Jennifer August (10 page)

“I am a knight apprentice, my lord,” the young man mumbled.

“What is this, knight apprentice?”

“He’s a squire, my lord,” someone called from the crowd and they laughed again. “It means he cleans and carries our swords and armor.”

“I see. For the skill you’ve shown this day, Sir Langeth, you are promoted to knight full. You may see Lord Marcus for further instruction.”

Langeth’s eyes widened almost as much as his smile and he stammered his thanks then ran past Quinn, only to return and bow several times. “Enough.” Quinn chuckled. “Go.”

“Thank you, my lord.” The boy, face bursting with pride, disappeared into the ranks of his fellow soldiers.

“Lord Quinn. I’ve found Sir John,” Marcus spoke quietly behind him. Quinn turned, but saw only his second.

“Where is he?”

“Indisposed at the moment, sir.” Marcus leaned closer and cleared his throat, a sly smile on his mouth. “He’s with two of the kitchen wenches. Apparently he celebrated your wedding with more enthusiasm than he should have and cannot rise from his bed.”

Quinn raised a brow, struggling to hide his amusement. “Two?”

Marcus grinned and held up two fingers. “Aye, and he claims both are fair-haired and lusty.”

Quinn smirked. “It seems, old friend, these Saxons are made of better substance than we thought.” He shook his head. “Two?”

“Aye.”

“Fine. He can join you on the morrow, but for now...” Quinn’s loud whistle pierced the air and all the knights turned to face him.

“Good men of Falcon Fire, when you have finished your training for today, we shall celebrate the joining of our two forces. Meet with us in the great hall this eventide to feast and drink.”

A cheer went up from the men and they quickly dispersed, moving to the different areas of the training ground.

“Well done, my lord,” Marcus complimented.

“I find food and drink always work as incentive.” He studied them for a few moments. “They shy away from the quintain and I’ve yet to see one of them mount a horse properly.”

“And fully half hold the blade wrong,” Marcus commented. “‘Twill be a chore readying them to fight, my lord.”

Quinn nodded, grinning widely. “Aye, ‘tis good you enjoy a challenge. See me before the evening meal, I’ve a plan to discuss with you.”

Marcus’ scowl, dark as night, held little heat and much anticipation. “Aye, my lord.”

# # #

Stirling
descended the spiral staircase with care, clutching her skirts in a fierce grip. Though she held no desire to fall and break her neck, her leisurely pace was due more to nervousness than safety. Facing her people, the friends who’d helped raise her these years past, especially after what transpired between her and Quinn last night, set her teeth aching and her eyes itching. She knew they would look at her and see the loving marks he’d left behind, the blood of her innocence, spread not on her bed, but in her cheeks. She stopped.

Quinn’s massive hound nudged her rump lightly and she tossed a glare over her shoulder. “‘Tis well and good for you to face them. You’re naught but an animal.” She sat down, scooting to the widest part of the step and sighed. Above her, the dog eased her huge head over her shoulder and snuffled, her sparkling blue eyes watchful.

Stirling
scratched the wide expanse between the dog’s ears, surprised at the softness of her fur. Perhaps she used lavender oil to soften it in her bath. The odd thought made
Stirling
laugh. “Aye, ‘tis true, I’m behaving like a ninny,” she murmured to the dog who wiggled closer, licking the underside of her arm with a long pink tongue. She chuckled again. “You’re right, there is naught to be done about the whole mess, is there?” With one last rub, she pushed the hound away and stood, taking hold of her skirts once more, though with less force this time. “Wedding and bedding happen all the time. ‘Tis the way of life. Come, dog.” They descended together.

Stirling
walked into the midst of chaos. Everywhere she looked maids bustled by with bundles of fresh straw for the rushes, scullery maids feverishly darted in and out of the kitchens toting kettles and brooms and the house lads followed after them all. She thought each one looked at her, eyes downcast and knowing smiles on their faces, but shook the sensation away. A natural act, she reminded herself, looking through the crowd once more. She found Dustin in the middle of the great hall, a pained expression on his wrinkled face.

“Dustin.” She waved to gain his attention, but he turned away, shouting at a serving wench when she dropped a ewer of red wine.

The white hound sitting at her feet growled and bared her teeth. “Calmly, Dog. There is none here who would do you harm.”
Stirling
wove through the group of village men moving long tables into the dining hall, ducking when one hefted a chair, nearly knocking her in the head.

“You’re pardon, mistress. I had no idea...,” he apologized profusely.

“No harm, sir.” She smiled, but stood still as he moved away. Her white-furred protector rumbled her disapproval as the man passed.
Stirling
noticed he hastened his footsteps.

“Dustin.”
Stirling
tugged on his sleeve when she finally reached him. “What is all this? The wedding feast was last night.” She did not wish to insult the elderly chamberlain, but ‘twas a well known fact the old man’s memory worked as well as a serving spoon in a swordfight.

He scowled at her. “Aye, girl, I know that. Do you think me daft? ‘Tis that husband of yours. Wed but a day and already turning the keep upside down.”

“Lord Quinn? What has he done?”

“We’re to feed all of Falcon Fire again come nightfall. The entire village, the townsfolk, the knights, the servants. More than thrice the amount of food as is usual. I’ve orders to break out what little ale remains and fill the tables with bread, cheese and meats. What are we to eat this winter, I’d like to know. The venison will not be properly seasoned and the quail tough as the smithy’s apron.” The old man’s grumblings faded as he headed to the kitchens, leaving a befuddled
Stirling
behind. What was Quinn about? Dustin was correct, the castle stores could ill-afford to be depleted so close to the snow season.

A scream rent the air and
Stirling
whirled, reaching for the knife at her waist. Scanning the entryway, she discovered her maid Millane huddled against the front door, the invader’s white dog crouched before her. She stood on the hem of the maid’s skirt, using her considerable weight to prevent her flight.
Stirling
gasped and rushed forward.

“Cease, dog.” Her breathless command had no effect on the animal. “Dog!” She clapped her hands together sharply and the animal turned her head, sizing her up with those eerie cobalt eyes. She stiffened her back and returned the glare. “Release her.” The dog shifted her gaze to the maid before returning once more to
Stirling
. She growled again, though,
Stirling
thought, not as fiercely, and with slow, precise motions, lifted her paws, releasing the pale girl. The dog padded to
Stirling
’s side and sat.

“That animal is dangerous, my lady, and should be destroyed,” the maid spat, pointing an accusatory finger at the dog.

Stirling
touched the hound’s furry head protectively, impatience setting in at her maid’s cruel words. “She is Lord Quinn’s animal, Millane, and I doubt he would take kindly to her death.”

“Indeed madame, I would be sorely displeased.” Quinn’s deep voice rang through the hall, stilling everyone except the dog who barked and leapt forward. She galloped toward her master, skidding to a halt at his feet, ears pricked forward, tail furiously sweeping the flagstone floor. Quinn patted his chest and the hound reared to her back feet, planting her massive front paws against her master’s chest. Quinn rubbed the dog’s ears and stroked the soft fur of her back, then stalked toward
Stirling
, anger glittering in his gray eyes. The heavy scrape of his booted feet on the stone floor gave testament to his irritation. “What in God’s name is going on? And where did you get my hound?”

“You have leave to go, Millane. Remove yourself to chambers and rest for the remainder of the day,”
Stirling
spoke firmly to the maid.

“Thank you, my lady.” The girl curtsied, shooting both dog and man a hostility-tinged look of malice that
Stirling
hoped only she witnessed. What on earth was wrong with her maid? The man had been here but one day. Not enough time to warrant such a reaction.

The thought startled her. Not twenty-four hours ago, she herself had been bemoaning his presence and now she defended him?

She turned back to her new husband, tingling at his nearness, the memories of their night returning in a powerful rush. And her body. She cleared her throat, attempting a smile. “Naught to fret over, my Lord Quinn. Millane must have startled your animal, ‘tis all.”

“Snow is not easily startled, lady-wife. She is a hunter, a dog of war and battle.” Quinn spoke quietly, though the storm of anger still raged on his face. “She would not attack or hold someone simply because of a sharp noise, or sudden movement.”

“I do not doubt her abilities or training, my lord. I agree, the episode was most odd, but ‘tis over with now.” She raised a brow, imitating his arrogant glare, and smiled, hoping to tease him from his mood.

“Do you mock me, madame?” He moved closer until her breasts touched the hard planes of his chest. Her breath hitched at the warmth creeping over her.

“Nay, lord. I only seek to --” She searched for the right words.

“To manipulate me?”

“Nay,” she responded in exasperation. “Must you make everything a battle, my lord?”

His smile, short and a bit dour, seemed haunted. He shrugged. “‘Tis all I’ve ever known, Lady Stirling.”

She had no response to that, but her vivid imagination cast through her mind visions of a younger, more joyful Quinn setting off to battle. She wanted to ask of his life before Falcon Fire, his upbringing, his family, but did not. Most likely, she knew, she would never gather the nerve.

“Dustin tells me we’re to feast again, this eventide?” she queried instead.

“Aye.” His gaze swept over the servants as they moved about and the guards stationed along the walls.

She waited, but he did not seem inclined to offer more.

“May I inquire the occasion?”

He shrugged, but she thought she glimpsed amusement in his face. “Aye.”

Again, she waited, ire overtaking her impatience as the silence grew. She vowed not to speak again, until he did so.

“Are you going to ask, my lady?” Laughter now coated his words and she glared at him.

“I can see why you’ve known naught but fighting, my lord. Indeed, I would not be surprised to discover you were the cause of most brawls.”

He chuckled and wrapped his warm arm over her shoulders, turning her toward the stairs. “We’re to celebrate the joining of our two halls,
Stirling
. My men and yours, coming together as one unit.”

He rubbed the exposed skin of her shoulder, leaving trails of warmth in his wake. “And, privately, of our own joining. You are well?”

“Of course, sirrah,” She smoothed a hand over her skirt, a dart of heated memory zinging through her. Indeed, the pain was already forgotten, replaced by the memory of exquisite pleasure. “All is quite well with me. What of you?”

Quinn grinned wolfishly and leaned closer. “Hard and in need of your warmth. Come, my lady.” He started up the stairs, tugging at her hand, urging her to follow.

“My lord, I’ve work to do. Menus to plan, villagers to see, wounds to tend. I’ve no time to…” she choked on her embarrassment. “…to view our chambers,” she finished.