My Lady's Choice. Lyn Stone

aback by his sudden vehemence, Sara shook her head. “Oh, Richard, I had no such notion.”

      “See that you do not. Nan shall be taught a lady’s skills so that she might marry well one day. Her birth is not to be discussed in her presence. Not by anyone. Is that understood?”

      “I agree,” Sara said. “Does she know that she is your natural child?”

      He snorted with disgust and looked away. “People have beaten her about the head with that fact since the day of her birth. Always behind my back, be assured. But if it happens here, I shall know it and there will be consequences.”

      Sara smiled with relief and delight. “You love her.”

      He sighed heavily and rested his elbows on the table. “She has no one else.”

      Sara reached out and encircled his arm with her hands, unable to help showing how much she admired him. “Rest your mind on that score, Richard. Your Nan will have me, as well.”

      That earned her a wary look of hope. He did not quite believe her, but she could see that he wanted to. That was progress.

      Sara determined then and there that no matter what his children were like, she would make them as welcome as if she had birthed them herself.

      She patted his arm fondly and let go of him. “Now, finish your meal and go above for a rest. We must get you completely well before Christopher and Nan arrive. Nothing troubles a child more than seeing the father less than hardy. I speak as one who knows.”

      He rose and accompanied her toward the entrance. It felt almost natural now, this walking side by side in step, her arm looped through his. Progress, indeed. Yesterday, he would have stalked away and left her standing there.

      “Your father was often ill?” he asked, his voice almost conversational, as though they truly were companions and he cared about her answer.

      “Healthy, for the most part, but I have seen him wounded a few times. Father was never the most cautious of men.” She remembered well her feelings whenever she had seen her sire bedridden. “As a girl, I much feared he would die and leave me.”

      “And so he did,” Richard reminded her. She heard the sympathy in his voice, even though he tried to sound blunt. The man had a good heart, but worked so devilish hard to hide it from her.

      She frowned up at him. “Aye, he died. But I was no longer a girl when it happened. Though one is never prepared to lose a father, I was able to keep things going much as he would have done.”

      He pursed his lips and nodded. “Until you found you must marry.” As they climbed the steps, he asked, “Those two suitors of yours cannot be the only bids for your hand in all these years. Why did you wait so long? Most women are wed, or at least betrothed, at half your age.”

      Sara pulled open the door, not waiting for him to do her the courtesy. “I grew old awaiting the right man,” she said brightly. “And, lo, I have found you.”

      She grinned up at his dark expression and fiercely in-drawn breath. Good Lord, why did she feel so obliged to bait him? Must be because he always reacted so obligingly, she thought.

      Her wicked teasing would one day be the death of her, but somehow she could not resist. “You are entirely too grave, Richard,” she admonished playfully. “I did but jest.”

      “I failed to find humor in it.”

      “Well, I guessed that right away. What must we do to make you laugh, I wonder?” She sidled away from him and then turned toward the kitchens.

      His eyes remained on her back until she was out of sight. She could feel the heat of his glare. It warmed more than her heart, she thought with a secret smile.

      Richard watched Sara’s hips sway as she left him standing in the hall. She did that apurpose, he knew.

      With those long legs and slender curves, the woman had to work at that enticing, follow-me saunter. She usually moved with a firm and purposeful stride. She continued to taunt him, now without any words.

      Despite knowing that, he was still watching when the hall door burst open just behind him.

      A breathless lad he’d met earlier gasped, “Milord…banners. Royal. Quarter league distant. A herald rides hard for the gates.”

      King Edward. Richard groaned beneath his breath. He was not looking forward to this.