Lord of the Manor Read Online Free Page A

ruffled Philip’s hair, talking to him. Philip smiled up at Richard and answered. Lucinda bit her bottom lip. If Richard spoke to Philip in Norman French, the language of the nobility, Philip would answer in his native tongue, which no mere peasant boy would know. It would be a clear sign that she and her son were not who they appeared to be.
    Oblivious to the danger, smiling hugely, Philip rattled on and on, his hands gesturing as he spoke. Richard commented occasionally, with only one or two words.
    Though she couldn’t hear what they said, one exchange didn’t need to be heard to be understood.Richard’s lips clearly formed Philip’s name, and then hers, Lucinda, drawn out as if he savored the word.
    She shivered. Surely, now, Richard knew who she was, realized whose son he held firmly in his grasp. Or did he? True, Everart would have pointed Basil out to each of his sons so they would know their enemy. Had she been with Basil at the time? Would Everart have bothered identifying Basil’s wife? Would Everart even have known her name?
    Lucinda took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Whatever was to come next, she had to face it. She couldn’t run, not with her injured ankle, not with a small boy in tow. Nor would she cower. She knew how to face angry, abusive men and retain her inner dignity.
    Lucinda allowed herself a small show of a mother’s concern for her son as Richard reined his horse to a halt. She looked Philip over, head to toe, searching for signs of injury. She found none. That done, she smoothed her features into the impenetrable mask that had served her well for so many years.
    “Lucinda,” Richard said from the great height of his destrier.
    Her name, spoken in his low, rumbling voice, sounded odd, almost beautiful. ’Twas a pleasant sensation, but she refused to allow the feeling to linger or cloud her judgment. Too often she’d seen nobles, no matter how seemingly charming, turn beastly.
    As a peasant woman, she should bow low before Richard. But if she tried, her ankle would crumble. She gave him a slight bow and hoped he wouldn’t take offense.
    “This boy, Philip, claims to belong to you,” he said before she’d finished the bow. She’d expectedhaughtiness or derision, not the hint of humor in his voice. And, thank the Lord, he spoke in English.
    “He is my son, my lord.”
    He grasped Philip around the waist and lifted him. “Then I shall return this outstanding mule rider to your care.”
    Lucinda knew that Richard expected her to come forward to claim Philip. To her relief, the old soldier who had helped her to stand walked over to fetch her son. As soon as Philip’s feet hit the road, he ran to the invitation of her open arms. She wanted to bend down and pick him up. Afraid she would fall on her face if she tried, she put her hands on his back and head and held him firmly against her.
    “I give you my thanks, my lord, for your timely and gracious rescue,” she said.
    He nodded. “Is your mule always so skittish?”
    “Nay, my lord. He is usually well-mannered—for a mule.”
    Richard glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, even now the beast comes. Having had his run for the day, mayhap he will be calmer now.”
    “’Tis hoped for, my lord,” she answered, her fears fading. Surely, if Richard had recognized her he would have said so by now, not rambled on about a skittish mule. Perhaps she and Philip would escape this encounter unscathed.
    Deftly, Richard nudged his destrier to the side, allowing the soldier who led the mule to pass by him. With the rope again in her hand, Lucinda gave the soldier a gracious smile, feeling ever more confident that she worried for naught.
    “Philip,” Richard called out, “have a care not to sneeze loudly again.”
    Lucinda held tight to Philip’s shoulders as he turned around to answer, “I shall try, my lord.” Then he tilted his head up to ask her, “Must I get on that beast again? My arse is well sore!”
    Richard’s smile