Carolyne Cathey (32 page)

Jerrod placed his
hand on Kyle's shoulder.  "'Tis done, friend.  Now, I must leave.  'Twill
take a miracle for me to return in time."

"Then pray,
Jerrod.  Pray."

"
H
e built the cottage for
me
." 
Beth cast Eleanor a superior glance.

Eleanor tightened
her grip on the handle of the bucket.  She controlled the urge to drown the
red-haired trollop with the filthy scrub water from the solar floor.  Beth had
flaunted hints and taunts of sharing Kyle's bed ever since Eleanor had donned
servant's clothes. 

Nay, she refused
to spar with the girl.  Besides, Eleanor trusted Kyle. 

A male. 

Who had asked her
within a fit of rage if she intended for him to live a celibate life. 

Well, curse.
 
Nay, she truly did trust Kyle

Eleanor studied
the walls of the yellow limestone cottage that stood separate from the other
outbuildings in the bailey.  The workers had labored for a sennight and had
just that morn finished the thatch. 

Beth sighed.
"'Tis a grand place."

"And what
makes you think Lord Kyle built the hut for you?"  The unbidden sarcasm
seeped into Eleanor's tone even though she pretended disinterest.

"He says
'tis for a most beautiful woman, dear to his heart."

"And, pray
tell, why would that mean you?"

"He says 'tis
a female he's known since birth, which eliminates ye, now don't it, Luv?" 
Beth flashed a cocky smile.

Unwanted jealousy
seethed in Eleanor's breast, a horrid sensation.  She would not let Beth see
how her comments hurt.  She must be above pettiness.  Eleanor choked the handle
on the innocent bucket and pretended unconcern.

Beth tugged her
scarf from her head and brushed back a copper strand of hair.  "He says
'tis fer a special woman and her lover.  After he's bedded me, he won't even
remember yer name."

Eleanor smiled at
Beth's slip of the tongue.  "Since he hasn't bedded you, then he's not
your lover, which eliminates you, now doesn't it, Luv?"

Beth lifted her
chin and thrust out her ample breasts.  "He's waitin' 'til the cottage is
finished.  Most likely, 'twill be this night."

Eleanor wondered
what her punishment would be if she strangled the big-mouthed, brassy-haired
strumpet.  In truth, she and Kyle had been surly with one another.  The
constant tension of unrequited desire had stoked both their tempers until she
and Kyle snapped at each other like two cross turtles.  He had courted her with
merciless persuasion, determined she would be his wife.  She had refused every
offer, determined not to risk his life.  Then he had finally stalked off in a
rage saying if she didn't want him, he knew of someone who did.  Then she had
wept.  And since Brigham had left, she had slept, or rather, had tried to
sleep, on a pallet beside Nurse Kincaid in a common outbuilding used by the
servants. 

Perhaps Kyle
didn't sleep well, either, for sometimes in the inky hours of night he would
stand in the doorway of the hut and stare, motionless.  The power of his
attraction lured so incredibly, only wretched determination had prevented her
surrender.  Then she would blink and he would be gone.  Only dreams?  Or the
fabrications of her wishful heart?  Yet she never dreamt he would take another
lover.  A hateful knot pressed and twisted behind her breastbone.

Beth sashayed
across the sun-strewn bailey, past fighting dogs and busy servants, her brown
peasant skirt in swing with her rounded hips.

Kyle stepped into
Eleanor's view from the around the corner of the smithy's.  Her pulse quickened
as always when she saw Kyle.  She smiled, confident.  Now Beth would see whom
he adored.

"Beth, come
here, lass."

Eleanor's heart
thudded to her toes and left her chest an empty hollow.

Deceitful
knave
.

Beth scurried
across the yard like a hungry sow to the trough.

How unfair! 
Because Kyle claimed malehood he could take any woman he wanted without
scandal.  She would wring his wretched neck.

Beth and Kyle
slipped around the corner. 

Against her will,
Eleanor's feet moved toward the scene of betrayal.  Nay, she would not spy. 
Never would she behave in such an improper manner.  She followed Beth's path to
an open doorway within the wall.

Mumbles drifted
to her ears but no distinct words.  To go into the hallway would be beneath her
dignity.  She would not give either Beth or Kyle the satisfaction of knowing
she felt hurt, like an old dog replaced by a new pup.  When Eleanor stepped
through the doorway, nausea threatened.

Kyle leaned on
one arm against the stone wall of the dim hallway, his head tilted downward the
way Eleanor loved, his attention focused on the copper-haired bundle of
submission.  All she could see of Beth behind Kyle's too-attentive figure were
the harlot's feet, but Eleanor could tell from the angle of Beth's ankles that
she rested her back against the wall, her generous breasts within Kyle's easy
reach.

"'Twould be
acceptable to you, Beth?  I'd not wish you to agree against your will."

Curse his
perfidious hide
. 

Eleanor stepped
closer in order to hear better beyond her noisy pulse.

"Aye, my
lord."  Beth squealed in delight.  "I'd be most agreeable."

Agreeable?  Did
dog's drool?  Beth had begged for the opportunity since Eleanor and Kyle had
first entered the keep.

Kyle nodded, his
head still at that sensuous angle that Eleanor had hoped he had reserved only
for her.  "I'll come for you later, lass, but it might be after
dark."

"Oh,
milord!"  Beth's eager arms encircled Kyle's traitorous neck.  "I'll
be grateful to ye 'til my dyin' day."

Eleanor's bucket
seemed to have a mind of its own; the wicked thing swung and dumped its dirty
contents all over Kyle's back and drenched his cote, the shaded purple of Marsh
Elders.

He stiffened for
the briefest of moments.  "What the . . . " Kyle whirled to entrap
her with his stunned gaze.

She stood, mouth
agape, shocked at what she had done.

"Beth?  Are
you wet?"  He called to his new liaison, but his rage riveted on Eleanor
and pinned her to the spot.

Beth cast Eleanor
a wicked grin then faked a distress so obvious only a dense male wouldn't
detect.  She grasped Kyle's arm.  "Did that horrid beast harm ye, milord? 
Do ye wish me to take ye to yer chamber and bathe ye?"

Despite the pain
Beth's suggestion aroused, Eleanor remained frozen, in wait for Kyle's certain
acceptance.

Water dripped
from his hair, from the hem of his blotched purple wool.  "Nay, lass,
you're dismissed.  Get on with your duties.  I'll find you later."

"Aye,
milord."  Beth bobbed a curtsy, curved a triumphant smile at Eleanor, then
hurried through the doorway into the bailey.

Eleanor couldn't
even blink, much less move.  How immature of her.  How spiteful.  And she
wished she had smashed the bucket over his head.

"Why did you
douse me?  'Twas clean, I presume."  He spoke through his clenched teeth
as if he struggled to control his anger.

Should she tell
him the truth?  That she had sloshed him with scrub water from the solar
floor?  She opened her mouth.  Not even a sound emerged.

"Then you'll
have to bathe me."

Her hands on his
wet body.  On his wretched, faithless throat.  Memory of his sinful invitation
stirred Eleanor's refusal.  "Beth is more than willing, milord.  'Tis
obvious she'd welcome the boring task."

His eyes gleamed
mastery.

Her mind screamed
escape.

The dim hallway
of stone stretched behind him; she would never run past his long reach.  At her
back, the parapet stairs spiraled to the wall-walk.  Or, she might reach the
doorway to the bailey.

Kyle trod a step
toward her.  "Eleanor?" 

Her bucket
clattered to the floor.  She spun, then scrambled and stumbled up the
too-narrow stairs like a clumsy crab, jerking her skirt out of the way as she
struggled.

"Eleanor!"

She fought her
way up the spiral, her heart pounding a warning in her ears.

His footsteps
clomped behind her.  "Curse, woman!  Halt!"

Finally reaching
the top, she bolted through the doorway into the sunlight and down the
wall-walk.

"Stop,
you--" He grasped her arm and spun her against his chest.  His lips
crushed hers.  His kiss seared hot, wet, and demanded all.

She groaned and
molded her hungry mouth to his, tasted his lust, his desire.  Sweet heaven, how
she wanted him, ached for him.  He smelled more wondrous than the sun.  She
threaded her fingers through the golden strands of his now-wet hair.

Kyle held her
prisoner to his boulder of a body.  He ran his hands over her back, her
buttocks, setting her afire.  A throb between her legs pulsed in time with her
heartbeat.  She hungered for him as if she would cease to exist if she didn't
receive his sustenance.

Realization
kicked her mind alert.  Eleanor pulled back and shoved Kyle away, then turned
and moved to the wall.

"We can't
continue like this, Eleanor!"

Her panted breaths
sounded in her ears.  Even though she pretended to concentrate on the gentle
roll of the English countryside, her desirous emotions entangled her tongue. 
She inhaled the crisp afternoon air to clear her senses.  The aroma of fresh
cut wheat filled her nostrils and steeled her thoughts.

"Aye. 
You're right, my lord.  But the king will arrive soon."  She closed her
mind to what she must do if the king refused.

Kyle touched her
shoulder. 

Eleanor moved
aside, away from temptation.

Kyle sighed and
placed his hands on the stone battlement.

He stood in
silence, his breaths still labored.  "I've seen you up here several times
in the last fortnight as if deep in thought.  What do you contemplate?"

"Us. 
Trystonwood."

"Trystonwood?"

"Aye."

"Tell
me." 

"Are you
certain you wish to know?"

He nodded.

Eleanor swallowed
and struggled to gather her wits.  She pointed to the Avon that sparkled a
snaky trail in the early afternoon sunshine.  "See across the river where
the road bends, then travels down the other side?"

He shifted his
gaze.  "Aye."

"If we built
a bridge, then travelers could cross here instead of further down the road. 
Trystonwood would benefit from ease of access."

Kyle stood silent
a moment.  "Hmmm.  What else?"

"Fairs, my
lord.  I know you'd have to ask the king for permission in order to receive a
license, but at the convent I heard the peddlers reveal how fairs and markets
in other shires have brought good profit."  Her excitement built at the
opportunity to express her ideas.  "Lucinda is a splendid ale-master, my
lord.  Others have skills and talents that could be vendible.  With a few
improvements in the weaving techniques, we could offer a superior woolen
cloth.  And we could sell wine."

He raised his
brows, surprise in his eyes.  "Wine?  But we have no vineyard."

"Aye.  I
know.  But we grew grapes at the convent.  Richard knows how to encourage the
vines to bear heavy fruit."  She pointed past the orchard.  "See that
knoll?  ‘Twould be an excellent place for a vineyard.  The drainage is good, as
is the sunlight."

"And what
else?"

"The
village."

"And what is
wrong with the village?"

Did she detect a
tinge of irritation?  But she dare not stop; she must seize the chance.  She
gestured toward the cluster of thatched wattle and daub that surrounded the
village green.

"See how the
cottages sit at a low spot beside the river?  Lucinda has told me how their
huts often flood.  And the stench is horrid from human and animal filth.  Also,
the peasants are so poor they cannot repair their homes because Brigham . .
."    She shuddered in memory of how he had tried to kill her.  “. . . because
Brigham has taken more of their livestock and crops than required.  Trystonwood
needs to be rebuilt on higher ground, perhaps situated alongside the road from
the new bridge."

"Is there
more?"

She ignored his
testy tone and hurried on.  "Brigham also refused to allow for any of the
fields to lie fallow.  He insisted all the land be worked all of the time. 
Nurse Kincaid says the crops have diminished in yield each season.  One field
should rest each year, to rejuvenate."

"Hah!  You
plan to spend me into poverty."  Kyle leaned his back against the wall and
crossed his arms over his chest, head tilted.  "'Twould be best to return
you to my bed."

Her gaze slid to
his, merging with his sensuality.  She knew he teased her merely to enjoy her
reaction, but even so, tingles from her breasts and toes collided in her
womanhood and churned into an ache.

Kyle grinned,
then winked.

She forced a
swallow.  "But, Lord Kyle, the income that would go for repairs and
improvements has been used for Brigham's personal gain.  Once that drain is
stopped, then more funds will be available.  And 'twould not all need to be
changed at once, but could be a goal to accomplish over the years."

Kyle focused on
the land that lay spread at their feet.  A ragged sigh escaped his chest, and
then another.  "I've been away so much of my life.  I've not given proper
attention to the estate.  And Cathryn . . . well, she didn't seem to have the .
. . the spirit or inclination to run the keep the way a man might expect from
his lady."

She couldn't find
any words of response.  She doubted Kyle expected any.

"Nurse
Kincaid has told me how adept you are, Eleanor.  'Twould seem you didn't
overboast your skills, after all.  And the servants already consider you as
their lady."

The pride in his
voice warmed her like a summer breeze.  Fighting self-pity, Eleanor gazed over
the land she had grown to love, a tapestry of gold and emerald, of amber and
copper.  Clouds billowed in a sky as blue as a bottomless pond, as blue as
Kyle's eyes.  The silvery Avon River threaded through a fringe of trees set
ablaze with autumn's finery.  A cool wind stirred her tresses, filling her
senses with the aroma of harvested grain and sun-drenched air.  Magnificent.