Lord of the Manor (Trysts and Treachery Book 5) Elizabeth Keysian (pocket ebook reader txt) 📖

the porcelain skin and rosy cheeks of an English country maid. Most of the villagers, who were almost certainly interrelated, had light eyes and pale or mousey hair. She didn’t fit in with the rest of them. So, what was her story?

He forced himself to concentrate on the figures again. Kennett’s pronouncement had made him anxious—he must be sure to make as much out of the rents as possible, but without reducing the tenants to penury. As he ran his eyes over the columns, an idea wormed its way into his mind. It wasn’t a particularly delightful one, but it would solve his immediate financial worries.

The leases on the cottages and their appurtenances were, it turned out, overdue. This was something of a surprise, as he would have expected the king’s grasping officials to have kept a close eye on the rent payments. It seemed they had not, since all the leases had been due for renewal the previous Easter. Many landlords collected additional monies to cover the renewal of leases. If he were to do that, rather than put the rents up, he would have the coin in his coffers well-nigh immediately, instead of having to wait for the next quarter day. Performing some rapid calculations, he decided a fee of one shilling per household would not be too burdensome.

Cheered by his findings, he rose and collected the basket containing the recovering baby coney. No sooner had he raised the lid than the little animal jumped out and scampered around the room. After some cursing and a few undignified leaps, he recaptured it and held it up to his face.

“Well, little one. It seems freedom calls you. Wait a moment or two while I remove the splint. There now—isn’t that better?”

Positively cheerful now, he galloped down the stairs with the creature clasped to his chest and crossed the old cemetery that lay between the garden and the east moat. He approached as close as he dared to the warren above the moat, not wanting to scare the coneys which sat chewing grass outside their burrows.

He set his burden down in the long grass. The coney wrinkled its nose at him for a moment, then hopped off and settled some distance away to chew on some fresh green stems.

A high whistle sounded above the trees on the other side of the highway that skirted the commandery.

Allan froze. It hadn’t occurred to him to make sure there were no predators around before releasing the coney. Was that a bird of prey circling above those tall oaks, or just a crow? He shaded his eyes, but the glare was too intense for him to make anything out clearly.

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