Jamie’s excited chatter gave an unexpected sense of normalcy to the ride. As they rode across the green fields, she found she was almost enjoying herself. She leaned back and closed her eyes. The warm summer sun felt good on her face after so many days indoors.
“I understand from Alys and Jacob that you managed the estates for your father when he was absent.”
She snapped her eyes open. So, FitzAlan already knew to go to Alys and Jacob for information rather than the useless man Rayburn had appointed steward. She must keep her wits about her. This was not a man she should underestimate.
The muscles in his jaw tightened, and then he said, “Of course, you did the same for Rayburn.”
“I have been the mistress of Ross Castle since I was twelve, when my mother died,” she answered him. “I only did as other women do when their lords go off to fight, though perhaps I took on the duties younger than some.”
“Then you can tell me what I need to know.”
He proceeded to pepper her with questions about the tenants and about what most needed his attention on the estates. At first, she believed he was merely making conversation. But when he pressed her for her opinions and listened closely to what she said, his interest seemed genuine. Never once had Rayburn—or her father—sought her advice.
“May I go?” Jamie interrupted. He was pointing toward a small group of men and boys working in a nearby field.
FitzAlan raised his eyebrows at her in a silent question. Pleased that he would defer to her, she nodded. Jamie ran off to greet the tenants as soon as FitzAlan set him on the ground.
Before she could dismount, he was at her side. He lifted her down as though she weighed nothing at all—and did not release her. With his large hands holding her waist, she felt like a trapped hare. It did not help that he was looking at her as if he’d like to gnaw her bones.
She twisted away from him and hurried after Jamie through the field. In an instant, FitzAlan was beside her. He walked so close the heat from his body seemed to pass through their clothing to her skin. Each time his arm brushed hers, it sent tingles through her body.
“Those are two of our tenants, Smith and Jennings, and some of their children. Smith is always willing to take on extra work.”
Good heavens, she was blabbering, but the way his gaze swept her from head to foot made her nervous.
“Why is Smith so willing to do extra work?”
“Smith?” She looked at him blankly before she recalled what she had just said. Without stopping to think, she blurted out the truth. “His wife is such a shrew that he is glad for any excuse to be away from his cottage.”
FitzAlan responded with a smile that reached his eyes. The saints be praised, the man had a sense of humor. What next?
“What of the other man, Jennings?”
“If you want something delivered far from home,” she said, “Jennings is your best man.”
“He is the most responsible?”
“In sooth, he is not, though he serves well enough,” she admitted. “But none of the other men like to leave if Jennings stays behind. They fear if they leave their wives alone, their next child may have Jennings’s green eyes.”
God help her, had she truly said that?
FitzAlan’s deep laugh rang out over the fields. The sound startled her; it seemed so at odds with his serious nature. He looked younger and less formidable when he laughed. And even more handsome. More trouble, that was. All the maids would be atwitter over him.
FitzAlan nodded toward a third man, working apart from the others. “Who is that?”
“Tyler. The only one to give me cause for complaint,” she said as she watched the man in the field with narrowed eyes. “Tyler is not blessed with an honest nature.”
When they reached the tenants, FitzAlan spoke with them about the crops and the weather. As they took their leave, Jamie begged to stay and “help” Jennings’s children with their work.
“I’ll look after the lad, m’lady,” Jennings assured her, “and return him to the castle before supper.”
She thanked the man. Too late, she realized this would leave her alone with FitzAlan.
It was a perfect day, so clear she could see the Black Mountains across the border in Wales as they rode. The warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze touching her face soothed her. As FitzAlan asked her questions about various noble families of the area, the ease she felt earlier returned.
After a time, she ventured a question of her own. “I hear you come from the North. Did you know Northumberland and his son ‘Hotspur’ Percy?”
“It is not possible to live in the North without knowing something of the Percys.” Giving her a sharp look, he asked, “Why do you wish to know about them?”