“Never mind. Go back to your dicing. And no cheating,” he added under his breath.
Peter looked momentarily taken aback, but instantly rearranged his features into an expression of cherubic innocence.
“I would never, my lord,” he said indignantly.
Jeremy nodded and left the stables, feeling foolish in the extreme. He returned to the house and went up to his room, grateful not to have to get into bed with Marjorie.
Chapter 28
Alys woke at dawn. It was still dark outside, and the tiny room she shared with Millie was cold and damp. The days were still pleasant, but the nights were growing colder, winter truly on its way.
Alys washed her face, dressed, and pinned up her hair before making her way downstairs to the kitchen, followed by a silent Millie. The other servants were seated at the pine table, and they squeezed together on the benches to make room for the two latecomers. Alys was given a cup of warm broth and a bowl of porridge liberally flavored with butter and honey. It was really quite good, and Alys wished she could ask for seconds, but the pot had been scraped clean. Everyone ate in silence, still too muzzy with sleep to make small talk. Having finished her breakfast, Alys was about to leave when Mistress Helmsley addressed her.
“Fetch some cream from the springhouse, Alys,” she said, and handed Alys a brass key.
“Yes, ma’am,” Alys replied, grateful to have been given the task. At least she’d get a few minutes’ walk instead of getting down to her chores immediately.
“Steven, Lady Lockwood wishes to wash. Bring the hip bath to her chamber, and I’ll warm the kettle,” Mistress Helmsley told one of the male servants. He nodded and went out.
Alys wrapped a woolen shawl about her shoulders and slipped out the back door. Peachy bands of light shone through the gaps in the trees, the sky turning from the deep gray of predawn to the lighter shade of the coming morning, the bright dot that was the sun shimmering on the horizon. Alys was cold, and her shoes and hose were damp from the dew that lay heavy on the grass, but she was glad to be outside, relishing her brief flirtation with freedom.
The springhouse was in the woods behind the house, the stone building squatting over a cool spring that was used to keep milk products fresh during the summer months. It had no windows, only a low door that was locked at all times to prevent theft. Alys unlocked the door and went in, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim confines exposed by the faint light let in by the open door. She located a can of cream and raised it out of the water, ready to return.
A dark shadow loomed in the doorway, plunging the springhouse into darkness. Alys glanced up, her heart thudding with fear until she realized she was looking at Lord Lockwood standing on the threshold.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said, wondering what he was doing there at such an early hour. Had she been a lady, she’d sleep till the sun was high in the sky and then dillydally in bed until she was good and ready to start her day.
“Good morning,” he said, stepping inside. His wide shoulders blocked the light, so all Alys could make out was his outline. “Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Alys asked, rising to her feet. She wanted to return to the house but couldn’t get past Lord Lockwood without asking him to step out of her way.
“I’m sorry for the way my wife treated you.”
“Think nothing of it, my lord. She was well within her rights,” Alys replied stiffly.
“I didn’t mean to make things more difficult for you,” Lord Lockwood said. “I just don’t always agree with her way of doing things.”
“You needn’t explain yerself to me, my lord,” Alys said.
He made no move to leave, and she wondered if he’d followed her to the springhouse intentionally. She realized she should be afraid but couldn’t bring herself to fear him. She didn’t think he meant her any harm. If he did, he wouldn’t still be standing in the doorway, behaving as if he’d wronged her somehow.
“I must get back. Cook is waiting for the cream,” Alys said, her breath catching in her throat. If he failed to move, then she was trapped, entirely at his mercy. He wouldn’t be the first man to force himself on a servant. She as good as belonged to him now that he was master of the Ashcombe estate.
“Of course. I didn’t mean to keep you.” But he still didn’t step away from the door.
Alys’s heart lurched, but she had to try to get away from him. “Excuse me, my lord,” she said, taking a tentative step toward the door and praying he’d move.
He stepped aside then, and she maneuvered past him, desperate to get away. His shadowed gaze made her uneasy. It was as if he wished to say something to her but doubted the wisdom of such an action. She would have liked to talk to him, to converse as they had when they’d walked to the village the day they met, but everything had shifted since that day, for them both.
Forgoing the pleasure of the walk back, Alys sprinted toward the house, wanting only to get back to the safety of the kitchen. Why had he looked at her that way? And why had he felt the need to apologize? He was her master; he owed her no excuses for his lady’s actions.
“Goodness, girl, ye frightened me,” Mistress Helmsley said as Alys burst into the kitchen, panting from the exertion of running all the way back.
Alys set the can of cream on the table and stood as close
