Page 21 of Lord of Deception

Chapter Seventeen

Alys gazed around the tiny hut, wondering which of several pots contained the ointment for burns. She was shaking with remorse—she’d played an idiotic game, and he’d ended up hurt.

Moments later, he joined her, leaned over her shoulder, and selected a small earthenware pot with a pig’s bladder tied tight over the top.

“You might want to stay facing the wall.”

Cheeks burning, she mused that there was little point, as she’d seen a fair bit of him already, despite attempting to keep her eyes at the level of his. But there was no need to make things worse. Eventually, the pot was replaced, and a soft voice beside her ear announced, “You can look now.”

When she turned around, Kit was sitting across his bedding, knees pulled up, strong bare feet planted firmly on the planking floor. He’d thrown on a long shirt, and his head rested back against the wall. He looked weary, but a smile flickered at the edges of his mouth.

Her lantern was now being used to weigh down Kit’s damp shirt. On the corner of a table, his leather jerkin steamed slightly from the heat of a candle beside it. His smart day clothes were draped forlornly over rake handles and scythes.

“I should apologize—”

“You have a good heart, Mistress Barchard. Alys.”

She loved the sound of her name on his tongue. Even though she should reproach him for such familiarity. But what would be the point? They’d both thrown propriety to the Four Winds.

“I should not have taken the jest so far. But then again, you should have obeyed me, and stopped coming on. Only, I should be grateful, as you saved me from those footpads.”

He chuckled. “I fear I’ve confused you. Forgive me—it has been a strange day. I’m weary but not yet ready to sleep. Will you stay and talk a while?”

She was dying to find out more about him. “I shouldn’t.”

“Will you be missed at the house?”

If only! “Not for a while. They don’t trouble themselves overmuch about me.”

Kit gazed at her for a moment, then patted the heap of bedding next to him. “Come, tell me about them, how they treat you. How do they go on, this household? What is Sir Thomas to do with you all, and Richard Avery?”

Her heart skittered. But the bedding looked far more inviting than the low stool. She sat next to him, curling her legs beneath her, tempted by his nearness but, at the same time, disquieted.

“I suppose if your tale of being a nobleman is true, you must have already heard of them. Have you never seen them at court?” Good, her voice wasn’t coming out as a nervous squeak.

“They’d not be seen dead at court.”

“Then you know their feelings better than I. It seems odd, for they often mention people in Elizabeth’s circle.”

She felt him tense. “Have they given any names?”

Why was he so interested? “None that I can remember.”

“If you think of any, I’d like to know. It’s important to keep abreast of the court gossip—’tis a place of intrigue and danger, so it’s best to know to which faction a man belongs. Or a woman.”

“I cannot imagine you belonging to any faction. You are too much your own man.”

He gave her a quizzical look. Then his gaze softened. “What else do you think of me, my lonely little Alys?”

Presumptuous! “I’m not lonely. I have plenty of people to talk to.”

“But not cut from the same fine cloth as yourself, my lady.” His shoulder brushed hers. “You flatter me.” She hoped the contact was accidental and prayed he’d notice it soon and move. It was far too unsettling—each time he breathed, she felt the movement against her body. Little tingles of anticipation buzzed along her spine.

“Not flattery—the truth. You could rival any of the ladies at court, Alys.”

Her treacherous body leaned closer to his, increasing the contact. Heat emanated from him. “Tell me of the ladies at court.” Anything to distract her.

“No. I’ve just told you what I think of you. Now you should return the favor.”