Bliss(9)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"Really? You really like it?" she asked, but he thought her irritation must be affecting her acting abilities, because she appeared to be overplaying her anxiety. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath in preparation of facing her and turned to beam blindingly at her. "Aye, my lady. They are quite delicious.

Just the way I like them, in fact."

"Oh." Her jaw tightened, and he caught a flash of fury in her eyes before she managed to cover it. That was when the idea struck him. He acted on it at once.

"But I mustn’t be greedy and hog them all to myself. Surely you will join me? They are the result of your hard efforts, after all." He pushed the tray toward her.

"Oh, nay, my lord. I made them for you." She pushed the tray back.

"Oh, come now," he cajoled, taking one of the pastries and offering it up to her. "You should try your own handiwork."

"Oh, nay, I – " She floundered briefly, then suddenly smiled widely at him. "I have already eaten and am too full to have more. They are rather large."

Hethe’s eyes narrowed. "Aye. They are," he agreed slowly, but he wasn’t going to be put off. "Perhaps just a taste, then."

While she watched with growing consternation, he made a great show of attempting, and failing, to break a piece off. He saw her panicked glance toward her aunt and knew exactly what that woman intended when she began to babble at Lord Templetun, also drawing William’s attention away from what Hethe was doing by pulling him into the conversation. Hethe let her get away with the distracting tactics and simply kept trying to snap the sweet bread in half. When he found he couldn’t, he resorted to taking it in both hands and smashing the center of the roll violently and repeatedly against the table. It took three solid thumps before the item snapped in half. Helen was flushed bright red by the time he finished, though whether from anger or embarrassment, he couldn’t say. He didn’t much care, either; he just smiled sweetly and silently offered the larger half to her.

"Oh, I – " Lady Tiernay glanced around, obviously seeking an escape.

"Perhaps Lord Templetun would care to have some, then?" he suggested quietly, and Helen froze, her eyes going round as plates. Some of the color fading from her face, she reached out and snatched the food from his hand.

Hethe smiled in satisfaction as she attempted to bite off a chunk. None broke free, and she winced with the effort.

"You know, I find it quite amazing that a lady would trouble herself to cook," Hethe commented as she continued to gnaw grimly at the pastry.

Using the need to speak as an excuse to avoid ruining her teeth, his betrothed lowered the sweet roll and smiled at him coldly. "Well, it pleased me greatly to do so for you. In fact, I am hoping once we are married that I might get to cook for you often."

Hethe turned his head away and coughed to avoid laughing out loud at the obvious threat. For a moment, the false smiles had been dropped; she had shown her teeth. And he found them adorable. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing again when he turned back to catch his betrothed attempting to pass off the rock-hard treat on her big, oafish dog – but the beast would have none of it.

Hethe was about to comment on her not eating her pastry when a new idea struck him. While she was distracted by trying to bribe her pet into saving her from her own cooking, he quickly switched his ale mug for hers. He had barely finished the task when she turned back to the table, her expression one of utter annoyance.

"Something amiss?" he asked easily, taking in her irritation-flushed face with feigned concern.

Apparently too peeved to bother keeping up her charade of the dutiful bride-to-be, she ignored him, her mouth tightening with frustration as she reached for her ale.

Hethe bit his lip when she promptly choked on the liquid and gasped.

"Something wrong with your drink?" he asked, all concern as she turned narrowed eyes on him suspiciously. Smiling at her, Hethe raised his own mug to his lips and savored a sip. Much to his surprise, it really was excellent. "Mmmm. I know I told you this yesterday, but truly you have the finest alewife in Northern England, I am sure."

"You – " she began angrily, only to pause when Lord Templetun rose from the table and turned to them to speak.

"Lady Shambleau and I are going to retire to the church to negotiate the marriage contracts. I trust you wish me to handle this on your side, Lord Holden? You shall have final approval, of course."

Hethe hesitated, then smiled suddenly. "Certainly. That will give Lady Tiernay and me the chance to become better acquainted. We could tour the estate and perhaps have a nice little picnic ere returning."

Lady Helen’s eyes widened in horror at the suggestion, and she opened her mouth, probably to protest, but Lord Templetun forestalled her.

"A charming idea," he approved, nodding his head. "Aye. I doubt this will take all morning, but I see no reason why you shouldn’t enjoy some time together. This afternoon is early enough for the wedding.

Helen’s mouth snapped closed; then a somewhat forced smile stretched her lips as she stood. "Lovely. I shall just arrange with Cook to prepare a picnic."

She was gone before Hethe could suggest that something edible would be nice. Turning to glance at Lady Shambleau as Templetun urged the woman to her feet, Hethe caught the concerned expression on her face. He arched an eyebrow at the lady. Likely she was in on her niece’s plot, but he offered her reassurance anyway. "Lady Helen will be perfectly safe with me, my lady. We shall ride about the estate, visit a tenant or two, then stop for a picnic. I may even pick a flower or two for her along the way."

Lady Shambleau’s eyes widened at that and she seemed about to speak, but Lord Templetun was growing impatient and took her arm, turning her away from the table.

"Come along. They shall be fine," he said impatiently. He urged her toward the keep doors.

"Oh, but… I should tell him Helen has a terrible reaction to posies. They make her eyes puffy and her nose run."

"I am sure Lady Helen will inform him of that should the situation arise."

"Nay. She will not. She is far too stubborn to admit something like that to him"

"Nonsense." Lord Templetun continued determinedly toward the door. "Besides, I suspect Lord Holden was speaking in jest when he mentioned picking flowers. He doesn’t seem to me to be the sort."

Hethe watched the couple disappear through the keep doors, his mind taken up with what he had heard.

Templetun had been right, of course. Hethe had been speaking in jest when he had mentioned plucking flowers. He had never in his life done anything of the kind – not even as a child. But now he considered the possibility seriously.

"So, she is allergic to posies," he murmured to himself, tucking the information away for strategic consideration later, then spotted his first approaching the table. "William, I have a small task for you."

Chapter Six

"He knows!" Helen cried as the kitchen doors swung closed behind her.

Ducky was at her side at once, alarm all over her face. "Nay!"

"Aye. He switched his ale for mine. He knows what we are about."

"Oh, dear," the lady’s maid breathed, beginning to worry her lower lip. "Is he very angry?"

Helen hesitated, her eyebrows furrowing with confusion. "I do not know," she admitted at last on a sigh.

"He doesn’t seem angry. At least, I do not think he does. But now he is talking about getting acquainted and going on a tour, having a picnic."

"A picnic?" Ducky’s eyes widened.

"Aye. Have Cook pack a picnic, but only enough for one. Tell him to make it vile, as vile as he can. Vile enough to have this wedding called off by the time Lord Holden has finished it."

"You are not going?"

"Aye. I’m going." Helen answered, but wasn’t herself too certain it was a good idea.

"Alone?" Ducky asked anxiously.

Helen grimaced at the question, her fear growing. If Lord Holden knew what they had been up to with the poor food, worse ale, and her bad breath, not to mention everything else – and she was sure he did know – the evil man might very well be taking her out to drown her in the river. That would remove the necessity of his refusing to marry her.

For a moment, Helen considered the possibility of taking nice food along on the picnic, a veritable feast, and of being sweet and simpering. But, in truth, that wasn’t her style. Besides, it was too late to stray from her plan now. He would recognize any retreat as fear of his reaction, and that would give him an advantage. Nay, she would maintain her resolve. For good or ill, she would follow her plan to whatever final battle it brought about. She just hoped she survived.

"And this, of course, is little Nelly. Her real name is Helen – she was named after me – but everyone uses the nickname Nelly for her, just as they do my aunt."

Hethe caught the baby Lady Helen gaily shoved at him, then held it out at arm’s length, staring at it with a sort of horrified disgust. Little Nelly was a horror to behold. Her face was a mess of some sort of jam, her diaper, which was giving off a smell not too dissimilar to that of his betrothed at the moment, was slipping from her chubby little body, and she was reaching out with sticky, grasping little fingers at anything she could get her hands on. Fortunately, holding her as he was, the little beggar’s options were limited. Hethe had learned after the first two babies Helen had thrust upon him that they seemed to like to hold his hair and yank for all they were worth. That had been about ten cottages and ten infants ago.

It seemed to Hethe that either Tiernay was amazingly prolific in producing babies or Lady Tiernay was only stopping at those cottages with babies in them so she could torture him. For that was what she was doing. He supposed it was his own fault. He had been unprepared for the first child she had forced on him and had let his horror and discomfort show. A good battle strategist, Lady Helen had promptly made use of his weakness. He had to admire her for that. In fact, if he hadn’t been piddled, spat and vomited up on repeatedly during this hellish tour, he surely would have admired her. However, right at the moment, all he wanted was revenge. And he had decided on how to get it, too.

"Time for our picnic!" he announced abruptly, thrusting the baby at its mother and turning to remount his horse.

"Oh! But we have so many more cottages to visit," Helen protested.

"Another time. It is growing late."

"It is only mid-morning," she pointed out dryly.

Hethe reluctantly followed her gesture at the sun in the sky and grimaced. It wasn’t yet overhead, only halfway there. Which made it about ten. He could have sworn it was nearly the supper hour. The short while since they had left the castle had certainly passed slowly enough for it to be. With nothing else to say, he offered the only excuse he had. "I am hungry."

It silenced her. In fact, the declaration seemed to please her mightily. Smiling suddenly, she moved to her horse and mounted. "Well, then surely we must feed you."

Hethe’s gaze narrowed. Her smug expression made it quite plain that she did not plan for him to enjoy the upcoming meal. Considering that he had only one petrified bite of pastry rolling about in his empty stomach, the idea did not much please him.

If it was true that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, then it was also true that a surefire way to rile a man up was to stand between him and sustenance. Hethe was hungry, and mean with it. If there had been any guilt attached to the next strategy in his plan, it evaporated right there on the spot.

Lady Tiernay deserved what she was about to get.

"Here will do, I imagined. What do you think?"

"Hmm. Fine," Helen murmured absently, busy with the task that had consumed her since leaving the last cottage; trying to think up another way to torture the man on the horse beside her. Using the babies had been inspired. She had noticed his discomfort around the children at the first cottage they had stopped at, and she had used that to her advantage from then on. But his decision to stop for their picnic put an end to her fun, and she required something else to make the bastard miserable. Of course, the food she’d bought would go a long way toward that, but she wanted something more impressive and memorable for this excursion. She needed something that would finally push him into refusing to marry her, yet not make him angry enough to do her bodily harm. Even better would be to find something for which he could not blame her, something he could not be sure she had done on purpose. It was a tricky business, and it was consuming her thoughts as she dismounted and removed the blanket she had brought for them to sit on.

Hethe was there at once to take it from her. Relinquishing the covering, Helen turned back to unhook the sack of food the cook had prepared, then followed her fiance silently to the center of the clearing. She waited patiently as he unfolded the blanket and shook it out several times before finishing with his fussing and allowing it to lie flat. He stood back then, to let her settle on it, before easing down to sit across from her, his expression full of expectation. Helen felt her eyes narrow briefly, then shrugged inwardly and forced a smile. He wanted to eat? Let him eat.

Her smile becoming more natural, Helen opened the chef’s sack and reached inside. The first thing she drew out appeared to be a small hunk of cheese wrapped in thin linen. It was only as she pulled it fully out of the bag that she noticed the scent wafting from it – one with which she was becoming quite familiar. The smell made Helen wonder what the contents of that special brew Ducky had concocted for her included. Not this cheese itself, she didn’t think, because she hadn’t noticed any chunks in the liquid Ducky had kept handing to her, though the beverage was thick in consistency. Perhaps she used the oil off of it, Helen considered as she set the cheese out on the blanket between herself and Hethe. Or perhaps it was cream gone bad. If that was the case, no wonder her stomach roiled after she drank it.

Forgetting her role, Helen wrinkled her nose briefly, then forced the expression away, determinedly plastering a smile back on her face. The next thing out of the bag was one of the sweet rolls she had claimed to have made. Really, Cook had made them, complaining the whole while.