In The King's Service. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ “I haven’t been with that many. I’ll not deny I like women’s company, but I’m not quite the amazing lover gossip paints me.”

      “But Gervais says—”

      “Your brother has no more knowledge of what I do with my nights than you do.”

      A more subdued Trev remained silent as they rode across a stone bridge leading into the village. Blaidd was rather glad of that. He didn’t enjoy discussing his relationships with women with anyone, let alone a sixteen-year-old.

      Because of the rain and the spring runoff, the river was high, the water frothing and splashing as it hit the bridge’s foundations. This bridge was a finer piece of engineering than Blaidd had expected to find in a place this far to the north and west of London, too.

      Mercifully, the rain began to abate and he could better note the state of the village. It was comprised of several cottages of wattle and daub and thatch. Shops and stalls, many with living quarters above, lined the green.

      He’d seen villages in worse repair, but he’d seen plenty better, too. The village church wasn’t much, either, leading him to suspect that little of Lord Throckton’s income from his tenants’ tithes was given away in charity. More likely it was spent on stones and mortar and master masons for his castle.

      The green was deserted, but Blaidd felt he was being watched nonetheless. No doubt the unseen villagers were speculating about who they were and why they had come.

      From Blaidd’s mount and his accoutrements, his bearing from years of training as well as the broadsword slapping his thigh, they would surely guess he was a soldier, at the very least. The presence of a squire and the device on his shield would reveal that he was a knight. Anything else would be pure speculation.

      The rain stopped completely as they neared a larger building that looked to be an inn. Blaidd was thinking he wasn’t sure he’d fancy spending a night there any more than on the open road, when a blowzy, dark-haired, unkempt woman appeared in one of the un-shuttered windows on the second level. She leaned so far out of the window that her ample breasts, barely covered by her loose shift, seemed likely to be completely exposed at any moment.

      She brazenly grinned at Blaidd, then whistled. In the next moment, several other women, equally slatternly, appeared at the other windows.

      “Ain’t he a fine, bold one now?” the black-haired one said in a loud voice. “I bet he’s bold in bed, too.”

      The women cackled like chickens, and another declared, “Lovely weapon you’ve got, m’lord, I’m sure. I’d love to see it up close.”

      “I like the pretty young one,” another called out.

      Blaidd glanced over his shoulder. His face red as holly berries, Trev stared straight ahead. Blaidd stifled a smile that was both amused and sympathetic as they drew abreast of the building.

      “I’m sorry, my dears,” Blaidd said, as if he were addressing the queen of England, “but my squire and I must decline your charming and generous offers.”

      “Ooh, listen to him, will ya?” the black-haired harlot cried. “Ain’t that the loveliest voice you ever heard! Welsh, too. I’ve heard good things about them.” She made a gesture that demonstrated what exactly she had heard. “Come here, my buck, and whisper something naughty in my ear. It’s the least you can do if you ain’t gonna stay.”

      Blaidd put his hand on his heart and bowed. “Alas, I fear I cannot. I have business at the castle and must not tarry any longer.”

      He again nudged Aderyn Du into a walk, but before they had gone, a young woman—probably not much older than Trev—came to stand in the doorway. Her blond hair was a tousled mess, her relatively clean gown clung to her shapely body and her eyes were a startling shade of green. But while she had the face of an angel, the way she leaned against the frame of the door and the leering smile she gave Blaidd told him that she was an old hand at this game. As he rode forward, he sighed for the loss of innocence, even if he understood that poverty offered many women few choices in life but this one.

      He realized he didn’t hear Trev’s horse behind him, and twisted to look over his shoulder. Trev’s horse hadn’t moved, and the squire was staring at the young woman like a man bewitched.

      Blaidd swore under his breath, then barked, “Fitzroy!”

      Jolted by the explosive summons, Trev kicked his horse’s sides and was soon riding beside him toward the castle’s gatehouse.

      “She’s a whore, like the others,” Blaidd said.

      “I know that. I’m not a baby,” Trev muttered, not looking at him. “And I’ve got ears. I heard what they said.”

      “Then you know you must forget about that girl.”

      Trev flushed. “I’ve got money.”

      “Whether you can afford it or not is beside the point. That’s not a fit place for you to go. Aside from fleas and bedbugs, a lot of women in such places will gladly rob you blind, and it is a sad fact that most of them are probably diseased. A wise man stays out of stews.”

      “You sound just like my father.”

      “Thank you for the compliment,” Blaidd replied, keeping his voice light, “and I am responsible for you while you’re in my service. If your father found out I’d let you go to a brothel, he’d probably have a fit—but he’d still be able to break my head before he succumbed. I’m not about to risk that.”

      “Have you ever been to a brothel?”

      Blaidd was glad that he could answer honestly. “Never wanted to, never had to.”

      Fortunately, they reached the gatehouse of Throckton Castle, effectively ending the conversation. He had a job to do here—one that had nothing to do with courting Lady Laelia—and he didn’t want to have to play tutor to Trevelyan in matters such as these, as well.

      Blaidd studied the raised portcullis, a huge wooden grille with pointed ends. Sentries patrolled the wall walk above. At the other end of the gatehouse was a closed second gate that led to the outer ward. It was made of solid oak, inches thick and studded with brass.

      Lowering his hood, Blaidd rode beneath the portcullis and into the gatehouse, passing under the murder hole. If enemies got trapped between the wooden grille of the portcullis and the solid inner gate, defenders could pour boiling oil or throw rocks through that hole. He shivered, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was wet with rain. He had seen a child accidentally burned by hot sheep’s tallow once, and the thought of a great vat raining such a doom from above was the stuff of nightmares.

      Arriving at the inner gate, he pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted. Trev followed suit, and Blaidd handed him Aderyn Du’s reins.

      Before Blaidd could call out a greeting, though, a panel in the right half of the door slid swiftly back. No doubt the sentries on the wall walk had notified the guards below that they had visitors.

      A thin face wreathed in a rough, dark brown woolen hood appeared. The guard’s brilliant blue eyes regarded Blaidd as if he wanted to accuse him of cheating. “Who are you and what do you want?” a slightly husky voice demanded.

      “It’s a woman!” СКАЧАТЬ