Free Lord of Midnight by Jo Beverley Page B

brother doing something rash.
    She went over to him. “Come with me to the kitchens, love.”
    “I want to stay here.”
    “Why?”
    “To watch him.”
    “Why?”
    He looked up then, so at least she’d broken the spell of fear and anger. “I
hate
him. That’s Father’s chair. We should—”
    She squeezed his shoulder hard. “Don’t, love. Don’t. There’s nothing you can do.”
    “Felice said I’m the man, now. That I have to protect you all. And I am, aren’t I?”
    Claire wished Felice an extra century or two in purgatory. “Thomas, there’s nothing any of us can do now. And it’s not really his fault.”
    “But you’re going to marry him, aren’t you? Then you’ll take his side. Like Gran.”
    “Gran doesn’t take his side. She just doesn’t see any point in opposing him.”
    He shook his head, his blond curls bouncing with his frustration. “I mean after Hastings, when Grandfather came! Do you know Sigfrith in the stables?”
    What on earth was he talking about? “Yes.”
    “He’s Gran’s cousin. He was part of the family here, but now he works in the stables, and Gran doesn’t care! That’ll happen to me, won’t it?”
    Claire pulled him to her, smothering his rising voice with her body. “No, love. No, I’ll make sure it won’t.” She pushed him back and looked into his wild eyes. “But,Thomas, the only way we’ll make anything out of this is to step carefully. Come.”
    She pushed him before her out of the room, but couldn’t resist one glance back. Renald de Lisle was watching her. A raised finger brought his squire to his side. A moment later, the young man followed her.
    “I’m only going to the kitchens to check on the food. Presumably you want to eat.”
    “I’ll be no trouble, lady.”
    No, she thought. You’ll just stop us from running away. In such a short time Summerbourne had changed from home to prison.
    To her surprise, the kitchens weren’t in disorder. The mood was somber and some women dabbed at their eyes with their aprons, but work was going ahead. There would be a decent meal shortly.
    The servants all clustered around her, of course, seeking information and reassurance. She gave the best she could.
    “Is it true you’re to marry him, lady?” asked the cook.
    “One of us will marry him, yes.”
    “Better you, lady. Better you.”
    With that he turned away, but he’d placed another burden on her shoulders. Of course the people here wouldn’t want Felice as mistress. She had a quick temper and a sharp hand with punishment. Her way of always thinking the worst curdled the air.
    “I can’t take everyone’s cares on myself.” It was only when she saw sympathy in the squire’s blue eyes that she realized she’d spoken aloud.
    She turned her mind firmly to efficiency and food.
    As Claire was discussing a problem about the beer casks, laughter startled her. She glanced over and saw her guard relaxed at the long table and amusing the curious servants. Whether by accident or design, his youth, freckles, and cheerful grin were lightening the atmosphere in the kitchen by the moment.
    She pushed away the hurt of that. She couldn’t stay to take care of the people here, but she didn’t want them miserable. If the squire and the master brought happiness, she must approve of that. It hurt, though, to see Thomas by his side, looking calmer as he listened to a story about London.
    Oh, mercy, wasn’t that what she’d wanted— that he put his anger and fear aside and accept the situation? Claire didn’t know what she wanted anymore other than escape.
    Why couldn’t she slip out to the camp now? She would persuade Felice of the advantages of the match, and her aunt could come back in to prepare for her wedding. Claire would stay with Amice in her place.
    First, she tried the obvious thing and strolled out of the kitchen.
    Immediately, she heard the young man behind her.
    She stopped to face him. “Are you going to creep around after me