Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (4 page)

“We have guests for
dinner, mother,” Toby didn’t rub her shoulder; she would not let her mother see
that she had hurt her. “I had to see to supper.”

Judith slapped her
hand on the bed, drool running down the left side her face. “Supper for me, do
you hear? Bring it to me now!”

Toby didn’t argue with
her; she didn’t want to be near her mother, much less engaged in a futile
conversation with her. She turned around to leave the room when Judith picked
up a small pewter bowl and threw it at her, striking her on the top of her left
shoulder. It stung deeply, but still, Toby didn’t let on. She continued out of
the room.

Ailsa was standing by
the door, wide-eyed. “Bring her supper,” Toby finally took the time, out of her
mother’s sight, to rub her back. “Make sure all of the plates are removed this
time. And do not get too close. Her mood is foul this eve.”

“She hit you again?”

Toby didn’t answer
her; the back-rubbing was enough. Smoothing her dress and saying a silent
prayer that the meal downstairs progressed without incident, she descended the
stairs into the hall below.

Sparks from the hearth
had caught some of the rushes in the hall on fire; consequently, the hall was
smokier than usual. Toby entered the room, curtsying to the men whose attention
turned to her.

“Good eve, Father,”
she said. Then she looked at Tate. “My lord.”

“Ah, Toby,” her father
greeted her, his normal chalice of wine in hand. “I was showing Sir Tate our
humble farm.”

Tate stood near the
fire; there had been a slight mist outside and he raked his fingers through his
hair to dry it in the heat. His eyes lingered on Toby in her emerald surcoat.

“This farm is anything
but humble,” he said. “The size and structure is impressive.”

“You may thank me for
the size and my daughter for the structure,” Balin said. “Were it not for Toby,
this would still be but a mediocre working farm, struggling to support a
village.”

More wine and ale were
brought to the table. Tate had been accompanied by his entourage of men; the
knights stood and drank their ale while the men at arms stood on either side of
the front door in a defensive position. The squire sat on a small stool near
the hearth, drying his thin body out.

“It is good to see a
community that can support itself,” Tate said. “There is so much poverty in the
north that the peasants resort to stealing and begging to live. I have had a
good deal of trouble with it on my lands.”

Toby moved to pour
herself some mulled wine. “Do you also not think, my lord, that the wars of the
crown have created such poverty?”

“They do.”

“Yet still you support
another uprising.”

Tate knew this moment would
come; he just did not think it would come so soon.  He turned fully to Toby, a
radiant vision in the ambient light of the fire. The sight of her caused the
harsh response on his tongue to ease. It was difficult to become angry with
such beauty.

“I would not consider
Edward’s right an uprising, mistress,” his voice was steady. “Do you deny the
rightful king his entitlement?”

“Of course not. But is
there not a more peaceful way?”

“If you have any
suggestions, you have my full attention.”

Toby wasn’t a military
expert by any means. Her gaze trailed to the two enormous knights standing near
the hearth; their expressions were harsh and she did not like the feeling
radiating from them. The men at arms were far enough away that they probably
had not heard the conversation, but the squire was looking at her as if he had
something to say to all of it. She almost wished she hadn’t spoken out; too
many times she would speak before thinking. This was one of those times.

“It would seem to me
that the Queen would willingly relinquish the right to rule to her son,” she
said. “He is the king, after all. Unless the Earl of March has poisoned her
against her own son, what mother would not want to see her child achieve his
claim?”

“Power has a strange
way of blinding those it serves,” Tate said. “The king has attempted
negotiating with the Queen. She does not believe him ready to assume the full
mantle.”

“And you believe that
he is, my lord?”

Tate’s dark eyes were
intense. “I would stake my life on it.”

There was something in
his sincerity that Toby dare not question. Thankfully, the meal was brought at
that moment, precluding the discussion from burgeoning into something
uncomfortable. Her father, however, made sure to corner her privately as the
guests took their seats.

“If I have ever asked
one thing of you, now is the time. Behave tonight, if not for yourself, then
for me. Please.”

There was heavy
alcohol on his breath. That was a usual occurrence, but Toby would have none of
it tonight. “If you promise not to get drunk and fly out of control as you do,
I shall promise to behave.”

Balin’s expression
turned cold. “Mind yourself, daughter. And do as I ask.”

With reluctance, Toby
silently agreed and went to take her seat. She ended up seated at Tate’s right
hand; the knights were across from her, the squire on her right, and her father
at the end of the table.

She was mildly
uncomfortable seated so close to Tate. His hand was near hers and she put her
hand in her lap. He lapsed into a quiet discussion with his knights while Toby
silently attended her meal. When the knights laughed at something and she
looked up to see what the joke was about, Tate apologized.

“I do not believe I
have made formal introductions to you, my lady.” He indicated the two armored
men across the table. “These are my trusted friends, Sir Stephen of Pembury and
Sir Kenneth St. Héver. They have informed me that I have been most rude by way
of presentation.”

Toby looked at the
men, suspecting they said nothing to Tate about his rudeness. More than likely,
the laugh had been at her expense. She simply nodded at them as Tate indicated
the young man sitting at her right.

“And this is my
squire, John of Hainault.” The lad looked mortified as all eyes turned to him.
His mouth was full of food and it was a struggle for him to chew and not choke.
“Careful not to get close to him, else he might bite. He eats everything within
arm’s length these days.”

“He is a growing boy,”
Balin said. “Though I have no sons, I was a lad once. ‘Tis a pleasure to see a
young man with a healthy appetite.”

Ailsa made her grand
entrance at that moment. Not strangely, she singled out the squire and planted
herself firmly between the young lad and her father. She had a tendency to like
older boys. Her big green eyes were fixed on him, his clothing, his hair, even
the way he held his spoon.

“Gentlemen, my
youngest child, Mistress Ailsa Cartingdon,” Balin said. “I hope you do not mind
that I have allowed her to join us.”

Tate passed a cursory
glance at the child, who had eyes only for his squire. The knights barely
looked up from their meal. The squire, however, seemed clearly uncomfortable.

“Hello,” Ailsa said to
him.

The young man
swallowed hard. He cast the girl a quick glance. “Hello.”

Ailsa watched with
interest as he practically buried his face in his food in an attempt to avoid
talking to her. “What is your name?” she asked.

“J-John,” the boy
replied.

“How old are you,
John?”

“Fourteen years.”

“Are you a knight
yet?”

John glanced at the
men seated around him, silently begging for help. Tate took pity on him. “He is
not yet, mistress.”

Ailsa fixed her
attention on Tate. “Are you Sir Tate?”

“Ailsa,” Balin hissed
at her, shaking his head.

Tate responded. “A
natural question to a strange man sitting at her table. Yes, mistress, I am.”

“Why do they call you
Dragonblade?”

Toby nearly choked; in
fact, only a large gulp of wine helped the clot of mutton slide down her
throat. “Ailsa, behave yourself.”

“But I just want to
know.”

“Now is
not
the
time.” Toby turned to Tate. ”Forgive her, my lord. She is young and without
tact.”

“That seems to be a
family trait.”

Her cheeks burned at
his dig as she remembered her vow to behave. “As you say, my lord.”

From what he had seen
that afternoon, it was not like her to submit so easily. He found himself
alternately pleased and strangely disappointed that she had not reacted. He
cast both sisters a final look before returning to his food. “Bad manners
aside, I will also say that beauty must be a family trait. It is too bad that
one characteristic negates the other.”

Ailsa’s attention had
returned to the squire by this time and Toby merely continued to eat. Balin,
fearful that Tate would push his daughter to forget her promise to behave,
poured himself more wine and changed the focus altogether with talk of the pear
orchard he had planted two years ago on the southern edge of town. 

Tate listened to the
old man talk, largely saying nothing in return. The more Balin drank, the more
he talked. Tate eventually discovered that Balin had nothing more vital to say
other than discussing agriculture and that his political knowledge was limited
to very basic elements. His argumentative daughter seemed far more intelligent,
at least enough to keep Tate’s interest. All the while as Balin spoke and
drank, Tate was acutely aware of Toby seated next to him, silently eating her
pudding. In fact, he was hardly aware of what Balin was saying at all. He kept
hearing the soft music of Toby’s voice instead, echoes from their earlier
conversation.

Dinner was over, but
not before Tate was nearly bored out of his mind by Balin’s drunken chatter.
The knights had eaten their fill and were given a room in the
garçonnaire
,
a small two-room house next to the main house. Its sole purpose was to house
traveling guests, usually male. With Tate’s approval, they retired for the eve
and took the stuffed, dozing squire with them. The men-at-arms, who had
remained by the door for the duration of the meal, were given some food and
moved into the warm kitchens.

Balin, sensing that
perhaps their liege wished some time to himself in front of the fire, excused
himself and the girls. A word from Tate stopped him.

“I would have a word
with Mistress Elizabetha, if I may.”

Balin wasn’t sure if
he should allow his daughter to be alone with him. She had restrained herself
admirably throughout the meal, but there was no knowing how long the restraint
would last. Balin would hate to wake up in the morning and discover that his
liege had confiscated his lands in a fit of anger. Taking the jug of wine still
left upon the table and convincing himself he needed it to sustain his courage,
he left Toby alone with the great lord of Harbottle.

Tate was still seated,
watching Toby as her gaze moved to everything else in the room but him. He
studied her profile, the way her cheeks curved, the soft pout of her lips. He
thought perhaps that he should gouge his eyes out because he was growing more
enchanted with the woman by the moment. It was purely based on her appearance and
he had no time to waste with such foolishness. Thank God they would be leaving
on the morrow and he would be done with this stupidity.

“I will only take a
moment of your time, mistress,” his voice was quiet. “Will you please sit?”

Toby sat down on the
bench opposite him. There was something in her manner that suggested she had
something better to do than sit with him. He eyed her, sensing her displeasure.
An entirely different subject suddenly came to mind. “How old are you?” he
asked.

She looked at him,
surprised. “I have seen twenty-one years, my lord.”

His dark eyebrows
lifted. “And you are not yet married?”

She gave him such a
look that he nearly burst out laughing. “My father needs me.”

“One has nothing to do
with the other.”

“You will forgive me, but
I do not see how that is any of your affair.”

“It is not. It was
simply a question.”

“Is that what you
wanted to speak to me about?”

Tate scratched his
chin; the more agitated she became, the more humorous he found it. “Not really,
but now you have peaked my interest. You are a beautiful woman and your father
is wealthy. I cannot imagine that you have not had men falling over themselves
to vie for your hand.”

She sighed harshly. “I
suspect you will not stop asking these questions until you have had a satisfactory
answer.”

“That is possibly
correct.”

“Then I will tell you,
succinctly. I have not married because there is not a man in England who would
want to marry me.”

“That is an extremely
broad reason. Why would you say that?”

She lifted a
well-shaped eyebrow. “Do you find me agreeable? Compliant? Following you about
like a stupid sheep?”