Lady Thief (31 page)

William looked to his son for
confirmation.

Blaise sighed, as though hesitant to admit to
his near defeat at the hands of a puddle.
"'Tis true.
I have the
wound on the back of my head to prove it."

"Thank the Lord you are safe!" Lady Gray said
as her husband reached his hand behind his son’s head to find the
giant lump.
Blaise hissed when his father’s fingers touched it.

"It appears we owe you quite a bit of thanks,
Elizabeth." Lord Gray said.
"I am not one to let a deed like this
go without its reward.
Name whatever you wish, and I shall give it
to you."

Blaise smiled playfully at her.
"She has
expressed an interest in working in our kitchens."

"Nay!
No!
I—" Elizabeth stopped herself,
humiliated by her outburst.
She cleared her throat and softened her
voice.
"Please, milord, my father was a wealthy, noble man, but
unfortunate Fate had me taken from him before the time I was born
and raised in poverty.
If ye believe ye owe me anything, I would
like to have that rectified."

William shook his head.
"I cannot give you a
title, but if money is what ye seek, I can arrange for
something."

***

Blaise awaited her reply, waited for
Elizabeth to prove that she was just another greedy harlot out to
make a profit off of him.
Admittedly, ‘twas difficult seeing her as
anything but innocent with the beauty that seemed to encase itself
in her very being.
She practically glowed with it as her wide eyes
blinked a few times while she thought of what answer she would
give.

Her dark eyes turned and met his.
Blaise’s
breath stilled.
How did she have the power to do this to him!
She
gazed inside of him as though attempting to see what was in his
head.

Blaise did not like it.
He scowled and turned
away.

Elizabeth returned her attention to his
father and hesitated, as though unsure of herself.

After a moment she shook her head.
"Nay,
milord, for payment in saving the life of your son, I humbly ask to
be able to live in this castle with you and your family."

Blaise rocked back on the soles of his booted
feet.
Surely she jested!
He looked to his father.
The man scratched
his chin as though contemplating an answer.

Finally, William looked at him.
"'Tis your
life she spared, what say you?"

Blaise wanted to deny her the right to live
in the castle as an equal instead of a servant since that was the
wench's goal the whole time.
He stared into her eyes, the same
color as the mud which had been caked on her during their walk back
to the castle.
He'd nearly been thrown off his guard when she
presented herself, washed and dressed like a true lady, but he knew
the truth.

Or at least, he thought he did.
The pleading
look she sent him now was nothing like the manipulative stares he
used to receive from Robert whenever the man wanted something.

He knew better now.
He would never allow
himself to be so small that he could be manipulated again.

Still, Elizabeth was...different.
He sensed
something beneath her, hiding, and he did not like it.
But if he
was wrong about her, would he be tossing a woman who had saved his
life, with nothing but the best intentions in mind, out into the
cold?

He needed to know for certain before he made
that decision.
He needed to prove to himself whether she was
innocent or guilty of using him for her own benefit.

Whether she be a greedy social climbing wench
or not, she still saved his life.
The least he could do was allow
her to stay while he made up his mind.
"She stays, for now."

Eliza's chest deflated as though she’d been
holding her breath.
"Thank you, milord."

His smile was the only response he would give
to her.
He would not forewarn her about his intent to watch her,
that any misstep she made, any hint he received that she planned
for this, would be her undoing.
He would send her out himself.

He refused to be used by anyone else.

His step-mother, Marianne, went to Eliza and
put her arms about her shoulders, welcoming the other woman whole
heartedly.
"I am sorry to hear of your situation, Elizabeth.
Perhaps we can send a messenger to your father and let him know
that you are here."

Eliza shook her head.
"'Tis very generous of
you, but my father died six years ago.
I don't believe he even knew
I existed.
I am a bastard."

Sympathy swelled inside Blaise when she
uttered that profanity.
"Do not call yourself that vile word."

Elizabeth’s eyes went to him, their shock
that he should defend her from herself plain even to him.
Then she
smiled, and Blaise felt the anger melt away.
He felt light and
well.

"Thank you, milord, but 'tis true
nonetheless.
My mother took me from him before I was born and hid
me away until she too finally went into hiding.
She feared he would
take me from her.
'Twas how she explained it to me, at least."

"Do you know the name of your father?"
William asked.

Eliza nodded.
"Sir Bartholomew
Ferdinand."

As though the air had been sucked from the
room, everyone stopped breathing for some seconds.

A flash of memory passed through Blaise's
mind, as vivid as though it were happening before his eyes.
'Twas
of that old man, Ferdinand, a villain known for torturing women,
running towards William and Marianne with a blade in his hand,
intent on destroying them.

Blaise had rushed forth and kicked the man's
feet out from under him, and the devil fell and stabbed himself in
the neck with his own dagger.

Blaise never thought much of the memory,
certainly had never lost any sleep over it.
But now, guilt wracked
his soul that he had apparently murdered this girl's father.

Chapter Three

Elizabeth awoke from her dream and snuggled
further into the warmth of her bed.
A lazy grin touched her lips.
The feather mattress provided a better night's sleep than the mound
of putrid hay she'd been using in her mother's hut.

Memories of insects and dirt brought a shiver
to her shoulders.
Nay, never again would she trouble herself with
those memories.
Now she was here, in a beautiful room in a castle,
and lady in waiting to Lady Gray.

She allowed herself a luxurious stretch
before sitting up.
It seemed the bedchamber she had been led to the
day before had once belonged to Lord Gray's mother, and while it
had almost never been used since the death of the woman, it had
been kept in a good, clean condition.
Now Elizabeth was free to
have it.

"I think 'tis time a new soul brought life to
it." William had said after suggesting that she stay there.

She'd been shocked at first, having expected
to share a room with another servant rather than being given one of
her own.
Though she supposed 'twas one more thing the lord of the
castle thought so little of when compared to having his son’s life
spared.

Blaise.
How angelic he appeared while
observing her in Lord Gray’s solar.
Not at all compared to when she
first saw him in the road.

The image brought a shudder to her shoulders
and a regretful stirring in her chest.
No.
Best not to think of
that.
He was safe now, and that was all that mattered.

He had been handsome once she'd brought him
in from the rain and cleaned him up, despite the displeasing color
of his hair.
She had spent a good deal of time with him, listening
to his complaints of the muck during their trek back to his castle,
so Elizabeth became unnerved when he simply vanished after she
explained her situation and who her father was.

His face had paled of color, allowing her to
see every individual freckle on his otherwise tanned nose and
cheeks.
He had excused himself and all but fled from the room.

Elizabeth lifted herself from the bed, walked
across the room, and gazed out the window at the sunrise that
coloured the horizon.

'Twas two days ago, and since then she had
only seen him during meals in the great hall.
Though there were
fireplaces in each room, enabling a lord and his lady to have their
meals in privacy, it seemed Lord Gray insisted upon eating with the
men and women who served him, as well as requiring that his family
and guests do the same.

"'Twas something Lady Gray demanded when she
first came to be mistress of the castle," said Olma when Elizabeth
gave her a curious glance.
"She said it keeps the servants
respectful."

Elizabeth was not precisely certain how that
worked, but if the lord and lady insisted on it then she would
oblige.

Though they hadn't rushed out of the solar
and avoided her as Blaise had when she revealed the name of her
father, Lord Gray, and especially Lady Gray, had been giving her
strange glances when they thought she would not see them.
Being
raised the daughter of a prostitute, Elizabeth grew to know when
the eyes of another stared at her.

She did not like it.
The name of her father
obviously stirred displeasure in their hearts and Elizabeth longed
to know the reason of it.

Did they know Sir Ferdinand?
Was he ally or
enemy?
And was he truly as horrible as her mother claimed?
Or was
she a selfish woman who demanded that her daughter live with her in
the most foul of circumstances?
Was this the reason they had taken
such an interest in her, wished to know her age, where she was
born, and the name of her mother?

Elizabeth had to answer questions they asked
of her, though because of who they were she would never dare to
demand answers from them.
Olma had yet to offer any information
either, but she could ask Blaise.

She would have to step cautiously while in
his presence.
If the man ever became aware that she had plotted his
robbery, she would be tossed from the castle.
If
she were
lucky.

She had hired those men because she knew
them, almost.
They were part of her mother’s clientele, and
harmless enough, or so she had thought.
They were to simply watch
out for the man with orange hair and surprise him.
They were not to
beat him into unconsciousness, steal his clothing, and leave him
for dead in a rain puddle.

Elizabeth sighed and shook her head.
Perhaps
the amount of money she had given them as payment was smaller than
she had thought.
“‘Tis my own fault for trusting them.” She
supposed she should feel grateful they had not outright killed him
in their attack, and not simply because then her plans would have
been for naught.
Elizabeth did not know how she would have been
able to live with herself had a man’s blood been put on her
hands.

Elizabeth turned away from the colourful glow
rising from the east.
Perhaps if she confessed…

She shook the thought away quickly.
Nay.
She
could never tell him.
To do so would risk everything she had worked
hard to accomplish.
She could never sell her body as her mother
had, and what little she could grow behind that hut or steal from
the unsuspecting travellers was not enough to ensure her
survival.

Blaise Gray was known for his lonesome rides.
Or, at least, Elizabeth imagined they were lonesome.
Every time she
had seen him he was always alone, not a knight or even a page with
him.
'Twas a miracle no one had thought to rob him before.
As
reckless as he was, Lord knew he practically begged for trouble.
Elizabeth had done him a favour.
At least now he would be more
aware of the dangers.

A knock sounded on the door, breaking her
silence and startling her into a fearful jump.
Dear Lord!
What if a
servant heard her speaking to herself on the other side of the
door?
With a trembling voice she called, “Who is there?”

“‘Tis I, Lady Elizabeth.” Olma's voice
carried softly to her ears.

Elizabeth sighed.
She had not lived at
Graystone for long, but she knew already that Olma kept to herself
and did not search for gossip as other servants did.
Still, she
would have to remember to keep her thoughts inside her head and not
speak them out loud.

Elizabeth allowed the girl entrance, and then
Olma proceeded to bustle about and dress her in the green gown she
had worn her first day in the castle.

Lord Gray had promised to find her some old
gowns that belonged to his mother and have them hemmed to fit her,
but until then she would have to wear her green one.
She hoped the
other gowns would be ready soon, for she had no desire to use hers
any longer than necessary.
She wished to preserve it.
It had, after
all, been a gift from her mother.

"Olma, where is Lord Blaise?" Elizabeth asked
while the girl worked on the strings of her corset.

Olma paused briefly before the tightening at
her back continued.
"‘e is usually with the men at the gate or
tending to the mews."

"The mews?
Are there not men who will do that
for him?"

"Aye, but ‘e prefers to go down anyway, Lady
Elizabeth."

Elizabeth's spine tingled as Olma referred to
her as a lady.
'Twas not the first time she had heard it since
arriving, but she never grew weary of the sound.

‘Twas what she had always dreamed.
To be what
she truly was, more than a peasant girl who struggled to feed
herself every winter.

The delicious tingle soon vanished, replaced
with a cloud of worry and fear.
Though Blaise would never learn of
her part in his near death, and, God willing, Lord Gray would never
learn it either, Blaise’s obvious suspicion frightened her.

'Twas impossible that he could know of it,
though her fear had almost gotten the better of her when he stood
up, naked in her hut, and demanded to know how it was that she knew
his name.
Her fear had nearly prevented her from giving a valid
response until she recalled that his hair would make the perfect
excuse.
After all, 'twas what she used to send those men after him
in the first place.

Though she was certain her lie had worked,
she still caught his narrowed glances that were surely meant to be
secret, and the distrust that lay across his face as he observed
her.

Anger twisted her guts.
He acted so
distrustful of her when he and his family obviously hid things of
her own past from her.

Elizabeth would rectify that.
She would be
with Lady Gray and accompany her throughout whatever the lady
decided to do during the day.
Eventually, Elizabeth would make it
known that she wished to become better acquainted with the young
lord whom she had saved.

She knew better than to attempt any romantic
involvement.
She would befriend him.
Then she would hint and pry
until the answers of her father were revealed to her.
'Twould be
difficult, but she would persist until all that anger and suspicion
in his soul melted away.

She was not some evil fiend out to steal his
wealth, and she would not be thought of as one simply because he
chose to dislike her.
She merely wished to live a life outside of
that hovel where she had been raised.
Clean, and safe from
predators of both the animal and human variety.

She would befriend Blaise, gain his trust,
and in return the young lord would be at ease knowing his home had
not been invaded by a creature of foul intent.

Elizabeth could hardly wait for their next
meeting.

***

Blaise lounged while his father paced.
Marianne stood by and watched her husband with her hands clasped
above her bulging belly.

"The girl is six and twenty.
Too old to be
your daughter.
You know this," she said.

Blaise shuddered and lifted his goblet to his
lips to chase away the chill.
He thanked the Lord for that small
miracle.
That the woman who had rescued him, and for whom he had
experienced physical lust, no matter how brief, was not his sister,
was a tremendous relief.

Still, his father continued to pace.
When
Eliza revealed who her father was, next she spoke of the identity
of her mother.

When she explained that her mother was Bertha
Hollow, the same prostitute whom William had once visited in his
youth, panic had entered his eyes until she revealed her age.
She
had been born a good year before his father ever went to Bertha for
her services.

As Blaise had not been in the solar at the
time to learn of this, he had to be told later.
Terror chilled his
blood at the thought until Marianne used calm logic to explain how
Eliza could not have been mistaken.
If she insisted that Ferdinand
was her father, then her father he must be.

“She claimed that her mother took her from
her father before she had been born and that her mother went into
hiding later.
I had assumed Bertha had been killed by Ferdinand
when we stopped hearing from her.” His father said.

Marianne’s eyes were downcast.
“That poor
woman.
To have to hide away from Ferdinand her entire life.”

“Aye,” William stopped his pacing and
sighed.

Blaise shrugged, refusing to let the tale
bring any pity out of him.
“I still distrust the daughter.”

His suspicion aside, he could hardly believe
his rescuer was older than he by almost a full year.
His step
mother was also older, and Blaise's original betrothed until he had
written her a letter calling off their marriage.

Insulted, the red-headed wench had gone and
kidnapped his father and married him instead, even if only by
accident.
It seemed Blaise would be forever haunted by older women
in his life.

William nodded at Blaise’s earlier statement.
"Aye, I know ye do.
But ‘tis not all that concerns me.
If she truly
is the daughter of Ferdinand then she has no doubt inherited some
of his more dubious personality traits."

Blaise found himself under the hard blue
stare of his father.
"I believe this would be a fine time for your
suspicious nature to run free.
Keep on your guard around her."