Chapter Seven #2
Talon
Talon resumed his habit of staying
late in the common room after supper, prolonging his self-imposed
torture with a pitcher of wine and a game of Shah with whomever he
could get to play. More often than not, it was Phillipe who would
play him, Phillipe who would say at least once a game, “Just tell
her. Tell her who the woman is.”
But Talon had no intention of telling
Lara the carving was of her. That after coming across her in the
river that day, he’d stayed up most of the night cutting, carving
and smoothing her womanly curves and flowing lines. That he’d
dreamed about her day and night since. He wasn’t about to make
things between them more complicated than they already
were.
If he was lucky and Lara was sleeping
when he finally made his chamber, he would pad over to her cot, pet
Wolf, and watch her sleep until she stirred, which was longer and
longer as she grew more used to his presence. If he wasn’t lucky,
and she was still awake and sewing or reading the book on herbs the
abbot had brought her, there would be an awkward silence between
them as they each sought their beds.
That the Abbot Rogert of the Abbey St.
Marie had come himself to Crossroads Keep expressly to visit with
Lara, to check on her welfare and loan her a priceless tome, said
much of her standing in the valley. A standing many others felt it
necessary to point out to Talon. Daily he would meet some villager
as he rode his rounds who would tell him how Lara had saved them or
some member of their family from death or disease, or some mother
would hold her round-cheeked babe up and say, “My child wouldn’t
have made it into this world alive and whole if not for the healer,
Lara.”
There were others, though far fewer in
number, who would sneer and whisper behind their palms as he rode
by, and though they wouldn’t say it to his face, he heard from
others what they said behind his and Lara’s backs. They called Lara
whore, not lady, witch, not healer.
She may have cured half the valley of
their illnesses, but she had infected him with a sickness the cure
for which he would’ve had to make her what those people called her,
his whore. And that he wouldn’t do.
Nor would she let him.
Not without a fight.
He already bore her mark that said to
the world he’d tried to touch her without her say-so. As did
Ranulf, whose story had spread far and wide since Mallus, and who’d
added to it since, declaring that he’d touched all of her by her
say-so many times before that day, before they’d had a
falling-out.
Lara hadn’t spoken one word of it to
Talon or anybody else he knew of. Of course, that left out Sophie
and the entire gaggle of women who lived along the road that ran
west from the town’s marketplace to Crossroads Keep, all of whom
seemed to be related to Berta. There was her daughter and
granddaughter, Enid and Marta, who worked at the keep, as well as
another daughter, a pretty brunette named Patience with freckles as
big and brown as her eyes. Patience was married to a leather worker
named Willem, whom Talon had gone to with an idea for a saddle with
stirrups, a thing he’d seen horsemen in the east use to great
advantage. As he’d explained to Willem, a rider could stuff their
boots into these straps with wooden toe holds, allowing them to
stand up and over their saddle and turn and twist about without
becoming unseated.
They were drawing designs for the
stirrups in the dirt floor of Willem’s workshop when Wolf came
loping in and came straight to Talon for pets.
“Berta said Wolf had
become fond of you.” Willem raised his brows. “You should consider
it an honor. The dog doesn’t take to many men.”
Talon gave Wolf’s hind end a good
sound pat, and then the dog sidled over to Willem for an ear rub.
“He seems to have taken to you as well.”
“Aye, well, it took a
while,” Willem admitted.
Talon glanced out into the empty yard.
Lara must’ve been in the house, for wherever she was, so was Wolf.
“You know his mistress well?” he asked Willem.
“My wife is Lara’s closest
friend.” Willem’s steady gaze held Talon’s. “If it wasn’t for the
fact that I know from Lara herself that you treat her well and
fair, we wouldn’t be doing business this or any other
day.”
Talon had to give the tradesman
credit, standing him off for the sake of his wife’s friend. He
nodded and offered Willem his hand. “Fair enough.”
Willem shook his hand and pulled a
newly tanned cowhide out to spread on his worktable. They were
making their measurements when Wolf pricked his ears forward, then
loped back outside to where Lara and Patience and a tow-headed lad
of three or four years walked out into the yard. Lara spied his
black horse tied to the post by the shop and stopped in her
tracks.
“Ladies,” Talon called out
from the open door. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Captain.”
Patience waved over. A gentle breeze pinned her apron to her belly,
full and round as a small melon. Following Talon’s gaze, she pulled
her apron away with a shy grin as Lara strode past him toward the
road. He smiled and dipped his head to her, and she gave him her
backside, a not altogether unpleasant view. He turned back to
Willem and Patience watching him with interest and rubbed the back
of his neck, vowing to himself not to be so obvious in his
admiration for Lara’s twitching skirts in the future.
***
His vow lasted through supper but was
broken by breakfast the next morning when Talon caught the sway of
Lara’s skirts as she cleared away the bowls from the table and
disappeared through the kitchen door. He stood and noted several of
his men watching him with foolish grins on their faces. At least
they were watching him and not Lara, else he’d have to knock a few
heads.
“Let’s go,” he commanded.
“Our mounts won’t run drills by themselves.”
He made it as far as the stables when
he realized he’d forgotten his riding gauntlets in his chamber.
“Damn it. Phillipe, I need to go back for my gauntlets. Get the men
started.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Talon scowled at his grinning dolt of
a lieutenant, who’d been riding him hard over his undeniable
infatuation with Lara, then he turned on his heels and strode back
to the house, grumbling about being cursed and damned by a twitchy
skirt and changeling eyes. The doors to the hall were open for the
summer air. When he entered, Lara was tending to Fulrad at his cot
by the hearth fire.
Fulrad could speak again, but his mood
hadn’t improved apace with his ability to talk and be understood.
Nor had he even attempted to walk yet, wasting his days and nights
camped out on his cot, ignoring the crutches under it, belly aching
about anything and everything, but especially about Lara walking
around freely while he lay broken and sober. Talon shook his head
and set his jaw. Fulrad’s neck wounds were healing over without any
sign of infection, and his knee, while still a swollen mass of
crepitus, was no longer bruised and mottled. The longer he stayed
prone, the more his muscles would atrophy, and the less likely it
was he’d ever walk again. King’s cousin or not, it was time the
lazy bastard started helping with his own recovery.
Talon veered from the staircase toward
Fulrad and Lara, and he saw her spine and shoulders stiffen. He
came to a stop behind her, where Fulrad couldn’t see
him.
“Where will you go then,
eh, bitch?” Fulrad rasped as Lara rubbed a stringent balm on his
knee. “Where’ll you go when the captain’s done with you? After he
and his men’ve had their fill of you? No man’ll have you then, a
used-up, put-out whore.”
The only sign of response from Lara
was her stillness before she wiped her hands with a rag and turned
to toss it onto the pile of dirty washrags next to the washbasin.
She saw Talon, and her cheeks flushed and her chin lifted as she
glared daggers at him as if he’d been the one abusing
her.
Talon stepped into
Fulrad’s view and glowered down at him. “If you ever dare speak to her like that
again, I will personally finish what Wolf started.” He laid his
hand on the hilt of his short sword as Fulrad shrank into his
pelts. “Do we have an understanding?”
Fulrad put a hand to his throat. “Aye,
Captain.”
“See you keep to
it.”
Talon turned to Lara and held his hand
out. She slapped it away.
“I can take care of
myself.” She got to her feet and strode out of the hall, up the
stairs, and slammed shut the door to the chamber she shared with
him. The chamber where he’d left his riding gauntlets sitting on
top of his chest.
He gave Fulrad one last, hard glare,
then stalked out of the hall and to the stables, where Denys held
the Black at the ready. Jumping onto his saddle, Talon sent the
stallion into an easy canter and headed for the open field where
his troop were riding drills.
“Where are your
gauntlets?” Phillipe called out as Talon rode past him to where
jumps were set up. “The pair you went back for?”
“In my chamber,” Talon
snarled over his shoulder. “Caged with a spitting-mad wildcat.” He
glanced up at the window to his chamber where Lara paced back and
forth behind it as Phillipe’s laughter drifted over. Talon urged
the Black into a slow gallop and circled the stallion around the
half dozen jumps, warming the horse up and trying to cool himself
down. After the third circle, he looked back up at the chamber
window, where Lara was now sitting on the sill, facing the field.
He leaned over the Black’s withers, and the horse broke into a run