’tis the
left
leg you stretch out when bowing to your lady, not the right!”
“Nay, damn ye, ’tis the bloody right—”
“The left, you fool! Then should you have to draw your sword and instruct another on proper courtly comportment, you are balanced aright!”
Sir Hamlet stood to demonstrate this and managed towallop his unfortunate student full in the face with his blade as he flourished it.
Richard turned his attention to the man now lying on his back, struggling not to howl. Sir William of Holte was a man of few words, but mighty with weapons of all sorts. Less mighty, however, with his wits—which was why he often found himself drawn into these kinds of discussions. Then again, perhaps it was the less-than-pleasing visage of his that caused him to want to assure himself he had his manners aright. ’Twas a certainty he would never win a woman without the like.
Joining John in the sharpening of his warriorly gear was the final member of Richard’s guard, Godwin of Scalebro. Richard watched the man work on some painful-looking implement of torture and found himself glad yet again that he had never been on the receiving end of Godwin’s ministrations whilst the man was at his work. He could torture like no other, though Richard had found little use for those skills. The threat was often enough to intimidate and Richard was pleased to have that threat at his disposal. Unlike Godwin’s former employer, Richard kept the man well supplied with the sweet pastries he craved and that seemed to be enough to ensure his loyalty. Richard considered it a small price to pay.
He looked at his little group and indulged in a small feeling of satisfaction. Despite their small flaws, they were fine warriors all. He had earned their loyalty and was grateful for it. Richard nodded approvingly. This was a sight he was accustomed to and one he felt very comfortable with.
Yet somehow he was less than comfortable. There was something not right, something out of place, something that didn’t belong in his orderly world of men and horses.
He wandered the camp again, then came to a stop and looked down at that something. She sat on the ground at his feet, wrapped in his cloak yet still shivering. He had to admit that looking at her gave him the shivers as well.
Kin of the king. Why was he not surprised?
He had grilled Warren thoroughly, once he’d convincedhis brother that Jessica could not possibly be possessed and that the bump on her head had likely addled her wits. Warren had divulged that she came from a village called Edmonds and that she was related to the king. Other than that, she had revealed none of her intimate details.
Richard gave her noble status a bit more consideration. In truth, her relation to the king made his task easier. Henry was rumored to be coming north within the next month. All Richard had to do was keep Jessica fed and relatively happy, deliver her to the king when he arrived, and then be done with the tale. Perhaps Henry would think it a favor and Richard might have a boon of him.
Though the only gift he could think to ask for was to be left alone to enjoy his peace and quiet.
But he would have no bequest at all if Henry’s kinswoman was aggrieved by his treatment of her. ’Twas a certainty that she didn’t look very comfortable at present and that forced a scowl to his features. By the saints, he had no time to dance attendance on some woman’s whims for the next month! He had a hall to complete before the chill of winter set in truly. And he would also have to think on hiding enough of his stores to see his garrison fed for the winter, as he was certain that when Henry arrived, he and his retinue would deplete whatever of Richard’s larder was uncovered and vulnerable to the eye. He sighed deeply. There were times he wished Hugh had been the eldest. It would have saved him a great deal of grief.
He looked down at his current trial and frowned again. Naught but her face showed from inside
left
leg you stretch out when bowing to your lady, not the right!”
“Nay, damn ye, ’tis the bloody right—”
“The left, you fool! Then should you have to draw your sword and instruct another on proper courtly comportment, you are balanced aright!”
Sir Hamlet stood to demonstrate this and managed towallop his unfortunate student full in the face with his blade as he flourished it.
Richard turned his attention to the man now lying on his back, struggling not to howl. Sir William of Holte was a man of few words, but mighty with weapons of all sorts. Less mighty, however, with his wits—which was why he often found himself drawn into these kinds of discussions. Then again, perhaps it was the less-than-pleasing visage of his that caused him to want to assure himself he had his manners aright. ’Twas a certainty he would never win a woman without the like.
Joining John in the sharpening of his warriorly gear was the final member of Richard’s guard, Godwin of Scalebro. Richard watched the man work on some painful-looking implement of torture and found himself glad yet again that he had never been on the receiving end of Godwin’s ministrations whilst the man was at his work. He could torture like no other, though Richard had found little use for those skills. The threat was often enough to intimidate and Richard was pleased to have that threat at his disposal. Unlike Godwin’s former employer, Richard kept the man well supplied with the sweet pastries he craved and that seemed to be enough to ensure his loyalty. Richard considered it a small price to pay.
He looked at his little group and indulged in a small feeling of satisfaction. Despite their small flaws, they were fine warriors all. He had earned their loyalty and was grateful for it. Richard nodded approvingly. This was a sight he was accustomed to and one he felt very comfortable with.
Yet somehow he was less than comfortable. There was something not right, something out of place, something that didn’t belong in his orderly world of men and horses.
He wandered the camp again, then came to a stop and looked down at that something. She sat on the ground at his feet, wrapped in his cloak yet still shivering. He had to admit that looking at her gave him the shivers as well.
Kin of the king. Why was he not surprised?
He had grilled Warren thoroughly, once he’d convincedhis brother that Jessica could not possibly be possessed and that the bump on her head had likely addled her wits. Warren had divulged that she came from a village called Edmonds and that she was related to the king. Other than that, she had revealed none of her intimate details.
Richard gave her noble status a bit more consideration. In truth, her relation to the king made his task easier. Henry was rumored to be coming north within the next month. All Richard had to do was keep Jessica fed and relatively happy, deliver her to the king when he arrived, and then be done with the tale. Perhaps Henry would think it a favor and Richard might have a boon of him.
Though the only gift he could think to ask for was to be left alone to enjoy his peace and quiet.
But he would have no bequest at all if Henry’s kinswoman was aggrieved by his treatment of her. ’Twas a certainty that she didn’t look very comfortable at present and that forced a scowl to his features. By the saints, he had no time to dance attendance on some woman’s whims for the next month! He had a hall to complete before the chill of winter set in truly. And he would also have to think on hiding enough of his stores to see his garrison fed for the winter, as he was certain that when Henry arrived, he and his retinue would deplete whatever of Richard’s larder was uncovered and vulnerable to the eye. He sighed deeply. There were times he wished Hugh had been the eldest. It would have saved him a great deal of grief.
He looked down at his current trial and frowned again. Naught but her face showed from inside
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