Castle of the Wolf. Margaret Moore

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ “I can’t believe it! Either the man’s richer than I ever suspected or he’s grown generous over the years.”

      Sir Algar reached out for the box and took it almost reverently. Then he squinted and rotated it slowly in his hands, examining it closely.

      “What is it?”

      “Did you think this was solid gold?” Sir Algar asked slowly.

      “Isn’t it?”

      Sir Algar shook his head. “The gems aren’t real, either. Could you not—”

      “Tell? How could I?” Rheged retorted, taking the box from him and studying it just as intently. “I’ve never had any jewels, or anything solid gold, either. Are you certain?”

      Sir Algar took the knife from his belt and scraped the bottom of the box. The gold peeled off, revealing the dull gray of some other metal underneath. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. DeLac’s always been a miser, unless he wants to impress his guests.”

      Rheged grabbed the box, shoved it into the leather pouch and started for the door.

      Sir Algar jumped to his feet. “What are you—”

      “That damned miserly bastard won’t make a fool out of me! I’m going to get my proper prize!”

      “Perhaps it might be wise to accept—” Sir Algar began as he followed Rheged.

      “Being cheated? Never!” Rheged paused and turned to face the older man. “What would you do if a merchant sold you bogus goods?”

      “I would either get my money back, or demand the goods I paid for.”

      “I am going to seek the goods I paid for,” Rheged replied.

      “Lord DeLac is a powerful man, Rheged,” Sir Algar said warily.

      “And I am not. I realize that, my lord.” He managed a grim smile. “I am well aware that I lack sufficient power to risk the man’s enmity, my lord, but I must try to get a more proper prize, or I will have deserved to be cheated.”

      Sir Algar nodded. “Farewell, then, and good luck—but be careful.”

      “I will, my lord.”

      His mouth a grim, hard line, his knuckles white as he gripped the pouch, Rheged left the hall and marched across the yard to the stable. Gareth, standing near the well talking to one of the maidservants—the quiet one whose name was Evie or some such thing—saw him and immediately hurried to meet him at the entrance. “What’s wrong?” he asked gravely, clearly realizing this was no time for jesting.

      “I’m going back to Castle DeLac,” Rheged replied. He went into the stable and called for Dan, whose head appeared over the wall of Jevan’s stall, surprise on every feature.

      “Saddle Myr,” Rheged ordered. Jevan was for fighting; Myr, his gelding, was for speed.

      “Forgot something, did you?” Gareth asked.

      “Not me,” Rheged grimly replied. “Lord DeLac.” He glanced at his puzzled friend. “He forgot his honor, and what is due a knight.”

      “Want some company?”

      Rheged shook his head. “I need you here.” He put his hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “The man will either do what’s right or he won’t, and if he won’t, I’ll come back and fetch you.”

      Gareth grinned and nodded. “As you will, my lord.”

      * * *

      Tamsin shivered, pulled her cloak more tightly about her and checked the figure for the total number of baskets of neeps in the kitchen storeroom against the list in her hand. On other shelves were apples drying on racks, baskets of peas and leeks and clay jars of honey. Sawdust covered the floor and scented the air along with the vegetables and fruit. A few dust motes danced, and one or two must have gotten into her eyes, to make them water.

      Thankfully the total of all the stores here was correct, so she could be sure she was leaving a good count for Mavis. She wanted to be certain all was in good order before Sir Blane arrived and she was taken away to the north, where it would be even colder.

      Unfortunately what should have been a simple task was taking far too long. Her thoughts kept drifting to what she might encounter in her future, and what she would be leaving behind. She wouldn’t be sorry to see the last of her uncle, but she would sorely miss Mavis, and the servants. Even Armond. And she knew how to manage this household. What would Sir Blane’s be like? she asked herself as she wiped at her eyes. Because of the dust, of course.

      A commotion outside jerked her back to the present. It seemed to be coming from the yard, near the gates. They weren’t expecting any visitors today, at least none that she...

      Surely it couldn’t be Sir Blane! Her uncle had said he would arrive within the fortnight, not today—unless her betrothed had traveled more swiftly than expected, anxious for the alliance. Or the marriage.

      Although that thought was enough to make her queasy, Tamsin put down the list, gathered up her skirts and hurried to the yard.

      To see Sir Rheged of Cwm Bron standing near the gates, feet planted, his hands on his hips and obviously angry.

      That explained why the guards were watching him so closely, even though he wasn’t dressed for battle. He wore a white shirt open at the neck beneath a boiled leather tunic, the attire of common men-at-arms. Despite the autumn chill in the air, the long sleeves of his shirt were rolled back to reveal skin bronzed brown by the sun. His breeches were of wool, his boots splattered with mud and he stood beside a foam-flecked gray gelding, not the powerful destrier he’d ridden in the melee. He did, however, carry a sword, the scabbard resting against his muscular thigh.

      Despite her determination to keep certain memories locked away forever, she vividly recalled the thrill of being in his arms and the sensation of his lips on hers, especially when his gaze swept the yard and settled upon her.

      Then he started toward her, as if his business was with her alone.

      That must not be. That could not be. She must marry Blane, regardless of what this man said. Or did.

      Straightening her shoulders, she walked forward resolutely, determined to send him on his way. “Greetings, Sir Rheged,” she said, managing to sound calm.

      “I wish to see your uncle.”

      So he hadn’t returned to offer her aid again, or sanctuary. Or so she thought, until she saw something deep in his eyes that revived her hope of rescue.

      Her useless, wistful hope that must be nipped in the bud. “He rode out this morning, sir knight,” she said with cool detachment.

      The Welshman skeptically raised a dark eyebrow. “He went riding?”

      She, too, had been surprised to hear her uncle’s plan, until it had occurred to her that he might wish to avoid his niece as much as she wanted to be far away from him. “You’re welcome to wait in his solar, or you may tell me your business and I will see—”

      Sir СКАЧАТЬ