“’Tis said the chancellor holds court rather than the king,” Maris interjected. “The king goes to Becket’s court, rather than the chancellor coming to his. Even the diplomats attend Becket, rather than the queen—which I cannot imagine she appreciates. ”
“Nay, I would not expect it thus,” Dirick said. He cast a brief glance at his host, wondering whether the man was merely indulgent of his daughter’s vocal tendencies, or whether he encouraged it. And he wondered where Maris got her information—by listening in on such conversations, or from her father.
Or mayhap from whomever she was meeting in the village a night.
All at once, Lady Maris didn’t seem quite as naïve and innocent as one might think.
“Becket dresses in all frippery and serves the most gluttonous meals,” Maris continued. “’Tis said the king even rode his horse into Becket’s hall one evening for dinner!”
She paused to wipe daintily at her mouth, and Dirick’s attention followed her hand as it brushed over a pair of full, pink lips. He found his eyes caught there for a moment and his mouth went dry.
A surprise heat swept over him at the thought of tasting that sensual mouth—despite the fact that it hardly seemed to cease speaking. Tearing his eyes away while focusing on that wry thought, Dirick turned to his trencher and took a long swallow of wine. He had obviously been too long without a woman—a state he would rectify tonight. Until then, he would he would firmly steer his thoughts away from the daughter of his host.
“Maris, do you not carry tales,” Merle was admonishing her good naturedly.
“Aye, Papa,” she conceded with a smile. “Though ’twas only yourself who told me the same story last night. ”
Merle chuckled and changed the subject, continuing to speak to his daughter—which gave Dirick a moment to redirect his base thoughts from the lovely woman sitting next to her father. “How fare the cooper’s wife and babes?” Merle asked.
“The woman is a bit weak, for she has lost much blood,” she said. “The babes thrive, and I’ve sent Bernice, the smith’s daughter, to wet nurse for them whilst Thomas’s wife recovers. Her own babe died this se’ennight past, and she was glad to do it. ”
“Maris has the gift of healing and she spends much of her time in the village, caring for the people,” Merle explained to their guest.
“The cooper’s wife bore two babes?” Dirick asked, keeping his attention upon her hazel eyes instead of allowing it to drop lower.
“Aye. Both hale and hearty boys, though it was a horrific birthing,” she replied. “She was nearly lost herself and will have a long recovery. ”
“You’ve done all you can for the cooper, and with the smith’s daughter to keep the babes, verily the mill will continue to function. I will visit him on the morrow to express my own felicitations,” Merle said as the last platters were cleared from the high table.
Dirick remembered how much it meant for him when his lord showed sympathy for his recent loss, and his admiration for Merle Lareux grew, knowing that he would do the same for a lowly peasant. Then all at once, a great yawn surprised him, nearly cracking his jaw with its violence. Dirick muffled it with a large hand and said, “Pardon, ladies, ’tis not your company which wearies me. I’d a long journey, and the day was even longer. ”
“Of course,” Merle agreed. “Maris, will you not show Sir Dirick where the men-at-arms lay their pallets? And any other comforts he may need? Come, Allegra, let us go abovestairs. ”
Maris stood reluctantly, dismay by her father’s innocent command. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with this man. She’d felt his attention returning to her again and again during the evening, and had been unable to ignore the interest in his stare. Try as she might, she’d been unable to keep her mouth closed and her mind on her food—as her mother had admonished her many a time. Nay, if the man was to wed her, he’d know from the beginning that she had her own thoughts and opinions, and an interest in the world beyond Langumont’s walls.
“Of course, Papa,” she said in a voice that disguised her discomfort.
Obviously, Sir Dirick did not miss her mislike of the situation, for as soon as Merle and Allegra were out of earshot, he said, “Lady Maris, I am perfectly able to find my own pallet. ”
“Nay, ’tis my father’s wish. I should not put a guest out,” she smiled at him, swallowing the resentment she felt for being pressed into a marriage she did not want. In all honesty, it was not this man’s fault—and he seemed pleasant enough now that he was not ahorse. “Have you bathed?”
“Nay,” he shook his head, surprise flashing in his gray-blue eyes.
“May I offer you a warm bath before I direct you to your pallet?” she asked. “Gustave will bring the water. I won’t take long, and you will soon be for bed. ”
“You?” Those eyes turned on her with a sudden intensity, and he looked at her for a moment, a very faint smile hovering at the corners of his mouth.
Maris’s throat went dry and she nearly stepped away from him and the unexpected stirrings in her middle. The sudden image of this man, devoid of his chausses and tunic, settled into a tub that would hardly fit his large body, filled her mind. His dark hair, which now curled wildly about his face and jaw, would be sleek and dripping, his broad shoulders bare and steam rising from dark skin—
Maris bit her lip as her cheeks flushed with warmth. What was wrong with her? She’d never had such lewd thoughts over such a mundane chore. “Aye, of course,” she managed to say in response to the question she’d nearly forgotten.
“Nay,” Sir Dirick rumbled after what seemed like forever. His smooth, low voice carried easily to her ears, even over the noise of the servants as they cleared off the tables and stacked the benches. “I do not believe I should put myself through such torture. ”
Her heart in her throat and her mind whirling—unsure as to what he meant by such a comment—Maris spun away to hide her discomfiture. “Then if you would follow me,” she murmured and blindly began to make her way between the nearly empty tables, anxious to be rid of her charge.
As they approached a group of rowdy knights, Maris paused, resting her hand on the shoulder of a burly, red headed one. They quieted almost as if she’d commanded it. “Sir Raymond, how fares your shoulder? Is the pain lessening?”
The man’s face nearly matched the color of his hair when he turned it up to look at her. “Aye, my lady. The pain is nearly gone. ” He moved his arm as if to demonstrate.