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      He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘I only know that the women are skilful in tapestry work.’

      He had surprised her. ‘How do you know this?’

      ‘My mother visited her French kin in Angers as a young girl and a few years ago she asked me to purchase a tapestry for her.’

      ‘Isn’t Angers the main city of Anjou?’ she asked.

      Mackillin nodded. ‘The Queen of England’s father, King René, has his court there.’

      ‘You have visited his court?’ asked Cicely.

      A slight smile lifted the corner of Mackillin’s lips. ‘If I said aye, admit that would surprise you, lass.’ She flushed, but did not comment, and he added, ‘I was no lord then, but he knew the Percys and so welcomed me. René is a good man, cultured, but with no airs and graces. He likes to talk to his subjects and visitors alike. We discussed painting, music, the law and mathematics.’

      Indeed, he had amazed her, thought Cicely, finding it difficult to imagine this man conversing on such topics.

      Jack groaned. ‘I wish you hadn’t mentioned mathematics. Father was adamant that every merchant should have a knowledge of the subject. There are books he wanted me to read. That’s why he wished to speak to Master Caxton. I never thought being a merchant would involve so much study.’

      Mackillin winked at Cicely and instinctively she smiled. For a moment their eyes held and it was as if a flame passed between them. Her pulses leapt and she thought, this can’t be happening! Determinedly, she looked away. Just because he was proving not as uncouth as she had first believed him to be, that did not mean he was to be trusted. She spotted the rolled pallets and blankets in a corner and faced him again. ‘I will have the best bedchamber prepared for you.’

      ‘I would appreciate that…and a basin of hot water would not go amiss,’ he said, rasping the stubble on his chin with the back of his hand.

      Jack swallowed the last bite of his bacon collop. ‘We can do better than that for you, Mackillin. Adjacent to the best bedchamber is a room with a tub.’

      ‘Aye,’ said Cicely, her eyes brightening. ‘I’m sure your lordship will benefit from a soak in hot water and some clean raiment.’

      Mackillin desired only a few things more than sinking his smelly and aching body in a tub of steaming water and to don the clean raiment in his saddlebag, and he realised at the top of the list was an urge to bed the lass in front of him. Knowing that was out of the question, he teased her instead. ‘I could catch ma death of cold if I were to wash, lass.’

      He had to be jesting, thought Cicely and said firmly, ‘Then put on an extra garment.’

      Jack grinned. ‘I deem he does not wish to give you more work, Cissie. I saw Mackillin immerse himself in a barrel of water aboard ship when we crossed the sea. I wouldn’t have done it. The wind was freezing and from the north.’

      ‘Hush, laddie,’ said Mackillin, laughter in his eyes. ‘Your sister might start changing her mind about me.’

      Cicely would not allow herself to be drawn on that subject and only said, ‘Then you would like the tub filled?’

      ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

      ‘It will be done, even if I have to wind up the buckets of water myself,’ she said, picking up one of the parcels and trying to guess its contents by feeling it.

      Instantly the laughter died in his eyes and he looked horrified. ‘Nay, mistress, it is not a task for you. Robbie will help me to draw water. We’ll also fill the empty water butts. It will help pass the time and prevent my body from getting soft…. And before you remind me that lords don’t do such menial work,’ he added, ‘I tell you that this one has done plenty in the past. We’ll make a start now. Who’s to say when next I’ll be able to bathe if the ground freezes and the water in it, too?’

      She put the parcel down. ‘Then we would have to break the ice and when the water butts ran out we’d dig snow and melt it in pans over the fire,’ she said promptly.

      ‘You’re a lass of good sense,’ he said gravely.

      She flushed with pleasure at the compliment and watched as he and Robbie left the hall. ‘Has Mackillin mentioned a wife to you, Jack?’ she asked casually.

      He hesitated. ‘Why don’t you ask him if you’re interested? I’m certain Father did not wish you to marry Diccon.’

      ‘If he did not speak to you about it, how do you know?’ demanded Cicely.

      Jack’s expression changed. ‘Take my word for it, Cissie. He had someone else in mind for you.’ Before she could ask whom, he hurried after Mackillin and Robbie.

      Frustrated, Cicely went upstairs to prepare the best bedchamber for Mackillin.

      It was to be a couple of hours before the tub was ready and Mackillin followed her upstairs. His eyes were drawn to the seductive sway of her hips in the black gown and he wondered what Diccon Fletcher was thinking, to leave her here unprotected when he must have known her father was away in Europe. He remembered Diccon now. A pleasant-looking young man, hot for adventure and keen for advancement. After Nat Milburn had introduced them, they had later met in a tavern in company with the young Edward of York and some of his followers. Diccon had drunk too much and spoken of King Henry failing to keep his word and reward him for services rendered. Mackillin did not doubt for a moment that Diccon was now Edward’s man. It concerned him only as far as it would affect Cicely’s future. Nat Milburn’s dying words made him uneasy in the light of what he now knew about his daughter and her relationship with Diccon. What if he was killed in battle? Who would she marry then?

      He told himself that it was not his concern, he was for Scotland and a bride of his choosing. Even so he could not take his eyes from Cicely as, holding the lantern high, she turned right and led him along a passage. Now he was only a pace or so behind her and could smell the perfume of her hair. He was reminded of the camomile daisy that grew in profusion on his French kinsman’s estate. He had seen the women gathering the flower heads and drying them to use in their washing water, but their scent had never affected him as it did now.

      She stopped in front of a large, carved door that stood slightly ajar and pushed it wide. ‘I hope you will be comfortable here, Mackillin.’

      ‘I’m sure I shall. You can have no idea of the state of some of the places I’ve slept in,’ he said, indicating that she precede him into the bedchamber.

      She hesitated, but then told herself it was unlikely he would make advances to her now he knew that she was the daughter of the house, only to recall seconds later his pulling her on to his lap in the middle of the night. If only Diccon would return. Surely she would not be so affected by this man’s presence if he was near?

      She placed the lantern next to a bowl of dried rose petals, lavender and gillyflower heads on an ornate circular table. This stood beneath the polished metal of an oval gilt-framed mirror. On the other walls there were several tapestries. The sky had darkened and snow was falling again, but the chill had been taken from the room by a charcoal brazier. The bedchamber was bright with the light from several costly beeswax candles.

      It was obvious to Mackillin that much care and money had been lavished on the room. He glanced at the bed that was of a width in which two people could lie in comfort. Its hangings and coverlet were made from a damasked cloth, woven in reds and yellows, and he imagined tossing Cicely on the bed, drawing the curtains and ridding her of clothing before smothering her body with kisses. He felt himself grow hard and forced himself to look away from the bed.

      There were two armoires, as well as a large carved chest, and underfoot a floor covering thick enough for his boots to leave an impression. If he had not known already that Jack and Cicely’s father was a rich merchant, then he would have recognised just how wealthy he was now. He remembered his parents having separate bedchambers and neither were half as well appointed as this one. He could have laughed

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