Lord Of Lyonsbridge

Ellen nodded. She was feeling shaky inside, as if she’d not had food in overlong, though she’d eaten well that morning. She turned to Sarah. “I promise that you’ll have a tonic for your mother by this afternoon. I’ll come again in two days to see that it’s having some effect.”

All the children, even the twins, bobbed their thanks, and Ellen turned to leave, with Connor following behind. When she emerged into the fresh air, it felt as if she’d been inside for a long time, though the total stay in the cottage had surely been only minutes.

This time she let Connor help her mount. Neither spoke as they made their way back through the village and out onto the road. Finally Ellen said, “They are a special family, are they not?”

“Aye. You saw her in a weakened state, but Agnes Cooper has single-handedly raised extraordinary children.”

They rode abreast. His big horse swayed easily next to hers. “A remarkable woman, I trow,” Ellen agreed. “But she’s had some help, it appears. The boy seems to look to you for guidance.”

“John’s a good lad,” was all he said in answer.

After several more moments of silence she asked, “Do you take such an interest in all the villagers, horse master?”

He looked at her with that amused smile she was beginning to recognize. “Surely ‘tis not against Norman law for neighbors to help one another?”

“Of course not.” It was infuriating how he managed to skirt her question, how he refused to satisfy her curiosity about him, which seemed to burn brighter the more time she spent with him. She would have to be more direct than her gentility would normally allow. “I find myself pondering the nature of your relationship to these village folk. Does your family live here?”

“I have no family left, milady, other than my brother Martin, with whom you’re already acquainted.”

“But you grew up here?” she persisted.

“Hereabouts.”

She gave it up. If this strange manner of servant didn’t want to reveal more of his background, of what concern was it to her? But the frustration still stung. She spurred her horse into a gallop, expecting to leave him in her dust, but somehow his horse managed to move at the exact same instant as hers, keeping them abreast.

“Do you favor a race, Master Brand?” she called to him.

He grinned back at her. “I’m escorting you, milady. I go where you go. I’ll not leave your side.”

“We’ll see about that,” she shouted with a laugh, flicking the reins against Jocelyn’s neck. She knew it was all the urging her mount needed to stretch out into a pace that was difficult for most others to maintain.

His horse didn’t miss a stride. Side by side the two animals raced up the road, scattering dirt and pebbles in their wake like a minor dust storm. It seemed they’d scarcely begun when suddenly Lyonsbridge Castle loomed into view over a small hill. Ellen reined in and Connor’s horse slowed in tandem.

“We’re here already.” Her tone was disappointed.

“Aye, milady. ‘Tis a short journey at such speed.”

Ellen wrinkled her nose. “I wasn’t trying to win,” she said.

There was that mocking smile again. It quirked the corners of his mouth in a most annoying fashion. “I wasn’t,” she repeated. “And, anyway, ‘tis easier with a regular saddle.”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Surely milady doesn’t ride astride?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I did in Normandy when my father and my chaperons weren’t around to see.”

“I imagine your mother cautioned you against such unladylike behavior.”

“My mother died when I was but ten years of age,” she said, then immediately regretted the confidence. The man had told her nothing of himself, but now had her trusting him with this most sensitive detail of her life’s history.

A shadow crossed his face. “I’m sorry. I venture to say that she’d be proud to see the lovely lady her daughter has become.”

It was another of his totally inappropriate comments, but in spite of herself, Ellen felt a flush of pleasure.

They were almost to the stables. Connor moved his horse ahead and pulled it up neatly next to the fence. By the time Ellen reached his side, he’d dismounted and was ready to help her down, in spite of the fact that she’d dismounted without assistance back in the village.

“I’d not have you break your neck within sight of your father’s castle, milady,” he explained, holding up his arms, but his smile was no longer mocking. His blue eyes looking up at her seemed younger. The guarded look was gone, as was the insolence. For a moment she wished that she and this horse master were simply a man and a maid like any other, free to ride the countryside and laugh and tease.

Shaking the notion from her head, she slid into his arms. He smelled not of horse, but of fresh straw and something more tangy, perhaps mint. His hands clasped her waist firmly and he set her on the ground, rather than letting her drop. They lingered there for just an instant, then he stepped back and, for the first time in their acquaintance, made a slight bow. It was almost as if he, too, felt the need to remind them both of their respective positions.

“Thank you for the escort, Master Brand,” she said after a moment. “Next time mayhap I’ll ask to use one of your saddles and we’ll have a true race.”

But as soon as he stepped away from her, his face had changed back to its old expression, and it appeared his thoughts were once again on his villager friends. “If you do send the tonic to the widow Cooper, it will be a gesture looked on kindly by the rest of the populace,” he said.

Ellen felt a touch of pique at the abrupt distance in his tone. She realized that she’d wanted him to banter with her. She suspected that Connor Brand, in spite of his servant garb, could offer gallantries that would rival any of the courtiers in Europe.

“The tonic,” he prodded gently when she didn’t reply.

“I don’t need to be reminded of my duties by my horse master,” she said finally. “’Twas I who chose to go into the village today. I promised the widow her tonic, and she shall have it forthwith.”

The intensity of his eyes dimmed as he gave another light bow. “By your ladyship’s leave,” he said, reaching around her to grasp Jocelyn’s reins. “I’ll see that your mount is well combed down this morning after her run.”

Leaving her standing where he himself had placed her in the dirt of the yard, he led her horse away without looking back. She stood watching until the man and animal disappeared into the cavernous stable.

All the way back up the hill to the castle, she worked to soothe her rising temper. He’d done nothing untoward. He’d even bowed this time, as befitted his station. But she knew as certainly as she knew her own age, that there was nothing subservient about Master Brand and never would be.

And perhaps the most annoying thing of all was the knowledge that, contrary to Master Brand’s assertion, her mother would not have been proud of her at all this day. For after the exhilaration of their ride together, until Master Brand reminded her, all thought of the widow Cooper’s tonic had gone totally out of Ellen’s head.

Connor knocked with his fist on the huge slab of wood that guarded the Abbey of St. John. The gesture made scarcely a sound. He pulled his knife from his belt, intending to use the hilt to announce his arrival with more authority, but before he could do so, the big door creaked open. A tall monk, thin even in his robes, smiled at him and said, “Welcome, Connor.”

Brother Augustine was older than Connor by a score of years and had always seemed to him to be among the wiser of the brothers who spent their tedious days and nights in holy contemplation. If Connor were ever in need of a spiritual counselor, he might choose Brother Augustine.

But it was not a spiritual matter that had brought him to the abbey this day. “Good day, Brother. You are well, I trust?”

“By God’s grace,” the monk answered, making the cross.

“Have you seen my bro-ah, Father Martin?”

The monk nodded briskly, causing the sunshine to gleam across his totally bald head. “Your brother is at the church. In the sacristy, I believe. The new masters have decided to refurbish the chapel up at the castle, and he’s trying to decide what needs to be taken there.”

Connor thanked the monk and made his way across the abbey courtyard to the stone church at the opposite end from the gate. He found his brother as the monk had predicted, seated on the stone floor of the sacristy, sorting through a box of silver vessels used to administer the sacraments.

“So now the Normans want to take over God’s possessions, as well as ours,” Connor observed as he walked over to him.

“Everything is God’s possession,” his brother argued quietly, “be it housed in His holy place or in a humble hut.”

“Or in a Norman castle,” Connor added dryly.

“Aye.”