“What’s this?”Ranulfstared down at Lothair as he began to moan and stir.“What happenedhere?”
“Lothair tripped over hisown beard and fell,” someone called out, followed by loudguffaws.
“You think this funny?”Ranulf scoured the crowd of soldiers.“My man out cold is funny?”The count’s men all managed to wipe the smiles from their faces,but Talon and his didn’t even try.“You, boy.”Ranulf pointed atthe cook’s lad, who peered up at him from beneath his cap.“Whathappened here?”
The lad kept his head low and hisvoice lower.“I was serving him.He turned away as I poured, thenhis hand was where his bowl had been.I said I was sorry, but hecame after me and hit his head on the wagon.”
“Lothair hit his head hardenough to knock himself out?”Ranulf’s black eyes bored into thetop of the lad’s cap.“Without a trip or a push from anybodyelse?”
“Nobody touched Lothair.”Talon stepped up and stood in Ranulf’s face.“And this goes nofurther.”
“Ah, the good CaptainGuiscard,” Ranulf sneered.“The defender of whores and hounds andfey lads.”
The lad’s breath sucked in and let outagain in a slow hiss, and his fist still clenched the ladle’shandle.The mouse might have teeth after all.
“That’s me.”Talon kepthis voice flat and unconcerned over the insult given him.“TalonGuiscard, patron saint of strays.”
He heard the shuffling of feet as menaround them positioned themselves for the possible fight to come.Tree set his bowl of half-eaten stew down and stood between Hammand a groaning Lothair as Phillipe and Anglbert came strolling up,longswords drawn and laid across their shoulders.
“Are we having a party?”Phillipe stopped to one side of Talon and Anglbert the other.Heglanced down at Lothair, who struggled to sit up.“Has Lothairstarted the party without us?”
“Get him up,” Ranulfsnapped at his men.He pointed at Hamm.“You, boy, you’d betterstay clear of him and me.”
Talon watched them haul Lothair up andwalk him toward their section of camp, not turning his back on thepack of curs until they were out of sight.Left in peace, he andhis men then got back into line for their supper, rehashing thelad’s encounter with Lothair and congratulating David on hisvictory over Goliath.
“Nice dodge, lad.”Talondropped a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry I missed it.”Phillipe grinned over at him.“Did your widowed mother teach youit?”
“No, sirs,” the lad spokeinto his chest.“Only how to cook.”
“Well done there as well.”Talon held his bowl out, inhaling the savory steam rising over it.“Your mother, does she have a sister named Berta?”
“They are, uh, cousins,sir.”
Talon clapped a hand on the lad’sshoulder again, not as bony as much as small-boned.“That explainsa lot.Cooking must be in your blood.If you can stand the road,you’d make a decent living at it.”
“Don’t let Charles gethold of him.”Tree retrieved his bowl of stew.“He’ll never givehim back.”
Talon swore he saw the corners of thelad’s mouth twitch up before his head bent even lower over thepot.
“He’ll have to fight mefor him first.”Plutarch brandished his ladle, which gave all themen there a good laugh and turned the lad’s cheeks a very unmanlypink under his tan.
CHAPTER 13
TheUnveiling
Lara
“Sweet Mary, mother ofJesus, that was close.”Lara hunched over the pot she was scrubbingin the river, her heart still racing.“Too blessed close.”Shelooked over her shoulder, half expecting to see Sophie there readyto skin her alive for the scrape she’d just gotten out of.But ofcourse, Sophie wasn’t there, only the glow of campfires through thetrees.
She rinsed the pot and held up theladle, turning it this way and that as she admired Hamm’s weapon ofchoice.She dropped the ladle into the pot and started walking backto camp, her free hand on the hilt of Sophie’s old knife in itsplain leather sheath, Lara’s weapon of choice.Plutarch, the cookwhose wagon she shared, kept a short-bladed scramasax sheathed athis waist and a longsword in the wagon.He’d been a soldier in KingPepin’s army who was now too old to fight and too used to the roadto quit it, so he’d become a cook for hire, and wasn’t bad atit.
He was a kindhearted man of latemiddle years who liked telling her, telling Hamm, tales of histravels as both soldier and cook.Lara enjoyed his tales and hiscompany, company she should be seeking before the night got anydarker.She made her way to the tree line when the hairs on theback of her neck stood on end.She pursed her lips, ready towhistle for Wolf, but Wolf wasn’t there; he was at home with Sophieseventy leagues away.Lara pulled at the bindings around her chestand gritted her teeth, looking forward to being able to loosen thembefore bedding down, her nightly release from the chaffing and theconstant strain of being Hamm.Though she’d considered trying tosneak away and make her way home too many times to count, it wastoo late to turn back now.If she tried to leave the march, they’dhunt her down as a deserter.All she could do was stay as Hamm andcomplete the march while staying out of Lothair’s way and thecaptain’s notice.
She stepped deeper into the trees, buta twig snapped up ahead of her.
Tightening her grip on the pot, sheslid her knife from its plain leather sheath at her waist belt.“Who’s there?”She kept her voice low and guttural.“Showyourself.”
