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Authors: Annette Blair
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selling at market, slaughtering to provide necessities, like clothing and blankets. And they are for eating. We could not afford the luxury of pets and neither can you.”
“Go to the devil, Reed Gilbride.”
“That, I will, Sister Chastity. That, I surely will.”
CHAPTER FIVE
No doubt about it, Sister Chastity was still furious. Even from the library, Reed could hear her slamming pans, and he guessed that Zeke stew was out of the question.
He gazed about the cherry-paneled reading room. He could not search, of course, not yet. They’d made a pact, after all, he and Chastity, but he liked to read—no harm in reading.
Hundreds of books taunted him with centuries of secrets. Reed swore, chose two, and sat behind a mahogany knee-hole desk in the center of the once-treasured but well-used room, a sense of connection, of ... belonging, filling him for the first time, since ... since welcomed by the rogues into Wellington’s army.
Sinking against the soft buttery leather, Reed marveled at the anticipation filling him. Here, he might find what he had craved his whole life—knowledge of his past, except that he had promised not to search.
“To the devil with promises.” He cursed. He should be looking through family histories. He did not have time to work a farm or care for a hoyden nun and her band of marauding vagabonds. The woman stole children for heaven’s sakes. So what if she had a honey-warm voice and a heart to match? So what if she needed him, and they needed him? Somebody always needed him, but damned if the needing had ever warmed his stone-cold heart before.
Why did Mark’s haunted look haunt him? And Rebekah’s wail? Sure, he would like to throw Luke’s horn in a tarn, but he, at least, was open and trusting. Luke made him smile.
Reed sat forward. Blast it, no one made him smile, especially not someone of the stripling variety. He slapped the first book shut, and opened the next. Children who make you smile; now there was a dangerous thought. He slammed the second book as well.
“Why are you mad all the time?” Mark asked, catching Reed mid-scowl.
“Who are you to talk?” Reed countered. “Why are you mad all the time?”
Mark folded his arms. “I asked you first.”
Matt came in and stopped beside Mark.
Reed regarded them earnestly. “Life is like that. Something happens to make you mad, and if you can, you do something about it. If you cannot, you learn to live with it.” Reed did not like one bit that his words seemed to cause Matt some painful inner struggle. Neither was he pleased to recognize it.
“What if it happened, like, last year?” Matt asked, worry etching his young features. “And you cannot change it.”
Reed sighed. “Sometimes, all you can do is go on and make the best of the situation, of yourself, and of life.” Reed scowled. Damn, he sounded like a preacher, worse, a father, God help him.
“I always feel better when Kitty hugs me,” Luke told Reed, as he came from the corner of the room, book in hand. “Maybe she should hug you too.”
“Anybody ever tell you that you’re a smart boy?”
Luke grinned. “All the time.”
Mark snorted and left; Matt followed.
Reed suspected that he had not given Mark or Matt the right answers, and he regretted that, but blast if he knew what the answers were. He wished to the devil that he understood the questions.
Luke sat on the floor beside him and opened a book.
Reed chose another and did the same.
“What is a B-A-S-T-A-R-D?” Luke spelled, breaking the silence with a vengeance.
“What the devil?” Reed extended his open palm for the book. “What are you reading?”
Luke rolled his eyes and reluctantly placed the book in his hand.
Reed caressed the well-worn cover of a book whose match once gave him hours of rare pleasure. “The Life and Inventions of Leonardo DaVinci. Of all the books in the Squire’s library, this was my favorite. Judging by the look of this one, some St. Yves held a similar
“Go to the devil, Reed Gilbride.”
“That, I will, Sister Chastity. That, I surely will.”
CHAPTER FIVE
No doubt about it, Sister Chastity was still furious. Even from the library, Reed could hear her slamming pans, and he guessed that Zeke stew was out of the question.
He gazed about the cherry-paneled reading room. He could not search, of course, not yet. They’d made a pact, after all, he and Chastity, but he liked to read—no harm in reading.
Hundreds of books taunted him with centuries of secrets. Reed swore, chose two, and sat behind a mahogany knee-hole desk in the center of the once-treasured but well-used room, a sense of connection, of ... belonging, filling him for the first time, since ... since welcomed by the rogues into Wellington’s army.
Sinking against the soft buttery leather, Reed marveled at the anticipation filling him. Here, he might find what he had craved his whole life—knowledge of his past, except that he had promised not to search.
“To the devil with promises.” He cursed. He should be looking through family histories. He did not have time to work a farm or care for a hoyden nun and her band of marauding vagabonds. The woman stole children for heaven’s sakes. So what if she had a honey-warm voice and a heart to match? So what if she needed him, and they needed him? Somebody always needed him, but damned if the needing had ever warmed his stone-cold heart before.
Why did Mark’s haunted look haunt him? And Rebekah’s wail? Sure, he would like to throw Luke’s horn in a tarn, but he, at least, was open and trusting. Luke made him smile.
Reed sat forward. Blast it, no one made him smile, especially not someone of the stripling variety. He slapped the first book shut, and opened the next. Children who make you smile; now there was a dangerous thought. He slammed the second book as well.
“Why are you mad all the time?” Mark asked, catching Reed mid-scowl.
“Who are you to talk?” Reed countered. “Why are you mad all the time?”
Mark folded his arms. “I asked you first.”
Matt came in and stopped beside Mark.
Reed regarded them earnestly. “Life is like that. Something happens to make you mad, and if you can, you do something about it. If you cannot, you learn to live with it.” Reed did not like one bit that his words seemed to cause Matt some painful inner struggle. Neither was he pleased to recognize it.
“What if it happened, like, last year?” Matt asked, worry etching his young features. “And you cannot change it.”
Reed sighed. “Sometimes, all you can do is go on and make the best of the situation, of yourself, and of life.” Reed scowled. Damn, he sounded like a preacher, worse, a father, God help him.
“I always feel better when Kitty hugs me,” Luke told Reed, as he came from the corner of the room, book in hand. “Maybe she should hug you too.”
“Anybody ever tell you that you’re a smart boy?”
Luke grinned. “All the time.”
Mark snorted and left; Matt followed.
Reed suspected that he had not given Mark or Matt the right answers, and he regretted that, but blast if he knew what the answers were. He wished to the devil that he understood the questions.
Luke sat on the floor beside him and opened a book.
Reed chose another and did the same.
“What is a B-A-S-T-A-R-D?” Luke spelled, breaking the silence with a vengeance.
“What the devil?” Reed extended his open palm for the book. “What are you reading?”
Luke rolled his eyes and reluctantly placed the book in his hand.
Reed caressed the well-worn cover of a book whose match once gave him hours of rare pleasure. “The Life and Inventions of Leonardo DaVinci. Of all the books in the Squire’s library, this was my favorite. Judging by the look of this one, some St. Yves held a similar
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