Chapter Eleven
Names
Talon
Talon thumped his chest and braced
himself as Wolf planted his front paws on his shoulders. “Hello,
old man.” He rubbed Wolf’s ears. “How’ve you and your mistress
fared while I’ve been away?”
Wolf gave him a big slurp on his chin,
then dropped down and ran over to Lara as she came out of the house
with Patience. Talon had planned on having until after supper
before seeing Lara and speaking to her about what had happened
between them the other night, but his plans seemed to mean nothing
when it came to her.
“Come, Patience,” Willem
said as the women walked over. “See what Captain Guiscard has
brought us.”
“Wyatt said he brought us
a buck.” She looked to Talon as she stopped by Willem. “Not that
I’m ungrateful, far from it, Captain, but why?”
“I wanted the antlers for
carving,” Talon told Patience. “And a bit of the hide for my
saddle, the rest is yours.”
“You have twenty men to
feed,” she said. “Surely they would enjoy fresh
venison?”
Talon shrugged. “They eat more than
enough venison on the march, hunting as we go.” That wasn’t a
complete lie. They did eat venison on the march, whenever they were
lucky enough to get it. He glanced meaningfully at Phillipe, whose
eyes widened with understanding.
“We would all prefer your
mother’s roast pig any day,” Phillipe added. Which was also true.
The men would prefer anything Berta cooked to camp food.
Patience eyed Talon and Phillipe,
clearly hesitant to believe them. Willem laid a hand on her belly
and whispered something in her ear.
“Thank you, Captain,” she
said. “It’s very generous of you.”
“You’re most welcome.”
Talon allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. At least this
plan of his had worked. Patience would have the red meat Lara said
she and the babe needed and Willem would have an extra hide to work
and sell. He chanced a glance at Lara, who smiled at him as bright
and warm as the summer sun. “Come on,” he said to Phillipe before
his renewed resolve to keep his honor and hers melted into a
pitiable puddle at his feet. “Let’s get this buck gutted and
skinned. I’ve a hankering for a bath and roast pheasant for
supper.”
“Willem and I can dress
the buck.” Phillipe offered a grin that meant he was up to no good.
“You go, get these birds to Berta and take your bath. Take Lara
with you. She has a couple of pies to bake.” He turned his grin on
Lara. “Peach for me and strawberry for you, free of charge as I
recollect.”
“A free pie?” Talon eyed
Lara as his belly rumbled loudly. “From our mercenary friend
here?”
Lara bristled, Phillipe laughed, and
Willem and Patience shook their heads at each other as Talon swung
up onto the roan’s saddle and gathered the sorrel’s
reins.
“In that case.” He offered
Lara his arm. “Can I give you a ride?”
“I can walk.”
“Yes, but riding will get
you there faster. I promise I won’t bite.”
She looked at him as if he’d devour
her whole. “I’ll walk.” She turned to Patience. “I’ll be back to
check on you in a few days. Be sure to eat as much venison as you
can stomach.”
“She will.” Willem gave
Lara a nod, then another to Talon. “Thank you.”
Talon turned the roan toward the road
as Lara took off running. It was over a league back to the keep,
but when she took her skirts in hand, he knew she meant to run the
entire way. He kept the horses to her pace and sat back in his
saddle, admiring the flash of her shapely calves, slim ankles, and
the sway of her skirts. Remembering how he’d chased those skirts
through the woods and brambles a moon ago now.
The guard at the watchtower called out
their return, and Anglbert was at the gate, waiting with a
parchment in hand.
“A missive from the king,”
he said as Talon dismounted. “It came this morn.”
Talon unrolled the parchment. “We’re
to meet Charles and the returning army.” He looked up at the
gathering crowd of soldiers and villagers and saw Lara had stayed
to hear as well. “We leave in three days’ time.” Her eyes grew wide
as he held her gaze for a moment before turning to Anglbert. “Send
a man to Count Nithard. He’s to collect the valley’s war tithe in
fresh supplies, which we’re to take to Charles.”
“Aye, Captain. I’ll send
Oswald and Dardinel.”
Talon spied Denys and waved him over.
“Take the pheasants to Berta.” He handed the lad the roan’s and
sorrel’s reins. “Tell her the count, and however many men he
travels with, will be supping with us this evening. She’ll know his
numbers better than I.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The crowd dispersed as Anglbert gave
out more orders in preparation for the evening and the march,
leaving Talon standing there with Lara.
“Lady?”
“I, ah, I wanted to thank
you,” she said. “For the buck. For Patience and her
babe.”
He grinned, remembering how hard it’d
been for her to thank him for saving Wolf’s life, for anything.
“You’re welcome.”
She grinned back, quick and fleeting,
before dropping her gaze from his with a pretty blush to her
cheeks. Talon thought it a good time to beat a hasty retreat and
started for the hall.
“Captain?” Lara stepped a
little closer.
He stopped. “Yes?”
“I want to go with
you.”
“With me?”
“On the march. To meet the
returning army.”
“What? Why?”
“I can serve as your
healer. It would fulfill a season of military service, which would
pay off my wergeld.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because war is no place
for a woman. You yourself said you’d never willingly go to
war.”
“But this wouldn’t be
war,” she argued with a stubborn set of her chin. “You’re just
meeting up with the king and the army. Bringing them fresh supplies
and escorting them back to Gaul.”
“Back through mountains
crawling with Basques.”
She lifted her chin another notch. “I
deserve the chance to work off my wergeld.”
“No.”
“But—”
“God’s blood, Lara. These
same Basques lost their city of Pamplona to the army of Gaul. We
burned their city, their homes, their—” The cries of women and
screaming children assaulted Talon’s ears, the stench of burning
flesh his nose. “No. Don’t mention it again.”
***
Lara
Lara considered putting extra salt in
the captain’s strawberry pie, and would have, but for the fat buck
he left with Willem and Patience. Kneading and rolling the dough
for the crust with a ferocity that raised Berta’s brows, Lara felt
the cook’s proprietary eye on every berry she pared and every peach
she pitted until the pies were safely in the ovens.
“Here.” Berta handed her a
bowl of risen bread dough. “Pound on this awhile, then if you still
feel the need to pummel something, there are pheasant to
pluck.”
Lara handed the dough over to Enid and
grabbed the pheasants, which she not only plucked but spit and
roasted too, preferring the solitude of the roasting pit where she
could watch the comings and goings of the soldiers and workers in
the courtyard to the noisy, crowded bustle of the kitchens. She saw
the captain once, bathed and dressed in his good forest green
jerkin, leaning over the cooling pies Berta had pulled from the
ovens before she chased him off. He’d glanced around the grounds
until he spied Lara, then stood there staring at her for a moment
before turning and striding back into the hall.
The sun was touching the peaks of the
western hills when the watch called out the count’s arrival. Lara
kept to her seat at the roasting pit, well hidden from the front
entrance to the hall where the count and his company would enter.
She glanced at the door to the indoor kitchens where she, a lidi,
would enter through to serve the company. The captain stepped out
of it, looked straight at her, then turned around and went back
in.
“The captain,” she said to
Wolf, who had his nose as close to the roasting pheasant as
possible without singing his whiskers, “sometimes he does the
oddest things.”
Soon enough, Berta waved at her from
the same door as two kitchen maids headed toward the roasting pit
with platters for the pheasants.
“Come, Wolf.” The hound
would stay inside the indoor kitchens while she helped serve the
meal. “Time’s up.”
She ran her fingers through her hair
and plaited it into one long braid as she walked to the kitchens,
then removed her work apron and smoothed her skirt and stood for
Berta’s inspection.
“Take the platters of
bread and cheeses first,” Berta ordered as the kitchen maids
carried the roasted pheasants in. “Then the squash and green beans
and the cold ham while I carve the pheasant.”
Lara picked up a platter of fresh
baked rye breads and herbed cheeses, squared her shoulders, and
stepped into the dining hall. Count Nithard and his son and
daughter sat to the captain’s right, and the count’s men-at-arms
mingled in amongst the garrisoned soldiers. She carried the platter
over and stepped between Phillipe and Tree. They sat across from
the captain, and she set the platter down before dipping her head
to the captain, the ranking host of the meal, and bit down on a
grin at the wary expression on his face. He looked worried about
what she might do or say in front of the count and his company.
Pressing her lips tight, Lara meekly dropped her gaze to her hands,
stepped away from the table, and turned for the
kitchens.
“I see you tamed your
vixen lidi,
Guiscard,” Ranulf said loudly, though only his father sat between
him and the captain. “Well done.”
“I see your manners
haven’t improved one bit, Midered,” the captain answered as Lara
made the kitchen door and pushed through it.
“The snake,” she hissed as
the door shut behind her. Then it opened again as Enid blew
in.
“That wasn’t a very good
start to the meal.” Enid shook her head.
Berta paused her carving knife and
fork over the pheasant. “What happened?”
“The captain and Ranulf
were at each other over Lara from almost the moment she walked in,”
Enid told her mother, who tsked at Lara.
“Excuse me.” Lara set her
hands on her hips. “But wasn’t I the one bowing and scraping?
Wasn’t I the one insulted by Ranulf?”
“And wasn’t it the captain
who took Ranulf to task for it?” Enid challenged.
“It isn’t my fault the
captain despises Ranulf,” Lara said. “In fact, it shows his good
sense.”
Berta set down her knife and fork and