Margaret Moore - In The King's Service

He shoved open the chapel door and saw both the lord of Throckton Castle and his beautiful daughter turn and smile at him. They also shifted aside, making room beside them. Obviously, he was not in disfavor.

He couldn’t be completely relieved, however. Perhaps Lady Rebecca hadn’t yet had the opportunity to tell her father what had happened.

He swiftly surveyed the rest of the people assembled for Mass and caught sight of that lady, half hidden by the gray-haired, but still robust, soldier Blaidd had seen at the head of the guards at the gate. This man had watched with interest, and with something else in his eyes, when the lady spoke. With…affection.

Judging by his position, he was probably the garrison commander, and it wasn’t inconceivable, based on his age, that he’d known Lady Rebecca all her life. Perhaps he had that devotion some servants developed for the children of their masters.

Then Lady Rebecca realized Blaidd was looking at them. Her expression grew as scornful as if he carried a particularly loathsome, communicable disease.

Once more fearing his stay at Throckton Castle was almost over, Blaidd made his way to the front of the chapel.

“Good morning, Sir Blaidd!” Lord Throckton cried with jovial geniality as Blaidd joined the nobleman and his beautiful daughter. “I’m delighted to discover that you aren’t like so many young men nowadays who have so little respect for our faith, unless a Crusade be attached to it.”

His friendly manner made Blaidd regret his actions last night even more. “There are plenty of young men more devout than I,” he replied.

Somebody behind him sniffed with audible disdain, and he wasn’t hard-pressed to guess who it was.

The priest arrived to begin the Mass, sparing Blaidd any further conversation. He paid little heed to the words of the service, however. He kept envisioning Lady Rebecca going to her father afterward and telling him that Blaidd was an immoral, disgusting lout who should be sent packing without further delay.

By the time Mass concluded, this image was so vivid he wouldn’t have been surprised if she walked up to the altar, faced the entire assembly and denounced him for a blackguard right then and there.

Steeling himself for that eventually, he turned around to look for her—and realized she’d already gone.

That was a relief in some ways, yet in another, he feared it was only delaying the inevitable. If he had to leave in disgrace, he’d rather get it over with at once.

Perhaps this was her idea of retribution, to drag out the wait and torment him with uncertainty. If so, she was going to learn the folly of that plan, for Sir Blaidd Morgan allowed himself to be played by no man, and no woman, either, he thought as he followed Lord Throckton and Lady Laelia from the chapel. He spotted Lady Rebecca talking with some soldiers outside the barracks, and decided to find out if he was in trouble or not. He told Lord Throckton and Laelia that he wanted to ask Lady Rebecca something about his baggage, then excused himself and headed toward her.

She looked only mildly surprised to see him. “If you’ll pardon me, Dobbin,” she said to the older soldier, “I believe our guest wishes to speak to me.”

The man nodded and, after giving Blaidd the once-over, meandered away, his men with him, leaving them alone near the barracks door.

“I do wish to talk to you, my lady,” Blaidd agreed as he came to a halt. He struggled not to sound impatient, although his nerves were taut as a ship’s rigging in a gale. “Is there somewhere more private we can speak?”

She raised one brow in query. “Do you think I’ll risk being alone with you again?” she asked quietly. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can do so here.”

He subdued a scowl. “I’d like to know if you intend to tell your father about…” Rather than be specific, he gave her a look that she had to comprehend.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked evenly, regarding him as steadily as Sir Urien Fitzroy on the training field after Blaidd had blundered.

“Because I give you my word that I won’t do it again.”

“It shouldn’t have happened the first time.”

She must like watching him twist in the wind, he decided, but she had the upper hand, and they both knew it. “I agree, and I’m sorry. Sometimes desire overrules the head.”

She snorted in a most unladylike manner. Her glance darted below his belt before returning to his face. “Something overrules your rational mind, Sir Blaidd. In that, you are like many men. However, since you’ve apologized again, I’ll be lenient.” Her gaze hardened. “But don’t take that as a sign that you may do as you please, with me or anyone else here. And might I suggest that, in future, you avoid situations that later require apologies.”

He bowed and tried to make light of the situation. “I’ll try.”

“You’d better do more than try, or you won’t get far in your wooing of my sister. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must see to the day’s meals.”

With that, she walked past him, her head high and her bearing as regal as a queen’s.

Even if she limped.

Several days of rainy weather passed, during which Blaidd did his best to avoid Lady Rebecca while everyone was more or less confined to the castle. It was rather obvious she was of the same mind about him, for although they were often in the hall at the same time during the day, they spoke only during meals, and only when it was necessary. She dutifully played her harp for dancing when her father made the request, and Blaidd dutifully danced.

He spent most of his time with Lady Laelia, as a man courting a woman should. Despite her outward beauty, however, this felt more and more like imprisonment. She asked very little about him personally, and didn’t seem to want to talk about anything to do with her family or her home. If he tried to ask questions, she appeared bored and listless.

Finally, after several fruitless attempts to find a subject to spark her interest, he’d finally found one when he began to speak of the court. Then she grew more animated, asking questions about the king and queen, the lords and ladies, the entertainments, the royal apartments.

When he wasn’t being interrogated by Laelia, he attempted to engage Lord Throckton in games of chess or draughts, hoping to sound the man out about his politics, to see if he could find any hint that Throckton was discontented enough with Henry’s rule to foment actual rebellion. Unfortunately, Lord Throckton usually insisted Blaidd stay with Laelia, as if this was a great favor, and spoke only vague generalities when he did not.

In spite of these impediments and distractions, Blaidd kept an eye on the man as well as he could and discovered Throckton didn’t appear to do anything remotely suspicious. If he was planning rebellion, he was being very careful about it.

Still, there were things that made it difficult for Blaidd to dismiss talk of traitorous plots completely. There was the man’s astonishing fortress, for one thing, constructed with as much expense and care as if he was expecting a war any day. The garrison had to number a hundred at least, and they were well trained and well armed. Blaidd had spent years with fighting men, and these were some of the finest soldiers he’d ever seen. Men that skilled and well trained didn’t come cheap.

A lord could, of course, plead the necessity of guarding his land, but few put so much of their resources into it. Where was the man getting the money to pay for his soldiers, their weapons, and this castle? To be sure, the estate looked moderately prosperous, but even so, it didn’t seem possible that Throckton could afford such a fortress and provide for so many soldiers unless he had another source of income.