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

was no longer there—he’d traded it for his freedom. What was he going to use for comfort now? Was he truly ready to replace Hannah? He pressed his lips together. Was there any hope of future happiness with a closet Catholic who had deceived and used him for her own ends? And even if he and Cecily resolved their differences, would fortune favor them? Because fortune, as he’d learned to his cost, was a fickle mistress.

“Allan!”

He returned to the door in an instant. “Cecily? What are you doing here? I thought you had sent Master Swaffham as your messenger.”

“Aye, but he’s gone into the constable’s cottage to negotiate. I wanted to speak with you alone.”

“Why not wait until I am released? It may not be long now. And why give Swaffham your basket if you always meant to come yourself?”

“You are right to question me. I have done little but evade your questions, and tell you falsehoods, so why should you trust me? Especially when I tell you what I wanted to say to you in private. I fear it will make you trust me less and hate me even more.”

An invisible blow made the muscles in his stomach clench. What else had she kept from him? He didn’t know how much more anguish his battered heart could take. Had she a lover already—a husband, even? Did she actually know who she really was, and was there something in her lineage that meant she could never be with him?

“Curse you, Cecily Neville. Just as I’ve made up my mind that it’s safe to care for you, you trample upon my trust again. What secret have you kept from me this time? Nay, look not so sorrowful—I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

Tears glistened on the ends of her lashes, and he could see she was twisting her hands together. Whatever she had to say must be weighty indeed to affect her thus. He prepared himself for the fall of the ax.

“Allan—I come to bring you hope. Hope for all of us. There may be something concealed at the commandery, something the king’s commissioners never found when they valued the site.”

She glanced around her, then lowered her voice. “The Templar knights of two hundred years ago concealed a treasure. The Knights Hospitaller never found it and soon gave up looking, believing the story a myth, as so many of the tales told about the Templar order have surely been. But Benedict thinks he knows where the cache might be. We’re looking for it now, and when—or if—we find it, we’ll hide it well. Not at the commandery, as we cannot afford for Master Clark to find it.”

Allan’s throat tightened. Was this what the brothers had been up to, under the pretense of helping him demolish the buildings to sell the stone? And when they found their treasure, had they planned to escape the country, leaving him with nothing? It was a vicious blow, indeed.

“And now, I curse myself. I am a fool. A lovelorn, blind fool.” He had been manipulated, by one party or another, ever since arriving at the Temple Roding Commandery. His fists clenched against his side.

“Nay, Allan. You have it all awry. We can use the coin to help you. Or the plate, or whatever it might be that we find. That’s why the men are now demolishing the chapel, even though nobody wanted to. So, you see, you shall have your stone, and the Templar’s hoard, too, for none of us wants to see it fall into Master Clark’s hands.”

So much hope built on a dream. He had thought Cecily more level-headed than that.

“Will you never heed me? I told you to lie low and avoid attracting Kennett’s attention, but what do you do? Borrow my horse and charge about the countryside, putting yourself and doubtless the animal, too, at risk. I shall save my own neck—I have already put a plan into action.”

“Vile ingrate! If I hadn’t fetched Master Swaffham, what could you have done from inside a cell? I have incurred the wrath of my uncles by coming here to tell you about the treasure, yet all you do is chide me. It is I who am a blind, lovelorn fool, Master Smythe. I have now put all our lives completely in your power. I fear I have made a terrible mistake.” She stepped away from the door and hurried out of view.

He stood on tiptoe, grasping the bars. “Nay, Cecily—wait! I only wished to keep you safe. Cecily? Can you hear me? I was thinking only of you.”

There was no reply. He eased back from the bars, and when the blood finally ceased thundering in his ears, he was aware of the sound of footsteps receding rapidly into the distance.

There. He’d made a tanner’s midden of it. Again. He rested his forehead on the cold, sobering steel of the window bars, pushing against them and relishing the pain. He felt like a player, caught up in some high-stakes game of knucklebones. He’d thrown his pieces into the air, had hazarded everything, and had no idea how they were going to fall.

If Master Swaffham failed to bribe or convince the constable and the magistrate, he would have plenty of time in which to regret the consequences of his ill-judged actions.

If Cecily and the men found the so-called treasure, they would flee the country. He would be unable to pay Kennett, and the manor would be sold. He might be able to recover some of his capital, hopefully enough to put a roof over his head.

But what was the point of a home and a hearth if he had no family? Could he really start his life over again—reinvent himself a third time?

And if he had no one with whom to share his life, then did he really want to?

Chapter Nineteen

Cecily swung her mallet at another section of stone.

That pig-headed, pigeon-brained oaf would see in the end—aye, that he would!