ahead of us and I’ll not have you slowing down the progress. Warren!”
“Aye, my lord,” Warren said, snapping to.
“If she faints, drag her up out of the mud and catch up as quickly as you can.”
“Of course, my lord!”
And with that, Richard, who Jessica couldn’t believe had enough depth to care about a sea view, spurred his horse on and again took his place at the front of the company.
“I’m dreaming,” she said. “This is all a bad dream. I will wake up soon and find this was all a hallucination brought on by bad cucumber sandwiches. Then I will sue Lord Henry for pain and suffering and buy myself an eleven-foot Steinway and a house big enough to put it in.”
Warren looked at her as if she’d just sprouted horns.
“And I will never again do any kind of wishing upon any kind of heavenly body,” she finished.
He crossed himself, edged away from her, and left hercontemplating the surrounding countryside, which was starting to look more medieval by the hoofbeat.
Then again, maybe more wishing would be called for.
Jessica closed her eyes and began to do just that.
But she had the feeling she wasn’t going to be any more successful than she had been the last time.
4
Richard stood at the edge of his camp and watched with satisfaction the sight before him. This was what he understood, this manly business of exchanging glorious stories of war around the fire, sharpening weapons, rising when the duty fell to you to walk the perimeter of the camp and watch for enemies. Aye, ’twas a good life, the one before him, and he was proud to take part in it. He looked over the men he’d brought with him and was pleased to see that they attended to their duties with precision and care.
Well, mostly.
Richard didn’t want to look at the handful of men who didn’t fit the mold, but he could hardly help himself. They were, after all, his personal guard.
He looked at his captain, John of Martley. Currently John sat with his head bowed, sharpening his sword. Richard suspected that the pose was less than comfortable, but he also suspected John was doing his best to ignore the two men arguing with each other over his head. Perhaps the habit came from being the youngest of a large family. Martley was in vassalage to Burwyck-on-the-Sea and John had escaped his home and his lack of prospects atan early age to come serve Richard’s father. More was the pity for him, Richard had always thought, but a lad did what he had to.
John’s hopes for a good meal had been few when Richard had met him again on the continent many years later. Richard had taken one look at John’s skill with the blade and offered him a position in his guard. It was not below a youngest son to accept the like, and John had done so without hesitation. Richard had never been sorry for his choice. John was a good soldier and a loyal friend. And he had the necessary ability of being able to ignore whatever foolishness was going on about him. Such as the present madness.
Richard scowled at the man on John’s left. Sir Hamlet of Coteborne was the son of a man who had guarded Queen Eleanor. Richard had stumbled across Hamlet trying to hold his own against a dozen men he had offended in an inn in the south of France. Apparently Hamlet was convinced that southern men could not possibly woo as well as anyone born north of Paris, and he was not shy about saying the like to anyone who would listen. Unfortunately he had been unsuccessful in trying to convince his audience to agree with him. The final straw had been trying to teach them the proper way to compose wooing verse. Richard had joined in the fray simply for the sport of it, but soon learned that Hamlet fought much better than he sang.
Richard didn’t bother to interrupt the current diatribe. Hamlet wouldn’t have noticed him anyway. When the man took a mind to enlighten those around him upon the finer points of wooing, there was no stopping him.
“And I say,” Hamlet insisted, “that
“Aye, my lord,” Warren said, snapping to.
“If she faints, drag her up out of the mud and catch up as quickly as you can.”
“Of course, my lord!”
And with that, Richard, who Jessica couldn’t believe had enough depth to care about a sea view, spurred his horse on and again took his place at the front of the company.
“I’m dreaming,” she said. “This is all a bad dream. I will wake up soon and find this was all a hallucination brought on by bad cucumber sandwiches. Then I will sue Lord Henry for pain and suffering and buy myself an eleven-foot Steinway and a house big enough to put it in.”
Warren looked at her as if she’d just sprouted horns.
“And I will never again do any kind of wishing upon any kind of heavenly body,” she finished.
He crossed himself, edged away from her, and left hercontemplating the surrounding countryside, which was starting to look more medieval by the hoofbeat.
Then again, maybe more wishing would be called for.
Jessica closed her eyes and began to do just that.
But she had the feeling she wasn’t going to be any more successful than she had been the last time.
4
Richard stood at the edge of his camp and watched with satisfaction the sight before him. This was what he understood, this manly business of exchanging glorious stories of war around the fire, sharpening weapons, rising when the duty fell to you to walk the perimeter of the camp and watch for enemies. Aye, ’twas a good life, the one before him, and he was proud to take part in it. He looked over the men he’d brought with him and was pleased to see that they attended to their duties with precision and care.
Well, mostly.
Richard didn’t want to look at the handful of men who didn’t fit the mold, but he could hardly help himself. They were, after all, his personal guard.
He looked at his captain, John of Martley. Currently John sat with his head bowed, sharpening his sword. Richard suspected that the pose was less than comfortable, but he also suspected John was doing his best to ignore the two men arguing with each other over his head. Perhaps the habit came from being the youngest of a large family. Martley was in vassalage to Burwyck-on-the-Sea and John had escaped his home and his lack of prospects atan early age to come serve Richard’s father. More was the pity for him, Richard had always thought, but a lad did what he had to.
John’s hopes for a good meal had been few when Richard had met him again on the continent many years later. Richard had taken one look at John’s skill with the blade and offered him a position in his guard. It was not below a youngest son to accept the like, and John had done so without hesitation. Richard had never been sorry for his choice. John was a good soldier and a loyal friend. And he had the necessary ability of being able to ignore whatever foolishness was going on about him. Such as the present madness.
Richard scowled at the man on John’s left. Sir Hamlet of Coteborne was the son of a man who had guarded Queen Eleanor. Richard had stumbled across Hamlet trying to hold his own against a dozen men he had offended in an inn in the south of France. Apparently Hamlet was convinced that southern men could not possibly woo as well as anyone born north of Paris, and he was not shy about saying the like to anyone who would listen. Unfortunately he had been unsuccessful in trying to convince his audience to agree with him. The final straw had been trying to teach them the proper way to compose wooing verse. Richard had joined in the fray simply for the sport of it, but soon learned that Hamlet fought much better than he sang.
Richard didn’t bother to interrupt the current diatribe. Hamlet wouldn’t have noticed him anyway. When the man took a mind to enlighten those around him upon the finer points of wooing, there was no stopping him.
“And I say,” Hamlet insisted, “that
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