to her solely, making her wonder if he knew just how badly she wanted to thump him. "'Tis my responsibility to guard and defend her rights and her person from here on. But I can't be everywhere, Dickon."
"No, sir?" The lad was in total thrall.
With sudden clarity, Eleanor saw Nicholas's purpose. How artful this steward of hers could be, so expertly politic when it suited him. She'd seen Edward do the same many times, patch over an outrage that he had caused himself through his ruthlessness, merely by changing sides to that of his opponent and becoming an accomplice.
A worthy skill and a highly treacherous one, to be guarded against at all times.
Thank God the man was so transparent.
"As constable, Dickon, you are my eyes and ears when I can't be there to watch over the lady Eleanor."
Dickon's cheeks glowed in the light of Nicholas's praise. "I'll be your nose too, sir, if you need me to be." He was nearly singing.
"Indeed." The man had a gregarious smile locked down tightly in his eyes, one that drifted to her briefly and made her wonder how often and how deeply she would fall for his cunning herself.
"What about me, sir?" Fergus had been watching with wariness, and now struggled to his feet like an old soldier. "I'm a carpenter, you know. "
"A carpenter, Fergus?" Eleanor could hardly believe their good fortune. "There you see, Master Nicholas? I prayed for a carpenter last night, and here he is. Have you done any smithing, Fergus? We need a blacksmith as much as we need a carpenter."
Fergus's brows knitted as he frowned and chewed on the end of his moustache. "Well, my lady—actually, I never actually been a carpenter. Though it's always been my wish to take up the trade."
"Ah."
Oh, blast. Eleanor hid her disappointment behind a huge smile that she was trying desperately to feel. "Good then, Fergus."
Nicholas asked evenly, "What was your trade, Fergus?"
Eleanor hoped for some craft that had required at least some knowledge of a hammer: a cobbler, a wainwright, an apprentice to either. Please, God.
"I was a nightman, sir. All my life." Fergus scratched at his chin, then braved the stony severity of Nicholas's jaw, some foot and a half above him. "A cleaner of privies and cesspits."
Eleanor caught the wholly out of proportion laughter in her throat, amazed at her steward's outward patience and grateful that he didn't crush Fergus with the derision that was so plainly in his thoughts.
"Then you are well ahead of your wishes, Fergus," he said, "as my lady needs a carpenter just now." He turned all of that dark-eyed irony on her, lifted a brow and her spirits all in that single gesture. A partnership. "And if she has no objection, you and I and Dickon here will see to inspecting her castle for creaking timbers and precarious walls. If my lady so orders."
The mutinous blackguard, using her own words against her. Yet an odd feeling engulfed her, warm and embracing, of being wholly and steadfastly protected.
"Aye, go then, sir."
"As you wish, milady." He bowed only slightly, but with all the courtly nuances of any lord at Westminster.
Aye, and more lordly than most.
"Oh, and we are in sore need of a blacksmith, Nicholas. Do let me know when one comes though the gate."
She felt altogether tousled by his scowl, by the fierceness of it that seemed to lift her hair and brush at her neck and the ties on the front of her chemise.
"And you, madam, stay out of passages beneath the west curtain wall."
That made her smile, way down deep in her heart.
He was a mystery, someone else's wandering knight, to be sure. But hers to tame now, however briefly.
However magically.
----
Chapter 9
« ^ »
E leanor began an accounting of the contents of all the storage rooms that she'd opened so far. But the clutter was so widespread and haphazard, with sacks of dried peas stored next to threshing forks, and those on top of fine linens, the only way to ensure a thorough accounting was to put everything in one room and sort
"No, sir?" The lad was in total thrall.
With sudden clarity, Eleanor saw Nicholas's purpose. How artful this steward of hers could be, so expertly politic when it suited him. She'd seen Edward do the same many times, patch over an outrage that he had caused himself through his ruthlessness, merely by changing sides to that of his opponent and becoming an accomplice.
A worthy skill and a highly treacherous one, to be guarded against at all times.
Thank God the man was so transparent.
"As constable, Dickon, you are my eyes and ears when I can't be there to watch over the lady Eleanor."
Dickon's cheeks glowed in the light of Nicholas's praise. "I'll be your nose too, sir, if you need me to be." He was nearly singing.
"Indeed." The man had a gregarious smile locked down tightly in his eyes, one that drifted to her briefly and made her wonder how often and how deeply she would fall for his cunning herself.
"What about me, sir?" Fergus had been watching with wariness, and now struggled to his feet like an old soldier. "I'm a carpenter, you know. "
"A carpenter, Fergus?" Eleanor could hardly believe their good fortune. "There you see, Master Nicholas? I prayed for a carpenter last night, and here he is. Have you done any smithing, Fergus? We need a blacksmith as much as we need a carpenter."
Fergus's brows knitted as he frowned and chewed on the end of his moustache. "Well, my lady—actually, I never actually been a carpenter. Though it's always been my wish to take up the trade."
"Ah."
Oh, blast. Eleanor hid her disappointment behind a huge smile that she was trying desperately to feel. "Good then, Fergus."
Nicholas asked evenly, "What was your trade, Fergus?"
Eleanor hoped for some craft that had required at least some knowledge of a hammer: a cobbler, a wainwright, an apprentice to either. Please, God.
"I was a nightman, sir. All my life." Fergus scratched at his chin, then braved the stony severity of Nicholas's jaw, some foot and a half above him. "A cleaner of privies and cesspits."
Eleanor caught the wholly out of proportion laughter in her throat, amazed at her steward's outward patience and grateful that he didn't crush Fergus with the derision that was so plainly in his thoughts.
"Then you are well ahead of your wishes, Fergus," he said, "as my lady needs a carpenter just now." He turned all of that dark-eyed irony on her, lifted a brow and her spirits all in that single gesture. A partnership. "And if she has no objection, you and I and Dickon here will see to inspecting her castle for creaking timbers and precarious walls. If my lady so orders."
The mutinous blackguard, using her own words against her. Yet an odd feeling engulfed her, warm and embracing, of being wholly and steadfastly protected.
"Aye, go then, sir."
"As you wish, milady." He bowed only slightly, but with all the courtly nuances of any lord at Westminster.
Aye, and more lordly than most.
"Oh, and we are in sore need of a blacksmith, Nicholas. Do let me know when one comes though the gate."
She felt altogether tousled by his scowl, by the fierceness of it that seemed to lift her hair and brush at her neck and the ties on the front of her chemise.
"And you, madam, stay out of passages beneath the west curtain wall."
That made her smile, way down deep in her heart.
He was a mystery, someone else's wandering knight, to be sure. But hers to tame now, however briefly.
However magically.
----
Chapter 9
« ^ »
E leanor began an accounting of the contents of all the storage rooms that she'd opened so far. But the clutter was so widespread and haphazard, with sacks of dried peas stored next to threshing forks, and those on top of fine linens, the only way to ensure a thorough accounting was to put everything in one room and sort
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