Daring Damsels Page 8

  She had a sudden desire to reach and touch the corner of his mouth, sweep her finger over his lips and see if they were soft or hard.

  “How is it, Chloe, that if you are from a small village near Edinburgh, that you have a French accent?”

  God’s breath! Lord Hardwyck was not as simple as the townsfolk, and she should have known that well. She nearly choked on her breath, and words did not come to the surface.

  “I could see if you were a well-bred young lady, perhaps you might have had a chance to spend some time in the French court, but you are not a well-bred lady, you are a lowly peasant. Lowly peasants do not visit court, they barely visit the magistrate of their local village. What say you to this?”

  He was goading her, she could see it in his eyes. He didn’t believe her story, he was waiting to see if she would break.

  She cleared her throat, as another lie bubbled to the surface. “I was lucky enough to be chosen by a lady to come with her to court as a maid.”

  “Were you now? Lucky indeed.” He didn’t question her further on it, and she prayed he accepted her answers. “Now, again, what happened to your parents?” he asked with a note of skepticism. His eyes raked over her.

  “They told me they were looking for shelter, and to wait. They did not return.”

  “What is your family name?”

  Again, she paused. Was she so lack witted, not to come up with anything? She might as well go hang herself, for he would surely do it soon. What name? Ugh! She gazed into the hearth, willing a name to come to her. Then it did. “Aiden.”

  “Aiden.” His brow lifted and he looked over at the hearth and then back at her. “Meaning fire. Were you perchance the keepers of the wood?”

  She opened her mouth and closed it again, then licked her lips. “Yes, I do believe at one time my family might have procured the wood for our liege lord’s fires. But that was many generations ago.”

  He let out a, humph, and then sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Were you with the beggar who was beating you on the road?”

  “No, my lord,” she said emphatically, her hand came to her throat, her eyes widened. “He attacked me. Lord knows, he was probably the first of many who would have.”

  “So you think England is not safe?” he demanded.

  She didn’t know how to answer. When she first arrived, she did not think it safe at all! Good God, her maid had been murdered! She’d suffered more than one attack already, and now that she was under his protection, she felt even more in danger. But she couldn’t share that with him. Better to placate him, lest she bring out more of his boorishness.

  “At first, no, my lord. But you found me a safe place to stay, and I have been cared for and unharmed since.” She hoped her answer was one he would like.

  “Hmm...There is much missing in your story. Although life is tough for peasants, I find it hard to believe your parents simply vanished, and left you stranded.”

  “Perhaps they wished to have one less mouth to feed, my lord.”

  “Or perhaps you are not telling me the truth?” He continued before she could answer, “Have you any siblings?”

  She fought back the tears threatening to spill at the mention of siblings. All she could picture was Jon, her beloved brother. But she knew she couldn’t mention him, not without possibly giving herself away.

  “No, my lord,” she said with a slight crack in her voice. His eyes narrowed on her, and she knew he must have caught the emotion in her words and seen the glistening in her eyes.

  “Had you any before now?”

  “No, my lord.” She would not give away even an inkling of her past—even if he had to beat it out of her.

  “What skills have you?” His voice held an added firmness she hadn’t noticed before.

  “I can clean...and cook.” Chloe had dealt out the chores to her servants and with specific instructions. She was confident she would be able to replicate their cleaning methods. However, she had no idea how to cook, but perhaps it was something she would easily be able to pick up on. She saw his eyes flash with something, could it be fear?

  “I have no need for any cooks,” he said with disdain in his voice. She was taken aback by his words. They seemed to imply more than what he was saying. If he did suspect her, was it possible he thought she’d come here to poison him? She suppressed a smile…was it only yesterday she’d contemplated doing just that?

  “Prior to leaving my last post, my lord had considered me for the position of chatelaine.” Where had that come from? There was no way he’d hire her for such a high position within the keep.

  “I will hire you as chatelaine then, under my steward Harold’s supervision.”

  Chloe nearly fell off her seat and quickly tamped down her astonished feelings. She narrowed her eyes at Lord Hardwyck. She would be considered the mistress of the keep, in charge of all the servants, that is all except for the steward. A sense of foreboding passed through her. The hostile looks she’d gotten from the servants earlier would surely continue, perhaps even from Maude. The suspicious side of her questioned whether he wanted her to have the high position along with the steward so he could keep an eye on her. Why else give her a position where she was practically attached to one of his most trusted servants?

  Saying she’d been considered for the position before was a long shot, she had no intentions of him taking her seriously. She nodded in reply, too stunned to speak and returned her gaze to the tabletop. Her nails dug into her palms, and when she felt the draw of blood, she twisted them into her kirtle. What mess had she gotten herself into now? Chloe wished more than anything she could melt into the floor, seep into the cracks and slowly drain into the fire. So, they would continue the twists and turns of this deceptive dance…

  “You shall also stay here in the keep.”

  Chloe’s gaze shot up. Part of her screamed, no! And the other part of her filled with glee. She desperately did not want to live with Maude and James, and was glad to have a safe place within the keep walls. However it did occur to her that perhaps within the keep walls was the most dangerous place for her. But at the moment, that didn’t matter. He wasn’t throwing her into the tower and for that she was grateful.

  “Thank you, my lord.” She offered him a sweet smile, and for the barest of seconds he almost returned it. The corners of his mouth twitched, and then his face clouded over as it had before. He continued to speak in a monotonous tone.

  “We run an orderly keep. You are to answer only to Harold or to me. For now, go to Harold and ask about a new shift and apron. I cannot have you working here as my chatelaine in those rags.” He stood from the table, dismissing her, and walked toward the main entryway.

  Chloe sat, mesmerized and astounded. She should be happy shouldn’t she? She belonged in the keep and would be doing mostly everything she did at home. Chewing nervously on her lower lip she watched his retreating figure.

  “Wait!” she shouted, and then quickly regretted her outburst as he turned, a look of indignation and downright fury on his face.

  “Do you dare to order me?” His chest was puffed out, his eyes burned, and his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. His was a showing of raw male power, bravado. If he weren’t so conceited she might enjoy the contours of his muscles as they pressed against the fabric of his tunic.

  Chloe wrung her hands, and tried to look as demure as possible. Her little outburst could cost her dearly. “Pray forgive me, my lord.” She bowed her head to him.

  “What is it?” His voice was edgy but his expression softened.

  “I forgot to ask you about my horse? Where shall I house him?”

  “You can ask Harold. In future, direct all questions to Harold. Do not speak to me, unless spoken to.” He turned and stalked out of the room.

  Chloe bit her tongue to keep from lashing out at him with a few choice words—making him show her the respect she was due. But that would have been extremely detrimental to her situation. She was safe for now
and that was all that mattered.

  Relief pulsed through her veins and nearly flooded through her pores. Round one with Lord Hardwyck, hadn’t been as dreadful as she’d predicted. Her head was still firmly attached, and her situation had improved exponentially.

  Danger, however, had increased. Her charade would have to be pumped up to another level. Now, more than ever, she needed to get a letter to her clan.

  Glad to have the conversation with the lord over, Chloe headed for the door she’d seen the man she thought was the steward go through. Opening the doors, she was not surprised to see the outside, and steps leading down under a covered walkway. It was much like the castles in Scotland and France. She followed the walkway passing several buildings. As she looked inside, she saw a laundry room with half a dozen laundresses washing linens. The tailor’s cottage was busy with women spinning yarn and seamstress’s sewing. There was a smith shop, and she was surprised to see James inside. He looked up briefly and smiled at her before he was snapped back to his task by the smithy. At the end of the walkway she came to the kitchen. The smells emanating from inside were intoxicating, reminding her that breakfast had been meager.

  Inside many people were busy at work, the cook set about kneading dough to make bread and then set the dough on a large flat stone near the fire to rise. Others were chopping vegetables, plucking chickens, cleaning dishes, and many other tasks she didn’t quite understand. She was glad when no one looked at her, she was sure her face showed how ravenous her appetite was. Looking at each person, she didn’t see the man she thought was the steward. She approached a younger girl who was sifting through oats.

  “Begging your pardon, but do you know where I can find Harold the steward?” she asked demurely, trying not to cause a ruckus among the workers.

  The girl looked up, her eyes raking Chloe up and down, and settling with a sneer on her face.

  “E’s out in da stables. Best not be botherin' ‘im though, he don’t like to deal with the likes of what ye are,” she said, the sneer on her face echoing in her voice.

  “Thank you.” Chloe gave the girl a pleasant smile. She refused to lower herself to the girl’s affront, although she wished she could wipe it right off of her face.

  Walking out of the kitchen, she wandered around to the front of the keep where she had seen the stables off to the side. The knights who’d been gathered in the courtyard had moved to a large open area beyond the center of the lower bailey, where they were exercising various methods of sword play. She watched as Lord Hardwyck demonstrated a lunging tactic with the man he’d been with that morning.

  His every muscle rippled under the white linen shirt, causing her heartbeat to quicken. She thought she could make out the contour of his shoulders, his arms, and the curve of the muscles in his chest as he moved. The hose and breeches he wore showed the shapeliness of his legs, perfectly sculpted muscles strong from riding and training.

  His moves were exact and deadly. If he and the man were not practicing, the other man, despite his size and excellent skill would have been clay in Lord Hardwyck’s hands.

  She observed him best his opponent with the sword and tumble him to the ground. The men cheered for their lord. And Chloe couldn’t help frowning hoping Lord Hardwyck would have been grounded instead of his man. As if sensing her presence he turned his gaze toward her. His eyes glued on her form, his expression darkened. He nodded in her direction, showing that he acknowledged her.

  Chloe’s stomach jumped into her throat. Again a tidal wave of emotion swirled around her. She felt almost like she was drowning. Whatever she’d gotten herself into was bigger than she could handle. She needed to be careful, she was treading in deep water, and this lord seemed to be a better swimmer than she. At the same time she couldn’t stop thinking about how his hard muscular body would feel against her own, how frightening and thrilling at the same time.

  Chloe quickly turned and began to scurry toward the stable. She turned one last time to look at him, feeling the draw from his raw masculine magnetism as it pulsed through her. Lord Hardwyck was still staring at her. His gaze was so intense he missed his opponent’s move and was shoved to the ground. His vassal nearly doubled over with joy at having bested his lord. She couldn’t help the laughter that exploded from within her, it was just as she’d hoped!

  “Not such a mighty dragon now are ya, my lord?” Chloe heard the other warrior shout in between fits of laughter.

  She shoved her fist against her mouth to suppress her laughter and shock at such an outburst from one of his vassals. Whirling around she ran straight into a merchant and his large basket of vegetables. He thoroughly cursed her for making him spill his wares. Chloe helped him to gather up carrots and onions, apologizing profusely.

  She turned one last time to peek behind her, hoping to catch another glimpse of the Grecian god as he moved.

  Perhaps this wouldn’t be such a bad situation after all.

  Alexander stared at the beautiful peasant girl whose deep throaty laugh had caught him off guard. She had laughed at him with his opponent. When he turned to look at her, he was astonished by her. He instantly saw through the dirt and peasant clothing.

  She was his angel.

  She was the traitorous little witch.

  From where he stood, he could imagine her in a beautiful gown of gold brocade, her hair flowing behind her. There was an air of innocence about her. He was not fooled though. He didn’t want to wait until she turned and the evil shown through.

  She could only be here for one reason.

  Revenge.

  He would have to keep an even closer eye on her than he originally thought.

  She was still dressed in that dirty stained sack, her small feet peeking out from beneath the oversized garb. She stood tall, not stooped like the other merchants and commoners of the village. Her body looked healthy and full, she was the exact opposite of what he would have thought a commoner should look. Come to think of it, even with her accent she spoke like a noble woman. No low-bred woman could have the articulate flowing speech she did.

  She was no lowly peasant.

  She was his bride.

  Or so he thought, until she escaped. Ran away like a common traitor.

  Then she disappeared, only to show up practically on his doorstep. He would have to do something about this.

  He would have to lock her in the tower, until he gained word from King Henry as to her fate.

  ‘Twould be a shame for such beauty to go to the block.

  He stared at her intently. Her eyes, a brilliant blue, stared at him. Until then she’d always appeared meek, but now her eyes locked with his and their gazes mingled in a hot battle for control. Again he was struck with how not all was as it appeared. He nodded to her as he turned away, disturbed by his feelings. He didn’t know how long he was going to be able to go along with her charade.

  He hated her for humiliating him, but at the same time, he had a white hot desire burning for her in his blood. Images of her lush body sprawled on a great oak table as he feasted on all of her delicious parts… Bent over the bed, her bottom high and waiting for his entry… On top of him, riding him, breasts pressed to his cheeks… His cock jumped to attention, begging for his fantasies to come true. Lord, if he didn’t have her soon… Best he seek out the easy little maid who when taken from behind resembled his little peasant bride. But he couldn’t. The maid wasn’t who he wanted. He wanted Chloe.

  He looked back one more time to the wench. She was still gazing at him. What were her thoughts? Was she thinking the same thing as he? He laughed, not likely! Alexander wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, and kiss the truth out of her. He needed to know for sure. He didn’t want to put her to death. He’d rather keep her for more recreational purposes.

  Maybe it would be better if he never knew. Then he could seduce her to his liking. It wouldn’t be the first time a lord had taken a peasant as his mistress.

  Before he could continue his thoughts, he found himself flyin
g backward, literally and figuratively. As he landed again on his rear the result of a cheap shot from his opponent, he could hear her throaty laughter from above.

  She was either truly his angel, or the devil in disguise.

  Of which he would need to figure out.

  And soon.

  Dear Lord, forgive me for my sinful, lust-filled thoughts.

  Crossing herself, Chloe entered the stables and easily located Harold, the steward. He was the tall thin, slightly balding man she had seen in the great hall. She felt for the poor stable boy Harold was shouting at about putting a saddle on a horse the wrong way. She could see why the lad may have trouble. The horse was a large black destrier which did not want to be tamed. It had to be Lord Hardwyck’s horse, for his demeanor was very similar to the one she had encountered in the great hall. The stable master stood in the background silently, his expression blank of thought.

  “Harold, sir?”

  The older man inclined his head in her direction. His brown eyes looked down a long thin nose, as they flicked up and down, studying her from head to toe. He pursed his thin lips and then turned back to the boy, not even giving her confirmation he was indeed Harold.

  “Begging your pardon, I am looking for Harold, the steward?” The man looked back at her again, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Lord Hardwyck sent me,” she added, hoping to appease him. She knew the way she spoke to him was out of place, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer and refused to be ignored.

  Announcing she’d been sent by Lord Hardwyck did grab his attention, for this time he did look on her with different eyes. Irritation still lurked behind them, but he at least nodded to her, verifying he was the one she sought.

  “One moment, miss.” He turned back to the boy and continued his instruction.

  Chloe took that as permission to peruse the stable. The number of horses was impressive; destriers, palfreys, coursers. She supposed a knight needed many horses, but perhaps they were not all his. Maybe he kept some of his men’s horses here as well. She knew knights had one favorite war horse they used for every battle. They spoke to each other, knew and trusted each other.