Page 19 of Never Love a Lord
“A picnic, then? Smashing. I haven’t eaten on the ground in months, and the weather is fair.”
Sybilla felt her lips purse petulantly at his enthusiasm, and she turned away until Julian had bid Father Perry farewell and quickly took to his borrowed mount. He was still smiling when she looked back at him.
“I shall follow your lead, my lady,” he said, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arm.
Sybilla kicked her mount and rode out into the yard ahead of him at a trot, muttering under her breath, “I certainly hope so.”
They rode southwest from the gate, away from the woods and the road and toward the wide, fallow fields quilted with hedgerows and timothy grass. Sybilla kept their conversation matter-of-fact as they rode past the agricultural industries of Fallstowe, and she explained the different crops the field master oversaw, the unique schedule of rotation for the fields, the more rare varieties the manor was attempting. To her surprise, he seemed more than politely interested, asking pertinent and intelligent questions and seeming fascinated with the topic of harvest yields in relation to the weather conditions of last season.
Sybilla looked at him curiously as they headed down a rather steep ravine toward the north of the demesne. “Do you run a farm manor, Lord Griffin? You seem rather intrigued by such dry topics as silage.”
His glance caught hers, but he did not smile at her attempt at humor, which did not surprise her greatly. Alys was the funny sister.
“No, I’ve never run a farm. Always wanted to, though. I lived on one for a time in my youth. I would that Lucy know such delight.”
Sybilla guided Octavian through the shallow, muddy creek at the bottom of the ravine and turned to watch Julian Griffin do the same with his own mount. “Where is your family home, Lord Griffin?”
He seemed loath to still his horse beside Sybilla’s, and even though Octavian was an enormous beast bred from mighty war steeds and dwarfed Julian’s borrowed mount, the man did not seem diminished at all in the saddle.
“The city. London,” he clarified brusquely before she could ask. Then he nodded up the hill upon which the sun was spraying its last, red rays from the far, opposite horizon, turning the new grass to rust. “That way, then?”
She answered him with a nod of her own, and he preceded her up the sharp rise. Her eyes followed him keenly, just as Octavian fell into step in his wake.
He did not have the air of entitlement that resulted from being royal, nor the aversion to his own family, if his daughter was any indication. He was not an active general in Edward’s army, a professional man of war. But Lucy Griffin had been born at the king’s home only months ago, when Alys and Piers had been in London.
His dead wife, then. Her name, her name—what was her name . . . ?
She topped the rise shortly after him and he silently let her lead the way, although Sybilla kept Octavian at a slow walk while she searched the very air around them.
“Was Lady . . . Ke—” No, no, that wasn’t it! “LadyCatherinefond of the country?” she asked, and held her breath.
“Cateline,” Julian corrected her.
Sybilla winced inwardly. “My apologies.”
“Think naught of it. It is a common enough mistake. She said ofttimes that she answered to anything closely resembling it.” He gave a wry smile and Sybilla returned it, relieved. “But no—Cateline preferred the excitement of town, the shops and fairs. Especially the dressmakers’ shops.” Sybilla looked over to Julian when he paused, and she caught him looking back at the small, purple shadow that was Fallstowe at dusk.
His eyes came back to her, and the emotion in them was sincere. “She would have been very impressed by Fallstowe, though.”
Sybilla directed her gaze over Octavian’s head once more, not liking the uncomfortable sensation Julian Griffin’s honesty provoked in her. Still, she pressed on, feeling as though she was on the verge of a very important discovery, like smelling the water on the air before a much needed rain.
“It is through her position that you are here, is it not?” she guessed boldly.
Julian was silent for a handful of moments. “In part, yes. I knew Edward years before Cateline and I met, however. We warred together.”
Sybilla felt a surge of triumph course through her body, but outwardly she remained unmoved, as if she had known this all along. “The Crusade, yes.”
“You seem to know almost as much about me as I do about you, Lady Sybilla,” he said, in a not entirely easy fashion.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Sybilla hedged, as her mind worked up a fire behind her eyes that mirrored the flaming burst of the sun at their back.
“You’re just humoring me,” he accused her. “You knew of Cateline, that she was a cousin to the king; that I had enjoined in the Crusade with him.” He paused. “What else do you know?”
She gave him a smile over her right shoulder. “Lord Griffin, you flatter me. I daresay I could ask the same of you.”
He shook his head at her, his mouth quirking once more. Sybilla’s heart thundered in her chest, and she quickly brought her head around so as not to look at him.
He and his daughter were related to the king. He lived in the king’s home. He had been sent on a mission quite dear to Edward’s heart, and was trusted enough to command hundreds of the king’s men at his whim.
