Page 9 of Lord of the Manor

He pursed his lips. It was high time he paid another visit to the village and sorted out Cecily Neville. If that was her peregrine, it might not be on his land, but it was too close for comfort. If he went into the village to parley with her, he could also call on the local chair-bodger to see if he had any brooms or broom handles for sale. He would drop the issue of the overdue leases into the conversation—that would give the villagers time to get used to the idea that they would shortly be parting with more coin.

He turned back, planning to ready Baldur and ride into Temple Roding in state as befitted the new landlord, but his eyes snagged on something lying in the long grass.

Crouching down, he felt bile rise into his craw as he saw the feathers scattered around, the detached wings, and the exposed rib cage of a dove. One of his, no doubt. The kill looked fresh.

Fury drove him to his feet. He couldn’t wait until he got Baldur saddled and bridled—he’d walk into the village. And he’d deal with that accursed peregrine, once and for all.

Nothing Cecily Neville could do, or say, would stay his hand.

Chapter Five

“So, he was looking for me, was he?” Cecily planted her fists on her hips as she stood in conclave with Anselm and Martin in the small plot behind her cottage.

“Aye. He was angry, but trying not to show it.” Martin bent and cast a handful of grain to Cecily’s chickens. Her pig was pushing against the confines of its pen, but she ignored it.

“I’ll happily present myself to him, but I won’t bother to conceal my anger. A shilling per cottage to renew the leases? This is the thin end of the wedge, mark my words. The rents will be put up next. The greedy, grasping—”

Martin laid a hand on her arm. “Negotiation would be better than confrontation, methinks. I’m certain he is a reasonable man.”

“Pah!” Cecily knelt down, grabbed her cleaver, and started lopping at some wrinkled turnips for the pig. “And I’m certain he is not reasonable. I hope Benedict was right and that Smythe does like me, for then I can throw his ‘interest’ in his face!”

“What are you doing?” Anselm’s shadow had fallen across her light.

She tutted irritably. “Chopping some neeps for my sow. What does it look like?”

She felt a hand on her arm again, this time hauling her gently, but firmly, to her feet.

“Unless the animal enjoys eating fingers, I suggest you let me do the chopping until you’ve calmed down.”

Anselm was adept with his hands, and soon the chopping board was covered with bite-sized pieces of turnip. The pig snuffled gratefully as he scraped them into the wooden trough.

Cecily took a deep breath and wiped a hand across her brow. “Forgive me. You brought me up to be calm, kind, and well mannered—I must be a sore disappointment to you.”

He kissed her lightly on the brow. “You can be forgiven for your feelings of resentment. The Lord chose to take your mother away at the instant of your birth. We know He does naught without reason, but you are only human and cannot be blamed for being troubled because of your lack of parents.”

Anselm’s soft smile and kindly expression brought her back to her senses. “Of course, you’re right. I would’ve liked to have had a mother or father, but never did an orphaned babe fall more firmly on her feet than I did. Everyone at the commandery was so kind. If only that selfish monarch hadn’t—”

“Now, now.” Martin plucked a sprig of rosemary, crushed it in his fingers, then wafted it beneath her nose. “You’re letting that resentment come back already. Remember what has been good and sweet about your life, and look to the future with faith that all will be as it should.”

She took the rosemary from him, inhaling deeply of its earthy scent. Her “uncles” had cared for her so well, that she couldn’t fault them—and guilt assailed her at the fact that she struggled so to contain her fiery temper.

But the news Anselm had brought was terrible. How were the villagers going to pay the extra money? The prime growing season was already over—would they be forced to sell their chickens, ducks, and geese? Raid the stores to make payment in kind? It seemed so wrong, when Smythe and Clark had so much, and they so little.

“I suppose I shouldn’t seek out Master Smythe then, even if he does want to see me.”

“If you’re both angry, the result could be an increase in the payment—who knows? That would be disastrous, Niece. We will go about the village and discuss what might be done to meet the landlords’ demands. We can talk to Master Smythe—he will take more notice of us than he would of a woman. Even one he likes.”

She gasped. “Nay! Don’t expose yourselves to his notice. If he finds out who or what you really are, you would be cast into prison. Or worse.”

“As could you,” added Martin. “We have weathered many storms, Child. Be ruled by me. It is best you don’t go near the commandery for a while. I’m certain Benedict would agree with me. Now, I have some comfrey ointment to make for Goodwife Salter’s knife cut—it is not healing so fast as it should.”

“And I have been commissioned to make two stools for the preceptor’s house, as well as some broom handles and ladder rungs,” Anselm pointed out. “Remember what we have advised you, Niece. You can’t blame Master Smythe for our misfortunes. He may be irksome, but he was not the instrument of our fall. ’Tis better to make of him a friend than a foe.”

The two men left, and she hooked the gate back in place to keep the chickens contained, then wandered around, randomly plucking at weeds as she tried to sort out her thoughts.

Nay, this would not do. She needed distraction. A glance at the sky revealed it was well-nigh time to exercise and feed Charlemagne. She would take a brisk walk toward the neighboring village and fly him on the old common land there. It was well away from the commandery, so it should be safe.

She paused with one hand on the door latch. But why must she keep Charlemagne away from the commandery? He’d done nothing wrong. Come winter, when the highway was a quagmire and her gauntlet stiff with frost, she wouldn’t want to take him all the way to the next village every day. She needed to be able to fly him close to home—which would inevitably bring them near the forbidden lands.