Lord of the Manor (Trysts and Treachery Book 5) by Elizabeth Keysian

Author:Elizabeth Keysian [Keysian, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical, Romance
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2021-04-12T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Cecily stepped back and surveyed her handiwork. The old malthouse had been transformed by swathes of ivy interspersed with sprays of holly and bay. She had made an illuminated kissing ring and suspended it in the center of the room, so the circle of candles would exile the wintry shadows into all the corners.

Simpkin had got a goodly blaze going in the central hearth, and the smoke was, fortunately, finding its way out through the wind-eyes high up in the walls. Luckily, there was no wind to make it eddy around and make the revelers cough—it was a bright, crisp winter’s day, magically peaceful and still.

She had secretly celebrated the Catholic Mass with her “uncles” earlier, before attending the church in the village. They had to make a good show of it, despite the fear that they were endangering their souls by doing so. Now, the unpleasant conflict of beliefs could be forgotten. Everyone could join together to enjoy the feast she and Lettice had prepared, with the assistance of Simpkin—he was playing the part of both scullion and serving boy, roles which had him puffed up with self-importance.

“Close your eyes.”

Cecily started. Master Smythe had crept up on her, like a cat on its prey. She tried to turn and remonstrate with him, but he clasped one hand across her eyes and pulled her firmly against him.

The softness of his voice, and the heat and power of his presence, took the strength from her legs. With her eyes closed and her breathing coming in shallow bursts, she let him support her weight, enjoying the feel of his chest muscles against her back. It was a delight to bask in his heat and savor the fresh, spicy scent of him.

“Keep your eyes closed and hold out a hand. Do you trust me, Cecily?”

She had no reason not to. And even if she didn’t trust him, he’d deprived her of all will by touching her.

“Do I have a choice?” She held out her right hand and felt him slip something over it, pushing it over her fingers and up her wrist, almost to the elbow.

She gasped and shook his hand away so she could look. “A new gauntlet!”

“Aye.” She could hear the self-satisfaction in his voice. “Your old one was tattered and torn—I feared that one day, Charlemagne would land on you and his talons would go right through to the flesh. See—I had it monogrammed.”

“A gift? For me?” She pulled the glove off and ran admiring fingers over it. The letters C and N entwined had been embossed into the leather on the back. The hide was thick but supple, which must have taken a great deal of work.

“You had this made specially?” She couldn’t turn to face him, dared not let him see the yearning in her eyes. She turned the gauntlet over and over, admiring the stitching and the quality.

“I commissioned Benedict to make it. But that’s not all. Turn around.”

She did, but was too shy to raise her eyes.

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