Ransom My Heart (27 page)

F
innula would never approve of her sister's relationship with Jack Mallory. It had been established without anyone's knowledge save that of the two main participants, and conducted in secret. Mellana was not a girl to whom lies came easily, and so Jack must have been the one who'd insisted on subterfuge, which led one to believe his intentions from the start had not been honorable.

This, coupled with the fact that there was something distinctly distrustful about the man's face, caused Finnula to despise him. Perhaps it was only that his head was entirely too large for his small, wiry body. Now that she had such a fine specimen of a husband to compare him to, Finnula found Mellana's lover sadly lacking in both muscle tone and body hair. It pained Finnula to think that her sister was forever wedded to such a physical inferior.

But it wasn't just the musician's build that troubled Finnula. There was also his obvious affection for gewgaws, a love that rivaled even Mellana's. The minstrel was clad all over in velvet and ribbon. There were shiny bells upon his boots, and the buttons upon his jerkin were brass. Finnula even spied a ring upon his smallest finger! What sort of man dressed in such frivolous attire? Why, Hugo was a lord, but he dressed quite plainly…remarkably plainly, considering the jewels and precious materials he'd acquired in the Holy Land. Had he wanted to, Hugo could have outshone the king himself. So how was it that a common minstrel wore more finery than an earl?

Finnula did her best to hide her dislike for her sister's lover, however, for her husband's sake. On the ride over to the millhouse, Hugo had bade her to behave, and Finnula, anxious to assuage the guilt she felt over his upset about the bonfire, had assented. She felt quite badly about the fact that she'd forgotten to consult her own husband's feelings in a matter of such household importance. She was so used to doing exactly as she wished, whenever she wished, that it had come as a blow to her when she'd realized there was now another party she was obligated to consult in her decision making.

Still, it hadn't been easy not to knock Jack Mallory about the head. The bedroom that, up until yesterday, Finnula had shared only with her sisters was now Mellana's bridal bower, and Jack Mallory boasted of throwing out all the dried roses Finnula had hung from the roof beams, claiming that they made him sneeze. In addition, the minstrel did not seem the least enchanted with the idea of being a miller, and sneered at Robert at every opportunity. The fact that the coward was careful to sneer only when there wasn't the slightest chance of Robert seeing him do so made it all the worse.

Still, Finnula smiled graciously all through supper, responding
calmly to Patricia's ribbings about her wedding night and the fact that, in her lavender samite gown, she seemed to glow. Finnula had no idea whether this was true, but she saw that Hugo's gaze strayed toward her often, and though at first she was certain it was because she had a piece of food caught in her teeth, she finally came to the conclusion that there was actual admiration in his glance. Could he, she wondered, actually find her attractive? It seemed incredible that any man would notice
her
when there was a beauty like Mellana in the room.

And yet even Jack Mallory, after several pitchers of ale, seemed to be grinning sloppily at her with alarming regularity. Finnula, discomfited by a sudden urge to ram her fist into the minstrel's midriff, excused herself and went outside. She was trying very, very hard to follow Robert's advice and act maidenly, in the dim hope that Hugo might actually come to feel something for her other than sexual desire, but she was finding it difficult indeed. How she longed to prick that troubadour's hindquarters with just one arrow from her quiver! And how she missed her braies. Even now, she was having difficulty with the hem of her gown, which seemed to drag woefully in the dirt. And there, there was another temptation! The elusive hawk that had been decimating Mellana's hen population was perched just a few yards away, again on the henhouse roof. And she had not brought her bow and quiver with her!

Rather than let the opportunity go to waste, however, Finnula spent a quiet half hour studying the bird of prey's habits, resolving to return to the millhouse surreptitiously upon the morrow expressly to kill the pest. The hawk, that was. Not Jack Mallory.

It was as she was planning the hawk's demise that Hugo's squire, Peter, strolled into the millhouse yard, looking for all the world as if he'd been invited to do so. Finnula, who still occasion
ally experienced a little tenderness in her side where the boy had struck her, eyed him mistrustfully but said nothing, hoping that he would go away without noticing her.

No such luck. Peter not only noticed her, her greeted her, and, though her salute was cold at best, he sauntered up to her with a smile.

“My lady,” he nodded. “Right fair day, wouldn't you say?”

Finnula shrugged. She was in no mood for idle chatter. Peter, apparently recognizing this, asked her a question concerning the domestic arrangements she'd laid out for the staff that morning, and Finnula responded monosyllabically, enunciating clearly so that there would be no misunderstanding. It seemed odd to her that Peter would walk all this way merely to clear up a housekeeping dispute, and she couldn't help staring at him suspiciously.

The domestic puzzle cleared up, Peter nodded, then, to Finnula's dismay, leaned his backside against the very fence upon which she was sitting. Finnula glared at him, but the youth wouldn't go. Instead, he asked, in a deceptively toneless voice, whether she had heard any word concerning the Laroches.

“The Laroches?” Finnula's astonishment was difficult to disguise. “Do you…You don't mean Reginald Laroche and his daughter, Isabella?”

Peter affirmed that those were the very Laroches about whom he was concerned. “For,” the boy said, matter-of-factly, “'twould seem to me they've been very sadly used by His Lordship.”

Finnula stared at the boy—who, if truth be told, was a year or two older than herself—and cried, “I like that! Sadly used indeed! I suppose 'twas Isabella who came to you with that lament.”

Peter looked surprised, but attempted to hide the emotion. “Nay. Well, and what of it? There is a lady well-used to the finer
things in life, suddenly thrown out of the home she has always known, to wend her way as best she can—”

Finnula snorted, though, now that she was the wife of an earl, such behavior really ought to have been below her. “Wend her way as best she can? But that is what Isabella Laroche does best! Never fear for Isabella, sir. She is like a cat. She'll always land upon her feet.”

Seeing that the boy looked skeptical, Finnula's brow furrowed. What foolishness was this? Was the boy besotted with the ebony-tressed Isabella? Why did he come to
her
with his lament? There was naught she could do for Isabella. There was naught she
would
do for that conceited wench.

But Peter soon made it clear that not only did he think there was something Finnula
could
do, but something she
should
do.

“Couldn't you have a word with His Lordship?” Peter wanted to know.

“A word?” Finnula wished heartily she had remained indoors. Even Jack Mallory was better company than this. “What sort of word?”

“A word on the Laroches' behalf. A kind word or two from you, my lady, might make all the difference. I realize Lord Hugo is angry for what he perceives as the mismanagement of his estate in his absence, but even he must see that there were circumstances beyond his cousin's control at play—”

Finnula's gaze hardened. “Is this what Isabella told you?”

“Aye.” Peter's throat moved convulsively as he tried to hold back tears. Isabella's recitation had obviously moved him deeply. “If you could have heard how sweetly she spoke of all the things her father did for His Lordship's vassals—”

“You forget, Peter,” Finnula said, coldly. “I was one of those vassals. And I don't recall Monsieur Laroche doing anything for
me but accusing me wrongly of murder, a crime for which I might have hanged had not Sheriff de Brissac taken my part.”

That seemed to render Peter speechless for a moment. He stared down at Finnula, his Adam's apple still bobbing sporadically, and his pale eyes were filled with unshed tears. Though his ignorance was maddening, Finnula could not help feeling sorry for the boy, who was obviously tangled in the throes of first love. Surely she could not blame him for having so imprudently fallen in love with Isabella Laroche. Many a stronger man had done so, as well.

“Peter,” Finnula said, as kindly as she could. She laid a gentle hand upon his arm. “I dare not speak a word of the Laroches to Lord Hugo. The very mention of their name causes his face to darken with rage—”

“But surely he will listen to you, my lady,” Peter cried desperately. “For 'tis obvious he adores you—”

Finnula drew her hand away as if Peter had shocked her. “What say you?” she murmured, in some confusion. “You speak nonsense.”

“Nay, my lady. Any fool can see that His Lordship loves you. His eyes, when they are upon you, are the color of the sun—”

Finnula quickly leaped down from the fence. “Cease your prattle. You know not what you say.”

“I do—” Peter insisted, but something in her expression must have warned him not to proceed. Drawing away from her, the boy muttered, “As you wish, then, my lady.”

Finnula was so flushed with embarrassment that she could feel the heat in her face. How dare that impudent boy spout such outrageous lies? And the fact that for a moment, she'd been fool enough to believe them…Oh, she would not easily forgive herself for that. Lord Hugo, in love with her? He had hardly known
her a sennight. Such a thing wasn't possible…besides, he'd never said a word about harboring any sort of affection for her, not even in their most intimate moments.

The squire, perhaps noting her lack of composure, no longer pursued the subject. Instead, he thanked Finnula for her time and asked, politely enough, if he might trouble one of her sisters for a drop of ale to wet his throat before returning to the manor house, as the sun was high and day warm. Finnula pointed the boy in the appropriate direction, and then returned to the house. It would seem she was destined for bedevilment wherever she roamed, and she thought it safer to remain at her husband's side for the time being.

Inside the house, while Mellana looked on with worshipping eyes, Jack Mallory was singing a love ballad, a rather soppy one, to Finnula's mind. Four of her sisters—Camilla had returned home with her winemaker husband—and Robert's betrothed, Rosamund, sat at the minstrel's feet, seemingly enthralled by his performance. Even Patricia, usually so levelheaded, looked up in annoyance when Finnula banged the door, and shushed her.

Stifling an unladylike snort, Finnula tiptoed from the room, and found her husband in the kitchen with Robert, whither the two of them had gone to escape the minstrel's dulcet tones. There was no sign of Peter, which Finnula hardly thought strange. When the youth heard his master's voice, he seemed invariably to run in the opposite direction.

“Ah, there you are.” Hugo grinned at Finnula, and slid to make a place for her on the smooth bench he shared with her brother. “A valiant effort, that.”

Finnula sat down, eyeing him uncertainly. “What do you mean?”

“We both saw how close you came to pummeling him at
supper,” Robert said, with a fond grin at his youngest sister. “And yet you restrained yourself. I see that marriage has begun to improve your disposition already.”

Finnula stared, thinking they were speaking of Peter, then realized that it was Jack Mallory of whom they spoke. She shrugged uncomfortably. Neither youth was one whom she wouldn't gladly have pummeled behind her husband's back, and she wondered guiltily if that sentiment was entirely appropriate for the wife of an earl. Glancing up at Hugo, who was arguing good-naturedly with her brother over the most advantageous time of year to plant wheat, she checked on the color of his eyes. They were green. Peter had, of course, been talking nonsense in the yard, but it didn't hurt to make sure.

Jack Mallory's doleful little tune tinkled to its sad denouement—in which the lady fair flung herself into a river rather than live without her love—and Hugo, hearing Finnula's sister pleading for another love song, rose hastily and announced that they must be off. Robert rose with a shudder, saying he would rather see them to their horses than have to endure another of Jack Mallory's ballads.

Hugo and Finnula, not having expected to stay long at the millhouse, had tied their mounts near the water trough, and Robert accompanied them to their horses, expounding with great energy upon the changes he intended to make around the house once he was married, the most important of which was the construction of a separate cottage for Mellana and her drowsy-eyed husband, so that Jack Mallory's mournful tunes could go unheard by all but those who sought him out.

Helping Finnula onto Violet's back—the samite gown, though lovely, was hardly conducive to swinging in and out of saddles—Hugo grinned at the younger man's antipathy toward his newest
brother-in-law, more pleased than ever that the minstrel had shown up in so timely a manner the day before. All of Robert's keen resentment was focused upon that unfortunate musician, instead of upon Hugo, who had, in fact, committed the greater sin, by stealing away the most exotic pearl in the Crais household.

That pearl, having whistled for Gros Louis, who came bounding up, was staring down at him, impatient to be away.

“Because,” Finnula said, with uncharacteristic coyness, “I've a surprise for you back at the manor house.”

Knowing perfectly well that the girl had no coin and could not, therefore, have purchased anything for him, Hugo assumed the surprise was of a romantic nature. She had, after all, spent the afternoon with her older sisters, and though he was convinced that what Finnula didn't know about lovemaking could be contained in a thimble, he supposed Fat Maude had mentioned something or other to one of the girls in the marketplace. Chuckling to himself, Hugo swung eagerly into the saddle, giving Skinner an encouraging kick with his heels.