Castle of the Wolf. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ Rheged?”

      He opened his eyes to find Lady Thomasina standing in front of him, her empty basket over her arm, her brown eyes regarding him with grave concern. “Are you ill?”

      He straightened. “I am never ill. I merely sought a breath of fresh air.”

      She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together, her full lips turning down at the corners. “You found the hall too smoky or stuffy?”

      “No more than most.”

      “Nevertheless I shall see that more of the shutters in the hall are open.” She turned as if she intended to do that at once, and by herself.

      “I wouldn’t bother. It’s going to rain soon,” he said as she started to hurry away.

      She turned back. “Rain? The sky is clear.”

      “I can smell it on the breeze—not a heavy rain,” he hastened to assure her. “Likely just a shower during the night, so not enough to delay the melee.”

      “I hope not.”

      “I’m fairly certain.” He gave her a little smile. “I grew up where it rains much of the time, Lady Thomasina.”

      “Tamsin,” she said quickly, then just as swiftly added, “That’s easier to say than Thomasina.”

      “Tamsin,” he quietly repeated.

      She moved the basket in front of her. “I’ve heard you called the Wolf of Wales,” she said, repeating the nickname given to him after his first tournament triumphs. “Are you so ferocious?”

      “Not as much as I was in my youth.”

      “You’re hardly an old man!”

      “Older than some here.”

      “Surely that gives you the benefit of experience, as well as reputation.”

      “Experience, aye, and a reputation has its purpose, although it’s not for fame I fight. Unlike your uncle, I’m not a wealthy man.”

      The moment he mentioned his poverty, he regretted it. She didn’t need to know about that, nor did he want her to think the less of him because of it.

      “You fight for money.” To his relief, she didn’t sound appalled or disgusted. She sounded...matter-of-fact. Practical. Accepting.

      “I fight to earn more, to keep what I have.”

      She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Life gives us all battles to fight and we all try to win as best we can. I wish I could fight some of mine with sword or mace.”

      “I don’t doubt you’d be a worthy foe. The clever ones are always hardest to beat.”

      “You flatter me, my lord,” she replied, and not in the usual manner of coy young ladies.

      She said it warily, with suspicion, as if she doubted his sincerity or perhaps wasn’t used to receiving compliments.

      Thinking it might indeed be the latter, he made a sweeping gesture encompassing the inner courtyard. “It takes intelligence to run a household the size of Lord DeLac’s, and there’s no doubt in my mind that falls to you. You do it well, my lady. I’ve never experienced such comfortable accommodations or fine food.”

      “My uncle is known for the excellence of his feasts.”

      “Because of you, I’m sure.”

      He saw the hint of a shy smile. Charmed and encouraged, he went on. “You have grace and beauty, too. That is a rare combination, my lady.” He ventured closer. “I think you are a rare woman.”

      She stepped back and to his dismay, that suspicious wariness returned. “Are you trying to seduce me, sir, with empty words of praise?”

      “I meant what I said.”

      “And now I suppose you will tell me that Mavis is lacking compared to me.”

      “She looks lovely, I grant you,” he replied, “yet I do find her lacking. She seems almost a shadow compared to you. I doubt she concerns herself with anything more than what gown she’ll wear or who she’ll dance with at the feast.”

      The lady bristled. “Mavis is not such a ninny and you earn only my enmity if you criticize her.”

      Clearly Tamsin loved her cousin dear and he hurried to mend his mistake. “I admit I have little knowledge of her, and no doubt she’s a fine young woman, but vitality and passion shine in your bright eyes, my lady, and you cannot deny that you take responsibility for the running of the household of DeLac.”

      His words didn’t have the effect he desired, which was to make her linger.

      “Thank you for your compliments, sir knight,” she said, starting toward the kitchen once more. “If you’ll excuse me, I do have many responsibilities, so I give you good night.”

      “Sleep well, my lady,” he murmured in his low, deep voice as she hurried away.

      * * *

      It was all Tamsin could do not to break into a run as she left the unexpectedly grateful and flattering Wolf of Wales.

      To think of such a man saying such things to her—plain, dutiful, responsible Tamsin! He was by far the most intriguing man she’d ever met, and not just because he was handsome, although he was the sort of man to make a woman look twice in spite of his stern visage. His eyebrows were like black lines above watchful dark eyes, and the planes of his cheeks and line of his jaw were as sharp as a sword blade. He dressed plainly in black, with no jewelry or other adornment.

      He needed no adornment to draw attention to his powerful warrior’s body, and as for those watchful and intense dark eyes, he obviously saw things others did not, like the way she worked—something no other guest had ever mentioned.

      But she was no fool, just as she was no beauty, no matter what he said, and it would surely be wrong to let him know how much his words had affected her.

      As she entered the kitchen to return her empty basket, Armond, the burly, aproned cook, red-faced after the efforts of overseeing the feast, looked about to have an attack of apoplexy. The shoulders of the exhausted scullery maids slumped from the effort of scrubbing the numerous pots and roasting pans and forks. Middle-aged Vila, who had been at Castle DeLac since her youth, wiped down the long table still snowed with flour that stood in the middle of the chamber. Baldur, the bottler, was excitedly urging Meg and Becky, two of the younger maidservants, to hurry as they headed to the door leading to the hall with more wine.

      She followed the maidservants back to the even noisier hall. She swiftly surveyed the chamber and then the high table, where her uncle was comfortably settled with a goblet of wine in his hand. Mavis, attired as befit a wealthy lord’s daughter in a gown of scarlet with embroidered trim of delicate blue and yellow flowers, sat with downcast eyes beside him, looking every inch the demure maiden. Later, though, when they were alone, she would have plenty to say about the guests. She could be surprisingly insightful and was very clever in her way, something Sir Rheged, like most men, СКАЧАТЬ