Serenely unconscious of his tall, fresh-faced blond good looks, brought out by a bath and clean clothes, Bram finished the last pastry and wiped his hand on the napkin provided, remembering not to lick his fingers. Which seemed a pity, since they were covered with fine clover honey. The kitchen was about the size of the ground floor of his parents’ farmhouse, but more homely than the rest of the fine house: flagstone floor, copper pots and pans on the walls, a long board table, and sacks of onions and hams and strings of sausage and bundles of garlic and herbs hanging from the rafters.
He could eat in comfort here, and was glad that Miss Flora had suggested it. He was still overwhelmed by the reaction he had received upon presenting himself at the house; Lorrie had nearly cried for joy at seeing him—which had caused his chest almost to burst at the feelings he was just beginning to confront—and that had caused Flora to treat him as a long lost-friend. Her aunt had instantly taken the young man under her wing, insisting he bathe and refresh himself, providing clothing belonging to one of her male kinsmen—he was vague as to who, exactly—and then set to feeding him. Apparently Aunt Cleora liked to see a man eat.
‘So Miss Flora’s brother here—’ he said around a mouth full of food.
‘Jimmy,’ Flora said helpfully.
‘Rescued you from thief-takers, and found you a place to stay, and then he and she bound up your leg, and he’s gone to look for Rip?’
Lorrie nodded vigorously. ‘And then you came after me. Thank you, Bram!’
Bram felt himself blush, and at the same time swell with pride; he was as ready as the next man to bask in feminine admiration.
‘Well, I couldn’t leave you to sort this out alone,’ he said. ‘Whatever that bunch of greybeards back home thinks. Wild beasts don’t burn down farms, or attack men in the light of day. Why they couldn’t believe you, Astalon alone knows,’ he observed, invoking the God of Justice. ‘Lorrie’s no bubblehead, like some I could name but won’t, like Merrybet Glidden.’
Lorrie’s eyes filled with tears, which made him feel bad and good at the same time. Flora sighed at him, and Aunt Cleora clasped her hands together beneath her slight double chin.
‘This is as good as a minstrel’s tale!’ said the older woman. ‘Young men setting out to rescue folks! Why, it’s downright heroic!’
Bram blushed even more. ‘I’m no hero,’ he said softly. ‘Only a farmer’s son. But I’m still going to head after Rip, to help your brother, Miss Flora.’ He yawned enormously. ‘Best start early, too. On foot, it’s going to be a fair old chase, they being mounted.’
Flora nodded decisively. ‘You’ll have to get a horse, then,’ she said.
Bram laughed. ‘Miss Flora, I’d like nothing better. But I can no more afford a horse than I could dance north on my hands.’
Lorrie reached into the pocket of her borrowed skirt. ‘But Bram, I’ve got the price I got for Horace!’ she said. ‘Surely you can get something for that.’
Bram fixed Lorrie with a wry look, and both knew he was intentionally ignoring the coins she had filched from his room. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had.
‘And if you can’t, I’ll top it up,’ Flora said.
‘And you can take what you need from the kitchen for supplies on the way,’ Aunt Cleora said. ‘Best take my cousin Josh’s rain gear, too, by the look of things.’
Overwhelmed, Bram looked down at his toes in their home-cobbled shoes. That reminded him of something. ‘At least I’ll be able to track your foster-brother, Miss Flora,’ he said. At their wide-eyed look: ‘Well, seems he bought Lorrie’s Horace. And there’s a nick in his left off shoe that I’d know anywhere.’ Then softly he added, ‘If the rain doesn’t wash away everything, that is.’
Jimmy looked out at the pouring rain and sighed. Why Jarvis couldn’t just ask what he wanted to know was beyond him. But by now he knew a great deal more about the family who had agreed to give them shelter than he did about some of his friends.
‘I was midwife to the Baroness,’ the old woman said proudly. ‘A tiny thing she was, poor lass.’ She shook her head. ‘Bled to death I’m sorry to say. The Baron was never the same after,’ she confided.
‘T’Baron was never the same as anyone else his best day,’ her husband said sourly.
Jimmy turned around and went back to the fire. This was more like it.
‘Used to be if a tenant had a complaint he could go up t’ the house when the lord was there and get the thing straightened out. Even cottars like us! Not no more ye can’t.’
‘The Baron sent all the servants and guards away after his lady’s death,’ his wife said. ‘The very day after she died.’
‘And hired those, those . . .’
‘Mercenaries,’ his wife said firmly, giving her husband a stiff-lipped warning glare.
‘Mercenaries,’ the old man said, pulling his lips away from the word as though it was filthy. ‘Neighbour went up t’ see the lord one time he was there and those . . .’ he gave his wife a look, ‘fellows near beat the poor man t’ death. I ask you, is that any way for a lord t’ behave?’
From what Jimmy had seen and heard in his life that was the way a lot of lords behaved. Wisely, he didn’t say so.
‘There’s a strange feeling about the place,’ Coe observed.