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“I’m off to visit it, in a day or so, when things are settled here,” Aodh informed them. When Katarina was settled here.
Cormac shifted the bulk of his shoulders and reached for one of the earthenware jugs. “Anyway, there’s no possible way we can garrison both a town and the castle when armies come marching. Nay, it must be won.”
“And if it cannot be?” someone asked.
“Aye, if the lady won’t submit?” someone else joined in. “If we cannot rely upon her allies, then we must need find other means. If the town sides with her, sacking it becomes ever more necessary.”
Cormac smashed a fist on the table. All the mugs hopped and shuddered. “The lady. Will. Submit.”
That settled it. The conversation moved onto less contentious matters, such as whether to roll up another barrel of ale, and which serving maids they were most interested in getting to know better, once the imprisoned women were released from their chambers.
Cormac said nothing, but he did shoot Aodh a dark look that could only be described
as hurt. The comely maid with the bouncing breasts been locked up as well.
But Aodh’s attention had moved away from impatient soldiers and defiant chatelaines to Tancred, his everyman—clerk, secretary, advisor in all things monetary—who sat at the next table over, assaying ledgers and poring over chests, while beside him sat the cowardly Rardove clerk, his face a monument of disapproval as he observed all the triumphant goings-on.
Then another round of Aodh’s treasure chests were brought in, years’ worth of plunder and tourney championships, hauled up onto the tables, overflowing with gold and coins. The clerk’s scrutiny grew less disapproving. Indeed, it grew downright lustful.
Ré leaned closer, and as the men debated whether or not it was worth sending an emissary to one of the smaller princes, he said quietly, “That clerk can be turned.”
Aodh nodded, not taking his gaze off Walter. “He is a windmill of opportunity. Whichever way the wind blows, so follows he.”
Cormac tipped his head into their secret council. “I’d as lief trust the lass over him. At least she bears her weapons openly.”
“That does not mean he doesn’t have his uses,” Aodh replied quietly, then raised his voice. “Clerk.”
The other conversations in the hall died as if a boot had stamped on them. Walter’s head jerked around, yanking his gaze off the treasure chests. Tancred looked up too, then, glancing at Aodh, he murmured something. Walter got to his feet.
Cormac made a sound of disgust. “Bleedin’ snake,” was his final mutter before Walter drew up at their table.
“I saw you watching the chests.” Aodh touched the one nearest to him and lifted the lid. Walter’s eyes flicked to it, then held as he saw the golden coins within.
“One cannot help but notice, my lord.” His bald dome had a faint sheen. “The fire last year caused great damage, and a few years past, the sheep fold was decimated. The other estates had to be sold off. Rardove has been without for some time, sir. My lady has been without.”
“How highly do you value your loyalty?”
His gaze lifted off the coins. “To whom, my lord?”
Aodh smiled.
Beside him, Cormac muttered again, “Bleedin’ snake.”
Aodh tapped the chest, and the coins inside rippled like a golden sea. “There’s more where this came from, clerk. Make yourself useful, and I may remember it.”
His hooded eyes met Aodh’s. “What would my lord consider useful?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
*
RÉ WOKE AODH at dawn, informing him a missive had already arrived back from the powerful MacDaniels tribe. Their leader would be here on the morrow to treat with Aodh.
“He’s interested,” Ré said, smiling. “And he has three hundred men under his command.”
Chapter Fifteen
THE DAY PASSED as if shards of glass had been embedded in it: slowly and painfully.
