In The King's Service. Margaret Moore
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cheeks flushing, she tugged her hand away. “Hardly a compliment, sir knight. I’m not impressed.”
He lifted the corners of his mouth in the sort of lazy smile he gave a woman after they had made love. “I assure you, a man likes to be surprised by a woman, and a truly surprising woman is a very rare creature.”
For the briefest of moments, her eyes widened in shock, and he wanted to shout with triumph.
Then her eyes flashed with that scornful fire that was becoming familiar. “Creature?” she demanded. “Is that what women are to you—creatures?”
He tensed and became the knight who had won many tournaments. “Women who would make a mockery of a stranger and a guest are creatures to me, yes.”
“Becca, I think we’re heard quite enough from you at the moment,” Lord Throckton declared. He strode past her and sat in his thronelike chair. “This man is our guest and should be treated accordingly.”
She turned away from Blaidd to address her father. “I’m treating him as I treat all the men who come to see Laelia.”
The way Lady Laelia’s lips turned down seemed to confirm that.
“Damn it, Becca, that’s the trouble! When will you learn to behave? Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
“Because I am not my sister?”
“You know what I mean!” Throckton gestured at the seat to his right. “Sit down, Sir Blaidd, sit down. Don’t mind Rebecca. Where’s the damn priest? Let’s have grace.”
Wondering if this sort of exchange occurred frequently, and deciding that it probably did, if they would speak that way in front of a stranger, Blaidd did as he was told, taking the place accorded to honored guests. That also put him between Lord Throckton and Lady Laelia. Lady Rebecca was to her father’s left and, miraculously, once the grace was said, she seemed content to be silent.
Or maybe it was the fact that the conversation, such as it was, consisted of her father’s descriptions of the vast array of suitors who had sought Lady Laelia’s hand. Whenever there was a lull in the recitation, Laelia stayed silent or answered Blaidd’s questions as briefly as possible, no matter how he exerted himself to be charming.
If somebody were to tell him this place was bewitched and everything he did had the opposite effect than usual—repelling rather than attracting a woman—he could believe it. On the other hand, he had to stay at Throckton Castle for some time, so if courting the lady was an uphill climb, it would give him a good excuse to linger.
He looked around the hall for Trev and found him engaged in conversation with a serving maid who looked a little younger than the squire. She had a jug of wine balanced on her hip and swayed while winding a lock of ruddy-brown hair around her finger.
Ah, the universal sign of feminine interest. Perhaps a reminder of their duties as guests wouldn’t be amiss. And perhaps it would have been better if he’d come here alone, Blaidd thought.
“Then I sent that young buck packing,” Lord Throckton declared, interrupting his musings. The man’s voice was slurred from the copious amount of wine that seemed necessary to keep his throat lubricated for the long enumeration. “That was the last of them till you.”
That meant his recitation must be at an end, thank God, Blaidd realized as he turned to his host with a smile pasted on his face.
Lord Throckton put his broad hands on the table and heaved himself to his feet. Blaidd started to rise, too, but Lord Throckton waved him back down. “Just off to the garderobe. That French wine goes right through my English guts.” He gave Blaidd a rather sodden wink. “But it tastes too good not to drink it.”
With that, he made his way out of the hall, leaving only an empty chair between Blaidd and Lady Rebecca.
He couldn’t resist the temptation. “So, my lady,” he said to her, “do you often play castle guard?”
She regarded him steadily, obviously not the least embarrassed by his question. “No, sir knight.”
“But today you thought to amuse yourself at my expense?”
“Not only myself. The garrison enjoyed it, too. I’m sorry you didn’t see the humor in it.”
He didn’t believe she was sorry at all. “Nobody likes to be made a fool of.”
“No, and handsome young knights with all the world at their feet most of all. But humility is good for the soul, is it not, sir?”
“Yes, it is. It’s a pity you don’t possess that quality yourself.”
She reared back slightly. “How can you say that? Of course I’m humble. How could I not be, when I must compare myself to my sister every day?”
“What else could it be but arrogance to think you have the right to make a knight play the fool?”
“If I am arrogant, what are you—a man who smiles at every woman he meets as if she must be fairly salivating with desire for him?”
“Becca!” Lady Laelia gasped.
Blaidd had forgotten she was there. “It’s all right, my lady,” he assured her. “I take no offense.”
Nevertheless, Lady Laelia’s expression hardened and her lips thinned. No soft and gentle maiden was she now; she was at war. He had seen women at such battles often enough to recognize the signs.
“If you’re so disposed to talk, sister,” she said through clenched teeth, “why don’t you tell him about the time you fell out of the apple tree?”
Lady Rebecca flushed as her eyes flashed with anger. Blaidd suddenly had the sensation that he was caught between two enemy lines, without even a dagger to fight with.
“Would you like to hear that story, Sir Blaidd?” Lady Rebecca asked with a serenity distinctly at odds with the look in her eyes. “It’s really terribly amusing.”
Blaidd was quite sure it was anything but. “I think I have listened to enough stories for tonight. May we have some music instead?”
Lady Rebecca continued to regard him with her steadfast and bold gaze. “I’ve heard that Welshmen are excellent singers. Perhaps you would prove the point, sir knight?”
“He’s a noble guest, not some troubadour,” Lady Laelia protested.
Blaidd gave them both a friendly smile to show he took no offense. “It’s true that most Welshman can sing, something we are justly proud of. If you wish to hear my humble attempt at a ballad, I’ll be happy to oblige you.”
Lord Throckton came staggering back and threw himself into his chair. He looked from one daughter to the other, and his eyes narrowed. “What’s been going on?”
“Becca has—”
“Been my usual annoying self,” she interrupted. “Sir Blaidd has just offered to sing us a Welsh ballad.”
“Has he now?” Lord Throckton cried, ignoring the first part of her comments. “Wonderful! I’ve always wanted to hear a Welshman sing. But before that, what do you say to some dancing?” He shouted at the young serving woman Trev had been talking to. “Meg, fetch Rebecca’s harp! Bran, Tom, take down the tables!”
It became too noisy for conversation as Meg disappeared up the stairs leading to the household apartments. The two male servants the lord had addressed quickly marshaled some others to help them take down the tables. The high table they would leave for last.
“Your daughter plays the harp?” Blaidd asked when the worst of the noise abated.
“Aye, and well, too.” Lord Throckton leaned toward Laelia, forcing Blaidd back in his chair. “But not so well as my Laelia dances!”
That explained the urgency to have dancing. The man wanted his daughter’s talents on display.
Meg