Page 9

He lifted a loaf of bread and an enormous chunk of cheese from off the table and escaped the great hall whilst he still could.

The thought of facing his bride was sounding more appealing by the moment, especially if it meant his table manners would no longer be scrutinized.

He walked down the passageway toward Gillian’s solar, wherein was bolted his bride.

It wasn’t his ideal destination, but perhaps there would at least be an empty seat therein where he might ingest a bit more sustenance without comments on how he was doing it.

He slowed as he approached the solar. The young knight who’d been flattened in the courtyard stood before the solar door, apparently standing guard. Colin snorted to himself. As if that one would ever be able to defend the lady Sybil from any but the smallest and least ferocious of rats.

But at least he was making an effort, despite how feeble an effort it was.

Colin came to a halt before the lad, peered at him, and was left again with surprise that such a one as this had ever been knighted.

Why, he looked no older than ten-and-five!

Not a shadow of beard adorned his face, and there were no lines of living adorning that smooth skin either.

A babe, that’s what he was, saddled with the task of playing nursemaid to a wench who couldn’t even face a true man without fainting.

Colin pitied the boy his task.

Well, the least he could do was do something to strengthen the boy during his unpleasant labors. Colin untucked the loaf of bread from under his arm and held it out.

“Here,” he said. “Eat something.”

The lad gaped at him.

“All right,” Colin grumbled, holding out the bottle. “Take this as well. You may as well not die of thirst whilst you’re about your useless vigil.”

The boy shut his mouth with a snap and looked as surprised as if Colin had been some kind of bloody angel of mercy, come to give him reprieve from a hangman’s noose.

“Thank you, my lord,” he whispered.

Colin was hardly accustomed to those kinds of looks of wonder and surprise.

Generally, those who thought him to be ruthless were in a position to be recipients of that ruthlessness.

He was used to looks of pleading; he wasn’t used to such open looks of surprise—as if the lad had fully expected him to remove his head from his shoulders and now that Colin hadn’t, he hardly knew what to think.

Colin pursed his lips. If the lady Sybil’s keeper was this daft, what did that betide for the lady herself?

Better not to know, likely.

Colin turned his attentions back to the boy before him. “What’s your name?” he demanded.

The boy gulped. “Sir Henri.”

“Hmmm,” Colin said, regarding him skeptically. “A knight?” He shook his head. “Impossible to believe,” he muttered. “But then again, this is France spewing forth girls in mail without a decent idea of how to wield their blades. Mayhap I am overdue for a visit there.”

Sir Henri began to breathe in a most unsteady fashion.

Colin looked at the boy from under his eyebrows and wondered if it would be better to slap some proper breath back into him, or leave him to sorting it out himself.

When Sir Henri began to wheeze, Colin decided on the latter.

A healthy slap on the back might just do the lad in.

“Don’t choke on the bread,” he said heavily. “And there’s more below, if you can get your delicate self downstairs to ingest any of it. I wouldn’t share with your mistress, however. Perhaps she’ll find her way out the door if she’s hungry enough.”

Sir Henri only nodded, his breath still coming in unwholesome-sounding gasps.

Colin walked away before he had to watch the boy humiliate himself further. He had no doubts Sir Henri would break down soon and sob with fear. Apparently the lad was not unacquainted with his own intimidating reputation. No doubt having to see Colin in the flesh had been too much for him.

But France, now that was something he could certainly give more thought to. He’d assumed that he’d left an indelible impression upon the country the last time he’d been there. Apparently, their memories were short and their training methods dwindling to nothing.

Obviously, it was time he returned for a visit.

That thought cheered him considerably. He would finish up the foul work of getting himself wed, then turn his attentions to the more pleasurable work of setting foot on yonder shore and instructing the men there on the proper comportment of a knight.

How could they fail to be impressed by his own modest example?

Perhaps this time he would stay a bit longer, instruct more men than he’d been able to the last time, and finish his work properly.

It was the least he could do for the noble cause of chivalry.

He found himself eventually out in the stables.

Ah, now here was a place he could understand, with occupants he could be at ease with.

How often was it he longed for the companionable noise of wickers and the pleasant smells of dung and hay?

Too often, likely. Perhaps it was time he wed before he found his mount’s company preferable to a wench’s.

He leaned over the stall and rubbed his stallion’s nose.

At least here was a being who found him not offensive.

And why not? A horse cared nothing but that its master was brave and courageous and Colin was surely those things and more.

A pity none of his potential brides had possessed the same good sense.

He sighed. It did him no good to wonder why horses loved him and women did not.

Women were, obviously, of less wit than his mount.

He was satisfied with that realization, but it did little to aid him any in his current undertaking.

He sighed and bowed his head. Mayhap he could just put Sybil on her horse, drag her to Harrowden and let his sire see to the rest of it.

After all, his sire was controlling the rest of their lives.

Perhaps he could talk a bit of sense into the wench whilst he was at his scheming.

It was a certainty Colin would never manage the like.

He sighed and turned his mind away from unpleasant thoughts of matrimony and travel. Mayhap he could lure the more ferocious part of Blackmour’s garrison out into the lists and spend the afternoon grinding them into the dust one by one.

Aye, that was the task for him. Brides and sires could wait. He gave his stallion a pat and left the stables, whistling a happy tune.