:: CHAPTER FOUR ::
"Where's that sorry excuse for a human being?" Yelled Mrs Makeen the following morning as she stomped around the kitchen. Her face was purple and all knew not to cross her in such a mood.
"Who do you mean, ma'am?" asked one of the other kitchen staff, timidly.
"Who do I mean?" she screeched even louder, "Who do I mean! That gardener, of course. The cheeky one! The one who doesn't know his place yet!"
"Oh, Will?" asked the scullery maid. The room fell silent, all eyes on Mrs Makeen, who stood their, shaking with rage.
"YES!" she continued to screech, too angry at him to think of anyone else. "YES, WILL! WHERE IS HE?" She stopped her pacing and stood with her hands on her hips facing the door to the garden.
Following her gaze, they saw the unknowing worker walk towards them. A few tried to signal him to turn, but he continued, oblivious to their signs.
As soon as he opened the door, he knew something was wrong; instead of cooking or cleaning everyone was motionless, eyes darting between him and the cook.
"YOU!" she scowled, not moving at all.
"And you!" he replied, smiling, "So wonderful to see you again!"
"Just shut-up!" she spat, so angry that she didn't want to be confused. "Look what you've done to my floor! How many times have I told you not to traipse mud in here? And yet you continue!"
"Once." He said, still smiling, knowing that it was annoying her. "Well, twice," he agreed, "now that you've just told me again."
"Don't be a smart arse with me, my lad!" she said, her eyes bulging in her anger. "I want you to clean this floor. And I want you to do it now or I'll talk to Miss Monroe. What have you to say to that?" She smiled.
He looked around from face to face. They looked nervously back. His expression suspended in confusion, he turned back to Miss Makeen. "Who's Miss Monroe?" he asked. A few giggles could be heard and Will, himself, had to stifle one of his own. "No hard feelings." He added, smiling as he grabbed an apple from a huge basket of them, tapped her on the side of her arm and exited the stunned kitchen.
It was a full five minutes before Miss Makeen regained her composure, though the rest of the kitchen staff were having difficulties mastering that skill.
The morning was brighter then any other morning that year, and the day soon became hotter. Because of this, it was decided that Lizzy would be graced with another session in the garden. And so, with the book that had been returned, she ventured into the garden to re-read it.
As she stepped into the sun she noticed three men standing next to a horse that was pulling a small cart. From the way they dressed and the green stains and mud she deduced that they were gardeners as well. Not wishing to be watched, she continued alone into the backfield, laced with red poppies that contrasted romantically with the golden maize that was there. The sound of trickling water could be faintly heard on the summer's day.
She chose a place on the edge of the bank and watched the way the poppies danced amidst the golden rushes in the soft breeze. She was contented just to sit, but soon the simple pleasure drifted into the background. She picked up her book and flicked it open at a page somewhere in the middle. A piece of paper fell out onto her dress.
Lizzy looked affronted for a moment, before cautiously put the book down and opened the note. Thanks, it said. Thanks, and nothing more. She screwed up her face and examined the note closer. Contented at last with its absence of further explanation she turned her attentions back to the book.
"I see you got my note." Said a voice behind her. Lizzy leapt up to see Will leaning against a tree. From her closer inspection of him, his sleek-lined muscles that were only hinted at in his shirt, were perfectly fitting to his body. His shirt lay between his fingers; used to wipe them. He smiled at her. "Thanks for the book." She continued to watch him for a while, but at last smiled back. Her body had already started to react at the magnificent site of his naked chest, lightly dusted with strong curls. A blush rose in her cheeks and her breath quickened.
"You are welcome." She said in a suddenly croaky voice. Embarrassed further by her reaction, she coughed until it left her.
"I must say, though, I didn't understand a word of it." He continued, walking towards her, ignoring her becoming acknowledgement of him.
Beside her, she could feel the heat of his body. His eyes refused to meet hers as he removed a piece of straw that had attached itself to her.
"Thank you." She said, as calmly as she could muster. He smiled again, though his expression had become more intent, more pulsing.
"You are welcome." He replied, looking down into her eyes. She forced herself to look back for as long as she could, but eventually gave up and dropped her eyes to his lips. They were perfectly formed, she thought, strong and soft, all at once. The smile deserted his face. At first she didn't notice; she was overcome by this strange desire to feel his lips hot against her skin. His gaze had fallen too; he wanted to hold her, touch her, and let her touch him. She wet her lips with her tongue; Will found the measured movement deeply interesting and watched her, his body tautening in response.
Slowly, she brought a hand up to her mouth, and brushed her fingertips against the soft pink skin. It swelled slightly under the contact. Her body was leaning towards him; she could feel it. It had reacted to his presence in shivers.
Holding her hands, firmly behind her back, she blinked, looked down and forced herself away from him.
"I...um…have to go." She said, suddenly embarrassed of what might happen if she stayed.
He watched her as she picked up her book and hurried away. Taking a deep breath he suppressed the blood that had tension up in him, and forced himself to leave and not run after her.
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