“Well enough. Robert of Dinsdale will send twelve men, two of whom are knights. Conrad Shortneck has promised twenty in all. Five knights, five horsemen, and ten men-at-arms. Another eight from Cruikshank, and Lucien de Griswold has graciously offered to come himself, along with ten of his best. He hates Alonso almost as much as you do.”
“Fifty-one, plus the twenty of us. We will need more.” Raymond drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
“There are no more who can be trusted,” Giles said.
Hamfast rose and shook himself violently, showering the floor with bits of glass. As the dog lumbered by, Giles reached out to scratch the animal’s craggy head. The parting of black lips and a low growl made the warrior withdraw his hand.
“What is the matter with him?”
“He has been out of sorts lately.” Raymond did not add what he thought—since leaving Ceridwen behind. Just like himself. “If there are no more, then we must hire mercenaries. What of those Teutons out Rotham way?”
Hamfast settled on top of his master’s booted feet.
“That is a risky proposition. And expensive.”
“I have a bit set by. God knows I have not spent a penny on this place since the fortifications.” And Ceridwen’s burial.
“What about arms?” Giles asked. “Do we have the spare lance shafts, axe heads and all?”
“Aye. Bruce and the armorer have seen to it. But for the most part everyone must bring whatever they can.”
Wace knocked, poking his head around the edge of the door. At Raymond’s nod he slipped into the chamber.
Giles raised a hand in salute. “Hey-hey, Wace! Are you ready for some warring and wenching?” Giles was ever jovial when a fight was imminent. The squire flushed and turned uncertain eyes to his master. Raymond merely raised his brows, as if he too wanted to know.
“I am ready for anything, sir.” Wace straightened his shoulders and his expression grew fierce.
Giles laughed aloud and slapped the table with his palm.
Raymond tilted his head, coughed to mask the twitch of his lips, and recovered his stern demeanor. “Wace, take Sir Giles’s gear and clean it. Make sure his mount is properly bedded down, and give the beast a hot bran mash. The icy weather tells on that one’s gut.”
“Aye, milord.” Wace gathered up the gear and departed.
“Ah, would that I had the same careful attention you assure my horse,” Giles sighed.
“What are you whining about?” Fitfully, Raymond ran both hands through his hair.
“You do need more women in this place, Raymond. A wife, to bathe your guests. And all the maids and ladies of quality that come along with a wife, to entertain and serve your friends.”
“Serve, or be serviced, Giles?” Raymond unsheathed his dagger and began to carve the tabletop with a vengeance.
“Why not both?” Giles laced his fingers behind his head.
“Why not indeed? No woman in her right mind would have me apurpose, and ’tis for the best. You know what they say of me.”
“Oh, I do, I do. The fair hero, Lord Raymond, whose valiant feats of yore are sung from north to south. The dark, wicked Lord Raymond, whose evil heart lurks behind his crumbling walls, waiting to devour passing maidens. Take your pick. The trouble is, no one knows ’tis the same Raymond.”
“I hardly know myself.”
“Then find this maiden who has bewitched you. Bring her back and get on with it.”
“I must see to Alonso.” Raymond brushed the wood chips to the floor. He didn’t care to tell Giles of his decision not to subject an innocent girl to a short, unhappy life, tied to him.
“Well and good. But do you think it so very wise? What will you do once you’ve sacked his possessions? Kill him? You will have to, you know.”
“I know. I have his demise planned, to the last drop.” Raymond slammed his dagger’s point deep into the oak, and the hilt quivered upright.
“You will regret it in the end. No good will come of it.” Giles leaned back, ever at ease in his big, muscular body. “There is no guarantee he will not overwhelm you. You do not want to fall into his hands alive, once he knows what you are about.”
“That will not happen. I do what I must, Giles.”
“You drive yourself hard. I would but see you content.”
“Thank you.” Raymond looked into his friend’s concerned eyes. “My happiness is in my own hands. And God’s.”
A rustle and slight clatter came from behind the door.
“Come here.” Giles waved the serving-girl into the room.
Shona, the daughter of a knight who had died in Raymond’s service, had no business doing menial labor. But she insisted upon earning her own keep, no matter what arguments he had presented. Neither gifts nor threats had changed her mind, so Raymond had resigned himself to accept her self-chosen role. She was bright and lovely and of course Giles pursued her constantly.
“My lord, Wace sent me up with these things.” Shona smiled at Raymond and glanced at Giles, as she set the trencher of bread, mutton stew, and cheese on the table.
Giles wasted no time on the food. He took the girl’s hand and pulled her to his side, his arm snug about her hips. “Ah, sweet Shona, when shall we be wed, as I have begged for so long?” He gazed up at her, a grin threatening.
“When thou art true to me, sir, and love none other.” She wound a lock of his sable hair about her fingers. Giles bent his head and rested his cheek in the curve of her trim waist.
Raymond averted his eyes from the sight of such comfortable familiarity. It only served to accentuate the terrible hole he felt growing in his own gangrenous core. Despite his bold statement to Giles, he was beginning to question his motives for waging war on his brother. How much was revenge, and how much simply a desire for annihilation? Was it Alonso he wished to destroy, or himself? Either way, it was a road straight to hell. But then, he was already there, burning.
He could not get the mysterious, black-tressed girl out of his thoughts. Ceridwen. He wanted her. Yearned for her. Dreamed of her midnight hair, trailing through his fingers. Her soft lips straining to meet his. He wanted to get his hands on her supple body, and bring a glow of passion to her white skin.
But even if she lived, she preferred the perils of the great forest to being with him. It was his own damned fault. Raymond retrieved his knife and pushed away from the table. Leaving the food untouched he left the solar, Hamfast bounding after him.
Giles sighed deeply and stood. Shona, with tousled blond hair peeking from beneath her linen head-cloth, came only to his shoulder. She tilted her head back to look at him.
“You are ever too great for me, my lord Giles.” She cast her gaze downward.
“Not so great. And who is to notice, lying down?” He tipped her chin back up with his forefinger.
She batted at him with small, chapped hands.
Giles caught both of Shona’s hands in one of his. Putting his free arm about her waist, he lifted her to eye level. “I am yours. Command me as you will.” He moved his mouth nearer and nearer to hers, closing his eyes halfway.
Shona squirmed in Giles’s grip. “Put me down. Nay, wait.” Her lips met his in a girlish, chaste kiss. “Now put me down.”
“That is a start, anyway.” He set her carefully on her feet. “I must go after Raymond before he does himself hurt.”
Shona