She dipped into a hint of a curtsey. “Lord de Sauveterre.”
Ballard liked her voice with its deep, carefully modulated tones. “Mistress Duenda, welcome to Ketach Tor.”
Louvaen clasped her gloved hands in front of her. “My family offers our most profound gratitude for your generosity in paying my father’s markers. I owe your son an apology for doubting his word regarding your family’s holdings.”
Gavin had warned him she was straightforward and spoke her mind. Ballard welcomed the trait, having no patience for a glib tongue that flapped a great deal but said little. “Gavin is very fond of your sister, mistress. The payment was small. Consider it a gesture of appreciation for allowing her to guest with us for the winter.”
She inclined her head and without looking away, spoke to Cinnia. “Cinnia, I’d like to speak with de Sauveterre alone please.”
He watched with interest as the girl cast an uneasy glance at him and then another one at her sister. Ballard refrained from promising her he wouldn’t give Louvaen a second opportunity to rearrange his face. She curtsied and squeezed Louvaen’s arm, though he couldn’t tell if the affectionate gesture was in warning or reassurance. “We’ll meet you at supper then? The hall is drafty so we eat in the kitchen.” She blew a kiss at her sister and left them alone.
Ballard gestured to a nearby chair. “Make yourself comfortable by the fire, mistress. There’s warmed ale and a place for your cloak.” He pointed first to the small table set between the chairs where two goblets rested and then to a large chest pushed against one wall. She glanced briefly at his hands but showed no reaction other than to remove her cloak gloves and drape them across the chest to dry. Her actions gave him a few seconds to admire her unobserved. Graceful as a willow with a slender back and arms, she wore a rust-colored gown that enhanced the russet highlights in her hair. Ballard wondered if her legs were as long as her height suggested.
She turned to face him again, and those smoky eyes took his measure. “Will you not reveal yourself to me as I have to you, my lord?” A challenging question, as if she hoped to gauge his character from his need to remain hidden under the cloak.
Had she waited a little longer, he’d have saved her the trouble of asking. He wore his cloak and hood for the benefit of his guests. His household was used to his appearance, and he’d lived with his ever-warping visage for almost four centuries. Whatever vanity he might have possessed had long ago been crushed beneath the curse’s weight. Even before its advent, he’d been famed for his prowess in battle not his looks. These days he was just grateful for the times he still possessed a sound enough mind. His concern over Cinnia’s reaction to him had been driven by the wish not to create problems for Gavin. Whether or not the girl or her sister found him hideous meant nothing to him.
He scraped back the hood, shrugged off the cloak and tossed it across the solar to land atop Louvaen’s garment. “As you wish, mistress.”
Unlike Cinnia, she didn’t startle. Gavin had assured him his cell had been too dark and her candle too weak to illuminate him clearly during her first visit. Now he had no shadows in which to lurk. Several candles and the leaping flames from the hearth’s vigorous fire lit the chamber.
She cocked her head to the side and offered him a sheepish smile. “Those are impressive black eyes.”
He blinked, stunned by her teasing. No revulsion, no fear, only a curiosity laced with a touch of embarrassment at the injury she caused. He followed her lead and purposefully misunderstood her remark. “My father’s eyes were also black.”
Her full lower lip flattened, and her throat worked to hold back laughter. “Does the penchant for being hit in the face run in the family? What an odd trait to pass on to your descendents.”
Ballard chuckled, surprising himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d truly laughed without sarcasm or bitterness. Ill-tempered badger she might be, but Louvaen Duenda had accomplished something no one else had in years. “The males in my family have been known to do foolish things that earned them a bruise or two.” It was a round-about apology for yanking her off her feet and an acknowledgement he deserved what she’d dished out to him in response.
She harrumphed and raised a dark eyebrow. “Is that so? Then it’s just a matter of time before Gavin sports one or two.”
“Very likely.” He indicated the chairs once again. “Sit, mistress. You’ll want to thaw by the fire.”
He followed her and took the goblets off the table while she made herself comfortable. The ale had turned tepid, and he lifted the poker resting in the hearth’s coals. Red iron clanged on stone as he struck off the clinging ash and plunged the tip of the poker into his goblet. Ale spumed over the rim, and he blew the thick foam into the fire where it hissed and spat. Louvaen watched him from her place. “Same for yours?” he said. She nodded, and he repeated the process, making sure no trace of ash floated in the ale. She murmured her thanks when he passed the goblet to her and took an experimental sip. She gave an appreciative sigh.
“Your Magda is the finest alewife I’ve ever met. She uses nutmeg in her brew.”
As he’d been drinking only Magda’s ale for so long, he had nothing to compare, but it pleased him that his guest enjoyed one of the offerings of his household. She sat in her chair as if seated on a throne, straight-backed and regal. Her gown fell in folds to the floor, the fabric molded to one leg from thigh to knee. Oh yes, she had long, long legs. Ballard dragged his gaze back to her face, annoyed by the realization he was as distracted by a skirt as any green lad sniffing after a milkmaid. “Tell me of your journey. I’m guessing this Don Jimenin accepted payment.”
Triumph lit her eyes. “He did, though I thought he might burst into flame. I had to duel a clerk at the Merchant House with a pair of candlesticks, but I made sure the lending masters and half the town council came to witness the exchange.” She smirked into her goblet. “Jimenin was one blink shy of an apoplexy. He doesn’t like being thwarted.”
“No man does. From what Gavin has told me, payment in coin wasn’t Jimenin’s goal. He’ll find another way to try for your sister.”
Her expression sobered. “It’s why I’ve agreed to let her stay for the winter. I need time to plan.”
Ballard wondered what she might devise to keep Cinnia out of Jimenin’s clutches if the girl refused Gavin’s suit. “And if she chooses to make Ketach Tor her home once winter ends?”
Louvaen abandoned her seat to pace in front of the hearth. “I love my sister, de Sauveterre, and I fear what Jimenin will do if he gets his hands on her.” She pinned him with a hard stare. “This is a questionable sanctuary at best. A broken fortress sitting in a pool of wild magic; a man so crazed by it his own family chains him in a dungeon, and a magician who’ll beguile an innocent young woman so she doesn’t see the lad she swoons over sometimes looks at her with the eyes of a beast. For now, I must entrust her safety to you. If she chooses to remain, then she’ll need to know exactly what she’ll live with before she makes that choice. Gavin has asked for the winter to court her. In exchange I want to stay here with her and act as companion and guardian.”
She’d thrown down the gauntlet first, and inadvertent or purposeful, she’d done so while he was paying more attention to the way the firelight danced across her figure than on her words. Magda would have said she was as flat as a washing bat, but Ballard admired the slight swell of her breasts, perfectly proportioned to her slender form. Her gown eddied around her legs and hips while shadows played in her hair and pooled in the hollow of her throat. His wife had once accused him of being a cold man, and years of the curse’s effects had dampened his vigor, but he still lived, still breathed and at this moment lusted mightily.
“De Sauveterre?”
She stopped her pacing, features pinched at his inattention. If she only knew just how focused he was on her. He took a swallow of his cooling ale before answering. “By most lights it’s a reasonable request.” She must have heard his unspoken “but” because her posture remained stiff. “Reasonable if that’s all you intend. Having you winter here will give you plenty of time to poison Cinnia against my son if you choose. We aren’t fools, Mistress Duenda. You hold great influence over your sister.”
He liked that she didn’t spout false denials regarding her power. “True, but like everyone else, you underestimate Cinnia’s will. Were it as meager as some believe, you and I wouldn’t be having this discussion, and Cinnia would be home in Monteblanco, as would I.” She closed the distance between them and set her ale down. This near and Ballard caught the scent that had broken the flux’s hold on him for a brief moment in his cell—cloves. “I’ll not try and sway her one way or the other. If Gavin wins her, he’ll do so with honesty as well as charm. If he doesn’t win her, it won’t be of my doing, and we’re both free to leave with our debt to your family clear.”
Ambrose had said she was a widow, and Ballard could only guess how her husband must have worked himself into an early grave trying to remain master of his household with such a wife. This woman was accustomed to issuing edicts and having them obeyed. “If I agree, what do you intend to do while you reside in my castle, eating my food and using my firewood to warm yourself? Ketach Tor requires a lot of upkeep and we’re a reduced household. Everyone here attends to several tasks.”
