“Then Clara will help you,” he said, glancing for affirmation at the woman who’d been Violet’s nurse since she was born.

“Indeed I will, Lady Violet,” Clara agreed. “We shall keep them all in a box and you will show them to your Poppy when he comes. ”

“Now,” Mal said, turning away from his daughter to face Clara and Lelan, who was to lead the traveling group. “You must keep Violet out of the sight and notice of Lady Judith until I can arrive. Do you understand? Nevril has come to Lilyfare by now, and he will assist you to find a place where Violet will not be noticed or underfoot. I must be the one to introduce the two of them. Do you understand?”

Though both of them looked at him with trepidation in their eyes, their responses were affirmative. Mal gave them, and the rest of the men-at-arms in the party, a steady, meaningful look. “I say to you—do you not allow them to cross paths, or you will feel the depths of my ire. And though Lady Judith’s man Waldren travels with you, do you not allow him to learn of Violet’s identity. She is Clara’s daughter, sent away to be safe from the plague. ”

“Aye, my lord,” they said—each of them—in succession as he looked at them.

Satisfied that he’d done all he could to protect Violet from any discord, and also from being recognized as his daughter until he could prepare Judith, he returned to the cart to give his child one last smacking kiss and a hug. “Be a good girl. Papa will come soon and I will wish to see all of the flowers you have collected for me. ”

“Flowers. Aye, Poppy. Clara will help me. ” She beamed and bounced up in his arms, narrowly missing his chin as he bent to embrace her once more to hide the sudden sting of tears. He blinked rapidly, drawing in her delicate, little girl scent.

“Fare thee well and Godspeed,” he said to Lelan when he recovered, setting Violet away. “You shall send word to me every se’enight without fail. ”

“Aye, my lord. And we shall protect her with our lives,” his man replied.

“And more,” Malcolm told him frostily. “Godspeed. ”

He turned and went back into the keep, feeling the same sense of bereftness he’d experienced when leaving Judith behind at Lilyfare. Pray God my daughter is safe until I can see her again.

And now that Violet was safe—or would soon be safe—he had other matters to attend to. The ailing cattle, the sickening villagers…and the fact that the Queen of England had attempted to have him killed.

The

days passed both slowly and quickly at Lilyfare.

Tabatha was delighted her lady had recalled her whimsical promise to allow her a space for her own animal infirmary, and whenever she was not attending Lady Judith, she was at the small structure. The fox had healed and been set free in the meadow, and poor Bear was completely blind so he was corralled in a large area so he did not accidentally get trampled by the horses. Topaz the cat had free reign of the stables, and was just as free with his own gifts of fat mice or squirrels—which Tabby preferred not to receive.

As oft as not, Sir Nevril happened by, usually with a poor jest about rabbit stew (would the man never cease?), but occasionally, he brought something he thought would interest her. Once, a four-leaf clover he informed her was a sign of good luck. Another time, he brought two daisies twined with a dandelion stem. Only two days ago, there was a sparrow with a lame wing, which he carried to her carefully on his large hand.

After she had been at Lilyfare for well over a fortnight, one day Sir Nevril appeared at the doorway of the infirmary. Without even looking over, Tabby knew it was he because of the way his shadow fell, showing the bumps of his curly hair and the breadth of his shoulders…and the way he stood. Casually leaning against the doorway as if waiting for her to notice him.

Quelling the pleasant little flutter in her chest—the one Tabby had begun to notice more oft as of late when he made his appearance—she took her time finishing the project she was doing: sewing a small, warm pocket for a very young rabbit found abandoned inside a small depression in the meadow.

When she looked up and their eyes met, Tabatha felt a quirk of something hot and unfamiliar rush through her. This caused her to speak sharply, “Aye? And what do you there, blocking all of my light, Sir Rabbit Stew?”

Nevril seemed to take this as an invitation and stepped into the small space. He wore no mail today, and so his movements were silent except for the soft grinding of his boot in the dirt. “I bethought you would find this helpful,” he said, pulling something out of his tunic.

It gleamed dully in the middling light, but its subtle rattling was familiar to Tabatha. She rose and took the object—a small silvery thing made of chain mail. “What is it?”

He hesitated, then released his breath. “Put it on. ”

By now she’d unfolded it and saw that it was a mitten, made of mail. Small, much smaller than the one of his she’d borrowed when unmuzzling the fox. Tabby’s heart began to beat rapidly as she realized the mitt was just the size of her own hand. “Nevril,” she breathed, staring down at it. Then she looked at him in surprise. “I…is this for me?”

He nodded abruptly, but his eyes did not leave her face. “Mayhap you will keep from being bitten when you do your work. ” He seemed awkward and tense.

Her face had gone hot and her insides shuddered with delight and shock. Not only was this an expensive gift, but it was so…thoughtful. Tabby couldn’t remember ever being given something so perfect. She could hardly breathe as she looked down at the mitt, then back up at him. “Nevril…I…thank you. ” She blinked hard, suddenly filled with some indefinable emotion. “’Tis a most wondrous, wondrous gift. ” She swallowed and slipped on the mitt.

It fit perfectly, as if someone had formed the mail precisely around her hand whilst she waited. Tabby looked back up at him. “I do not know how to thank you, sir,” she whispered. And all at once, her heart was ramrodding in her chest.

“I can think of one way,” he said, his voice quiet…yet very loud in the close, dim shelter.

“How?” she asked around the sudden frog filling her throat. The flush of heat grew stronger and her stomach flipped around like a fish out of water.

“Might you…might you answer a question for me?” Nevril replied.

Tabby was aware of a wave of disappointment, but she said, “I would attempt it. ”

Tags: Colleen Gleason Medieval Herb Garden Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net