The Notorious Knight. Margaret Moore

the knight returned. “Have you commanded in battle, or under siege?”

      Iain’s answer was a stony silence. He’d been in battles, Gillian knew, but his appointment to garrison commander was recent, awarded by her father shortly before he died of apoplexy during yet another drunken rant about his lack of sons and abusing God for cursing him with useless daughters.

      Dunstan had no battle experience of any kind. His skill was arithmetic and keeping accurate accounts.

      “These enemies we face are determined men,” Sir Bayard said to her, “and unless you’d put your pride above your people’s welfare, you should welcome any aid I can provide.”

      What if this letter was true? she asked herself. What if these enemies Adelaide and Sir Bayard spoke of were dangerous and ruthless and coming to Averette? She had complete confidence in Iain’s abilities, but she would be a fool to refuse the help of an experienced knight. “Very well, my lord, you may stay.”

      She held up her hand to silence Iain and Dunstan’s protests and continued to address Sir Bayard. “Although I’m quite confident Iain and my men can defend the people of Averette against any enemy force, you and your soldiers may stay. However, I’m writing to my sister to confirm that you are who you claim to be and that what this letter says is true. Now, having delivered this message, my lord, you may go to the hall and avail yourself of refreshment.”

      The slight lowering of Sir Bayard’s dark brows told her he realized he was being dismissed. Nevertheless, his voice betrayed no hint of anger when he said “Until later, then, my lady.” Then he gave her an excuse of a bow and strolled out of the door.

      “Hospitality or no, we should send that arrogant ass back out the gates right now,” Iain declared the moment the door closed.

      “That man should leave Averette today,” Dunstan agreed. “Such impertinence!”

      Gillian looked from one man to the other, appreciating their loyalty and concern, yet aware that Averette and its people were her responsibility. “What if he is related to me by marriage? Until we know for certain, we must treat him as a guest. If he is an enemy, it might be wiser to keep him here, where we can watch him.”

      “Aye, there is that,” Iain conceded.

      “What if he’s a spy, trying to find out our garrison’s strengths and weakness?” Dunstan demanded.

      Gillian hadn’t thought of that, and the notion sickened her. “Surely Averette has no weaknesses.”

      “There’s always a weakness, my lady,” Iain said, “no matter how hard we train the men or reinforce the walls.”

      Gillian knew he was right, but Adelaide’s letter and her duty as chatelaine stopped her from ordering Sir Bayard to leave. There was a chance the letter was genuine and this knight had been sent by her sister to help them. She wasn’t willing to run the risk of either offending a nobleman who was related to her by marriage or refusing his aid if Averette was in danger.

      But she wasn’t willing to allow a possible spy to wander at will about the estate, either.

      “He and his men may stay,” she decided, “apparently as honored guests. Tell the servants and soldiers to treat Sir Bayard, his squire, and his men with every courtesy until they hear otherwise. However, our guests aren’t to leave the confines of the castle. If Sir Bayard or his men protest, they should be sent to me.

      “Iain, have half the garrison billeted in the village to hide our true strength, and move the training and practices to the far meadows.

      “I also want every soldier and servant told that if they see any suspicious behavior, we are to be informed at once.”

      She went to the tall cupboard and searched for an unused piece of parchment. “I shall write to Adelaide, ask her to confirm this letter we received, and put in some questions for her to answer that only she can. That way, we’ll know if the letters are false or are being intercepted.”

      “A wise idea, my lady,” Dunstan agreed.

      She found a parchment and threw it onto the table, then turned back for a clay vessel holding ink, and a quill. “Until we know for certain that what this letter claims is true, we’ll keep a careful watch on Sir Bayard de Boisbaston and his men.”

      “Aye, my lady,” Dunstan said.

      “Aye,” Iain grimly seconded.

      “SO, WHAT’S YOUR name, then?” Peg coyly asked the merchant whose cartful of barrels and casks of wine stood outside the Stag’s Head later that same day.

      Not only was the merchant obviously well-to-do, to judge by his clothes, he was slender, young, and attractive—all qualities to make a girl eager to offer her company and her skills. He was clearly attempting to grow a beard and she didn’t like beards, but she was willing to make an exception, if the price was right.

      Also inside the tavern were several farmers and villagers drinking at the end of a busy day harvesting crops and tending livestock. The men liked to discuss the weather, the potential yield of grain and produce, and sometimes John and his laws. Most had their own accustomed places, like Geoffrey, the miller, who sat by the casks, his enemy, Felton the baker, who reclined on a bench on the opposite side of the low-ceilinged room, and Old Davy and his cronies by the hearth.

      “I’m Charles de Fenelon,” the wine merchant replied with a friendly smile. “From London.”

      “Really?” Peg replied, bending over to give him a good look at her breasts. “Are you coming or going?”

      “I’m heading back to London on my way from Bristol,” he replied. “First I hope to sell some of my wine at the castle yonder. How easy is it to meet with the steward?”

      A jug of ale on her hip, the serving wench swayed from side to side and bit the end of a lock of hair. “Dun-stan de Corley comes to the village all the time. I could introduce you, if you like.”

      “I’d make it worth your while,” Charles said, patting the purse attached to his belt. “What’s your name, lass?”

      In view of that purse, she gave him an even broader smile. “Peg.”

      “Peg,” he repeated, drawing out the name so that it seemed a promise in itself as he pulled her down onto his lap.

      She glanced over her shoulder at the big beefy fellow manning the huge tapped cask.

      “Your husband?” Charles asked, thinking that however much he might wish to assuage his cravings, he didn’t want a fight on his hands.

      “Not yet, he’s not,” she replied with a giggle, winding her arms around his neck. “Besides, Sam won’t mind. The more I earn, the sooner we can marry.”

      “Ah,” Charles murmured, nuzzling her neck, then returning to more important business. “Does the castle steward drive a hard bargain?”

      She giggled again. “He can get pretty hard.”

      “That’s not what I meant.”

      She pouted a little when he didn’t appreciate her jest. “He’s a clever fellow, but it ain’t him who finally decides. It’ll be the lady.”

      “Lady Adelaide?”

      “No, not her. She’s with the king. Her sister, Lady Gillian—and she’s even sharper than Dunstan, I can tell you! But they’ll be needing more wine these days. A knight’s just come and I’ve heard he’s staying awhile.”

      The wine merchant’s brows rose with interest. “A knight?”

      “Aye, and his squire and a bunch of soldiers.”

      “A suitor for the lady? Perhaps they’ll need wine for a wedding.”

      “Good luck to him, then, if that’s his plan,” Peg replied with a toss of her nut-brown hair.