Margaret Moore - Castle of the Wolf

“It wasn’t my easiest victory,” Rheged conceded while they walked toward the smoking central hearth. “A few of the younger knights decided to try me, and one or two will be formidable when they’ve had more experience.”

Hopefully by the time those young bucks were skilled enough to be serious competition, his estate would be so prosperous that he wouldn’t have to travel to tournaments to augment his income like some kind of entertainer.

Sir Algar slid him a grin. “And the ladies? Any beauties among them? Did any quarrels break out over you?”

“I was thinking about the battle before the melee and was too tired to pay much attention afterward,” Rheged replied, deciding there was no need to tell Sir Algar about Lord DeLac’s niece and his encounters with her.

“What, you saw no one to make you think of marriage? What of DeLac’s daughter? I hear she’s very beautiful.”

Rheged wondered if that was why Sir Algar had been so keen that he go to this particular tournament. If so, he was going to be disappointed. “I don’t think Lord DeLac would consider me a fitting son-in-law, and Lady Mavis didn’t seem at all interested in me.”

The older man chuckled and settled into the chair. “I find that hard to fathom.”

Rheged sat on a nearby bench and called out for Hildie, a middle-aged maidservant with a mole on her cheek who was lingering near the door to the kitchen, to bring wine.

“I’m far from wealthy,” he said to Lord Algar, “and I’m Welsh to boot—hardly attributes to attract a Norman bride.”

“Plenty of women wouldn’t care about wealth or nationality when they look at you. Good God, man, you’re any maiden’s dream!”

“I didn’t appear to be Lady Mavis’s dream.”

Sir Algar sighed. Then his eyes lit up again. “What of the man’s niece? Is she not of marriageable age?”

“Yes.”

“What sort of woman is she?”

“Betrothed.”

“Betrothed? To whom?”

“Sir Blane of Dunborough.”

“That old reprobate?” Sir Algar cried with a disgust that matched Rheged’s own.

“I gather DeLac needs an ally in the north.”

“DeLac must truly be desperate if he’ll give his niece to that black-hearted villain!”

“Or she wants a rich and powerful husband,” Rheged answered, for was that not what she herself had said?

“Ah.” Sir Algar leaned back in the chair and stroked his beard. “That could be—and it would be understandable, too. She came to DeLac with nearly nothing as a child after her parents died of a sickness and has been dependent on his charity ever since. That cannot be a comfortable existence. But Blane! Surely there must be someone else she could marry in the north.”

“The lady has already agreed.”

“Well, then, there’s an end to it,” Sir Algar said with another sigh. “At least Blane is old, so she may soon be a widow. Perhaps she’s already considered that.”

“Perhaps,” Rheged agreed, although he found no comfort in that thought. He didn’t want to believe the passionate woman he had kissed could be so coldhearted that she would eagerly anticipate widowhood, any more than he wanted to see her in Blane’s household. As for spending even a single night in the man’s bed...

“But what of the prize, man?” Sir Algar demanded, his query breaking the silence. “And how much did you take in ransoms for arms and horses?”

From his belt Rheged drew out a purse of coins that would have delighted him at any other time and set it on the bench. “Fifty marks in coin, and this.” He opened the leather pouch, pulled the golden box from the leather bag and held it up. “This was the prize I won.”

“God be praised!” Sir Algar gasped, his light blue eyes widening as his white eyebrows shot up. “I can’t believe it! Either the man’s richer than I ever suspected or he’s grown generous over the years.”

Sir Algar reached out for the box and took it almost reverently. Then he squinted and rotated it slowly in his hands, examining it closely.

“What is it?”

“Did you think this was solid gold?” Sir Algar asked slowly.

“Isn’t it?”

Sir Algar shook his head. “The gems aren’t real, either. Could you not—”

“Tell? How could I?” Rheged retorted, taking the box from him and studying it just as intently. “I’ve never had any jewels, or anything solid gold, either. Are you certain?”

Sir Algar took the knife from his belt and scraped the bottom of the box. The gold peeled off, revealing the dull gray of some other metal underneath. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. DeLac’s always been a miser, unless he wants to impress his guests.”

Rheged grabbed the box, shoved it into the leather pouch and started for the door.

Sir Algar jumped to his feet. “What are you—”

“That damned miserly bastard won’t make a fool out of me! I’m going to get my proper prize!”

“Perhaps it might be wise to accept—” Sir Algar began as he followed Rheged.

“Being cheated? Never!” Rheged paused and turned to face the older man. “What would you do if a merchant sold you bogus goods?”

“I would either get my money back, or demand the goods I paid for.”

“I am going to seek the goods I paid for,” Rheged replied.

“Lord DeLac is a powerful man, Rheged,” Sir Algar said warily.

“And I am not. I realize that, my lord.” He managed a grim smile. “I am well aware that I lack sufficient power to risk the man’s enmity, my lord, but I must try to get a more proper prize, or I will have deserved to be cheated.”

Sir Algar nodded. “Farewell, then, and good luck—but be careful.”

“I will, my lord.”

His mouth a grim, hard line, his knuckles white as he gripped the pouch, Rheged left the hall and marched across the yard to the stable. Gareth, standing near the well talking to one of the maidservants—the quiet one whose name was Evie or some such thing—saw him and immediately hurried to meet him at the entrance. “What’s wrong?” he asked gravely, clearly realizing this was no time for jesting.

“I’m going back to Castle DeLac,” Rheged replied. He went into the stable and called for Dan, whose head appeared over the wall of Jevan’s stall, surprise on every feature.

“Saddle Myr,” Rheged ordered. Jevan was for fighting; Myr, his gelding, was for speed.

“Forgot something, did you?” Gareth asked.

“Not me,” Rheged grimly replied. “Lord DeLac.” He glanced at his puzzled friend. “He forgot his honor, and what is due a knight.”

“Want some company?”

Rheged shook his head. “I need you here.” He put his hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “The man will either do what’s right or he won’t, and if he won’t, I’ll come back and fetch you.”

Gareth grinned and nodded. “As you will, my lord.”

* * *

Tamsin shivered, pulled her cloak more tightly about her and checked the figure for the total number of baskets of neeps in the kitchen storeroom against the list in her hand. On other shelves were apples drying on racks, baskets of peas and leeks and clay jars of honey. Sawdust covered the floor and scented the air along with the vegetables and fruit. A few dust motes danced, and one or two must have gotten into her eyes, to make them water.

Thankfully the total of all the stores here was correct, so she could be sure she was leaving a good count for Mavis. She wanted to be certain all was in good order before Sir Blane arrived and she was taken away to the north, where it would be even colder.

Unfortunately what should have been a simple task was taking far too long. Her thoughts kept drifting to what she might encounter in her future, and what she would be leaving behind. She wouldn’t be sorry to see the last of her uncle, but she would sorely miss Mavis, and the servants. Even Armond. And she knew how to manage this household. What would Sir Blane’s be like? she asked herself as she wiped at her eyes. Because of the dust, of course.