Текст книги "In Love with a Warrior"
Автор книги: Kara Griffin
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
Chapter Two
Garth Celyn, the royal House of Gwynedd
North Wales
With all the force she mustered, Emlyn hacked and advanced on her adversary. He was the best of all her father’s soldiers, and he’d boasted he wouldn’t hold back during their fray. Though they were only testing their skills, they both gave it their all effort, and appeared to want to kill each other. Emlyn would not be defeated.
Rhun advanced and caused her to take a step back. Cheers arose around her when she deflected his strikes and advanced upon him in return. Her breath rasped and her arm waned a bit from the force of his sword, but she wouldn’t concede to the tall, angry soldier. Her eyes took in the form of her father watching the fight nearby. Emlyn had something to prove and she wouldn’t give up until she accomplished her goal. This day was long in coming and she wouldn’t disappoint her father.
She tired and needed to put an end to this round. It had gone on long enough for they’d been at it for nearly a half an hour. He continued to strike her sword with his, lending to her exertion and exhaustion for he was much stronger than she. But Emlyn was quicker on her feet. She pulled a mace from her belt and threw it at Rhun’s feet, causing him to sidestep and become unbalanced. Then she ran at him, forcing him backward with the heels of her hands until he fell. The point of her sword pricked his neck.
“Do you give?”
“Aye,” he mumbled. “Aye.”
With his acceptance of defeat, she removed her sword and turned to face her father. The crowd cheered and then quieted when he stepped forward.
Her father, the mighty chieftain of their land, stood taller than any around them. He wore a simple bronzed crown on his head, which made him appear regal even though it wasn’t ornate. Emlyn was pleased with the look of pride in his eyes. She was wont to have his approval, and unfortunately for her, she’d been born female.
That was the only reason she’d taken to arms at such an early age. Her father’s prideful words were oft given to her brothers for their ability with the sword and bows, but he’d had no such words for her. Why would a great warrior chieftain such as he be proud of a lass’ ability to sew a tunic?
“Do not berate yourself, Rhun, for the lass has been under my guidance since she could walk. You’ve been beaten by my heart, and aye, should be as proud of her as I. All of you shall be proud of the lass’ accomplishment this day.” Her father set a hand down to help Rhun from the ground.
Rhun glared at her and then grinned. “How can I be angry by being beaten by such a lovely opponent? Next time, be sure to tie up that red fire, lass, for I could’ve easily gripped your hair and had you succumb.”
Emlyn chortled, for he was a bear of a man, and almost as hairy. She scrunched her blue eyes at him and twitched her nose as she was wont when she teased. “You would have paid dearly if ye tried to grip my hair. But well done, Rhun, for you’ve given me quite a challenge this day. Shall we meet again on the morrow? Say around noon?”
Those around them laughed and Rhun sheathed his sword. “If that is your wish, fair Emlyn, I shall concede to it.”
She was ready to call her training day an end and had worked up an appetite. Hopefully the kitchens still served supper for she’d missed the bell. As she began to walk away, her father called to her.
“Emlyn, come, for I must speak with ye, lass. Walk with me.”
She found it peculiar that her father wanted to talk to her. He was usually too busy to spend time with her these days. War with the English had him tending to maps and strategizing against his latest enemy, William Marshall.
She walked beside him until they reached the wall. He continued to lead her along, and she tucked her sword away while waiting for him to speak.
“I received word that Bevan has died. I’m sorry, lass, for your betrothed is dead.”
Emlyn’s heart tensed and she looked into her father’s eyes. “I am … sorry to hear that. I assume he died at the battle?”
“Aye, my soldiers were tricked and led into the fray unarmed. Only a few men returned with the news. The rest perished. I must go, lass, and prepare for we must be ready to face Marshall’s army if he comes. You understand?”
“Of course, Father.” Emlyn pulled off her helmet and tucked it beneath her arm. Her wavy hair hung in damp ringlets. She’d gotten overheated from the workout as well as from the news her father imparted.
He stopped and set a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I deem ye weren’t pleased with the betrothal. Are you upset at all by this news?”
Emlyn frowned, not realizing how unaffected she appeared. “A warrior does not show emotion.” That was the expected answer, and she wouldn’t disappoint him. She’d given him one of the cardinal rules of being a warrior. There were five in all and she’d remembered them by heart at the age of four summers.
Her father shook his head. “Aye, she does when the man she was supposed to love was killed. Warriors do hold emotion, lass, deep within them. There are times when such display is warranted.”
“I’m sorry, Father. I am saddened by your news, even if I wasn’t as pleased with the betrothal as Bevan was. He was a good man and if I had to marry, he would have suited. I am sorry he died.”
“He was honorable and worthy of your hand, which is the only reason I gave my consent. I thought he’d be capable of handling your … ways. Alas it was not meant to be.” Her father touched her hair before turning and making off for the keep.
Emlyn stood by the wall for a few minutes, watching the late day activity. Several soldiers walked by on their way to the garrison. A few maids held baskets, filled to overflowing with launder. None of them looked her way.
She wished with all her heart she could be despaired by the news, but she wasn’t. Relief overwhelmed her, for she was a warrior and warriors did not love. Nor did they care about such matters as a betrothed, having bairns, and tending to a man’s needs. There was far more excitement to life, especially when one had a talent with a sword.
There was no love in her heart for Bevan, even though he’d professed such to her. She considered she might come to love him in time. He was handsome and kind. A sorrow built in her stomach.
“There you are.”
She turned and saw her dearest friend approaching. Branwyn looked upset, and she realized her friend must have heard the news about her brother’s death.
“Good day, Bran. I was just speaking with my father and—”
“I’ve been looking for you all day. You were supposed to come and help me with my wedding entails. You promised and because you didn’t come, I had to contend with my mother and her ardent remarks. I vow I’ve a headache to rival all headaches. You know how excited she gets.”
Emlyn approached and wrapped her arms around her friend’s shoulders. “Forgive me. I’m sorry.”
“And well you should be. I realize you enjoy training, but you shouldn’t promise you’ll come if you won’t. This is the last time I’ll believe you.” Branwyn pulled away.
Emlyn watched her face for a sign of her grieving, but her friend gave none. She looked beautiful with her sable brown hair tied up in braids, and her deep brown eyes lent with a sparkle.
She doesn’t know.
“You’re angry.”
Branwyn set the back of her hand on her forehead and glared. “Aye, I am. You always make promises, but never keep them. I vow I don’t know why I am your friend. You would do well to befriend any of the soldiers, for you spend more time with them.”
“I was distracted and forgot. This day I got to fight Rhun and you know how much I’ve wanted to test my skill against him.”
Branwyn grinned. “And did you at least win?”
She nodded. Emlyn tensed for she did not want to be the one to speak of Bevan’s death. For it would wound her friend, and that was something she definitely didn’t want to do. Especially given she’d already broken a promise to her this day.
“I shall go home with ye and sup, and spend the night. You can tell me all about your wedding feast plans and we shall have a wonderful time.” But that wasn’t to be, because as soon as her friend reached home, the news would be given and their night would not be spent in merry leisure.
“That sounds like a fair idea. I hardly see you since you’ve been on the field more than in the keep. I suppose that makes your father pleased.”
“I believe he is. He praised me and I thought never to hear him do so.” She tried to hide the smile that came upon her, knowing the dismay her friend was about to encounter.
“And I suspect your mother full of wrath?”
“She’s always full of ire no matter what I do to please her.” But she didn’t want to speak of her parents. Emlyn’s mouth turned down at the thought of Bevan being gone.
When she’d been betrothed to him, Branwyn was delighted. It wasn’t every day that your best friend would wed your brother. And they’d made great plans to be near each other which was the reason her friend had agreed to be betrothed to Cranog. He lived near Bevan’s cottage and they were comrades. Much to Emlyn’s dismay, Branwyn had their entire lives planned out, down to what they’d name their children.
“You’re so brave to want to use the sword and go against men. I deem I wouldn’t ever have the courage to do so.”
Emlyn clasped her hand and decided to change the subject. She didn’t like discussing warrior pursuits with Branwyn, because she never understood her desire. “I hope your mother made something delicious for supper, for I’m hungry enough to eat an entire roe.”
“You probably could. Where do ye put it? Your body couldn’t hold that amount of food.” Branwyn laughed and walked beside her.
“Training helps keep me slender, Bran, and hungry, too.”
They reached the cottage and before they entered, she heard weeping coming from within. Voices rose in despair from Bran’s brother and father.
Emlyn stopped and tucked her arm with her friend’s. “You shouldn’t go in there. Come, come away with me to the keep.”
“Why? I want to find out why my mother is crying. Something is wrong. I’ve never heard such pitiful weeping from her.” Branwyn dislodged her arm and opened the door.
She could only follow and hope her friend’s heart wasn’t broken. Emlyn stood behind Branwyn and watched the news being given. Branwyn’s mother sat weeping, being comforted by her youngest son. Her father spoke the news bluntly, and Emlyn regretted not being the one to tell her friend the sorrowful news. She, at least, would’ve broken the news in a gentler manner.
“Nay! Nay, I won’t believe it.” Branwyn, without a glance to anyone, ran from the cottage.
Emlyn faced her friend’s parents and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.” She quickly followed Branwyn and left.
When she exited the cottage, her friend was nowhere in sight. Emlyn knew all of her hiding places, and went in search of her. She looked everywhere, until there was only one place left to search. As she approached the waterfall, she spotted Branwyn sitting in the grass by the bank of the lake. Without saying a word, she sat beside her and took her hand, clasping it in a grip that bespoke her sorrow.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
She nodded, but remained silent.
Her friend’s brows furrowed and her eyes darkened to almost black. “Why did you not speak of it? How could you let me go in there, knowing you knew what they would tell me?” Branwyn twisted her hand until she released her.
“I’m sorry, Bran. I didn’t want to cause your heartbreak.” Emlyn kept her eyes on the water’s gentle waves caused by the waterfall. The noise of the water hitting the surface usually soothed her, but not this day.
“My heartbreak? But you aren’t heartbroken at all, are you? You never wanted to marry my brother, and now your fondest wish came true. I vow I shan’t speak to you ever again.”
Emlyn felt wretched, because even though she’d wished with all her heart not to wed Bevan, she didn’t wish any ill upon him.
“You’ve nothing to speak of? No apologies for any of it?”
She fisted her hands in rejection of her friend’s hurtful words. “I have nothing to apologize for. I didn’t kill him. Nor did I wish for his death. You make it sound as if I was at fault. He died in battle, Bran, akin to many men.”
Branwyn stood. “Aye, you are verily right. Now you are free to do your will. Go and practice swords with the men, act as if you have a right to be on the field with them. I care not. If your father allows ye to go to war with his soldiers, you will end up like Bevan, dead and lying on a field.” She marched off, not giving Emlyn a chance to retort.
Emlyn sat by the waterfall, miserable and full of woe. She hated being the cause of her friend’s dismay, even if indirectly. Although her friend was distraught and meant not a word of which she spoke. She would have to go and see Branwyn later this eve, after she had time to calm.
When Emlyn reached the keep, she tried to avoid seeing her mother, but as with everything this day, she was thwarted. Her mother stood near the entrance seemingly in wait for her.
“I heard what you did this day and I am not pleased.”
Emlyn stood watching the disgruntlement on her mother’s usually lovely face. She wouldn’t speak for she knew she’d be punished if she did.
“I bid you not to take to fighting with your father’s men and you disobey me yet again. And now the only thing I have coveted in the last few months has been torn to tatters. Aye, your betrothed is dead and I deem you are well pleased with yourself.”
“Nay, Mother, I am not pleased. I am saddened by this news.”
Her mother put her hands on her hips, flattening the material of her gown against her body. She was in a mood and all Emlyn thought of was escaping.
“We shall add that falsehood to the list of grievances you’ll speak with the priest. Aye, for disobeying me, ye shall spend the morrow on your knees, praying for your soul’s redemption. Why can you not do as I ask?”
“I’ve no need of redemption, Mother. I’ve done nothing wrong. Why does everyone accuse me of Bevan’s death? I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t there. He died in battle. I wish everyone would just leave it be, for it matters not now.” Emlyn marched away with angry steps. She made certain her mother heard the thumping of her feet on the wooden stairs and didn’t give a care whether it was childish or not.
When she entered her chamber, she found herself unaccompanied. She was grateful her sisters were not in their bedchamber, for all she was wont was to be alone. Emlyn reached for her pillow and wept. She wept for the sorrow of Bevan’s death, for her friend’s anger toward her, and her mother’s disapproval.
Nothing had gone right this day except for the earlier training session, which was the only thing that brought her joy. If only she could focus on battle tactics and not worry over the insignificant matters of womanhood, she’d be the merriest of all the Iorwerths.
Chapter Three
The Gunn clan only wanted peace and to exist without being embroiled in King Alexander’s political endeavors. Since receiving the king’s missive instructing his laird take as many men to aid the Wales warlord, Llywelyn Iorwerth, the followers trained day and night. All suspected the implications of being given such a directive from the king.
James returned from the Highlands to his friend’s holding by the English border only a sennight prior. There they awaited Grey’s return from meeting with the king to find out exactly what their mission would entail. Before they would engage with the rest of the armies in mid-August, they were given time to get their affairs in order.
James didn’t have any affairs to see to, but there was a woman he wanted to say farewell to. He waited until most sought their beds before trekking to the village where the healer lived. None knew of their liaison, and that’s exactly how James wanted it. For one thing, the woman was feared by the clan, and secondly, short of their diversions in bed, they didn’t really get along.
When he’d first met Muriel, she abhorred his medicinal practices, and still she scoffed whenever he recommended a different way of healing. The woman was of an ancient culture whose practices bordered on barbaric which had been handed down from one generation to the next. He was more astute in his thinking and discerned there were better ways of dealing with such issues.
In battle, he’d tended many a wound. How many times had they quarreled about a certain remedies, he wasn’t certain, and lost count. He didn’t mind their differences when it came to medicinals, because it was in bed where they were compatible. And Muriel damn sure amused him.
James entered the cottage quietly so as not to disturb her, and saw her standing by the hearth. Her red hair glowed from the many candles lit within the small cottage. She’d set them around the two-roomed domain and it was bright. So much so it hurt his eyes.
“The rumor wasn’t false … you’ve returned,” she called over her shoulder, continuing to keep focused on her task. “I heard you came back. What took you so long to come to me?”
“Aye, but I’m here at last. I had duties.” He approached her tables where a good many volumes had been left open. James spied some of the words before she banged them closed. She never allowed him to read the ancient text.
“Not for your eyes.”
He would’ve laughed, but she remained serious. James was comfortable in her abode and made himself at home. Hastily, he removed his garments and pulled off his boots. He kept his braises on for now, not that he was modest, but Muriel was working, and he’d keep the distractions to a minimum. Never would he disturb her when she toiled at her tables. He’d learned that lesson the hard way, because she’d given him a what-for when he had. The woman could be a harridan when she was angered.
James decided to close his eyes for a wee rest until she joined him in bed.
Before he could take rest, he noticed she mixed something. “What are you concocting?” It was rare that she used herbs, for she wasn’t one to use them, and then only in dire situations. He’d caught her a few times and when he’d asked about the remedy, she practically rebuked his interest. James reasoned the woman practiced the dark magic of her ancestors, and decided against judgment. For who was he to do so.
She didn’t look up when she answered, “A salve for the warriors. A good many came throughout the day with bruises and abrasions. Training must be serious for them to inflict such wounds on each other.”
“Aye, we need to strengthen our skills. I’ve a wound you can try it on.”
When she inspected his cut, she gasped. “You should’ve came to see me when it happened. ‘Twill become infected.”
James shrugged his shoulder. “It is but a paltry cut, Muriel, no need for ministrations.”
Duff, his opponent on the field this day, was intent on testing his skill to the limit. If Sean hadn’t called him, he would’ve been paying attention, and easily thwarted his attack. He was wont to draw the wound in his parchments, but it was at an inaccessible spot behind his bicep.
“Don’t move.” She used her fingers to scoop out a good amount of salve from the mixing bowl. With a gentleness he didn’t know she possessed, she applied it to the four-inch gash on his arm.
“Might need the needle.”
He shook his head. “It is not that deep. And besides, your hands shake too much.” James grinned for he hoped she wouldn’t be irked by his jest.
“They only shake around you. Lie on your stomach and let it dry,” she ordered. She went back to her chores, measuring herbs and tapping them into the bowls to make more salve.
James crawled upon the small bed and settled on his stomach, careful not to disturb the salve on his arm. With his eyes closed, he listened to her moving about the cottage. After such a long day of training, he was wont to fall asleep and get as much rest as he could. He’d heard his laird had returned and knew they would leave soon. Before he succumbed to his will, he needed to say farewell.
Upon completing their excursion, he would not return to Sean’s holding. He would return to the Gunn keep and his position as guardsman. If his father had his way, he’d be knee-deep in manure. James had gotten such an anomalous feeling all day about his father’s request. He’d been able to disregard it until now. His honor would not allow him to reject his father’s legacy outright. Since his father’s visit, he’d been unable to put it from his mind and regretted not hearing his father’s side of the confrontation.
Never would he see the fair Muriel again unless he visited Sean, which was highly unlikely since he was bound and had a position of esteem within his clan. And if he returned to his father’s lands, he’d rarely see any of the Gunns. Until he returned, there was no sense in ruminating about it. He had to focus on his last night with Muriel and then war.
After waiting for several hours for her to finish her tasks, she finally joined him. The midnight hour had long since passed and the window casement appeared its darkest.
The bed groaned with her weight. Her hands stroked his aching muscles. When her spry fingers pressed his shoulders, he moaned.
“You are quiet this eve. Is there a reason?”
James rolled onto his back, and noticed her serious expression. “Mayhap there is a reason.” As much as he wanted to speak of his intension, her bonny face and exposed breasts distracted him.
“What might this reason be?”
James groaned as her fingers kneaded his sore muscles. “My departure.”
“You’re to leave? So Soon? You’ve only just returned.”
“Aye and when our task is done …” James drew in a deep breath for he expected he’d anger her. “I won’t be returning here.”
“I wish you safe travels then and a joyful life.”
“Aye, you’re irked, as I knew you’d be.” James grunted and squeezed her hand to acknowledge her words. He detested making a woman angered, for there was too much pleasure to be had. And a cross woman was unpredictable. He knew so from experience.
She realized she’d not see him again and regrettably, he didn’t know how to come out and tell her that. This was the end of their wee liaison. He would have had to end it soon regardless of the fact that he was off to war.
“I do mean it, I want you to be content and you’re not here, even if you pretend.” She trailed a finger over his chest and then smoothed her palm over his abdomen.
“I am pleased with you, but aye, you’re right. This is not my home, not where I belong. There is no contentment. I have no sense of purpose here.” James closed his eyes, not willing to sleep though for this was the last night she’d lie in his arms.
“My bed is not purpose enough,” Muriel said quietly. She sat up and glared at him. “Verily, James, I should never have allowed you in my bed. Go then. For you shall rue the day you ever crossed my path.”
“Why are ye angry? You knew I would leave eventually. I never promised anything.” James frowned when he realized she meant those words. Would he rue the day? He already regretted it.
She pressed the tips of her fingers against her forehead. “I did know you would leave, but you don’t have to sound pleased by it.”
“I’m neither displeased nor pleased. You knew what we shared was just a …” He couldn’t continue, when he noticed her eyes scrunched in abhorrence of what he was about to say.
“You should leave now. Be gone.” She flicked her hand at him as if he was nothing but a nuisance.
“I wanted to stay with you on our last night. Will ye deny me the … pleasure?” James should’ve known she’d be spiteful.
Muriel got off the bed and stood naked before him. “Aye, you’ll gain no pleasure from me. Find your pleasure elsewhere. Be gone. And before you go,” she said, waving her hands madly in the air around her. “I will speak these words … . Diligo mos victum quod evinco vos!” She muttered and spoke, but James couldn’t understand her.
“What are you saying?”
“Love will conquer and defeat you. One day you’ll meet a woman who will be what your heart desires, but you shan’t have her. For there will be no love for you, James Gunn.” Muriel laughed in an oddly wicked way, and tugged on a robe, covering up her lovely body.
James lay back, dumbfounded by her words. “Are you hexing me? Aye, I always thought you were a …” He closed his mouth because he didn’t want to cause her affront.
Some women took it as disparaging being called a witch. Who knew what such a woman was capable of? He didn’t want to upset her and had planned an evening far different. All he wanted was to spend his last night pleasuring her and she ruined it.
“I promise ye, James. You will not be content. If I cannot have you then none shall.” She raised her voice and practically shouted at him.
James detested anger in a woman, and that was the last thing he’d hoped to do. “Muriel, I bid you to calm. I never meant to hurt you.”
She scoffed. “I see her. Aye, and if you deem for one moment you will be happy with the woman, you shall be duped. She will cause you nothing but heartache. And then ye shall know what it feels akin to what I feel.”
He got off the bed and tugged on his tunic and tartan. “Who do you see? What are you speaking of?” James couldn’t make sense of her words.
“Her. She will vex ye and I shall care not.”
James reached out to her, but she pulled away. “I don’t know who you speak of, for I am not involved with anyone. I do care a great deal for you, Muriel, but you know we were not destined to be together.”
“Ever since you returned from the north, I sensed it. You would rather be anywhere but here, hence your delay in coming to me. I bid ye farewell then.”
Before he strode toward the door, he touched Muriel’s cheek. “I’m sorry, lovely, for causing your ire. You know that is not my wish. I had duties. That was the only thing that kept me from you. But I do hope you forgive me.” James lifted a tress of her red hair and set it upon her lovely bosom. He didn’t wish for an emotional farewell, but that’s exactly what he got. “Fare thee well, my bonny lady.”
When James exited the cottage, he bumped into Sean, who had just shouted his name.
Near dawn, his friend spoke with such vigor, loud enough to wake the dead. James muttered a few curses under his breath, for his friend’s lack of manners.
“Cosh! Sean, people are sleeping. You’ll awaken your entire clan with your shouting. How’d you know I’d be here?” James grumbled.
“I figured it out. Aye, you tried to be elusive, my friend, but I saw the way you’d looked at Muriel upon your return. I knew it.” Sean raised a brow. “How long has this been going on? Ah, never mind. We must hasten.” He chuckled loud enough to wake those in the adjacent cottages. “Best get your arse moving. Grey wants to meet when the cocks crow.”
“God Almighty, has he no sense? Just because he likes leaving his bed when it is still dark, doesn’t mean we all do. Why does he want to meet so early?”
James hastily led the way, and shoved Sean’s shoulder irritably when he passed by. His friend had an annoying smirk on his face and that bothered him for he was not cheerful in the morning no matter what time he arose. And this night he hadn’t slept a wink.
“What’d you do that for?”
“For getting me at this God-forsaking hour. I got no sleep, damnation.”
Sean bellowed in laughter. “Nay, none? Damn me, I didn’t deem Muriel had it in her. I’d think she’d allow you at least an hour’s reprieve.”
James found his jest not to his liking and gave him a glare to attest to it. “Do we leave this day? What did Grey say about his meeting with the king?”
Sean took on a quick pace and looked to be avoiding answering him. James unsheathed his sword and pointed it outward, in front of Sean, to stop his friend from moving forward.
“Tell me … What did he say?”
“He said nothing about it. Grey rousted me and my entire household with his yells. He even woke Trudy with his boisterous shouts. I should murder him, for Frances hasn’t been feeling well and I’ve letting her sleep in. Now the wee mite is running around the hall. God I hope she’s pestering Grey, he deserves it. Frances gave him a what-for and I got the hell out of there.”
James laughed, for Trudy, Sean’s daughter, was an adorable lass, och she liked to talk and wouldn’t stop unless you found food to quiet her. She’d be a stuffed goose by the time she reached the age of ten. He could’ve laughed at his thought.
“He didn’t say why he wanted us there at this hour?”
Sean shook his head. “Nay, all he said was get everyone and something about meeting when the cocks crow.” He bellowed a laugh. “’Tis the truth, I don’t allow the nasty, noisy birds within the castle’s walls.”
James didn’t find his friend’s comment the least bit humorous.
They reached the keep and were the last to arrive. Besides he and Sean, the rest sat around the long table, looking as put-out as he was. Grey, Duff, and Benson, the keep’s commander-in-arms, as well as a few other seasoned soldiers, were staring at each other. He gave a quick glance to his close comrade, Colm, who was a guardsman like himself. His friend gave nothing away and returned his gaze with a raised brow.
James took the seat opposite of Grey. “Laird, you got us all out of bed, you mind telling us why?”
A trencher was sent in front of him, but James couldn’t even think of eating at a time like this. He waited impatiently for the news, of which he dreaded. They’d be sent to war.
“James, eat first. Then we’ll have our discussion. I’ll need everyone’s full attention when I speak of it.”
But James wouldn’t consider touching the trencher laden with the delicious smelling food for he’d lost his appetite. He put his last encounter with Muriel from his mind, knowing he had to concentrate on the tasks that lie ahead. He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, discontent to wait.
Grey stared at him as he ate his fill. “Tell Mistress Maddie, Sean, the meal was delicious.”
Mistress Maddie, the keep’s cook, was a fair one at that, and rivaled Grey’s wife at making foodstuff. James was ensnared by the scents wafting to him and he was hungry. He managed to pick a few bites from his trencher.
Sean nodded and pushed his trencher forward. Likewise, when everyone else finished, they did the same. Grey didn’t appear to want to begin the discussion so James took it upon himself to get him started.
