would not be much of a secret if you were aware of it, then, would it?” Throwing his leg over the bench, he sat heavily and stared at the cracks in the oak planks of the table.
“Hamfast, what is wrong with your master? His tongue’s sharpened cruelly and he is sulking like a child kept home from the fair.” Giles helped himself to a drink of ale.
Raymond groaned and put his head in his hands.
Giles eyed Raymond thoughtfully. “You need help, my friend. What can I do for you?”
“Put me out of my misery.”
Giles asked knowingly, “Who is she?”
Helpless in his grief, Raymond replied at last. “Ceridwen. My betrothed.”
“Ah. Then what is the problem? Have at her!”
“She has gone.”
“What have you done?” Giles gazed steadily at Raymond.
“When I departed she was dying.” Raymond thought of Ceridwen, ill unto death—and by his hand. Guilt seared his soul anew. “I ordered that she not be here upon my return.”
“Lord, you make things easy for yourself. But why?”
“She reminded me of Meribel. I could not bear it.”
“Then you should have plowed her and have done with it.”
Raymond’s jaw tightened. “You show me less respect than does Alys. Ceridwen is not meant for reckless plowing.”
“Oh, pardon me. I have yet to meet a lass who was not. But what will her father have to say?”
“I know not—nor even for certain whether she yet lives. Alys will not speak to me. But never mind all that for now.” In an attempt to keep despair at bay, Raymond took back the jug briefly from his friend. “How did it go, Giles?”
“Well enough. Robert of Dinsdale will send twelve men, two of whom are knights. Conrad Shortneck has promised twenty in all. Five knights, five horsemen, and ten men-at-arms. Another eight from Cruikshank, and Lucien de Griswold has graciously offered to come himself, along with ten of his best. He hates Alonso almost as much as you do.”
“Fifty-one, plus the twenty of us. We will need more.” Raymond drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
“There are no more who can be trusted,” Giles said.
Hamfast rose and shook himself violently, showering the floor with bits of glass. As the dog lumbered by, Giles reached out to scratch the animal’s craggy head. The parting of black lips and a low growl made the warrior withdraw his hand.
“What is the matter with him?”
“He has been out of sorts lately.” Raymond did not add what he thought—since leaving Ceridwen behind. Just like himself. “If there are no more, then we must hire mercenaries. What of those Teutons out Rotham way?”
Hamfast settled on top of his master’s booted feet.
“That is a risky proposition. And expensive.”
“I have a bit set by. God knows I have not spent a penny on this place since the fortifications.” And Ceridwen’s burial.
“What about arms?” Giles asked. “Do we have the spare lance shafts, axe heads and all?”
“Aye. Bruce and the armorer have seen to it. But for the most part everyone must bring whatever they can.”
Wace knocked, poking his head around the edge of the door. At Raymond’s nod he slipped into the chamber.
Giles raised a hand in salute. “Hey-hey, Wace! Are you ready for some warring and wenching?” Giles was ever jovial when a fight was imminent. The squire flushed and turned uncertain eyes to his master. Raymond merely raised his brows, as if he too wanted to know.
“I am ready for anything, sir.” Wace straightened his shoulders and his expression grew fierce.
Giles laughed aloud and slapped the table with his palm.
Raymond tilted his head, coughed to mask the twitch of his lips, and recovered his stern demeanor. “Wace, take Sir Giles’s gear and clean it. Make sure his mount is properly bedded down, and give the beast a hot bran mash. The icy weather tells on that one’s gut.”
“Aye, milord.” Wace gathered up the gear and departed.
“Ah, would that I had the same careful attention you assure my horse,” Giles sighed.
“What are you whining about?” Fitfully, Raymond ran both hands through his hair.
“You do need more women in this place, Raymond. A wife, to bathe your guests. And all the maids and ladies of quality that come along with a wife, to entertain and serve your friends.”
“Serve, or be serviced, Giles?” Raymond unsheathed his dagger and began to carve the tabletop with a vengeance.
“Why not both?” Giles laced his fingers behind his head.
“Why not indeed? No woman in her right mind would have me apurpose, and ’tis for the best. You know what they say of me.”
“Oh, I do, I do. The fair hero, Lord Raymond, whose valiant feats of yore are sung from north to south. The dark, wicked Lord Raymond, whose evil heart lurks behind his crumbling walls, waiting to devour passing maidens. Take your pick. The trouble is, no one knows ’tis the same Raymond.”
“I hardly know myself.”
“Then find this maiden who has bewitched you. Bring her back and get on with it.”
“I must see to Alonso.” Raymond brushed the wood chips to the floor. He didn’t care to tell Giles of his decision not to subject an innocent girl to a short, unhappy life, tied to him.
“Well and good. But do you think it so very wise? What will you do once you’ve sacked his possessions? Kill him? You will have to, you know.”
“I know. I have his demise planned, to the last drop.” Raymond slammed his dagger’s point deep into the oak, and the hilt quivered upright.
“You will regret it in the end. No good will come of it.” Giles leaned back, ever at ease in his big, muscular body. “There is no guarantee he will not overwhelm you. You do not want to fall into his hands alive, once he knows what you are about.”
“That will not happen. I do what I must, Giles.”
“You drive yourself hard. I would but see you content.”
“Thank you.” Raymond looked into his friend’s concerned eyes. “My happiness is in my own hands. And God’s.”
A rustle and slight clatter came from behind the door.
“Come here.” Giles waved the serving-girl into the room.
Shona,
