Chapter Two #2
“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 garconnaire, 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?”