The Maiden Bride by Linda Needham Read Free Book Online

not! You're not doing anything of the kind." But he'd bellowed his command to the hem of her shabby cloak as it swung round the corner of the kitchen doorway and out into the great hall.
    Utterly, wholly mad. "Madam!"
    The woman frowned a quieting finger at him as she made a detour to the guttering hearth and the two girls sleeping there, tucking a threadbare blanket around a stray foot and landing a fond kiss on a chin before she was off again, stepping around the angular boy sprawled and snoring across the entrance to the portico.
    Nicholas followed her, chewing on his silence until they reached the wide stairs in the dark bailey, unable to think of a single thing to say or do—beyond tackling her—that would stop her bullheaded progress.
    "I'll only close and bar it again, madam."
    But she tromped on, her lamp a bobbling outrider to her bracing strides, which seemed overlong for a woman whose head barely reached his shoulder. That bespoke long legs—fine, curving legs, if this chastening God had construed his dreams correctly.
    And never to be seen by you, Brother Nicholas. He would spend his eternity in hell, burning with desire for her.
    "You will not prop the gate open, madam." He easily met her stride, increased it by the length of a step, and took the lamp from her so that he could stare down at her. "Are you listening to me?"
    "Convince me that I should do that, sir, that I should trust you as my steward—the man who will be charged with my daily accounts, with the running of my castle and fields. The one who will do my bidding without question. Why should I choose you?"
    "Because, madam," he said between his teeth, "I am your only bloody choice."

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    Chapter 5

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    E leanor wanted to cry, to stomp her foot—though she had to keep a level head and a steady heart. The man was right, of course. He might be quick-tempered and opinionated and highly possessive of her castle, but that's exactly the kind of man she needed in a steward.
    But how the devil was she going to contain his fierceness within the smallness of the title? He seemed so much more than that, larger than life. Larger than her will—which terrified her.
    He needed gentling, needed to know that she was the master here, not him. Despite his prior claim, despite the fact that he knew William Bayard, however marginally, despite the very puzzling matter of his being here at all.
    "How long have you been living at Faulkhurst?"
    He caught her elbow and turned her as they reached the low wall of the kitchen garden, and peered down at her with a
midnight
scowl. "Long enough to know the castle better than any man living."
    "How long?"
    "I don't know." He circled his hand in the air as though to pluck an answer from the darkness. "Months, I suppose. Which makes me the logical choice for steward."
    Good God, he was handsome; impossible to look at without her mind wandering into places it had never wandered before. That was surely a strike against him, this ability to muddle her thoughts.
    "Why do you want to stay here, Nicholas? You despise Faulkhurst to its foundations."
    "I—" he seemed to gather his temper before he continued "—don't despise it."
    Liar. "Perhaps not, but you do believe me a silly fool—"
    "Hardly that—"
    "You just said as much."
    "When did I, madam?" He seemed truly indignant, initially matching her pace when she started across the bailey, then increasing it until she was nearly running to keep up with him. She finally slowed to her own stride.
    "Do you truly believe, Master Nicholas, that I ought to welcome you as my steward when I know right well that you would subvert my plans? You are trying to at this very moment."
    "Not if your plans are sound."
    Aye, he would think that way in his vast male arrogance. She stopped by an empty wagon and swung her lamp toward him to better see how he played the truth.
    "How do you plan to measure that soundness, sir? By whose standard? A tyrannical, condescending soldier's … or