Lord of the Blade (8 page)

"And how are you feeling this morning,
Kenric?"

She jumped to her feet now, knowing that the
voice of her imagination was in the baron's chamber, accompanied by
Corbett's body.

Hurriedly grabbing her light brown
cotehardie, she pulled it on over her chemise. It was the only
clothing she owned. She ran a brush through her hair, impatiently
tugging at the tangles. She’d overslept and neglected her duties to
the baron. He was so kind to take her as his personal servant, and
now she was sure she’d disappointed him by her laziness.

Slipping into her worn, tattered shoes, she
could see the heels of her feet through the holes in the bottom.
She rushed to the basin across the room and was invigorated by the
cool water she splashed on her face to make her feel alive.

"I heard you have not the plague after all,"
she heard Corbett's voice continue. "I was anxious to see you
before morning mass."

"You can't make me believe you're going to
mass, Corbett. I know you all too well."

"Nay. I never said I was attending the
service. While you're ill I've been escorting the baroness to and
from Saint Basil's."

Devon couldn't hear Kenric's weak reply and
knew the poor man needed nourishment to regain his strength. She
wiped her face in a towel and wondered why Corbett, the lord of
Steepleton, wasn't attending mass as was proper. Either the man
truly was the devil or mayhap he was such a hardened warrior he
didn't even fear God.

She, herself had never missed a mass or
prayer service while living in the monastery, until now. Sometimes
she'd even gone to mass up to six times a day. Little else to do
with her idle time in hiding. And Brother Ruford always said idle
minds were tools of the devil. Well, today she was sure the devil
would be watching her. After last night she needed to confess her
sins if she wanted her soul to make it to heaven.

She slowly stepped into the baron's chamber,
not having the courage to acknowledge Corbett. It was dark and she
threw open the shutters to let the rays of sunlight fill the dreary
room. She felt his eyes on her even before she turned around.
Corbett's large form was hanging half off the small wooden chair
next to the baron's bed. He was dressed in black from head to toe
just as she'd always seen him. And just like always, he filled out
his clothing beautifully. Long, sinewy legs stretched forth as he
tried to make himself comfortable. His tunic was unlaced a bit, and
she couldn’t help but notice the dark crisp curls of hair on his
chest. She wondered what he’d look like without the tunic, then
pushed the thought from her mind, trying to convince herself she
didn’t care. He leaned an arm forward against the mattress, and
Devon noticed he wore his leather arm guards upon his forearms.
Black, of course. A warrior's dress. A hardened man's wardrobe.
Black, to her, meant either trouble or death. Corbett was trouble
as far as she was concerned, and it was an insensitive thing to do,
to wear black into a dying man’s chamber. All he needed now was his
pet raven perched upon his arm to make matters complete.

"Good morning, my dear," piped in the baron,
totally interrupting Corbett in midsentence. "You slept well I
presume?"

Corbett stopped in midsentence as the baron
gave his undivided attention to Devon. She looked good this
morning, even in her worn and tattered clothes. She had a new glow
to her face and a sparkle in her eye. But at the same time, she had
a guarded reaction, not venturing even a glance his way to
acknowledge his presence.

"Yes," replied Devon, "I've slept well."

She moved past Corbett to fluff the baron’s
pillow. The smell of mint and purity followed her, assaulting his
senses, only making him wish he’d taken her in the larder after
all. But she wasn't like any of his other servants. She had a way
of carrying herself that demanded respect, instead of giving it.
She had a brilliance about her that intrigued him. Smart, pretty,
independent and fearless, but at the same time so naïve with a
childlike innocence in what happens between a man and a woman. He
could have ruined her last night by taking that innocence from her.
If he wanted to teach her a lesson, he should have done it.
Tumbling a wench meant nothing to him but release. She was raised
in a monastery and was fragile. She wasn’t ready for his world. He
could shatter her oh so easily, and could scar her emotions for
life. He wasn’t ready for that any more than she was.

"And you, Kenric, seem to be much better
today." Devon spoke cheerfully. Too cheerfully, as if something was
bothering her and she tried to hide it. She was a brash girl
calling Kenric by his Christian name. Still, the baron did nothing
to reprimand her.

"Ah, yes," smiled the baron, "I am better
because of your wonderful care."

Corbett couldn't understand the quick
relationship Devon had seemed to form with his foster father
overnight. For all the years he had known Kenric, he could never
remember him accepting anyone so easily. Still, he reminded
himself, Kenric was known to be a kind-hearted man. Too kind. For
as a ruler, he lacked the aggressive nature and demeanor that was a
prerequisite to survive as a man of his position.

Kenric tapped Corbett’s arm. "Have you met
my new maidservant?" he asked with a wink. "Is she not
wonderful?"

Corbett looked at Devon who was trying her
best to keep busy. She had no intention of paying him his due
respect, and once again, he needed to show her it would not be
tolerated. But he had to do it subtly. Corbett had no authority to
discipline his father’s new servant. Instead of answering the
baron's question and placing any importance upon her being there,
Corbett decided to finish the conversation she'd so rudely
interrupted. She was an annoyance, stealing precious moments from
him that he wanted to spend with Kenric after not having seen him
for the last two months.

"Lord Boltoff graced us with his presence in
the castle last eve," Corbett said. "He would have liked to have
seen you, but you slumbered. We thought it best not to disturb your
rest."

It was a twisted story of the truth, but he
found himself not wanting to upset the weakened man with the crux
of the matter between Gilda and Boltoff at this time. He had
planned on inviting Lord Boltoff to see Kenric this morn regardless
of Gilda's forbidding words, but upon rising he noticed Boltoff and
his men had already left his land.

Devon poured a cup of water from the pitcher
and handed it to the baron.

"Lord Boltoff?" The baron had a faraway look
in his eyes, as he accepted the cup and took a small sip.

"Your youngest brother," reminded Corbett,
realizing Kenric's memory was still severely affected from his long
illness.

"Ah, yes, and I would have liked to have
seen him too." He smiled at Devon who took the cup from his
outstretched arm and replaced it upon the small table. Her back was
toward Corbett, another disrespectful action. He wanted to take her
and shake her. He wanted to kiss her till she surrendered, and gave
him everything he wanted. But he did nothing.

"After the main meal, I plan to go on a hunt
to bring back some venison to help you regain your strength,"
continued Corbett.

"Venison would be nice, as I now seem to
have regained my appetite."

So had Corbett. He watched Devon's breasts
strain against the laces of her bodice as she bent over to help the
baron sit up in bed. The venison he wanted was right in front of
him. Damn. How was he ever going to concentrate on the hunt when
his thoughts lay below his belt?

"Shall I rekindle the fire, Baron Kenric?"
interrupted Devon. "The room is damp and I wouldn't want you to
chill."

"That would be splendid.

As Devon stoked the embers and gently placed
kindling atop to create a small flame, the baron watched as if he
had never seen this done before.

Clearing his throat to regain the attention
due to him, Corbett resumed his conversation with a commanding tone
to his voice.

"Malcomn wishes to join in on the hunt this
morn. With your permission, of course."

"Hmmm? Oh, yes. Malcomn." The man finally
snapped out of his trance. "That foolish boy will surely someday
get himself killed."

"Is it by your will he stays behind and
joins my hunting party at a later date, my lord?" Corbett could
only hope the answer would be yes. The last thing he needed was
Malcomn along on a hunt. His pompous attitude was sure to spoil the
outing. Either that or his inability to keep up with the rest of
them or his clumsiness with weapons.

"Nay." Kenric shook his head as if in deep
thought. "I am sure he will be safe, as long as you are at his
side."

Damnation and hellfire, his day was going
from bad to worse. First the wench steals the baron's attention
from him and now he's saddled with a boy for the next day who can't
even call himself a man.

"You know I'm a loner," explained Corbett
hoping the baron would change his mind. "I am used to doing
whatever I want, going wherever I please. I'm not sure Malcomn will
desire these actions."

"Do not mind my son," reassured the baron. "He may
object, but you are still lord of my land. Do as you please, he
will not bother you."

Defeat settled over Corbett. His attempt to
rid himself of the Malcomn backfired.

"Yetta!" called the baron to Devon as she
stoked the raging fire. "Mayhap when you are finished, you can find
me a bite to eat."

"Aye, my lord," she replied, not even
correcting him for calling her by the wrong name.

"Yetta?" Corbett didn’t understand. "Her
name is Devon."

"Oh, do you already know her?" asked the
ailing man.

Corbett saw Devon watching over her
shoulder. She still hadn’t acknowledged him, and he thought it a
good lesson if he returned the favor.

"Nay, my lord. I don’t believe I do."

He saw her spine stiffen and noticed the way
she jabbed with fury at the embers. A tenseness settled over the
room. No one spoke a word and the silence was only shattered when
Gilda boisterously made her grand entrance when she barged through
the door.

"Kenric!" she exclaimed, carrying a goblet
as she approached his bed. As her fur lined gown swept across the
floor, the bright blue velvet of her attire and her large obnoxious
headdress seemed to Corbett a bit too formal for so early in the
day. "You're sitting up," she gasped and her eyes widened.

"Yes, Gilda," the baron said with a smile.
"I owe it to my new maidservant's wonderful care."

"So, I see." The baroness glanced at Devon
who now busily occupied herself on the other side of the room. "Now
drink your healing herbs so you can be cured further." Gilda pushed
the goblet in front of Kenric's nose.

"I do not care for the taste," he
complained, pushing her hand away. "Besides, I would much rather
eat a hearty meal."

Gilda turned toward Devon as if to say
something and Corbett knew he'd have no more conversation with
Kenric until later. One woman in the room was distracting. Two was
impossible.

He held out his arm to the baroness in an
act of respect. "'Tis time for mass, my lady. Shall I escort you to
chapel before we are late?"

Gilda obliged. "Make sure he drinks his
herbs," she commanded to Devon as she left.

Corbett couldn't help but glance over his
shoulder at Devon before he left the room. She was glaring in his
direction with her bottom lip turned out in a feisty pout. If she
kept that up, he’d not be able to stop himself from kissing that
pout right off her face.

Chapter 7

The meal was nearly finished when Devon
reached the corridor outside the great hall. The household greedily
consumed the roasted duck in a rich spicy sauce, salt cod, stuffed
sheep's bladder, freshly baked bread with carrageen jelly, and
Lampreys in Galytyne. When Devon had visited the kitchen earlier
that day, she had seen the cooks preparing the lampreys and was
thankful she hadn’t been involved. She despised any kind of
seafood, but this eel-like animal with its sucking mouth was more
than she could bear, as she had watched it roasting on the spit.
Stuffed with rose petals, bread crusts and verjuice, it looked at
her with bulging eyes. Goose fat mixed with powdered ginger and its
own blood baked its exterior to a crisp.

She'd eaten too much seafood over the years
to ever want it again. What she wanted was something she'd never
had. Something a servant wasn't allowed in these hard times.
Venison. Mead was flowing freely, and the household seemed in good
spirits as they consumed the honeyed fermented drink. Everyone
chattered about the latest concerns of King Edward and the on-going
war with France for the last eleven years. Although it had subsided
for awhile with the deadly plague, all knew the battle would resume
again soon and waited with anticipation.

Several ladies of the household had taken up
the local gossip, and a couple of the men spoke in hushed voices of
the tarts that saw to their needs in the alehouse the night before.
No one even noticed Devon standing silently in the hallway.
Everyone was enjoying themselves too much to even care she was an
idle servant not doing her job.

She spied Corbett at the head of the dais,
staring at his trencher of food as if it weren't even there. His
raven sat patiently on the back of his chair, waiting for its turn
to eat its fill. The bird spotted her and squawked. Devon dove
behind the screen connecting the great hall and hurried off to the
kitchen.

Corbett felt miserable. He'd spent most the
day in a daze, not being able to take his mind off Devon. He had a
castle to run, tenants to meet with, and the bakehouse had caught
fire again that afternoon. The manor house was in dire need of
repair and the milliner said some insects were infesting the grain
to the point of spoiling it. Even Brother Ruford had complained
that there was some discrepancy with the tally sheets on the food
and supplies they had stored for the winter.