The Maiden and Her Knight Read online

  She would also miss the dispensary, a homey place with its strange jars and strange smells from the herbs drying overhead. In the corner was a small hearth Brother Jonathan used to heat his remedies as necessary, and that cozily warmed the chamber in winter. In front of that was the scarred, stained table where Brother Jonathan did the mixing. A variety of dishes, pots, mortars and pestles stood there, along with a bottle of ink, quills, glue and small pieces of parchment for labeling the jars and clay pots lining the shelves.

  Hoping Brother Jonathan would be alone and therefore able to prepare the draft quickly, she entered the dispensary.

  The little man was not alone. To her surprise and secret delight, Connor was there.

  She took a moment to survey his naked back, and the dark, waving hair brushing his wide shoulders. His left shoulder was still very bruised, the skin an angry purple, red and yellow.

  Her gaze drifted lower, to his trim waist and narrow hips. Memories of the time he had surprised her in the pantry burst into her mind, and her body warmed as if he were once again kissing her passionately against the shelves.

  Brother Jonathan peered at her. “Lady Allis?”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but my father’s head is aching.”

  “Ah. One moment, and I shall prepare his medicine.”

  She strolled closer, and spoke as matter-of-factly as she could. “Have you hurt your shoulder again, Sir Connor?”

  “I have a bit of an ache,” he replied in much the same manner, and only the flare of emotion in his eyes betrayed that there was more than mere courtesy between them.

  “He has been doing too much,” Brother Jonathan said with more than a hint of disapproval as he went to his work table.

  She wasn’t the only one reddening at the particular moment, and she turned away from Connor and his roguish grin. She studied a pot labeled Tincture of Wormwood as if fascinated.

  “I do not know why men will not listen to my advice,” Brother Jonathan muttered, his head bent over his work. “It is not as if I give these warnings out of spite, you know.”

  “Yes, I do know, Brother,” Connor said. “I am very sorry. I have been distracted of late.”

  It was a good thing she wasn’t looking at Connor’s face. She could well imagine his contrite expression belied by his merry eyes. If she met his gaze, she would surely start giggling like a besotted girl.

  “Fortunately, I see nothing terribly amiss with your shoulder—yet. There is no sign of infection, and the swelling is reduced.”

  “The bruising still looks terrible,” Connor said.

  “That is a nasty injury, and you must be patient.”

  “I shall try.”

  Believing she had her emotions under more control, she looked Connor in the eye. “And you mustn’t think of leaving until Brother Jonathan gives his approval.”

  “Very well, my lady, and again, I thank you for your generous hospitality.”

  “We are happy to have you stay.”

  “You could lift a little weight with that arm, Sir Connor,” Brother Jonathan noted. “A bucket with some water in it to begin with will be sufficient. Only about a quarter full, and no more. Once that becomes easier, you can add a little more water, and so on. Again, however, let me counsel patience, or you will do more harm than good.”

  “And again, good brother, I shall try. Now I fear I need some help me with my shirt and tunic.” He glanced at her in a way that made her heartbeat quicken even more.

  “I’ll do that, Brother Jonathan,” she offered, unable to resist such temptation.

  Brother Jonathan hesitated.

  “I promise I shall be very careful of his shoulder,” she said, not sure if the reason for his hesitation was fear that she might further injure Connor’s shoulder, or fear of impropriety in the dispensary.

  “Yes, I’m sure you will, my lady,” he replied, obviously reassuring himself. “I shall be only a moment.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to take his time, but she refrained. For one thing, her father needed the medicine; for another, what would Brother Jonathan think? Clearly she could be granted a certain leeway with a half-naked Sir Connor because she had nursed him before, but she dared not sound too keen. That was very difficult when Connor grinned at her.

  “I am grateful for your assistance, my lady,” he said, his tone one of absolute respect and deference which might fool Brother Jonathan fussing with his pots, but not her, not with that devilment in his eyes and the fires of passion lurking below their dark surface.

  “I am going to put your shirt over your head,” she explained, taking it and standing in front of him, inches from his body. The tendrils of delicious tension between them expanded, wrapping around them in coils of yearning.

  He leaned forward as if inexorably pulled toward her. She eased the shirt over him, taking her time and letting her hands slide over his warm skin. “I shall try to be gentle with you.”

  First the top of his head reappeared, then his face. “And I with you,” he whispered.

  For a moment, she both hoped and feared he might kiss her right there in the dispensary, until he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head and pouted, as if he read her mind and replied, “Not here, unfortunately.”

  She pressed her lips together, trying to calm herself. “If you will put your left arm in the sleeve…”

  “That would be which one, my lady?”

  “The injured one, of course,” she whispered. “If I didn’t know better, sir knight, I might believe you were trying to delay the proceedings.”

  “You might be right.”

  He slipped his left hand into his sleeve and she slowly—very slowly—pulled it up. “My lady, I think you are deliberately taking a very long time getting me dressed.”

  “You wish me to hurry?”

  His eyes darkened and his chest rose and fell as his breathing quickened, like her own. “Not at all.”

  “Then don’t complain.” Leaning tantalizingly closer, she held the right sleeve for him and he eased his arm into it. “We are not alone.” She should remember that, too.

  “I am damnably aware of that fact, my lady.” He inched back a bit and spoke in a louder voice. “It is a good thing this shirt has big sleeves. And here I grumbled that the seamstress must have been thinking of a giant when she made it.”

  Although it was necessary, she regretted the loss of intimacy. “It does seem very large for you.”

  “Actually, it wasn’t made for me. It is my brother’s shirt. I, um, borrowed it.”

  “You mean you took it without asking.”

  “One could say so.”

  “I get very angry when Isabelle does that.”

  “Well, he made me angry first. I’ll take him a new one when I go home.”

  When he left her, as he must. Her hands shaking, she picked up his tunic.

  The door to the dispensary opened. Lord Oswald sauntered inside, his gaze sweeping over the room, the medicines and the people in it. She froze as he bowed to them in greeting. “My lady, Sir Connor.”

  Deciding she should not act as if anything were amiss or unusual in what she was doing, she helped Connor put on his tunic.

  “What may I do for you, Lord Oswald?” Brother Jonathan asked as he stoppered the small vial of medicine for her father. “I hope you are not ill?”

  “A touch of indigestion today, nothing more,” Lord Oswald replied with a genial smile that made Allis breathe easier as she stepped away from Connor. “Knowing that such a clever physician was nearby, I thought to avail myself of your services.”

  “As well you should. I shall be happy to give you something. What are the symptoms? Gas? Burning?”

  “Burning. Well, and belching, too, if I am to be completely honest,” he replied, winking at Allis.

  She returned his smile, liking him. Indeed, she wished he were their neighbor, rather than Rennick. For one thing, he was a man one could trust. For another, he was already married, to the ve
ry wealthy heiress of a Norman duke.

  “I, too, hope you are soon feeling better, my lord. If Lady Allis will help me with my sling, I can be on my way,” Connor said.

  “I trust your injury is healing well,” Lord Oswald inquired.

  “Brother Jonathan tells me it is, although he warns me I must take care a while yet. I shall endeavor to obey.”

  She deftly slipped the sling over his head and maneuvered it into position, taking care not to touch him more than strictly necessary. He carefully put his arm through it.

  “Good day, my lady, my lord, Brother Jonathan,” he said as he strolled toward the door. As always when he left her, she thought of the moment he must do so for the last time, and a little bit more of her died.

  “Here is the draft for your father, my lady,” Brother Jonathan said, handing her the vial.

  “Thank you. Good day to you, and to you, too, my lord.”

  “I look forward to seeing you at the evening meal, my lady,” Lord Oswald said, bowing again as she passed him by. “Perhaps we can persuade Sir Connor to give us a song.”

  She stopped. “A song?”

  “Oh, yes, my lady, he is a most excellent singer, or so his father used to say. I assumed you knew this about him.”

  “No, I did not.” Fear skittered along her spine. They had been too careless, too wrapped in their own desire. Lord Oswald wasn’t blind; perhaps he had seen…guessed…

  And what of Brother Jonathan? To be sure, he had seemed to be absorbed in his task, but they should have been more careful. She shouldn’t have stayed. She should have asked Brother Jonathan to bring the potion.

  “He’s Welsh, is he not? They are all fine singers, or so I understand.”

  Her alarm lessened. “Yes, I’ve heard that, too.”

  “So we shall ask him, shall we?”

  “You don’t think he will be offended? He is a knight of the realm, after all, not a minstrel.”

  Lord Oswald smiled broadly. “Oh, I think if a pretty woman asks him, he might do almost anything, especially if he hopes to impress her.”

  Another chill of dread spread outward from her spine. “What makes you think he hopes to impress me?”

  “Come, come, my lady!” Lord Oswald cried jovially. “Surely you cannot be ignorant of the way he regards you?”

  “It matters not how he looks at me,” she said, drawing herself up as she lied through her teeth. “I am a betrothed woman.”

  “Yes, but not yet married, and he is poor and handsome. A man in such a position might try to improve his lot by marrying a lovely heiress. If I were young and unmarried, I would be pursuing you myself.”

  She thought of time she had shared with Connor, moments of genuine affection as well as passion. His feelings were sincere, and honest. She believed that to the core of her heart, where her own love lived. “You flatter me, my lord,” she said with a cool smile. “And now you must excuse me, for my father is waiting.”

  “Of course, my lady,” he said, watching her leave.

  Chapter 14

  As they dressed for the evening meal later that day, Isabelle glanced at her sister’s reflection in the small mirror in the bedchamber they shared. Isabelle sat at their dressing table brushing her hair, while Allis changed her gown from a plain woolen one to something finer. Isabelle had already donned a very pretty gown of pale blue embroidered about the round neck and cuffs with red and yellow flowers.

  “Sir Connor is wonderful with Edmond,” Isabelle remarked.

  “So I gather. Edmond is very pleased.” Allis drew on her blue velvet gown with the satin-lined, green cuffs that reached nearly to the floor. “His voice was almost loud enough to raise an alarm when he told Father about his ‘training.’

  “His excitement did not help Father’s aching head, I’m afraid,” Allis finished with a sigh.

  Isabelle rose and came behind her to tighten and tie the lacing at the back of her bodice. “I think he’s wonderful.”

  “That’s a nice thing to say about your brother.”

  “I was talking about Sir Connor. Don’t you think he’s wonderful?”

  Mindful of Lord Oswald’s possible suspicions and not wishing to raise any in Isabelle’s mind, she carefully replied, “I like him, and I am certainly very grateful for the time he has spent with Edmond.”

  Her task finished, Isabelle came around to face her. “You should come and watch with me tomorrow.”

  She wanted to very much, but she feared she couldn’t mask her feelings well enough. Indeed, it was difficult to mask them now. To hide her face, she reached for the green girdle lying on the bed. “I have too much to do—and I think you shouldn’t bother them.”

  “I’m not a bother. I sit on Sir Connor’s stool and do not say a word. If I were a bother, surely he would ask me to leave,” Isabelle said as she sat again and began to braid her hair.

  “You are the daughter of the lord of a castle where he is a guest.”

  “I still think he would ask me to leave if my presence was interfering.”

  That was likely true. A man who would upbraid his king surely wouldn’t hesitate to ask Isabelle to leave if she was a nuisance. “I cannot take the time.” Which was also, regrettably, true.

  “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

  Allis reached for her pale green scarf and forced herself to speak with a nonchalance she certainly didn’t feel. “Who?”

  “Why, Sir Connor. Who else are we talking about?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “Granted he’s not as handsome as the baron, but he’s very good-looking.”

  In the process of lifting her scarf over her head, Allis stilled. “You think Rennick is better looking?”

  “Of course! You needn’t sound so shocked. Everybody thinks he’s very handsome. Why, Merva says—”

  “I can guess what Merva says.” As she continued to put on her scarf, it crossed her mind that she should try to limit Isabelle’s exposure to that particular maidservant and her loquacious tongue. Unfortunately, that was an edict that would probably prove impossible to enforce. “I am surprised that you think so.”

  “Well, I do. And more importantly, the baron is rich.”

  “You sound as if you think that of supreme importance.”

  “I do. So does every noblewoman.”

  “I don’t.”

  Isabelle swiveled on her stool and stared at her sister incredulously. “That’s not what you said before.”

  Pretending to be absorbed in adjusting the girdle about her waist, she said, “I cannot deny that wealth or lack of it is an important consideration—”

  “What else is there? Connections and alliances, I suppose,” Isabelle replied, answering her own question. “I think the baron has everything one could hope for in a husband. He’s good-looking, rich and our neighbor and ally. He’s been very helpful since Mother died. What more could you ask for?”

  There were so many things Isabelle didn’t know, or she would never say such a thing, or believe it, either. She would understand why a woman who hoped for an honorable, kind and faithful husband would never wish to be his bride. But she was young yet to have her mind polluted by the vile nature of what some men could do in the name of their rights and the rule of law. “I am surprised you have not talked of love.”

  “You have never talked of love, either.”

  Of course, when it came to the baron, that was true. Even now, she could hardly bring herself to talk of love and Rennick DeFrouchette at the same time.

  “It is a great pity Sir Connor isn’t rich,” Isabelle said with a sigh as she tied a bright blue ribbon around the end of her braid. “Otherwise, I would be doing all I could to compel him to ask for my hand.”

  She couldn’t fault her for her taste. “You are too young,” she said, picking up the barbette.

  “I wonder what his kisses are like.”

  “Isabelle!” Allis snapped as she adjusted the barbette. To speak of his looks was one thing; to imagine
his kisses was…something else.

  “It’s not a sin to wonder about kisses, is it?” Isabelle demanded. “That’s not exactly lust, I don’t think. It would be a sin if I imagined more, I’m sure, but not a kiss. I’d wager he kisses very well indeed, and I’d be willing to bet that Merva knows. I think I’ll ask her.”

  “You will do no such thing!”

  Isabelle rose and gave her a smile. “I’m only teasing, Allis. I won’t ask—but I still think he’s likely a marvelous kisser.”

  He certainly was, but she had better not think about that, or let Isabelle’s jests trick her into displaying more emotion.

  She began to tidy the brushes and pins on top of the table. “Just as long as you don’t intend to find out.”

  Isabelle turned back her cuffs. “He wouldn’t kiss me even if I wanted him to. I asked him if he would wear my scarf in a tournament and he said no, he’s too old for me.”

  “Isabelle, you should not have asked. It was inappropriate and unbecoming a lady.”

  Even as she spoke, guilt tweaked Allis’s conscience. Once more, she was playing the hypocrite, for if anybody in this chamber was acting inappropriately and unbecoming a lady these days, it was she.

  “He said he wouldn’t ask to wear yours, either.”

  Although that was wise, she felt disappointed nonetheless. “Of course he could not. I am betrothed.”

  “Which apparently means you cannot even think about kissing anybody else. Really, Allis, what is so wrong with talking about Sir Connor? It’s not as if you or I were going to propose marriage to him.” Isabelle took Allis’s hands and looked at her beseechingly. “You’re not angry with me, are you?”

  “No, I’m not.” As Connor lightened her dark days, so she should seek to keep Isabelle happy. After all, she had been upset by Isabelle’s mournful sadness and guilt after Percival’s death, so she should be glad to see evidence that she was recovering, even if she would prefer a different subject. “Come now, it’s time to go to the hall.”

  She went to the door and held it for Isabelle. “In the hall I will hear no speculations about kissing,” she warned as they went down the tower steps together, smiling to show she was not completely serious.