He didn’t hate Kes, and the only reason she cared was because he was the proprietor of the roof over her head. She had seen him standing by the great hall door, as he’d stood before hers earlier. Did he have a problem with doorways? Or was it just hers?
Before he’d entered the great hall last night, he was looking at her as if he didn’t come inside right away because of her. Why should she affect him in such a way?
He was a strange one, and hadn’t she had her share of those?
Oh, but he hadn’t brooded when he’d come over and sat with her. He seemed to hang on her words, and his library! It was filled with treasures though she couldn’t fully enjoy it. When he’d heard King Richard was returning, he’d said very little. Anger and…the source of his hatred etched his face and he’d left before she could ask him what was wrong.
She finished another batch of linens when she heard his voice outside calling Elia. She bit her lower lip when his footsteps grew louder. She didn’t want Elia to get in trouble for letting her launder the clothes. She certainly didn’t want to do it full-time.
Elia rushed out to speak to him and hopefully veer his path in a different direction.
But it didn’t work. He stepped inside the wash house and looked at her standing over the barrel. He quirked his brow at her and gave her a curious look. “What are you doing?”
It was kind of hard to believe how good looking he was and how masculine he looked in hose. The more she saw of him, the more irresistible he became. She liked the size and shape of him, how he moved and breathed, how he remained still. She liked the way he was looking at her now, as if he couldn’t figure her out.
“I’m helping Claire.”
He turned to the laundress. It gave Kes another second to look him over. He wore a black léine, belted low on his waist, hose that stretched around the long, lean sinew of his thighs, and boots. His dark hair was pulled into a tight queue. His beard, trimmed.
“I know I already asked you this, but do you need help?”
“Aye, she does,” Kes told him. “But not me. Claire, do you want to tell him your idea or should I?”
“You can,” Claire said meekly in front of him.
“Very well. We think Claire should be head laundress. She likes things done a certain way. That is why she never asked for help before. Isn’t that correct, Claire?”
“’Tis,” the laundress admitted.
“She needs an assistant…an apprentice. Someone to help because honestly, Ni…” Kes caught herself in front of the others from being so familiar with him. She wasn’t. “…my lord, this is backbreaking work, six days a week.”
Nicholas blinked at her and then turned to Claire.
Everyone was quiet. Kes thought she heard Claire’s heart pounding…or was it her own?
“Claire, is there a reason you did not tell me this yourself?” His deep voice fell like a sheet of velvet over Kes’ ears. Poor Claire. The laundress obviously liked him and was terribly shy. Kes wondered if she could help.
She couldn’t have him for herself since she was going to find a way home. There had to be a reason she was here, and she didn’t think it had to do with her marrying a knight and not seeing him for weeks or months, or even years at a time. And then waiting to be told that he wasn’t returning home because he’d had his head loped off. No, thank you.
“I did not want you to think me weak,” Claire admitted.
Nicholas breathed in, stretching his léine across his shoulders. His silver gaze did not soften on Claire. In fact, his expression had relaxed a bit to one of indifference. “What I think of you should be of no importance. I am your lord, nothing more. I will send someone to you this afternoon to help with your tasks.”
Without waiting for her response, he turned to Elia. “See to it.”
“Miss Locksley,” he said on his way out. “Come with me. Please.”
She would have smiled at his courteousness, but she felt too bad for poor Claire.
She felt the laundress’ eyes on her as she left the wash house.
“Are you feeling better since the news?” she asked, catching up and walking at his side.
“No. But ’tis a new day.”
And what? Did he intend to spend it with her?
“You were quick and precise with Claire,” She wondered what he wanted with her and if she would be able to get her mind off his foresty scent. “I guess you’re used to it.”
“Used to what?”
“Women falling all over you.”
“No one falls all over me, Miss Locksley. They are mostly silent about what they feel, if anything. ’Tis how I prefer it.”
So, there were no women in his life, and he wanted to keep it that way? Why?
“Why do you want to be alone?”
He shrugged his shoulders and picked a twig off a bush and put it in his mouth. “Less headaches.”
“So you think women are headaches?”
“No,” he said. “They just cause them. I do not have time to nurture a relationship,” he quickly added when she scowled at him. “How about you? Did you leave behind a husband, a lover?”
She shook her head. “My last boyfriend cheated on me.”
“Cheated?”
“He was sleeping…having sex with his dog walker while telling me he loved me.”
When he said nothing, she frowned at him. “Please tell me that you don’t think it’s ok…I mean that you don’t approve.”
Oddly, he looked at her mouth while she spoke, and not at her eyes. Men always looked into her eyes.
“I do not think ’tis ok,” he told her, then looked up. She was sure she saw a light spark in his eyes. “I would prefer it if you did not try to hide your quirks from me.”
“My quirks?” she asked lifting her brows.
“Aye,” he nodded, and there it was, that elusive, genuine,
