Page 16 of Lord of Deception

Chapter Fourteen

It was Thursday, market day in Cheyneham, Selwood’s nearest town. Kit stuffed his latest dispatch into the lining of his hat, hoping this latest information would salvage his mission, and that his debt to the queen would be paid.

With coin jingling in his pocket and a false jaunty whistle, he set off down the road for the five-mile walk. Jacob had sent him for some bags of seed, and he’d decided he might as well enjoy himself while he was there.

The road was filling up with travelers on their way into town. At the sound of hoofbeats behind, he moved aside, but the horse slowed as it approached him. Puzzled, he looked up, straight into the blue-grey eyes of Alys Barchard. His breath caught in his throat.

“Good morrow, Kit.” Her voice was polite, distant. “Do you leave us already?”

He stared at her, gawping like a simpleton—her appearance was so sudden, and he’d just been reminiscing about her creamy skin and virgin lips. “Nay, my lady,” he croaked, bowing his head. “I am for the market. But have no fear—I shall be gone by Sunday as promised.” But whoever replaced him in Norfolk must swear on their life to protect her.

He continued staring at the ground, waiting for her to spur her horse onward.

“I no longer wish you to leave.” She bent down in the saddle, bringing her head closer to his. “I’m a grown woman, after all, not easily offended by a trifle.”

His mind blanked, his eyes feasting on the silken swell of her breasts above her bodice, and the delicate tapering of her waist. Then he realized she’d referred to his kiss as a “trifle”.

Coloring, he bowed again. “You are very forgiving, my lady, but I must go.” But one day, they’d meet again, and she’d learn what it was to be kissed properly. Then he looked past her and discovered she was alone. Had she come after him on purpose, to make amends?

“Whither are you bound? Why is there no groom to attend you?”

She eased back, sitting stiffly in her saddle. “I’ve been sent to market to buy ribbons for my cousin. No one could be spared to attend me.”

“It is not fitting that you ride about the highways with none to protect you. What can your cousin be thinking of?”

“It is always thus. I have never come to harm. I know many of the people in town, and I’ll not travel after dark.” She tilted her head to one side. “I wonder that you, a mere servant, dare criticize my cousin’s behavior. What does a gardener know of how the gentry should behave?”

“Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.” Why did he find it so hard to play the role of underling with this woman?

“The answer to my question is that you are no gardener.”

His heart dropped like a stone, but he hid his alarm. “Of course, I’m a gardener—what else could I be?” He spread his hands, palms upward, and shrugged.

She tutted. “No. You do the work of a gardener, but I know you to be a gentleman. What tale have you to tell?”

He grasped her bridle and brought his head closer to hers. “These are heavy accusations, Mistress Barchard. I must hear your reasons so I can refute them, but not on the public highway. It would demean you to be seen arguing with an inferior here.” His hand went to his hat, where the dispatch was hidden, to reassure himself she hadn’t seen through that ploy as well.

“So, you think to dispute my assertions?”

“Of course, I do. As soon as we’re somewhere private, I’ll defend myself.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I look forward to that.”

Sloping his shoulders, doing his best to look deferential, Kit began walking the horse forward. “Have you voiced your thoughts to anyone else?”

“Nay. That would be unfair, when I have not yet heard your explanation.”

Fair. And clever. He should be grateful for her forbearance. “Thank you, my lady.” He turned his back to her, cutting off any further chance of conversation, giving him time to think. He needed to deal with her suspicions, but he also had his dispatch to deliver. How was he to do it without her knowledge? She had yet to fully earn his trust.

Eventually, the uncomfortable silence was broken by the lively sounds of the market at Cheyneham. The general hubbub of human voices was interspersed with snatches of music and song, the shouts of peddlers, and the varied hoots, moos and hisses of livestock. Part of the village green had disappeared beneath a fortress of hurdles, penning up the animals for sale. Opposite these were the stalls of the traders, some of them bright with color, others rustic in their simplicity. Local people stood behind tables groaning with honey jars, ale barrels, the hard local cheeses and seasonal fruits. The more exotic wares occupied silken pavilions where well-dressed merchants cried their Eastern fabrics, island spices and expensive perfumed oils.

Kit reached up to lift Alys down, deliberately holding her away from his body.

Immediately, an urchin came running to care for the horse.

He looked the boy up and down, then felt in his purse. “Here’s a groat to feed and water the mare, and there’s another waiting for you when you return her to us unharmed.”

“Aye, sir. I shall not stir from her side.”

Kit doffed his high-crowned felt hat as he turned to Alys. “Do you wish for refreshment, or shall we have our discussion straightway?”

“Oh, I’ll brook no delay. But I know not where we can be private in such a throng.”

He knew exactly where they could go. Risky, but necessary. “If you would care to follow me, my lady.”