That is if she ever got back. She’d asked every woman in the castle if they had a brooch with the name Pendragon on it. None did.
Elia was busy with Claire, so it gave Kes time to think about her brooding rescuer—and what he was doing in front of her door yesterday.
She had been returning from sewing in the public solar with Elia and some of the other women who lived here. She wanted to change and go help Cook in the kitchen. She’d seen her knight as she turned the corner in the hall. She’d backed away into the shadows and watched him. He looked tormented pacing before her door. What was he going through? She’d known he’d had a difficult morning. Was it because of her? Or something else? She had been tempted to go to him as he raked his fingers through his hair.
She hadn’t because he was most likely no different than what she’d left behind. Maybe worse with his antiquated (to her anyway) ideas. She’d sworn off men anyway, at least for a little while. She needed a break after Brian McGill. What was she doing thinking of Nicholas de Marre in any sort of intimate or romantic way?
But seriously, who could blame her? He was a knight! In armor! He wielded a real, very big, very deadly sword. His naturally provocative smile was unfortunately almost nonexistent, but he’d bestowed it on her a few times now. It was only slight, but still dangerously alluring. If he ever decided to flirt with her, she had no chance against him.
Kes had learned that grapevines worked the same way in every century. And that kitchens were the best place to find them.
Her cupcakes had baked while she learned that Margaret, Lady Adele’s maid,fanciedSir Nicholas.
Kes didn’t think the feeling was mutual. Especially when the maid glared at him at his own table last night. The smile he aimed at her was more like a weapon. Its beauty was meant to entrap and paralyze while he landed the final sting. And the sting? It wasn’t a word. It was him turning his attention away. He hadn’t so much as glanced at Margaret for the rest of his stay there.
He didn’t hate Kes, and the only reason she cared was because he was the proprietor of the roof over her head. She had seen him standing by the great hall door, as he’d stood before hers earlier. Did he have a problem with doorways? Or was it just hers?
Before he’d entered the great hall last night, he was looking at her as if he didn’t come inside right away because of her. Why should she affect him in such a way?
He was a strange one, and hadn’t she had her share of those?
Oh, but he hadn’t brooded when he’d come over and sat with her. He seemed to hang on her words, and his library! It was filled with treasures though she couldn’t fully enjoy it. When he’d heard King Richard was returning, he’d said very little. Anger and…the source of his hatred etched his face and he’d left before she could ask him what was wrong.
She finished another batch of linens when she heard his voice outside calling Elia. She bit her lower lip when his footsteps grew louder. She didn’t want Elia to get in trouble for letting her launder the clothes. She certainly didn’t want to do it full-time.
Elia rushed out to speak to him and hopefully veer his path in a different direction.
But it didn’t work. He stepped inside the wash house and looked at her standing over the barrel. He quirked his brow at her and gave her a curious look. “What are you doing?”
It was kind of hard to believe how good looking he was and how masculine he looked in hose. The more she saw of him, the more irresistible he became. She liked the size and shape of him, how he moved and breathed, how he remained still. She liked the way he was looking at her now, as if he couldn’t figure her out.
“I’m helping Claire.”
He turned to the laundress. It gave Kes another second to look him over. He wore a black léine, belted low on his waist, hose that stretched around the long, lean sinew of his thighs, and boots. His dark hair was pulled into a tight queue. His beard, trimmed.
“I know I already asked you this, but do you need help?”
“Aye, she does,” Kes told him. “But not me. Claire, do you want to tell him your idea or should I?”
“You can,” Claire said meekly in front of him.
“Very well. We think Claire should be head laundress. She likes things done a certain way. That is why she never asked for help before. Isn’t that correct, Claire?”
“’Tis,” the laundress admitted.
“She needs an assistant…an apprentice. Someone to help because honestly, Ni…” Kes caught herself in front of the others from being so familiar with him. She wasn’t. “…my lord, this is backbreaking work, six days a week.”
Nicholas blinked at her and then turned to Claire.
Everyone was quiet. Kes thought she heard Claire’s heart pounding…or was it her own?
“Claire, is there a reason you did not tell me this yourself?” His deep voice fell like a sheet of velvet over Kes’ ears. Poor Claire. The laundress obviously liked him and was terribly shy. Kes wondered if she could help.
She couldn’t have him for herself since she was going to find a way home. There had to be a reason she was here, and she didn’t think it had to do with her marrying a knight and not seeing him for weeks or months, or even years at a time. And then waiting to be told that he wasn’t returning home because he’d had his head loped off. No, thank you.
“I did not want you to think me weak,” Claire admitted.
Nicholas breathed in, stretching his léine across his shoulders. His silver gaze did not soften on Claire. In fact, his expression had relaxed a bit to one of indifference. “What I think of you should be of no importance. I am your lord, nothing more. I will send someone to you this afternoon to help with your tasks.”