She didn’t want to sleep. She would only feel safe while he remained, his quick wit and his strong arms there to protect her. She might be prepared to let him leave when the dull grey dawn penetrated the gaps in the shutters, and the villagers set about their daily tasks. But mayhap, not even then.

“So—are you happy to go to France with the brethren, now you have the means to pay for your passage?” He raised his cup and saluted her with it before taking a deep draft.

Happy? Nay. Go to a place full of foreign customs, habits, and a language she couldn’t hope to understand—what was appealing about that?

She knotted her fingers together. “I don’t want to leave at all.”

“But you would be safe to worship as you wished.” His voice was soft, his eyes bright in flickering firelight.

That didn’t seem as important as it once had. Mayhap, as the young King Edward grew to manhood, he would see the value of tolerance. He might appreciate that not recognizing him as head of the church did not make his subjects dangerous, and did not necessarily mean they were likely to take up arms and rise against him.

“Things might change, might they not? A new power behind the throne, a change of heart from Edward, or successful negotiations with the pope.”

“And Edward might die, and his unrepentant Catholic sister Mary take over the throne,” Allan added, cradling his mug as he gazed at her.

“We cannot predict what will be, alas.” Mayhap if they all left for France now, they’d be able to return in a few years—if circumstances changed.

“Your ‘uncles’ have no qualms about leaving. I have spoken to them all, and they are set upon it. Only you, it seems, are unsure.” His eyes bored into her as if he were trying to see into her soul.

“I would miss the village, and the commandery. They have been my life.” Her throat was dry. She turned her back on Allan and poured herself some water. Anything to break free from that knowing gaze.

“There is one way in which you would be able to stay here.”

She jumped. He’d come right up behind her, moving softly as a cat. The heat of him warmed her back, and she knew that if she turned around, she would be virtually in his embrace.

“What’s that?” she asked, busying herself pointlessly with the crocks and jars on the shelf.

His voice was even softer, his mouth close to her ear as he whispered, “You could become my wife.”

The tension building up in her was released like the snap of a bowstring. His offer was exactly what she needed to hear. But did he truly mean it?

She turned slowly, keeping her eyes lowered. “But I don’t deserve it. How could you want to be with me when I’ve kept so much from you and deceived you for so long?”

He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “I understand your reasons for doing so. I like the brethren you have striven to protect—they are all good men and noble to the core. I’m happy now to protect them myself, as you have seen. And I’m more than happy to protect you.”

“Is that all you want? To protect me?” They had both spoken of love before—words released in anger, admittedly, and therefore not to be trusted. But even though she would have her precious commandery back, what joy would there be in a marriage where Allan felt obliged to give her his name in order to protect her? She had known familial love from the former lay brothers. If she could find it nowhere else, not even in her marriage, she might as well go with them and have done.

“You were none too keen when we spoke of it before. I sense you welcome the idea even less now. Yet, you do not try to run away from me.”

How could she? Her legs wouldn’t carry her. Her skirts were brushing against Allan’s thighs, and he held her trapped with his strong, work-worn fingers cupping her chin.

“I’m getting cold. Let’s go back to the fire.”

“Wait.” He planted himself more firmly in front of her. She could feel the ridge of the shelf against her bottom—there was nowhere to retreat.

“Cecily. Look at me.”

She looked—and found herself drowning in his blue eyes. Her lips parted.

“You haven’t given me a decisive ‘nay’. Am I still to hope?”

“Hope for what?” He was only offering to wed her to keep her safe. What else was he expecting?

“Hope that you might marry me because you care for me. As I do for you.”