if Sir Blaidd expects to win Laelia with nothing more than a wink and a grin.”
“I just hope his lordship ain’t going to be angry when he hears what you said to a knight from King Henry’s court.”
“I expect he will be.” Becca hunched her shoulders, lowered her chin and gruffly spoke in imitation of the overlord of Throckton Castle. “Ignore her, Sir Blaidd. She’s flighty and foolish—a woman, that’s all.”
Dobbin shook his head. “You’d better take care, my lady, or one of these days you might push your father too far, and then where will you be?”
While Trev finished taking their baggage to the chamber they would share, Blaidd waited for Lord Throckton in the great hall. He stood with his back to the massive hearth, and the heat felt so good, he barely managed not to squirm like a pig in mud.
His mood continued to improve as he surveyed the chamber, which, like the rest of the fortress, was larger and more indicative of personal wealth than he had expected. After entering the cobbled courtyard, he’d taken note of the huge building that had to be the hall, and the chapel beside it, judging by the windows. The rooms on the second level of the half-timbered stables were surely barracks for the garrison and living quarters for grooms and stable boys. Blaidd guessed the two-story building on this side of the yard, adjoining the hall, contained the apartments where the family and the other servants slept, as well as the lord’s solar. The other buildings he could readily identify were the kitchen, attached to the hall and with a large chimney louvered so that rain couldn’t put out the fire below, and the blacksmith’s shop. The keep, a huge circular building to the left of the entrance, probably doubled as the armory, and would serve as a last redoubt should the walls be breached.
The keep was decades old, and the inner walls, too. Blaidd estimated that the hall, the chapel, the outer wall and the formidable gatehouse were new, built within the last five years. The second floors—the apartments and barracks—were likewise of recent construction.
As for the interior of the hall, the only place Blaidd had seen to rival it belonged to the king. Heavy and finely wrought tapestries covered the walls, depicting battles and hunts, their bright green, scarlet and gold threads catching the light. The benches and tables were relatively new, free of scars, scratches and gouges, and polished to a high sheen. Clean rushes covered the floor, and the light scents of rosemary and fleabane reached his nostrils.
Huge oak beams supported the ceiling, and banners of knights who owed allegiance to Lord Throckton moved in the shifting air like lazy maidens dancing. It was quite a collection—far more than Blaidd would have expected for a lord of Throckton’s apparent standing—and most of them were unfamiliar. Should the king’s suspicions about Throckton’s possible disloyalty prove well founded, he would have to remember them.
One of the hounds slumbering near the fire twitched, drawing his attention. They had stood growling and quivering at him when he had first entered, until one of the male servants had commanded them to sit and be quiet.
That wench at the gate had practically snapped and growled at him, too. What would she look like asleep, her bright blue eyes closed and her breasts rising and falling in gentle rhythm? He recalled hints of the form beneath that damp cloak she held so tightly about her, and realized she was quite shapely.
His body warmed more, and not from the fire, as he imagined the spirited Becca in his bed. She wouldn’t lie there unmoving, he was sure. If she decided to give herself to a man, she would—with zest. He would be free to tease and suggest and play, and she would probably respond in kind.
He began to harden, and forcibly reminded himself he had important business here that had nothing to do with women, even if he was supposed to be interested in Lady Laelia. And he should no more dally with a maidservant than Trev should go to that brothel, no matter how interesting or challenging the maidservant might be.
“Welcome to Throckton Castle, Sir Blaidd!” a deep voice called out.
Blaidd swiveled toward a curving stairway at the far end of the hall. A robust man with thick gray hair and broad shoulders strode toward him. He was well-dressed, wearing a long tunic of indigo blue belted with gilded leather. By his manner and confidence Blaidd assumed he was the lord of the castle.
When Lord Throckton reached the dais, he came to a halt and smiled pleasantly, revealing fine teeth.
Blaidd, however, had spent years among hypocritical courtiers so he quickly realized that the friendly smile did not reach the man’s hazel eyes. They were as wary as the girl’s at the gate.
The hairs on the back of Blaidd’s neck tickled, as if he was trying to pick his way across swampy land, yet he betrayed nothing of his foreboding. After all, what man wouldn’t be suspicious of a knight who arrived without warning? And it could be that his own disinclination for subterfuge was making him more suspicious than he should be. “Greetings, Lord Throckton,” he said as he bowed.
“Nasty weather for traveling,” the nobleman noted.
“Which is why I’m thankful for your hospitality.”
“Think nothing of it, man! It’s my pleasure.” Lord Throckton’s smile grew, but his eyes did not lose their shrewd wariness. “Still, I doubt it’s merely chance that brings you so far from the main road.”
“No, it isn’t,” Blaidd replied with his friendliest smile. “However, my reason for coming here is one that I would prefer to speak of in private, if we may.”
“Of course! We can discuss what brings you here in my solar.”
Lord Throckton led Blaidd toward the staircase he had just descended, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that he was following.
They reached a landing, and Lord Throckton opened the door leading off it. He gestured for Blaidd to enter the chamber first, and when he did, he found himself in a very comfortable room that provided more evidence that Lord Throckton was rich and liked his creature comforts. More colorful tapestries covered the walls, and the chairs, of pale new oak, sported silken cushions in bright, jewel-like colors. A trestle table was covered with parchments, vessels of ink, several quills and a silver candleholder. An open chest painted blue and green revealed parchment scrolls, likely the records of tithes and other estate business. A bronze brazier glowed with coals and a carpet covered much of the stone floor. Linen shutters over the tall, narrow windows shut out the chill spring breeze.
It was like being in a warm, comfortable, Oriental cocoon, and a far cry from many a nobleman’s plain, chilly solar.
With a sigh of pleasure, Lord Throckton sank onto the scarlet silk cushion on the ornately carved chair decorated with vines, leaves and grapes behind the table. He gestured for Blaidd to sit in a slightly less intricately carved chair opposite.
“Are you related to Sir Hu Morgan, by any chance?” Lord Throckton asked when Blaidd had done so.
Blaidd didn’t hide his surprise that the man knew who his father was. “I’m his son. Have you met him?”
Lord Throckton’s eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “No. As I’m sure you’re aware, I don’t go to court. Westminster and London are too noisy and crowded for my taste. But I’ve heard of him nonetheless. He has many important friends.”
“My
