Free A Whisper of Rosemary by Colleen Gleason Page A

teeth, and set a dower price?”
     
    Dirick managed to neither smile nor grimace at her words, which made the whole process sound callous. “As your father said last evening, I am lately come from Paris and travel through the area, looking to work for a lord such as your father.”
     
    “ Aye?” she asked, an odd tone in her voice. “It seems you have much knowledge of Henry’s court for one come so newly from France.”
     
    “ King Louis keeps many eyes on the court of the man who stole his wife,” Dirick replied smoothly.
     
    “ Such beautiful horseflesh you have for an itinerant knight,” she said.
     
    Dirick looked at her, certain that the innocence in her voice was feigned, but unwilling to believe that she could be suspicious of him. What did a woman know of horseflesh? He decided to divert her attention. “Aye, I have an eye for good horseflesh…among other pleasures.”
     
    Maris flushed and turned away. “Did you partake of such pleasures last night?” she threw back without looking at him.
     
    Dirick was rendered momentarily speechless by her blunt question. “Lady Maris—” A noise behind drew his attention. “Who goes there?” he called, stepping in front of her with a sudden, graceful movement, hand going to the sword buckled at his waist.
     
    “’ Tis Peter the Marshal,” replied a voice, matching Dirick’s in warning. “An’ who be ye?”
     
    Maris brushed past Dirick, and the scent of her, fresh and lemony, filled his nostrils as she stepped into the walkway. “Peter, good morrow to you. Hickory’s leg is near healed,” she said. “’Tis Sir Dirick de Arlande with me,” she explained as the stooped old man peered at Dirick over her shoulder. “Peter has been Langumont’s marshal for near three score years—and his sons and grandsons after him.”
     
    “ Aye, I see—you have the same look as the young man who took Nick’s reins upon my arrival. He had a gentle touch with my stallion, a definite way with horses,” Dirick replied.
     
    Peter nodded with pleasure. “Aye, my lord, ’twas my oldest grandson, Percival. I vow, ’e ’as ’orseblood in ’is own veins!”
     
    Dirick chuckled, and his attention turned back to Maris when she knelt to show Peter the mare’s foreleg. By now the stable was fairly light, and the shades of grey had turned to muted color. The fat braid that roused his curiosity had been flipped back over her shoulder when she stooped and he nearly reached out to touch its glossy darkness. Chestnut hair. Chestnut hair and green  and gold flecked eyes and full pink lips.
     
    Dirick jerked his thoughts back from where they skittered into impropriety just as Maris stood. They were nearly on top of each other. Her nose almost bumped his chest when she turned quickly and he took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest.
     
    She ignored him. Peter had her full attention and her eyes snapped golden while her cheeks flushed pink as she explained the healing process of Hickory’s leg as proudly as if the mare’s steps were her own child’s first ones.
     
    When at last the marshal turned to go about his business, Maris turned to Dirick. “Well, sir, do you intend to stand there supporting the stable wall all the day? I assure you, my Papa would not allow any building on his lands to come to that state in which a well paid man should spend his time holding it up.”
     
    He couldn’t help but grin at her saucy tongue. “Nay, lady. I but wait for you to finish trilling with the marshal and leave to go about your business.”
     
    “ Trilling, indeed.” She stamped her foot indignantly, and even in the soft dirt floor he could hear the thud.
     
    “ God’s bones, lady, do you sound like my destrier when he seeks a mare in season.” He cocked an eyebrow and widened his grin.
     
    Maris turned in a swirl of cloak to stalk out of the stable. Dirick followed, hands clasped innocently behind his back. His long legs gave him the speed to