Page 66 of Keeper of the Word

Twenty-Five

TOLVAR

The meeting with Greenwood had been as unpleasant as the one with Anscom. What had been a tolerable working relationship, at least the first few days, ended in Tolvar and Greenwood almost coming to blows.

Tolvar had tried to squash his temper. But it was well known he only had so much patience to go around. Besides, there were his own questions, too. “What about Greenwood’s attack on Askella lands?” he’d asked.

Greenwood had feigned ignorance, saying he knew naught about any skirmishes on the border nor the message sent from his steward. Tolvar’s quiet annoyance had exploded as he rose from his seat. What did Greenwood mean by saying he knew nothing of it? Didn’t an earl know all the goings-on of his own province?

When Greenwood stood, Tolvar was reminded that his height was not an advantage against the older man.

“I think ’tis time you and I paused our meeting,” Greenwood said.

“A wise idea,” Tolvar said over his shoulder as he exited the tent.

Gus fell into stride with Tolvar while he did mindless circles around the camp’s perimeter.

“Any news from Asalle?” Tolvar asked when he’d slowed his pace.

“None so far.”

Tolvar did not wish that things would go poorly for Elanna and the others, but it certainly would be nice to have a reason to ride away from this infernal place. And he couldn’t search for Crevan while playing nursemaid.

The two overheard a few soldiers talk about collecting firewood. Mayhap taking an ax to something would be a good way to relieve the Wolf’s temper.

“You there,” Tolvar said to one. “Sir Gus and I shall collect firewood. Tell your commander to allot you other duties.”

After the three recovered from gaping at the Wolf, one uttered, “Aye, m’lord.”

Tolvar and Gus were bringing their third bundle to camp when Tolvar paused.

“What is it, m’lord?” Gus asked.

“Footsteps,” Tolvar said. Not coming toward them. Leaving them. Was someone else gathering firewood, also? Shirking off duties?

He caught sight of the familiar man trodding away. He recognized that build. A tuft of red hair was visible under his cap.

Crevan!

Tolvar tossed away the bundle of wood and raced toward the figure, strangely going unnoticed until Tolvar jerked the man’s shoulder to face him. The man’s hands flew up to cover his face, but Tolvar had already landed his first punch into his nose. The man fell back, his nose streaming blood. Tolvar hauled him up, only to strike him again, knocking him down once more.

He was about to attack him a third time when, through the man’s sobs and pleas, he heard Gus’s shout. “M’lord! M’lord, cease!” Gus dragged him off the man, who, Tolvar noted as the clarity in his vision returned, was clearlynotCrevan.

The man curled up on the ground. “Hurt me no more. But I warn you, my father?—”

“Your father?” Stars. The man on the ground was Greenwood’s piddly son.

“M’lord,” Gus said, offering Greenwood’s son a hand. “What? Why?”

Tolvar ran his hand through his hair. “I mistook him for…” Siria’s skirt, he hadn’t even been thinking about Crevan in the past hour. Was that all it took? Seeing a man with red hair? In all his years as a knight, Tolvar had never harmed a man without cause; he’d never attacked without knowing who his opponent was. His hands shook.

So much for the pause in the meeting with Greenwood.

A group of men rushed to them. “Lord Dillard, what happened? Lord Tolvar, do you know who his attacker was?”

“Aye.”

Surrounded by an entourage, Dillard recovered some, taking a kerchief handed to him to stanch the blood pouring from his nose. “I hope you have an explanation, Lord Tolvar. My father will hear of this.”