Read Online Georgette Heyer by Simon the Coldheart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon the Coldheart
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hot of temper!’ He looked up at Simon with a comical expression of despair.
‘Let be,’ Simon answered. ‘I will take the other room and my squire shall sleep with me. See to it that supper be prepared for us.’
The little man bowed till his forehead seemed in danger of touching his knees.
‘My lord is generous! The chamber is not so ill, sir, and I will see to it that you are made comfortable. As to supper, I have a haunch of venison roasting, as you see. In one little half-hour, sir, I will have all ready, if your lordship will deign to wait.’
Simon nodded.
‘Ay, it will do. Fetch me a tankard of ale, mine host, and let one be brought for my squire.’
‘Ah, my lord, at once, at once!’ the landlord cried, and scuttled away to his cellar. He reappeared in an amazingly short time with two brimming tankards. One he set upon the table, the other he presented to Simon, watching him drain it, with an anxious eye.
‘Is it to my lord’s taste? Will my lord have me fetch him more?’
‘Nay, not now.’ Simon set down the pewter vessel. ‘I will drink it at supper, good host. See to it that my squire gets his tankard when he comes from the stables.’ He strolled out of the hot kitchen by the door at the back, and went to stretch his legs in the wood that lay beyond the small garden.
He went slowly, his hands behind his back and his brows drawn close together. Some project he seemed to be turning round in his brain, for his keen eyes had a far-away look in them, somewhat ruminating. He walked on through the wood, treading heavily and noiselessly crushing the tiny spring flowers ’neath his feet. Somewhere near at hand was a brook which burbled and sang, and towards that sound Simon bent his steps, intending to lave his face in the fresh water. Then, of a sudden, the air was rent by a shriek, followed by yet another, and a cry for help.
Simon paused, listening. The voice belonged to a woman and to one in distress. Simon was no knight-errant, but he went forward quickly, cat-like, so that not a twig squeaked.
He went softly round a corner of the beaten track, and found himself in sight of the brook he had heard. An overturned bucket lay across his path, and not six paces before him a serving wench was struggling wildly to be free of a great muscular fellow who had her in his arms and leered down into her frightened face.
Simon came upon him like a tornado. No sound had betrayed his approach, so that when he sprang it was like an unsuspected cannon-shot. He caught the man by the neck, and putting forward all his great strength, wrenched him staggering back. The girl gave a little glad cry and fell upon her knees with intent to kiss Simon’s hand.
‘Oh, sir! Oh, my lord! Oh, sir!’ she sobbed incoherently. ‘I came to draw water, and – and –’
Simon paid no heed to her wailing. Setting his feet squarely he awaited the other man’s rush. The fellow had fallen, but he picked himself up, purple with rage, and with a roar came upon Simon, head down, and fists doubled. Simon stepped lightly aside and delivered a crushing blow as the man passed him. The tousled head was shaken, like that of some wounded bull, and the man wheeled about and rushed on Simon yet again. This time Simon stood firm and closed with him.
To and fro they swayed on the moss carpet, arms locked tight about each other, straining and panting, and trampling the moss underfoot. Beads of sweat stood out on either forehead, teeth were clenched, and lips parted. His opponent was older and bulkier than Simon, but his muscles were not in such splendid fettle. Time after time he made a supreme effort to throw Simon, and time after time he failed. Simon’s arms seemed to grow tighter and tighter about him till the breath was almost crushed out of his body. He realised that he could not throw this fair young giant and he twisted suddenly and cunningly so that he broke away. But in so doing his jerkin was rent open across his chest, and a
‘Let be,’ Simon answered. ‘I will take the other room and my squire shall sleep with me. See to it that supper be prepared for us.’
The little man bowed till his forehead seemed in danger of touching his knees.
‘My lord is generous! The chamber is not so ill, sir, and I will see to it that you are made comfortable. As to supper, I have a haunch of venison roasting, as you see. In one little half-hour, sir, I will have all ready, if your lordship will deign to wait.’
Simon nodded.
‘Ay, it will do. Fetch me a tankard of ale, mine host, and let one be brought for my squire.’
‘Ah, my lord, at once, at once!’ the landlord cried, and scuttled away to his cellar. He reappeared in an amazingly short time with two brimming tankards. One he set upon the table, the other he presented to Simon, watching him drain it, with an anxious eye.
‘Is it to my lord’s taste? Will my lord have me fetch him more?’
‘Nay, not now.’ Simon set down the pewter vessel. ‘I will drink it at supper, good host. See to it that my squire gets his tankard when he comes from the stables.’ He strolled out of the hot kitchen by the door at the back, and went to stretch his legs in the wood that lay beyond the small garden.
He went slowly, his hands behind his back and his brows drawn close together. Some project he seemed to be turning round in his brain, for his keen eyes had a far-away look in them, somewhat ruminating. He walked on through the wood, treading heavily and noiselessly crushing the tiny spring flowers ’neath his feet. Somewhere near at hand was a brook which burbled and sang, and towards that sound Simon bent his steps, intending to lave his face in the fresh water. Then, of a sudden, the air was rent by a shriek, followed by yet another, and a cry for help.
Simon paused, listening. The voice belonged to a woman and to one in distress. Simon was no knight-errant, but he went forward quickly, cat-like, so that not a twig squeaked.
He went softly round a corner of the beaten track, and found himself in sight of the brook he had heard. An overturned bucket lay across his path, and not six paces before him a serving wench was struggling wildly to be free of a great muscular fellow who had her in his arms and leered down into her frightened face.
Simon came upon him like a tornado. No sound had betrayed his approach, so that when he sprang it was like an unsuspected cannon-shot. He caught the man by the neck, and putting forward all his great strength, wrenched him staggering back. The girl gave a little glad cry and fell upon her knees with intent to kiss Simon’s hand.
‘Oh, sir! Oh, my lord! Oh, sir!’ she sobbed incoherently. ‘I came to draw water, and – and –’
Simon paid no heed to her wailing. Setting his feet squarely he awaited the other man’s rush. The fellow had fallen, but he picked himself up, purple with rage, and with a roar came upon Simon, head down, and fists doubled. Simon stepped lightly aside and delivered a crushing blow as the man passed him. The tousled head was shaken, like that of some wounded bull, and the man wheeled about and rushed on Simon yet again. This time Simon stood firm and closed with him.
To and fro they swayed on the moss carpet, arms locked tight about each other, straining and panting, and trampling the moss underfoot. Beads of sweat stood out on either forehead, teeth were clenched, and lips parted. His opponent was older and bulkier than Simon, but his muscles were not in such splendid fettle. Time after time he made a supreme effort to throw Simon, and time after time he failed. Simon’s arms seemed to grow tighter and tighter about him till the breath was almost crushed out of his body. He realised that he could not throw this fair young giant and he twisted suddenly and cunningly so that he broke away. But in so doing his jerkin was rent open across his chest, and a
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