Read Online Dragon's Lair by Sharon Kay Penman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sharon Kay Penman
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tautly drawn mouth relaxing into a smile.
He held the queen's letter in one hand, crumpled in his fist. Coming straight to Thomas, he said abruptly, "Is this the queen's man?"
~*~
Justin was glad it was a humid, summer day. If it had been midwinter, the coldness of Davydd's welcome might have given him a bone-chill, "I do not understand why the queen has sent you to me, Master de Quincy. What I need are enough armed men to track Llewelyn ab Iorwerth to his lair and recover the stolen ransom. I do not see what you can do. What do you know about Llewelyn? About Wales? Do you even speak Welsh?"
Justin caught his breath, held it until he was sure his voice would reveal nothing of his inner fury. That brief moment gave him enough time, though, to devise a new stratagem, one born of Davydd's contempt. Rather than try to change the Welsh prince's low opinion of him, why not use it to his own advantage?
"I seek only to serve the Queen's Grace... and you, of course, my lord prince. I am deeply honored by her trust in me, and I am confident I can justify it. I grant you that I speak little Welsh, but I do not see why that would hinder my investigation. I have men with me to act as translators, after all." He'd been striving to sound ingratiating and indignant and just a bit pompous, and to judge by the disdainful expression on Davydd's face, he had succeeded.
"So be it," Davydd said coldly. "We will, of course, cooperate fully with your investigation." He was not particularly convincing, nor Justin think he'd meant to be. Almost at once, he turned away, beckoning impatiently to Thomas de Caldecott.
"I will be relying upon you, Sir Thomas," he said, "to do what must be done. God alone knows what the queen was thinking to send this green stripling. He is a nobody, not even a knight! I was a fool to put my hopes in a woman, ought to have known better. If I am to recover the ransom from that whoreson nephew of mine, I shall have to do it myself!"
This diatribe had been given in Welsh, and Justin sought to keep his expression bland, uncomprehending. He had not expected to reap benefits so soon from his professed ignorance of Welsh. He'd learned quite a lot in that angry outburst. That Davydd's dislike was not personal. That his pride was overblown and his temper easily inflamed. That he trusted Thomas, at least to some extent. And that his desire to retrieve the ransom was raw and real and desperate.
Thomas looked apologetically toward Justin. "My lord Davydd, I think you are too quick to dismiss Master de Quincy's capabilities. If Queen Eleanor has such faith in him, surely that says something about his -"
"It tells me only that the queen is in her dotage, entrusting a matter of such importance to a callow youngling like that!"
Justin wanted to hear the rest of Davydd's remarks, for he'd rarely have such an ideal opportunity to eavesdrop. But it was then that Lord Fitz Alan grasped his arm, pulling him aside. "We need it, talk," he demanded, "now!"
Justin knew Fitz Alan well enough not to argue and followed the older man out into the bailey. Squinting in the sudden blaze it white sunlight, Fitz Alan at once took the offensive. "What sort of ruse is this, Justin? What is this nonsense about your being the queen's man? And why are you now calling yourself de Quincy? Does Aubrey know about this?"
Justin sighed, feeling rather ill-used by the fates at that moment, "It is no ruse, my lord. I am the queen's man. It was her suggestion that I call myself de Quincy. And of course the bishop knows."
Fitz Alan continued to scowl, "None of this makes any sense! It is not even a year since I dismissed you from my service, and you end up at the royal court?"
"As unlikely as it sounds, my lord, that is exactly what happened. I cannot satisfy your curiosity, for the queen demands discretion from those who serve her. I do not expect you to take my word for all this, though." Reaching for the scrip at his belt, Justin drew out a tightly rolled
He held the queen's letter in one hand, crumpled in his fist. Coming straight to Thomas, he said abruptly, "Is this the queen's man?"
~*~
Justin was glad it was a humid, summer day. If it had been midwinter, the coldness of Davydd's welcome might have given him a bone-chill, "I do not understand why the queen has sent you to me, Master de Quincy. What I need are enough armed men to track Llewelyn ab Iorwerth to his lair and recover the stolen ransom. I do not see what you can do. What do you know about Llewelyn? About Wales? Do you even speak Welsh?"
Justin caught his breath, held it until he was sure his voice would reveal nothing of his inner fury. That brief moment gave him enough time, though, to devise a new stratagem, one born of Davydd's contempt. Rather than try to change the Welsh prince's low opinion of him, why not use it to his own advantage?
"I seek only to serve the Queen's Grace... and you, of course, my lord prince. I am deeply honored by her trust in me, and I am confident I can justify it. I grant you that I speak little Welsh, but I do not see why that would hinder my investigation. I have men with me to act as translators, after all." He'd been striving to sound ingratiating and indignant and just a bit pompous, and to judge by the disdainful expression on Davydd's face, he had succeeded.
"So be it," Davydd said coldly. "We will, of course, cooperate fully with your investigation." He was not particularly convincing, nor Justin think he'd meant to be. Almost at once, he turned away, beckoning impatiently to Thomas de Caldecott.
"I will be relying upon you, Sir Thomas," he said, "to do what must be done. God alone knows what the queen was thinking to send this green stripling. He is a nobody, not even a knight! I was a fool to put my hopes in a woman, ought to have known better. If I am to recover the ransom from that whoreson nephew of mine, I shall have to do it myself!"
This diatribe had been given in Welsh, and Justin sought to keep his expression bland, uncomprehending. He had not expected to reap benefits so soon from his professed ignorance of Welsh. He'd learned quite a lot in that angry outburst. That Davydd's dislike was not personal. That his pride was overblown and his temper easily inflamed. That he trusted Thomas, at least to some extent. And that his desire to retrieve the ransom was raw and real and desperate.
Thomas looked apologetically toward Justin. "My lord Davydd, I think you are too quick to dismiss Master de Quincy's capabilities. If Queen Eleanor has such faith in him, surely that says something about his -"
"It tells me only that the queen is in her dotage, entrusting a matter of such importance to a callow youngling like that!"
Justin wanted to hear the rest of Davydd's remarks, for he'd rarely have such an ideal opportunity to eavesdrop. But it was then that Lord Fitz Alan grasped his arm, pulling him aside. "We need it, talk," he demanded, "now!"
Justin knew Fitz Alan well enough not to argue and followed the older man out into the bailey. Squinting in the sudden blaze it white sunlight, Fitz Alan at once took the offensive. "What sort of ruse is this, Justin? What is this nonsense about your being the queen's man? And why are you now calling yourself de Quincy? Does Aubrey know about this?"
Justin sighed, feeling rather ill-used by the fates at that moment, "It is no ruse, my lord. I am the queen's man. It was her suggestion that I call myself de Quincy. And of course the bishop knows."
Fitz Alan continued to scowl, "None of this makes any sense! It is not even a year since I dismissed you from my service, and you end up at the royal court?"
"As unlikely as it sounds, my lord, that is exactly what happened. I cannot satisfy your curiosity, for the queen demands discretion from those who serve her. I do not expect you to take my word for all this, though." Reaching for the scrip at his belt, Justin drew out a tightly rolled
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