Lord of Misrule (Below the Salt #8)

Chapter 2

L ord Tolin Blake glanced over the top of his cards, eyeing up each of the players sitting at the trestle table in the great hall. He was usually good at deciphering what kind of hands they held. Six of them played a card game he’d invented. Tolin liked games. A lot. He was competitive and didn’t tolerate losing. This game was his lucky charm, and so far today he’d won every hand.

“It’s your turn, Rook,” said Tolin, recognizing the frustrated curve of his older brother’s brows. Rook wasn’t good at hiding his emotions. He was always so serious and needed to learn to relax more and actually have fun. Tolin lived for fun, not getting caught up in all the troubles that his father or brother always seemed to focus upon. “We don’t have all day,” he taunted him.

“Brother, I don’t think we are setting a good example by gambling during Advent,” complained Rook. His eyes scanned the room of onlookers. “It is bad enough that you’ve promoted drinking during a time that is meant for fasting. Next, you’ll be eating meat before the required fasting time is over.”

“Oh, ease up, Rook,” scoffed Tolin, never being one to follow rules. Even if they were from the church. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and the required fasting is over then anyway. In my opinion, we’re close enough. Now lay down your card and stop worrying so much. Focus on the game.”

“Fine.” Rook’s hand wavered between two cards. Then he threw down a card and released a deep puff of air from his mouth. “Three of acorns.”

“Three of acorns?” Tolin eyed the card and chuckled. “Seriously? Brother, that is truly a pathetic move.”

“Stop it,” grumbled Rook, his eyes glancing back and forth to the onlookers once more. Tolin’s older brother always seemed to worry what everyone around them might be thinking. Rook cared too much about the opinions of others. Tolin on the other hand, couldn’t care less.

“Even a girl can beat that!” Tolin continued, looking over at his sister, the only female playing cards. “Go ahead, Raven. Show up your twin brother. I know you can do it.”

“Convincing a woman who is now a mother to play your silly game during Advent has got to be the worst idea ever,” Rook continued to complain.

“Stop fussing. I agreed to it, Brother,” said Raven, studying her cards.

“So did I, but Tolin more or less threatened me if I didn’t play,” spoke up the youngest of the brothers, Daegel. “You know, if Father were here, he’d make you abide by the Advent rules.”

“And if Mother were here, she’d be on Tolin’s side.” Raven’s mouth curved up into a sly smile. She was just as competitive as Tolin—a trait that was not normally found in girls. Then again, Raven wasn’t your usual female. “I’ll play the queen of horses,” said Raven proudly, gingerly placing her card atop the others. It was a card depicting a queen riding atop a horse, holding a sword in the air. “I think it is fitting since I’m good with a horse as well as a blade.”

Raven wasn’t one of those helpless women. She was independent and skilled with weapons. Tolin’s sister could best most men on the practice field and was proud of it. However, since birthing a baby seven months ago she didn’t have a sword in her hand as much anymore. Instead, she could usually be found in the ladies’ solar with a needle and thread in her grip. Or playing with her daughter with some of the other mothers and their children. Raven was truly embracing motherhood lately. Even though she married the blacksmith, Jonathon, they were in love. Raven surprised Tolin by really seeming to be enjoying having a child. There wasn’t a day that went by that she wasn’t telling Tolin or the rest of her brothers what her perfect daughter, little Sparrow, had learned to do. Rook’s son, Beowulf, was the same age as Sparrow. However, Rook’s wife Rose never bragged about their child.

“Well, I’m out,” spat Daegel, not bothering to throw down his cards face up. Daegel folded his arms over his chest and looked like he was pouting. He’d come in last place every round.

“Daegel, stop fretting,” said Tolin, busying himself by rearranging the cards he held close to his chest. “You’re going to be dubbed a knight soon and need to start showing a little more pride and honor in everything you do. Like me.”

“Like who?” spat Rook, nearly choking on his own spit at hearing that. “Pride, yes, but honor? You? Seriously? Don’t make me laugh, Tolin.” Rook made a face and ran his hand through his long, black hair, smoothing it back.

“If Brother Ruford sees me playing cards and drinking during Advent, I might not be dubbed a knight after all,” worried Daegel.

“Our father’s uncle is at the monastery where he belongs and not here, so don’t even think twice about it,” Tolin tried to reassure him. “Besides, he is in charge of St. Basil’s, but I am in charge of Blake Castle until Father returns. So I make the rules until then.”

Rook wanted to tell him it doesn’t work that way, but whatever his warning, it was sure to fall on deaf ears. Tolin did things his own way and always had. No silly rules were ever going to change that.

Tolin, Rook, and Daegel all looked so similar that there was no doubt they were brothers. Black hair and blue eyes were a common trait of a Blake. Even so, Tolin thought he was the handsomest of the three. After all, the females were always following him around, wanting him to pay them special attention. And he usually did.

Rook held Tolin’s eye and spoke. “Being honorable, little brother, doesn’t mean breaking holy rules or inventing silly card games that you are sure to win. Games with stupid names like Awful.”

Now it was Tolin’s turn to make a face. “Rook, you don’t even know the name of the game you play. It’s called Tolinoffel, named after the oldest card game known to man, Karnoffle. Not Awful. Get it right.”

“All right,” said Rook. “Tolin Awful.” He smiled sarcastically.

“Tolin’s awful, I agree,” muttered Daegel, covering his face with his hands. Daegel had always idolized Rook and wanted to be just like him. Tolin, on the other hand, wanted to be as different from Rook as he possibly could.

“Excuse me, my lords and lady.” Emeric, the castle steward, stopped at their table in the great hall and bowed.

“What is it, Emeric?” asked Raven, standing in as lady of the castle in their mother’s absence.

“Henry the guard wishes an audience with you. He says it is important.”

“Hold on.” Tolin raised his hand in the air. “It can wait. I still need to play my last card.”

“Tolin, I have the queen of horses. Face it, it’s over. I won,” said Raven, sounding overly confident. “Accept the fact that someone finally beat you at your own game.”

“And about time, too,” mumbled Rook. “I am so glad this stupid game is over. I don’t know why I even let you talk me into playing it in the first place. I should be spending time with Rose and Beowulf.”

“I agree about this being a waste of time,” chimed in Daegel. “It’s over, Tolin. You lose.” He started to get up but Tolin stopped him.

“Nay, nay, nay, sit back down,” said Tolin in a scolding voice. “All of you.” A smile widened across his face. He plucked a card from his hand and plopped it down over his sister’s queen of horses. “As you see, I have just played the Tolinoffel of Bells.”

“The what?” asked the steward, getting pulled into the conversation. The man squinted and leaned over to look closer at the card in play.

“It’s a card that can’t lose,” explained Tolin. “Each of the Tolinoffel cards of the deck automatically trumps the others, hence Raven’s queen. Therefore, I won! Once again, the pot is mine.” Tolin chuckled and scooped the pile of coins together, dragging them across the table to him.

“I feel the need to go pray in the chapel. I hope I haven’t risked my chance of becoming a knight because of Tolin’s awful game,” complained Daegel, getting up and walking away.

“Don’t worry, Brother Ruford will never find out,” Tolin called after him.

Someone approached behind him, clearing their throat. “Tolin, what are you doing?”

Tolin didn’t need to turn around to recognize the voice of the abbot of St. Basil’s Monastery, Brother Ruford. The stout, round man was also the uncle of Tolin’s father.

“Brother Ruford. How good of you to join us.” Tolin slowly turned to face him, his hands still covering the heap of coins he’d won from his siblings.

The screaming of a young child was heard from across the great hall, causing everyone to cover their ears from the piercing shrieks.

“That sounds like my daughter.” Raven stood up and brushed off her gown. “Excuse me.”

“She sounds more like a Banshee, not a tiny little baby with the fragile name of Sparrow,” scoffed Rook. “My son never screams like that!”

Raven frowned at her twin. “Please don’t say such things about your niece. She is too young to know now, but someday might hear your insults.”

“She’s right,” said Tolin. “Even if the girl does scream like a Banshee.”

“It is a stage my daughter is going through, since she is teething. Rook’s son doesn’t have teeth yet,” Raven replied. “The nursemaid is having problems calming her lately, but it won’t last forever.”

“We hope,” said Rook in not much more than a whisper.

“I’d better go to her.” Raven turned to look over at the steward. “Oh, what was it you wanted, Emeric?”

“I’ll handle it. Go calm Sparrow before my ears blow out from her noisy crying,” said Rook with a wave of his hand in the air.

“Are you really playing cards during Advent?” asked Brother Ruford with a frown.

The monk didn’t alarm Tolin in the least. But Tolin almost laughed aloud when he saw the disturbed look on Rook’s face. His older brother quickly tried to change the conversation rather than to admit to the monk that he willingly let Tolin lead him astray.

“Emeric, what is it you want?” asked Rook, putting all his attention on the steward.

“My lords,” said Emeric clearing his throat. “This is of great importance.”

Tolin ignored him, scooping up his winnings and shoving the coins into his pouch.

“Lord Corbett won’t be happy when he finds out you are all playing cards during Advent,” Brother Ruford told them.

“My father left me in charge, and I didn’t think it was a problem,” Tolin defended himself. “I mean, I am planning all the entertainment during the Yuletide celebrations and I needed to test out my new game ahead of time to make sure it will go well. That’s all.”

“I see,” said Ruford. His beefy hand shot out, open palm upwards. “So, then. I am sure you meant for the winnings of this evil gambling during a holy day to be given to the church. As repentance for your sin and to help pay for decorating the church for Christmas. Right?”

Tolin looked at the man’s open hand and then over to his brother. Rook nodded slightly and his clenched jaw ticked. While Tolin didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, he was sure Brother Ruford would make his life a living hell if he refused. Rook also wouldn’t let him hear the end of this if he didn’t agree. He let out a sigh. Dangling the pouch of coins from two fingers, he dropped it into the holy man’s open hand. “Of course, that’s what I had in mind, Brother Ruford. It is all for the church. Until I win it back, at least,” he said, the latter under his breath as he collected his cards.

Rook heard and glared at him now. “Tolin, all you ever think about is having fun. Eating, drinking, and making merry is all that’s important to you.” Rook’s hands waved in the air dramatically as he spoke.

“What’s wrong with that?” Tolin shrugged. “It sure beats always being frustrated, tired, and grumpy like you.”

Emeric cleared his throat once more. “My lords? There is a situation that needs to be handled and I’m afraid, it can wait no longer.”

“God’s eyes, what is so important?” asked Tolin.

The monk cleared his throat loudly, a silent reminder that Tolin was cursing. Total blasphemy, no doubt. Just one more thing for Brother Ruford to add to his list when he reported back to Tolin’s father upon his return.

“The castle guard has caught a thief in town trying to steal from him. He wants to know how the offender should be punished,” Emeric relayed the information.

“Well, I’m off to the tavern for a spell. I mean...off to town,” Tolin corrected himself in front of the monk. He stood up and stretched and yawned. Tolin had hoped to be able to find some betting men at the tavern who would appreciate a good game of Tolinoffel so he could continue to test out his new game. Still, he figured he’d better not admit it aloud.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Rook raised a brow.

Tolin looked down at the table. “What? Did I miss a coin?” He stretched his neck and patted the table to double check.

“Nay. I’m sure you’d never forget a coin. I’m talking about the fact that you seem to have forgotten that our father put you in charge of Blake Castle until his return,” Rook reminded him.

“Oh, that. Yes. I didn’t forget. What about it?”

“You can’t leave. You need to decide how to punish the thief.” Rook nodded toward the steward. The guard stood a little ways behind him, blocking their view of the offender.

“He’s right,” said Ruford. “It is your responsibility.”

“Me?” Tolin didn’t want to punish anyone. He was only watching over the castle during the Christmas celebrations to keep things in good order. To control the crowds during the festival and make sure they didn’t run out of sweetmeats or wine. He was there to make sure everyone had a jolly good time. “I’m sure there must be some holy rule that no prisoners can be punished or killed during the holy season. It should wait until my father’s return.”

“No executions can happen during the holy days, but the thief’s future needs to be determined,” Ruford informed him.

“That’s right,” agreed Rook. “We can’t let a thief continue to roam the lands. He could very well end up stealing from us, right here at the castle. Something needs to be done right away.”

“Now wait a minute,” said Tolin with a raised hand. “I decide what we eat and drink during Christmastide and how many musicians will play at the celebrations. It’s my job to make sure couples embrace under the kissing bough and dance until morning. I am in charge of food and entertainment only. Father told me that I am in charge until Twelfth Night. However, I must point out, he said nothing, and I repeat nothing , about holding court or trials. Or handing out sentences of any kind. I don’t really think I’m qualified to do that.”

“Nay, not so,” Rook objected. “You need to handle every aspect of every matter in Father’s absence. Including thieves. Now, tell the guard what to do about it.” Rook stretched out his arm with his palm up, forcing Tolin’s attention toward the steward. “Make a decision, Tolin. This is all up to you.”

“Nay. You do it.” Tolin shook his head, wanting nothing more than to leave and head for the tavern. He never agreed to something like this. It wasn’t what he was good at. He liked to stick with things where he knew he could exceed.

“No, I will not. This is all on you now, Tolin,” Rook stubbornly announced, even though he had much more experience with these kinds of things. “After all, if you are ever lucky enough to have your own manor house or castle someday, you’ll need to learn how to run it. So, start practicing now.”

“I don’t know.” Tolin looked down at his cards, shoving them into the pouch at his side. Only pride kept him from turning and running right now. He loved his freedom and having no ties to anything other than his knightly vows and loyalty in fighting for his king. But this was different. He didn’t know nor did he care what the guard did with the petty thief. To him, this was of no importance.

“My lord?” Both the steward and the guard stared at him now. So did Brother Ruford and Rook. He felt heat building up inside him. Normally Tolin liked being the center of attention. But that was when he sparred on the practice field with the other knights, played cards with his friends, or even danced with a pretty woman. This was not the type of attention he liked at all. He didn’t need it and certainly didn’t want it. Still, he had accepted the responsibility, talking his father into letting him run the castle in his absence and he really didn’t want to let him down.

“Tolin? He needs an answer.” Rook’s prodding was like a knife twisting in the wound.

“I don’t really care what happens to the thief. Just put him in the dungeon until Lord Corbett returns,” Tolin told the steward, thinking it would now be over. He abruptly turned to go now that he’d made his decision.

“Nay! Please, my lord, don’t do that.” A woman in a cloak with her head covered, stepped out from behind the guard, holding the hand of a young boy who couldn’t be more than seven or eight years of age. She rushed over to the trestle table where he’d played cards and kneeled down in front of him. The girl lowered her head, staring at the floor when she spoke. “Please, my lord, don’t put him in the dungeon. He never meant to steal.”

Tolin and Rook exchanged confused glances. Who were this woman and child and why were they here?

“He? Do you mean him?” Tolin nodded at the child.

“This is the thief? This young boy?” Rook chuckled lowly, enjoying the fact that Tolin’s life just got worse.

“Yes, my lords.” The guard hurried over to join them. “When I took the wagon to town for supplies for the holiday celebration, I caught the miscreant lad trying to lift my sword.”

“Really?” asked Tolin, in just as much shock as Rook. “Is this true?” The thought of the thief being a child almost made him laugh aloud. But seeing the serious looks on everyone else’s faces, he decided he’d better bite his tongue instead.

“It is true that my son lifted the sword,” said the woman. “But it isn’t what you think.”

“ Your son?” Tolin eyed up the woman kneeling at his feet. He couldn’t see her well beneath her hooded cloak, but he surmised that she barely seemed old enough to have a son that was eight or nine. “Tell me, I’m curious,” he continued. “What exactly is it that I think?”

The distraught woman continued. “Parker was curious, nothing more. He wanted to feel the sword’s weight, not to steal it. Honest, it’s the truth. Have pity on him, my lord. He is just a boy.” The woman slowly lifted her face. When she did, the hood of her cloak fell back. Sunlight from the window bathed her tanned skin. The rays fell upon her long oaken hair that was twisted into a loose knot at the back of her head. Some of the strands had spilled free and now fell across her face. A powdery white streak was smeared over her cheek. The woman’s eyes glowed with the color of acorns, much like the ones painted on Tolin’s deck of playing cards. The only difference was that her eyes looked glassy and filled with tears. For some reason, his heart went out to her.

“What should be the thief’s punishment, my lord?” The guard asked once again. “Did you still want me to imprison him? Or mayhap a good lashing would teach the boy a lesson not to steal again. Or did you mayhap want something more severe?”

“More severe?” repeated Tolin, thinking of how the child would cry to feel the sting of a whip against his fragile skin.

“Nay! Please, don’t hurt him. He’s just a child. I beg you, let the boy go.” The woman pulled her son to her bosom, clutching him protectively, acting like a lioness defending her cub.

Tolin’s eyes traveled back to his brother hoping Rook would give him some insight on how to handle this odd situation. Of course, Rook didn’t.

“Well, good luck,” whispered Rook with a nod of his head, quickly turning and walking away. Tolin squeezed his eyes shut and slowly opened them again, feeling doomed and trapped. He couldn’t believe his own brother would do this to him, leaving him in such a position. Rook was a poor example of a helpful brother. After all, Rook was the eldest and also had his own manor. He was used to these types of things, Tolin wasn’t. Surely, this decision would be easy for Rook to handle. He was probably still just being a sore loser from the card game and this was his way of retaliating. He looked back at Brother Ruford. The monk stuck his hands in his cassock, seeming to close his eyes in prayer. No help here either.

“My lord?” asked Henry yet again. “What is to be the boy’s punishment for trying to steal from a castle guard?”

Tolin hated this more than anything. He didn’t like making decisions unless they directly affected him. And he didn’t like women begging at his feet unless it involved pleasures in the bedchamber. He honestly didn’t know what to do.

If he didn’t punish the boy, he would seem weak in front of everyone, including his brothers. Tolin never cared what people thought of him, but for some reason, with the boy’s mother present, this time he kind of did. Letting the little thief get away with this would also send the message to the rest of the commoners that it was all right to steal from guards and even nobles. Tolin’s father wouldn’t like that in the least. Nay, he couldn’t just dismiss the situation even though he wished it was that easy. He’d have to hand out some kind of sentence, he had no other choice. However, he couldn’t give the command to hurt the child or throw him in the dungeon either. Parker was just a young boy and would never survive that! Tolin wasn’t a cold-hearted bastard. He didn’t want to hurt the child, he wanted to protect him, just like his mother was doing. But this boy was a thief.

The boy’s mother was still on her knees with tears running down her cheeks. Tolin looked around for Raven to help him, but she’d already left the great hall with her crying baby. Raven would have his head if he did anything to harm a child. Now that she was a mother, she’d been acting as fierce protecting not only her own daughter but the children of any of their family members. Just this morning she was even helping protect the children of the servants as the young ones played in the courtyard. They had chased a ball and got in the way of the mounted guards as they headed out on their rounds. Raven flung herself in front of the horses and ordered the men to stop. Then she collected up the children and huddled with them as she openly shouted at the men for their carelessness. This was something that he’d never seen her do before.

“Please, I beg you once again, my good lord. I will do anything you wish if you spare my son from being punished.” The woman kneeling before him sounded desperate. Tolin didn’t like to see anyone beg.

He drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. His eyes quickly scanned the room. Every occupant in the great hall watched and listened even though they pretended not to be paying attention.

“Get up,” he told the woman in a deep growl. “Stand up and face me instead of groveling at my feet like a dog. That act is pathetic, even for a commoner such as yourself.”

When she did nothing to move, Tolin reached out and took her arm, yanking her to her feet. She wore the clothes of a peasant and he figured she lived in town. The rough wool of her gown felt scratchy to his touch. Her simple dress was covered by a white apron that had a bib that traveled up and over her curvy breasts. Even clothed in this manner, she appeared to be a comely wench. At any rate, she was a relatively clean one who shouldn’t be on her knees on the floor. Her skin looked smooth and silky. It took everything in his power not to reach out and rub his fingers across her cheek to find out if he was correct. The woman’s hair was mussed but clean. It smelled like fresh bread, if he wasn’t mistaken. Bread. Mmmm. His stomach growled at the thought. Since he’d slept late this morning he’d missed the meal to break the fast. Now all he could think of was food.

“Don’t cry,” he told her, not liking to see a woman so upset. He was a gentleman through and through, no matter if his siblings thought of him as naught but a scoundrel or a philanderer. Tolin strived to make women smile. If there was a female frowning in the room, then he wasn’t putting his charm to good use and doing his job. Feeling bold as usual, he reached out and brushed away her tears with his thumb. An isolated gasp resonated from the quiet room behind him. The silence served as nothing more than a reminder that he was a noble and she a mere peasant from town. Perhaps he shouldn’t have touched her in such a familiar manner. Or at least not in front of half the castle. “You have white powder on your face. What is it?” He made a big show of rubbing his fingers together, hopefully convincing everyone watching that he was reprimanding her for coming to the castle looking unkempt or dusty.

Her hand flew to cover her cheek. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry, my lord. It must be flour. I own a bakery shop in town and we’ve been very busy lately.”

“ You own a shop?” He cocked his head, not believing how brash she was being by saying this aloud. “Woman, you will refer to yourself as the wife of the baker from now on, as is proper. I do not think your husband would care to hear you claiming his business as your own. No woman has the right to do so.”

“You are wrong, my lord,” she said, raising her chin slightly, meeting his challenge. Her bottom lip quivered but she stared straight at him and kept her gaze steady. “I do have the right to claim the shop as my own. You see, I am a widow. My husband was in the Baker’s Guild, and the law clearly states that the store reverts to me now that he is deceased.”

Tolin pressed his lips together in thought and nodded slightly. This was something he hadn’t expected in the least. Impressive. Most men would be appalled by this woman’s audacity, even if what she said was the truth. He, on the other hand, found her defensive nature rather refreshing. Intriguing. Her actions excited him. Oddly, Tolin found himself impressed by this woman’s strength, especially as she was naught but a commoner. He supposed having a sister who was bold and strong, and also very opinionated and acted like a man at times, made him used to seeing a woman behave outside the expected way. But Raven was an exception. And she only got away with it because she was the only daughter of a well-known and well-liked lord.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” said the woman in a mere whisper. Her gaze lowered to his feet. Tolin was sure she regretted her words as they might have angered him, and also put her son at risk for a stricter sentence. “Please, forgive me.”

Tolin chuckled. “Well, that all depends.”

Her eyes snapped upward. “On what, my lord?”

“On if you are any good.” Tolin raised a brow, toying with her, letting his eyes rake down her body. He swore he saw her tremble. Still, she proudly held her composure.

“My lord, what exactly do you mean?” Her face blushed and she looked away, not able to let their eyes interlock. The boy stayed still and silent at her side. The guard and the steward shifted their weight back and forth uncomfortably. Brother Ruford swayed his weight from one foot to another as well, quietly mumbling a prayer. Tolin liked this game between he and the woman, and wasn’t about to let it end so soon.

“What do you think I mean?” he asked her.

She swallowed forcefully, looking as if she were biting the inside of her cheek, keeping herself from saying something she might regret later. “I am sure I don’t know, my lord,” she answered.

“Then let me tell you.”

“My lord, perhaps it would be better if—” The steward was cut short when Tolin raised his hand to silence the man.

“I am curious if you are any good...at baking,” Tolin blurted out, and smiled widely when he saw the woman release a relieved breath. “I want to know if you are experienced in the kitchen. Did you perhaps think I was referring to your skills in a different room instead?”

Her face slowly lifted. She looked at him from the corner of her eyes, shocking him with her answer. “Would you like to find out for yourself how good I am, my lord?” Mischief danced in her eyes, making her even more attractive. And alluring.

Tolin groaned inwardly when he felt his loins tightening. She was good at this game and he enjoyed the challenge. Aye, he’d like to find out if she was any good in bed, that thought had crossed his mind. Plus, the woman said she’d do anything if he let the boy go. He’d bet anything that she had stamina that could give him pleasure for hours in lovemaking. But as much as he entertained the thought, he knew she wasn’t really talking about coupling. After all, a woman like her would never do so in front of her young son. Instead of answering her question, he asked her another, just like she had done to him. “Would you like me to find out? Perhaps you could...show me?” He played with her, throwing words back at her that had double meanings. Games were Tolin’s specialty. Games with pretty women were his favorite. This particular one was proving to be more pleasurable than he’d expected. He didn’t want it to end.

“I’d like that, my lord,” she answered, causing his jaw to drop. The mouths of the steward and guard hung open as well. Brother Ruford’s prayers got a little louder. Damn it, he couldn’t stop thinking of what this game could really mean, although both of them knew it was nothing of the kind.

“Y-you would?” he asked, coughing, and really needing a drink right now. His mouth felt dry and it was getting hard to swallow.

“Yes.” Her eyes lit up and a devilish smile spread across her face. She had to know how her words affected him. Tolin only hoped no one else noticed. He quickly dropped his arms, hoping to hide his loins. “I desire to let you taste my talents,” she continued, only making things worse with the way she stressed certain sensual words. “With your permission, of course, my lord.” Her hand slowly traveled up her hip and his gaze followed. Her fingers settled on the bag she carried over her shoulder.

“My lord,” the steward whispered in warning, his thoughts probably being on bedding the girl too. “Please, don’t answer that. It’s not proper.”

Tolin’s hand shot up in the air to hush the steward once again. All the while, his eyes stayed focused on the vixen standing before him, offering to give him everything his heart desired and so much more. “Yes,” he blurted out, triggering off hushed whispers from the crowd. The guard and steward both took a step backward. Brother Ruford held on to the trestle table, slowly lowering himself to the bench. “Yes, I’d like to taste your talents.” He purposely moved closer to the girl, bringing his face near hers, teasing her but at the same time only torturing himself. He truly did want to taste those plump lips as well as her tongue. She raised her chin and looked him right in the eye, which was a brash move for a commoner. Still, it made him feel desire stir within him. Mayhap she was going to kiss him. Nothing would surprise him when it came to this woman.

Leaning in even closer, she spoke and all his attention was on her mouth although he didn’t hear a word she was saying. He dipped his head down, moving in to taste her sweet lips, his focus on nothing but kissing the wench. If he hadn’t been so smitten with her, he would have realized she was making a fool of him in front of everyone. Aye, this woman was better at this game than he. And Tolin didn’t like losing.

“Here,” she said, raising a hand-sized fruit tart between them. His lips ended up on the pie instead of on her mouth. He pulled back in surprise, ready to chastise her. But when he opened his mouth to speak, he tasted something delicious. Tolin’s tongue darted out to lick the sweet flavor from his lips, the action bringing him back to his senses.

“Mmmm,” he said, lifting his hand to his mouth. “Is that cherry I’m tasting?”

“Cherry-almond with fresh butter and a sprinkle of saffron. It’s my specialty.”

“Saffron?” gasped the steward. “That spice is expensive and reserved for nobles. What are you doing with it?”

“Baking with butter during Advent is prohibited,” added the monk.

“The baker’s guild has the pope’s permission to use butter, now that it is so close to Christmas,” the woman told them. “I get a lot of orders from nobles who are ordering baked goods for their upcoming celebrations.” Her eyes traveled back to Tolin and she held out the pie like a peace offering between them. “I like to please my clients as much as I possibly can.”

“Do you, now?” asked Tolin, reaching out for the hand tart. He wondered if she’d still say that if he ever managed to get her in his bed. He took a big bite of the tart and moaned aloud in exaltation. Everyone was supposed to fast during Advent, as instructed by the church. Butter, dairy, and even meat had been forbidden for the last four weeks and it was making everyone cranky. In some places even wine and ale was prohibited, but thankfully Tolin’s father had received special permission so they hadn’t had to give it up. The church was delusional, thinking that everyone was really going to adhere to these stupid rules. Especially the one of no coupling during Advent. Tolin wasn’t the kind of person who could live by rules such as this. Even if the orders supposedly came straight from God himself.

“I take it my talents please you, my lord?” The baker woman looked up at him with big, beautiful brown eyes.

He devoured the tart in several bites and licked the powdery sugar from his lips. It was heaven, and the best thing he’d tasted in a month now. Tolin proceeded to lick the cherry filling from his fingers next. “You have no idea how much I enjoy your talents.” His mind went astray again, but when the boy spoke, all lusty thoughts fled his head.

“My mother makes the best tarts as well as the most delicious bread you’ll ever taste,” said the boy. “Her Christmas stollen has ten different types of fruit in it.”

“Does it, now?” Tolin had an idea.

“Parker, don’t exaggerate,” said the boy’s mother. “It is only seven types of fruit in the stollen.”

“My lord, what is the boy’s punishment?” asked the guard once again.

“Patience,” said Tolin, not wanting to be pushed into handing out a sentence in such an awkward situation. Not yet. Mayhap, if he was smart, he could turn this incident around and make it beneficial to him after all. The girl might be good at this game, but he was better and had the final say. There was no way he’d lose, because he was used to winning. “What is your name?” he asked the woman.

“My name is Kit Baker, my lord.”

“Kit?” he repeated in question. “Named because you were small like a kitten when you were born?”

A slight grin turned up the corners of her mouth and a blush stained her cheeks. “Nay, my lord. My parents were Katherine and Christopher. My name is a combination of the two.”

“I see.” Tolin fingered his chin in thought. “Well, I have come up with the lad’s punishment,” he finally announced.

The girl watched with wide eyes in anticipation.

“Please, don’t send him to be locked away,” she said in a mere whisper, seeming to be holding her breath, waiting for his answer. Her arms closed tighter around her son. If he was going to take the boy, he was sure he’d have to pry the lad from her fingers.

“On the contrary, I am not sending him anywhere. I am going to keep him right here at the castle,” he told her.

“What?” Kit, as well as the steward and the guard, all said at once.

“Your son, as well as you, Kit Baker, will stay at Blake Castle through the holidays and that is my final decision.”

“I don’t understand, my lord.” The girl’s thin brows dipped in confusion. “Why would we stay here? Our home is at the bakery. In town.”

“I understand that, but I could use a good baker for the upcoming Christmas festivities.”

“Excuse me, my lord, but we already have many good bakers in the castle’s kitchen,” said Emeric.

“I don’t care. I want another,” Tolin told him, looking over to Kit. “I want your skills, so I think you will do just fine, Kit Baker. The boy will work in the kitchen along with you. He will also help serve tables during the meals.”

He could tell by the look on Kit’s face that this decision didn’t please her in the least. “My son is not a servant and neither am I,” she ground out. “I have a business to run, Lord Tolin. This is my busiest season. Not to mention, my very pregnant sister and her husband live with me and I need to be there to support them.”

“My lord, I am not sure that is the kind of sentence usually given to a thief,” the steward tried to persuade him to change his decision.

“No, it isn’t and is quite unusual,” Brother Ruford agreed.

“Whether it is usual or not, it doesn’t matter. It is the sentence I have decided upon,” Tolin told them in finality.

“My lord, is there any other way?” Kit’s eyes held anguish and determination.

“Didn’t you say you’d be willing to do anything if I didn’t harm your son or put him in the dungeon?” Tolin folded his arms over his chest and waited.

“Well, yes. Yes, I did.” Kit’s eyes moved back and forth from him to his steward and next his guard and back again. “But to walk away from my business? That could ruin me. Please, there must be another way.”

“Yes. Of course, you are right,” said Tolin with a shrug. He looked over to the guard. “Let the girl go back to her bakery.”

“Thank you,” said Kit, smiling until she heard the rest of what he had to say.

“The girl is free to leave but be sure to put the boy in the dungeon,” Tolin told the guard. “He is a thief and must pay for his mistake.”

“Nay! That’s not what I meant, my lord.” Kit’s eyes filled with tears again. It was almost enough to make Tolin let them both walk away. Almost. The taste of her tart still lingered on his tongue, causing him to stick to his original decision, wanting more of her delicious desserts.

“It is either you both work in the castle kitchen until the end of Twelfth Night, or you go back to your shop and your son spends the holidays locked up in a cell. So, what will it be?”

He watched the woman turn white and sway slightly when her eyes closed. Then she opened her eyes again and pulled her son to her even closer, wrapping her arms around him so tightly that Tolin was sure the boy couldn’t breathe.

“I will never abandon my son,” she told him. “Although I don’t agree with your decision, my lord, I would risk my business to keep Parker from being hurt or imprisoned.”

“Good,” said Tolin with a slight nod. “Then it’s done. You will both report to my kitchen first thing in the morning. And I’ll expect more of those tantalizing tarts amongst other baked goods that will intrigue and amaze all those at the Christmastide celebrations.”

As he walked away, he felt the satisfaction of having won the challenge and getting what he really wanted. He had no desire to harm a child or put the boy behind bars. Neither did he want to ruin the woman’s business. Thankfully, the woman agreed to his terms because if she hadn’t, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. He bluffed his way through this game, but had a feeling the woman named Kit was going to prove to be a challenge and true competitor before this was over. She was amazingly good at not only baking but also getting what she wanted. He liked her competitive nature! And he was already devising more games in his mind that he and the pretty baker from town could play together.