Read Online Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance) by Anna Markland - Free Book Online
Authors: Anna Markland
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their master. Mortified, she tried to pull away. “Forgive me, milord , I am not your nursemaid. I should not have touched you.”
He pressed her hand to his cheek, covering it with his palm. “I enjoy your touch. You are a warm and caring woman. No wonder your children love you.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. Could he hear it? Had he guessed? She averted her gaze. “My hands are rough. The kitchens.”
Frowning, he took her hand away from his face, studying it closely. “Kitchens? You’ve been working in the kitchens?”
She was dismayed when the happiness drained from his face. “I have no duties during the day, so—”
He squeezed her hand. “Look at me. By whose command?”
She studied her feet, unwilling to say anything that might jeopardize the relationship between her children and the Venestres.
He narrowed his eyes. “I will inform Steward Bonhomme you are not a scullery maid.”
She clutched her skirts with her free hand. “But at least it gives me something to do during the day.”
He brushed a kiss on her knuckles, then released her. “I will find you a position, but it will not be in the kitchens.”
Elation soared. A Count bestowing a courtly kiss—on a servant. But then her heart fell. He could only mean—
He stalked off into the Keep.
Suddenly aware of the silence, she turned to find several pairs of curious young eyes watching her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ALEX SOAKED IN THE TUB his valet had prepared. The hot water eased his aches and pains, but did nothing to soothe his agitated heart.
Why had he never joined in such exhilarating games as a child? What had caused him to hold himself aloof from his brothers and sisters? Had he felt different because he was destined to be Comte ? Or was it because their father always seemed at ease with his other children, but awkward with him? Perhaps shyness was simply in his nature.
Had his father treated him differently because he was the eldest son, or because he felt guilty he’d been in prison when his heir was born?
And Henry Dunkeld. What was it about the boy that made him feel protective, and caring , a word he’d never ascribed to himself before as far as children were concerned? Though it was a foreign emotion, he liked it. The lad was a hostage, an eight year old. Yet he’d not only touched Alex’s heart, he’d made him more appreciative of his nephews and nieces.
As for Claricia—could a ny man ever want a more delightful child? Perhaps he should encourage all the children to call him Lix.
He rejected the notion. The nickname was a special bond between him and the little girl.
He startled, dropping the soap he’d been stroking over his bruised shins, when Albert suddenly embarked on scrubbing his back. It jolted him out of his reverie. What was he thinking? An attachment for the Dunkelds would be a grave mistake.
They were not his children, nor would they ever be. They were royalty. They had a father, the heir to the throne of Scotland, who was most likely missing his twins keenly.
The thought left him bereft. If they were his he would have moved heaven and earth to keep them from being sent away as hostages. King David had given Maud his word he would help her. Evidently that hadn’t been sufficient for Maud and her Angevin husband.
He wondered again about the suitability of such a pair for the English throne. Compared to Stephen—
Alex was determined Henry and Claricia not be separated from the nursemaid they loved so dearly. Though he didn’t understand Gaelic, hearing Henry’s gleeful shout to his Maman in the bailey had filled him with joy. The boy even thought of her as his mother. Not surprising since his birth mother had died giving him life.
Elayne lavished love on them, as if they were her own.
But why had he rashly promised he would find her a position? Doing what? Why did the idea of her slaving in the kitchen fill him with such outrage? She was a servant, expected to contribute to the successful running of
He pressed her hand to his cheek, covering it with his palm. “I enjoy your touch. You are a warm and caring woman. No wonder your children love you.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. Could he hear it? Had he guessed? She averted her gaze. “My hands are rough. The kitchens.”
Frowning, he took her hand away from his face, studying it closely. “Kitchens? You’ve been working in the kitchens?”
She was dismayed when the happiness drained from his face. “I have no duties during the day, so—”
He squeezed her hand. “Look at me. By whose command?”
She studied her feet, unwilling to say anything that might jeopardize the relationship between her children and the Venestres.
He narrowed his eyes. “I will inform Steward Bonhomme you are not a scullery maid.”
She clutched her skirts with her free hand. “But at least it gives me something to do during the day.”
He brushed a kiss on her knuckles, then released her. “I will find you a position, but it will not be in the kitchens.”
Elation soared. A Count bestowing a courtly kiss—on a servant. But then her heart fell. He could only mean—
He stalked off into the Keep.
Suddenly aware of the silence, she turned to find several pairs of curious young eyes watching her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ALEX SOAKED IN THE TUB his valet had prepared. The hot water eased his aches and pains, but did nothing to soothe his agitated heart.
Why had he never joined in such exhilarating games as a child? What had caused him to hold himself aloof from his brothers and sisters? Had he felt different because he was destined to be Comte ? Or was it because their father always seemed at ease with his other children, but awkward with him? Perhaps shyness was simply in his nature.
Had his father treated him differently because he was the eldest son, or because he felt guilty he’d been in prison when his heir was born?
And Henry Dunkeld. What was it about the boy that made him feel protective, and caring , a word he’d never ascribed to himself before as far as children were concerned? Though it was a foreign emotion, he liked it. The lad was a hostage, an eight year old. Yet he’d not only touched Alex’s heart, he’d made him more appreciative of his nephews and nieces.
As for Claricia—could a ny man ever want a more delightful child? Perhaps he should encourage all the children to call him Lix.
He rejected the notion. The nickname was a special bond between him and the little girl.
He startled, dropping the soap he’d been stroking over his bruised shins, when Albert suddenly embarked on scrubbing his back. It jolted him out of his reverie. What was he thinking? An attachment for the Dunkelds would be a grave mistake.
They were not his children, nor would they ever be. They were royalty. They had a father, the heir to the throne of Scotland, who was most likely missing his twins keenly.
The thought left him bereft. If they were his he would have moved heaven and earth to keep them from being sent away as hostages. King David had given Maud his word he would help her. Evidently that hadn’t been sufficient for Maud and her Angevin husband.
He wondered again about the suitability of such a pair for the English throne. Compared to Stephen—
Alex was determined Henry and Claricia not be separated from the nursemaid they loved so dearly. Though he didn’t understand Gaelic, hearing Henry’s gleeful shout to his Maman in the bailey had filled him with joy. The boy even thought of her as his mother. Not surprising since his birth mother had died giving him life.
Elayne lavished love on them, as if they were her own.
But why had he rashly promised he would find her a position? Doing what? Why did the idea of her slaving in the kitchen fill him with such outrage? She was a servant, expected to contribute to the successful running of
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