Angel Of The Knight. Diana Hall

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      Chapter Three

      The servant boy paused outside the fourth-floor chamber and cast Gwendolyn a cautious glance. He whispered to Darianne, “She ain’t dangerous or anything, is she?”

      Gwendolyn quelled the urge to start a low wolf howl and really scare the rude child.

      “Nay. As long as she’s left alone,” Darianne advised.

      The lad pushed open the heavy oak-and-metal door as Darianne ushered Gwendolyn inside the chamber. Cyrus followed, carrying their meager belongings.

      The freckle-faced boy handed Darianne an earthen jar. “The chambermaid said there be a lamp on yon wall. Here’s oil for it.”

      “Thank you, lad.” Cyrus spoke with regal reserve.

      “There’s not many ’twill be up these stairs,” the boy advised gently in a thick English accent. “If’n ye be in need, me name is Lucas. I’m not worth much, but I’ll help ye if I ken. From the look of this room, ye’ll be needin’ me.”

      Through the high arched window, afternoon sunlight filtered in, creating a drowsy spring warmth. Crates and trunks lay strewn about the tiny cell. Spiderwebs coated with dust laced boxes and the corners of the room. The stone walls were blank of any whitewash, murals or tapestries. A pile of musty smelling straw lay on the floor as a pallet. Compared to her room at Cravenmoor, these accommodations were majestic to Gwendolyn.

      “’Tis fine.” Darianne threw her tattered scarf and mantle across a box and shoved at a trunk to clear space. She motioned for Gwendolyn to sit on the floor. Gwendolyn hesitated, not willing to let her aged friends do all the work. Her foster mother pointed to the boy and again signaled for her to sit.

      Lucas cast a wary eye at Gwendolyn sitting crosslegged on the floor. “I’m thinkin’ ye’ll not get much help from ’em. None are partial to climbin’ those stairs or to waitin’ on the likes of her. And then there’s not many here who are jumpin’ at the new lord’s command.”

      “Why is that?” Cyrus kept his voice casual, but both he and Gwendolyn waited with impatience for the boy to answer.

      “Well, ’tis his manner.” Lucas scratched his head and shrugged his shoulder. “Things just seems to fall ’is way. And then there’s the business of the old lord.”

      “What happened to Lord Merin?” Darianne fished about in her bag while she asked the question. Gwendolyn prayed the boy wouldn’t comprehend the inquisition they were putting him through.

      “Yesterday, the two of ’em had a row about…” Lucas dropped his voice to a whisper “…marryin’ her.” His voice resumed a normal tone. “Lord Merin rode off at a gallop during the hunt. Weren’t but a short time later, the new lord returns with Lord Merin’s body strapped to the back of his horse and claims the old lord fell from ’e’s palfrey. But for Lady Celestine and Lady Ivette’s standin’ up for ’im, Sir Laron would have had Lord Falke’s head.”

      “And do you think ’twas only an accident?” Darianne wiped off a crate to serve as a table.

      “I think…” the boy hunched his shoulders and looked down the hall to see that no one approached. “…Lord Falke is one lucky man. His friends are always sayin’ that Sir Falke was kissed by an angel as a baby ’cause he was born on the seventh day of the seventh month and ’e’s the seventh son born. And I think…” his voice grew quiet again and his head nodded like that of a wise old abbot “…that what’s good luck for Lord Falke ain’t always good luck fer everyone else.”

      Cyrus raised his white brows and lowered his voice. “I think now you should be on about your business.”

      “Aye, I’ll СКАЧАТЬ