Castle of the Wolf. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ the excited and ever-present hounds, they walked quickly through the hall bustling with servants spreading clean linen on the tables and sprinkling fresh rosemary and fleabane on the rush-covered floors. Denly was putting new torches in the sconces. Despite their hurry, Tamsin made sure all was as it should be as she passed the servants, giving each a nod and a smile.

      “I’m sure Sir Jocelyn won the day,” Mavis said as they climbed the steps to the wall walk near the main gate in the inner curtain wall. “He was the squire of Sir William of Kent.”

      “He’s very comely, too.”

      “That isn’t why I think he’ll win,” Mavis replied with a toss of her head. “He’s very well trained.”

      That might be, but he’s no Sir Rheged, Tamsin thought, then silently chastised herself for even thinking of the Welsh knight.

      As they came out onto the wall walk, Mavis went right to the edge, while Tamsin stood with her back against the solid tower. Her cousin pointed at the group of men in the area between the outer and inner curtain walls. Some were mounted, a few walked and behind them came the squires, carrying shields and swords. “There they are. I can’t tell who won. Can you?”

      Tamsin scanned the group. No man was obviously triumphant. No one rode out in front, or with a victor’s proud poise.

      She spotted Sir Jocelyn, his shoulders slumped. Clearly not the winner. Her gaze passed over a few others, until she saw Sir Rheged. He was among the last, walking and leading his huge black warhorse, while another man leaned on him for support.

      She shouldn’t feel so disappointed...but she did.

      “There’s the Wolf of Wales,” Mavis said as if she’d been reading Tamsin’s mind, “and that’s young Sir Robert of Tammerly limping beside him.”

      “Sir Robert must not be badly hurt, or he would still be in the tent or in a cart,” Tamsin noted. She’d arranged for a physician and servants to be at the site of the melee to take care of anyone injured on the field.

      “Sir Rheged doesn’t look so fierce now, does he?”

      “No,” Tamsin agreed.

      “Since he’s lost, perhaps he’ll cut his hair. He’s clearly not another Samson.”

      “I wouldn’t venture to suggest it.”

      “I wouldn’t venture to talk to him at all if I could help it,” Mavis said with a sniff and a second toss of her head. “I’ve never seen a grimmer fellow. I think he’s barely said three words since he arrived.”

      He’d said more than three words to Tamsin, but she didn’t bother to correct her cousin. She didn’t want to tell Mavis about that meeting in the courtyard, or what he’d said, or how he’d looked at her, or how she’d felt when he looked at her, and she certainly wasn’t going to tell Mavis about that dream.

      “And he’s so poor, he has absolutely no influence at court. Indeed, he’s only got the small estate he has because Sir Algar gave it to him.”

      “Who is Sir Algar? I don’t recall the name.”

      “A minor lord who used to be friendly with my father. He hasn’t come here in years, though. The poor old man must be in his dotage, Father says. I gather the estate he gave Sir Rheged is barely enough to maintain a household and the fortress is a ruin. He can’t have more than a few soldiers and servants. And he’s called it Coom Bron, whatever that means in Welsh.”

      “Lady Thomasina!”

      They both turned as Charlie came rushing up the steps. The lad was small for his age, lively and inquisitive, and often delivered messages about the castle. A lock of his brown hair was forever flopping over his forehead and a score of freckles spanned his wide nose. “Lord DeLac wants to see you, my lady,” he panted, addressing Tamsin. “Right away, he says.”

      Chapter Two

      Tamsin and Mavis exchanged glances. Such a summons on such a day could herald nothing good.

      “Did you hear who won, Charlie?” Mavis asked as Tamsin started down the well-worn steps, wondering what she’d forgotten or failed to anticipate.

      “Aye, my lady. The Welshman with the hair to his shoulders.”

      Tamsin came to an abrupt halt and glanced back at the grinning boy. “Sir Rheged?”

      “Are you quite sure?” Mavis demanded.

      “Aye, my lady. I had it from Wilf at the gate, who got it from the messenger himself come from the field. The Welshman bested seven knights and should be getting a pretty penny in exchange for their arms and horses, as well as the prize, o’ course.”

      Tamsin started on her way again, smiling to herself as she headed to her uncle’s solar. She stopped smiling when she reached the solar and knocked on the heavy oaken door, entering when she heard her uncle’s gruff response.

      A quick glance assured her nothing was amiss with the chamber itself. The brazier full of coals glowed brightly, the tapestries were clean and free of dust and the rushes on the floor newly laid. The candles, not lit during the day, had been well trimmed, and the cloth shutter over the arched window was open just enough to allow a bit of fresh air, but not enough to create a draft.

      Her middle-aged, gray-haired, bearded uncle sat behind the large table polished with beeswax. As always he was richly dressed in a long tunic of finely woven brown wool, with an embossed belt around his ample middle and a long necklace of heavy silver links. Several rings adorned his thick fingers. The golden box studded with gemstones, which was to be awarded to the tournament champion at the feast that night, rested near his elbow.

      Uncle Simon tapped the parchment open before him with his stubby index finger. She should have been relieved he didn’t immediately launch into a litany of complaints, but there was something about the look in his beady gray eyes that did nothing to lessen her trepidation.

      “You’re finally going to pay me back for all I’ve spent on you,” he announced.

      Tamsin’s heart leapt to her throat. She was a lady, a nobleman’s daughter, and couldn’t repay him in coin. There was but one way, and his next words confirmed her dread.

      “I need an ally in the north, so you’re going to marry Sir Blane of Dunborough. He’s on his way for the wedding and should be here in a fortnight.”

      It was no more than she had expected, and yet— a fortnight! Less than a month. And who was Sir Blane of Dunborough?

      The answer crashed into her mind like a boulder. He was the bone-thin, lecherous old man who’d visited Castle Delac in the spring. She’d noticed at once how he’d stared at Mavis like an aged satyr, and she’d immediately declared that her cousin was feeling unwell. One look at Sir Blane, and Mavis had just as swiftly agreed, taking to her bed for the duration of his visit. Tamsin had kept the younger maidservants away from him, too, and even the oldest ones, who’d had years of experience fending off unwanted advances, had complained that he was the worst they’d ever encountered.

      All the women of the household had breathed a sigh of relief when he had gone, and Tamsin СКАЧАТЬ