In The King's Service. Margaret Moore

“Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”

      “I was looking for you,” Blaidd truthfully replied.

      Trev hugged his knees and regarded him quizzically. “I’ve been right here for a long time.”

      Blaidd sat on the end of his bed. He might as well make a point, and incidentally turn the conversation away from his own whereabouts. “And before that, you were looking for that maidservant, Meg.”

      Trev blushed. “How do you know?” Then his eyes widened. “Were you spying on me?”

      Blaidd was in no mood for more indignation, especially from a stripling youth. “I happened to see you looking for her in the courtyard, as anybody could have.”

      “How did you know I was looking for her? Maybe I was searching for you.”

      “I saw her leave the kitchen, and you came hot on her heels. If you were looking for me, I don’t think you would have been so disappointed when you didn’t find me.”

      Trev stared at his toes and shrugged his shoulders. “All right. I wasn’t looking for you.”

      “She’s a servant, Trev,” Blaidd said not unkindly. “You’re a young nobleman who’s a guest in her master’s household. She wouldn’t want to risk offending you.”

      He saw dismay flash in Trev’s eyes, and took pity on the boy. “Look, Trev, I’m not saying that’s the only reason she talked to you. It could be she really likes you. But you’re not equals. You have power and rank, and she has none. And we are guests here. It would be an abuse of your host’s hospitality to dally with his maidservants.”

      “What if a woman…you know…what if she’s interested?”

      Blaidd recalled what his father had said to him about such situations. “With such things come responsibilities, provided the man is honorable and not some lustful lout. What if the woman got with child?”

      “Oh.”

      “Yes, oh. Have you enough silver to give her a tidy sum to raise it? Would you be ready for a young man to show up at your gate one day claiming to be your son? Would you be willing to acknowledge a bastard?”

      “I hadn’t thought of all that.”

      “No, I didn’t think you had.”

      “But with a whore, there wouldn’t be—”

      “You’re not going to go with any whore while you’re my squire. Do you understand me?”

      Blaidd didn’t often use that tone of command, but when he did, it always got results, and this time was no different. Trev swallowed hard and nodded.

      A twinge of guilt assailed Blaidd. He’d hardly acted as an honorable knight himself tonight. And given the possible repercussions, it might be wise to prepare Trevelyan for a likely departure, as well as give him as much of an explanation as necessary. “We might have to leave tomorrow.”

      Trev’s mouth fell open. “Why? Because I was looking for Meg?”

      “No. Because I quarreled with Lady Rebecca.”

      A devilish gleam lit Trev’s eyes. “After all your warnings and admonitions to me about the proper behavior of a guest?”

      Blaidd bent down and pulled off his boots. “Yes.” He glanced up. “And no, you don’t have to gloat. I know that was a stupid thing to do.”

      Trev didn’t gloat. “She seems a very quarrelsome woman,” he said comfortingly, “and it didn’t look to me as if her father or sister like that about her. Perhaps they’ll take your side.” He grinned. “Especially Lady Laelia.”

      Blaidd hadn’t expected to find solace in the observations of a youth, but he did. “Well, we’ll find out come the morning,” he said as he rose to finish disrobing. “Go to sleep, Trev.” He gave the lad a wry smile. “We may have a long journey tomorrow.”

      Trev made a face. “I hope not. I don’t want to go home yet. I’ve had enough training.”

      “A knight can never have enough.”

      “You say that only because you don’t have to do it anymore,” the lad said as he snuggled beneath the covers.

      When Trev’s eyes closed, the rueful smile left Blaidd’s face. If they did have to leave in the morning, how was he going to explain his failure to the king?

Chapter Four

      In their bedchamber the next morning, it was obvious that Laelia was in a foul mood. Becca had long ago learned that the best way to dissipate a conflict with her sister was to keep quiet until Laelia deigned to speak. It went against the grain, but she stayed silent while Meg helped Laelia put on a beautiful gown of emerald-green velvet trimmed with golden bands of embroidery, and a gilded girdle about her slender hips. Laelia then sat on a stool before her dressing table, which was covered with little pots of perfumes and unguents, a silver-handled brush and a small cedar box holding ribbons to adorn her hair. Another wooden box, inlaid with ebony, held her jewelry.

      Becca had no ribbons or baubles, and her jewelry, worn much less frequently, was in the bottom of her embossed chest on the other side of her bed. Laelia’s bed was made up with fine linen sheets, a thick feather bed and large pillows, and curtains of scarlet damask kept out the chill night air. Becca’s bed was just as sumptuous. She didn’t feel the need to dress richly, but she wasn’t about to turn up her nose at being warm and comfortable.

      When they were children, she and Laelia had shared the bed that was now hers alone. They’d had many a whispered conversation together after the curtain had closed, punctuated with giggles. That had changed when Becca fell from the tree. Laelia couldn’t share her bed for some weeks after that, and her father had purchased a new one for her.

      Becca could easily guess why Laelia was upset this morning. She was furious that Becca had stormed out of the hall—well, stormed out as dramatically as a woman who limped could—coupled with her greeting of Sir Blaidd at the gate. Laelia had heard about that meeting before the evening meal, and her verbal jousting with Sir Blaidd in the hall would have raised her ire even more. Fortunately, Laelia had been asleep when Becca had returned from the chapel, or at least she’d pretended to be, sparing a quarrel last night, but letting her annoyance fester all the more, probably even as she slept.

      Becca had been tempted to wake her sister and tell her that Sir Blaidd had kissed her, to warn Laelia that the man was up to no good. Becca had considered speaking to her father in the morning, too, and telling him to send Sir Blaidd away. Surely he shouldn’t be courting Laelia.

      But now, in the light of day, and considering how rarely her father ever paid heed to her concerns, she decided that the less said about what had happened last night, the better. There was no reason yet to believe that Sir Blaidd would be deemed any more worthy of Laelia’s hand than any of the other myriad suitors who had come to Throckton Castle.

      She hadn’t exactly been a model of ladylike behavior herself. She should have left the chapel the moment Sir Blaidd arrived. Regardless of his manner and his voice and his apology, she should have fled.

      Therefore, rather than risk unnecessary conflict, she decided to say nothing of her nocturnal encounter with Sir Blaidd Morgan, unless and until it seemed he was in contention for Laelia’s hand.

      “You were very rude to Sir Blaidd yesterday,” Laelia suddenly declared as she regarded Becca’s reflection in her mirror. “And as for that business at the gate—I suppose Dobbin put you up to it?”

      “Of course he didn’t. It was my idea,” Becca replied firmly as she tied the side lacings of her over-tunic. She wore a gown of plain brown wool beneath it, and a linen shift under that, and rarely required assistance to dress.

      “That makes it even worse.