Free Lord of the Manor by Shari Anton

had left for who knew where. Lucinda and Philip stood in the doorway, but neither seemed sure of what to do next.
    “Sit,” he ordered, indicating a chair with a wave of his hand. Lucinda obeyed, if slowly, then put down her pack and lifted Philip onto her lap.
    Her apprehension was palpable and probably natural, given the situation. Still, it fueled his anger. What the devil did she think he would do to her? Or to the boy? He wasn’t some ogre who would physically harm either of them. Surely, during the days they’d already spent together she’d learned something of his nature.
    He might yell, occasionally, and had been known to throw a cup or two across the room, at times. But he wouldn’t hit Lucinda.
    Nay, he wouldn’t hit her, because every time his hand came in contact with any part of her body he wished to stroke, not strike. Wished to caress, not bruise. What the woman did to his innards was unsettling. And must come to a halt, for both of their sakes.
    “Do you want to explain to Philip what is going on, or should I?” he asked.
    With a flash of annoyance, she undertook the task. Philip sat silent, his gaze flickering from Richard to his mother to his hands as the story unfolded. She did so with halting, carefully chosen words, in simple terms that Philip could understand.
    Richard noted that she didn’t relate Stephen’s angry words or the king’s displeasure with Gerard, or her fear for Philip’s life should he be returned to Basil’s family in Normandy. She spared him most of the details that would cause fear, or even discomfort. Richard wondered if it was wise to protect the boy. Philip would need to know the whole of it, eventually. Mayhap, however, she was wise to let him absorb the situation a little at a time.
    “Neither Richard nor I am pleased with the king’s decision,” she told her son. “I dare say Gerard would not be pleased either. That is why we were about to leave, to spare us all unpleasantness.”
    “They do not want us, do they, because my father fought with them.”
    Lucinda smiled wanly as she stroked her son’s hair. “’Twas more than a simple fight, Philip. Your father tried to destroy Wilmont. He sought to have Gerard murdered, and Richard nearly died of wounds inflicted by your father’s men.”
    “That is unlawful,” Philip stated. “Did not the king punish him?”
    “The king thought to, but your father escaped. Then he tried to get others to join a rebellion against Henry. That’s when Basil sent me a message to remove you from the castle at Northbryre, because he knew you might be in danger.”
    Richard noted that she didn’t include herself within Basil’s concern, which shouldn’t be surprising. Men of noble rank rarely cared for their wives, would be more concerned for the safety of a son, an heir.
    Richard knew it foolish to add “lack of feeling for his wife” to the list of Basil’s many sins, but he did. Basil was dead and, undoubtedly, burning in hell. For his multitude of sins, Basil now suffered mightily at the hands of a far harsher master than could be found on earth. Richard found the thought comforting.
    “So we went to live with Oscar and Hetty, so we would be safe,” Philip said.
    Lucinda nodded.
    Philip glanced again at Richard, then turned back to his mother. “Could we go home? Back to Northbryre?”
    “Nay, Philip. Northbryre no longer exists. Remember when I told you that your father died in a fire? That fire was at Northbryre.”
    Richard wondered how much of the true story she knew. Aye, technically, Basil had died in the flames. Both Ardith and Gerard had contributed deeply to his death—Ardith had stabbed Basil when he’d tried to rape her, and Gerard hadn’t made any attempt to rescue the wounded man from the flames. Few people knew the whole story, but there had been speculation.
    Lucinda looked up at Richard. “I also heard thatthe land on which Northbryre stood now belongs to Wilmont. True?”
    “The king