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

“Allan? Allan! Are you there?”

There was a rank smell of damp emanating from the building, like old straw and rats’ droppings. There was no smell or sound of fire—he must be freezing to death in there.

“Cecily?” There was a rustle from within, and she saw a shape move toward her in the gloom. Pulling her head back a little allowed sunlight to filter through, illuminating Allan.

She cringed. “What have they done to you?” His face was a mess of dried blood and bruises.

“I took a lot of subduing,” he replied. “And was rewarded with a blackened eye and a bloodied nose. But it’s not broken, so my good looks may yet be restored.”

He grimaced then, and she saw his lip was split, in addition to his other injuries. Her heart swelled within her.

“You should not have come, sweeting. It appears that Kennett will go to any lengths to wrest either my livelihood or the manor from me. And we both know he wants you. You and your family must leave the village immediately. I have foolishly let my guard down and must reap the consequences. You are still free. But every second counts if you are to remain so. Get you gone, and take your so-called uncles with you.”

“Not while you languish here. What can I do? What can I bring for you? How are you to be freed?”

“That’s not your problem. As soon as Master Swaffham learns what has occurred, he will launch a countersuit against Kennett for theft and fraud. That should enable me to be released while the case is investigated. You must concentrate on saving your own skin. Don’t worry about mine.”

It was magnanimous of him to be concerned for her safety after she’d deceived him so cruelly. Or had he tired of her, and now wanted her gone?

“I’m going nowhere,” she replied stoutly. “Not until you’re out of here. I care not what Master Clark may claim—he has used you most ill and must be punished.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A drop of mercy for an unrepentant Protestant like me? I’m honored.”

“Don’t jest. It’s not about faith—it’s about fairness. And justice.”

“Sometimes prudence must take precedence over all those things. You and your ‘uncles’ need to leave. Kennett is vengeful and spiteful—this I have learned to my cost.”

“But we can’t go. Not until we’ve found—” She bit her lip.

He narrowed his eyes. “Found what?”

“I can’t tell you now—it’s too dangerous. But it is something that could help us all. You must trust me on this.” Though she knew full well that she’d given him little reason to have faith in her. Better to change the subject.

“What may I bring you? I shall ride home and fetch whatever you need.”

“Ride?” He was looking at her askance. “Don’t tell me you came on Baldur?”

“Aye. Simpkin steered him. The boy’s here, too—he’s keeping an eye out for the constable.”

“That corrupt knave.” Allan rolled his eyes. “When I am free, I shall set about having Bulforde’s constable replaced. Nothing will convince me that he wasn’t bribed by Kennett to imprison me. They have no proof that I’ve done anything wrong. No proof at all.”

Good. Then they couldn’t keep Allan here. It pained her to see all those hurts upon him and be able to do nothing about them. And it aroused a righteous anger within her breast.

“Just tell me what you need. I’ll be back straightway.”

His eyes softened as he gazed at her. “Very well. If you are determined not to leave as yet, a stub of candle would be welcome. An additional blanket, and something to eat and drink. But don’t come yourself—’tis too dangerous. Send the items along with Simpkin.”

She was about to shake her head, but his gaze intensified. “Swear to me that you will not come back here but will lie low until you hear from me. Send Simpkin. Do you swear it?”

She nodded dumbly. A few days ago, she’d been only too eager to run from him. Now, she could hardly bear to leave him.

“Whatever happens, Cecily—and I fear I cannot predict what that might be—please know that I meant what I said that night. If fortune smiles on us, I will make you my wife, and the commandery will be yours again. You hold my heart, Mistress Cecily Neville. Pray care for it well, and treat it gently. It has been broken once before and is but barely healed.”

She couldn’t bear to look at him after that, filled with fear, shame, and guilt. She should have told him the truth far sooner, and now she’d put him in mortal danger. Yet still, he said he loved her.

“I do not deserve it,” she gulped, then turned away and stumbled across the cobbles to where Simpkin waited with Baldur.

It was not until they were halfway back to Temple Roding village that she realized her sin of omission.

Should everything fall apart, she might never see Master Allan Smythe again. So, he would never know that she returned his love.

Chapter Eighteen

Being incarcerated with nothing but the rats for company gave a man plenty of time to think. It would have been easy for Allan to slide into melancholy—he was betrayed by Cecily, abused by Kennett, and his plans were in ruins. But a vein of bloody-minded determination ran through his nature, and he was determined to resolve his difficulties. Only—it was impossible to do so from this noxious and noisome cell.

He drew out the miniature portrait of Hannah and turned it to catch what little light filtered through the bars of his prison. The gems sparkled, and the gold settings shone. His heart lurched as he gazed at the beloved face of his dead wife. Nothing would ever bring her back, but her memory would remain in his heart. God forbid he should ever forget that face.

“I need you now, more than ever, my love,” he murmured, then pressed his lips against the cold, beautiful face. “But not in a