Chapter 3
Guy screwed up his eyes as he looked out over the gardens. The sky was a bright cloudless blue and the sun reflected harshly off the snow carpeting the grass and trees.
Sighing, he placed his thumb and forefinger either side of the bridge of his nose and gently massaged the skin. His head was throbbing and he was about to return to bed when he saw Katherine walking over the grass, deep in conversation with the steward. He dressed quickly, splashing water on his face and using a cloth to rub at his teeth and tongue before making his way downstairs.
With the sun streaming into the house, it looked even more welcoming than last night. A smell of lavender hung in the air, rich tapestries adorned the walls, dogs wandered about. In one of the doorways, a cat yawned. Here and there he saw large pitchers filled with boughs of evergreens dotted with rich, red berries.
The signs of a woman's touch; Katherine's touch.
Katherine's touch ... the thought of that spurred him out into the cold air. He filled his lungs with it; making his head hurt even more and then he followed the double set of footprints in the snow.
Like tracking a doe.
When he caught up with her, Katherine was pointing to some trees and he heard her discussing with Foster when they should be cut; who was offering the best prices for timber; which man should do the work.
She was dressed in a deep blue velvet cape with a hood and so it was only when Guy stepped directly into her field of vision that she saw him.
He could not know that she saw him as a black stain on the snow. Her face betrayed nothing. Instead she inclined her head and wished him a good morning.
‘We are discussing estate business,’ she explained. ‘You will find it very dull.’
She seemed even lovelier to Guy this morning, despite the tip of her nose being red from the cold. The hood of her cloak made a soft frame for her face and the sunlight seemed to add an extra sheen to her dark eyes. He would have been happy simply to stand there and drink in the sight of her, but he knew that he should speak.
‘You run the estate alone?’ he asked, knowing immediately that the question would either sound stupid or mocking to her.
‘I asssist. Foster really manages the estate for us, do you not Foster? ‘
The man, fully grown and with a wife and children of his own, dimpled.
‘I put forward ideas, he advises me as to whether or not they will work. Whilst trying not to be amused by some of them, is that not true Forster?’ The man was blushing now.
‘It is unusual is it not for a woman to do this?’ Guy asked. He could not help himself, her demeanour was so calm, so controlled that he wished to draw some emotion from her.
She took his question in her stride. ‘Is it Sir Guy? I do not know. I was an only child and my father gave me many more responsibilities than was usual for a girl. When I can be of real assistance to my husband ... and his family, I am happy to take part of the burden. I am afraid I find it far more enjoyable than endless needlepoint.’
‘And Foster did not find your idea of a free supper for the estate workers amusing?’ niggled Guy.
She simply laughed. ‘No, that was one of my better ideas was it not, Foster?’
Foster nodded his head.
Guy was becoming heartily sick of Foster. He turned to speak to him directly.
