Read Online Shadows and Strongholds by Elizabeth Chadwick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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seen the bruises; there is no point in hiding them from me.'
Slowly, a little unwillingly, Brunin removed the garment and the good humour vanished from Lord Joscelin's eyes as he studied the marks. 'They are fresh,' he said. 'How did you come by them?'
Brunin shrugged. 'I had an argument with my brother,' he said reluctantly. His natural reticence had been exacerbated by both his grandmother, who never listened to his side of a story, and a subtler conditioning that suggested only weaklings told tales.
'Your brother did this?' Joscelin lifted his brows. 'Which one?'
'Ralf, my lord. But it doesn't matter.'
'It doesn't?' The eyebrows remained aloft.
Brunin shook his head. 'Not now, because I kicked him in the stones.'
Joscelin rubbed his hand over his mouth. 'Ah, now I understand why he was hunched over in the courtyard like an old man.'
Brunin compressed his lips. Behind Joscelin, Hugh and Adam were openly grinning and their expressions were so infectious that Brunin almost choked.
'Well,' said Joscelin, 'it seems to me like tit for tat. Doubtless if someone was trying to throttle me, brother or not, I'd kick him in the stones, too. Once you start your training, we'll deal with all the things you can do to protect yourself against an opponent bent on killing you… although it seems to me that you have made an excellent start.'
The door opened and FitzWarin strode into the room in his usual vigorous manner that made him look as if he was being blown from behind. Then he stopped, hands to his belt, and looked at the rare smile lighting his son's face, and the humour glinting in Joscelin's eyes.
'Is everything well?' he asked.
'Very well indeed.' Joscelin gave Brunin a conspiratorial look. 'I think my new squire is going to be a great asset to my household.'
'Of course,' said Mellette, 'the boy is not without some training. He might not be able to carve meat and cut trenchers, but he can pour wine well enough and set the high table.'
Joscelin nodded. 'From what I have seen, he is quick to learn,' he murmured. 'He does not chatter like a magpie, but perhaps that is all to the good. His silence does not mean that he is dull-witted. Far from it.' He was seated at the dais table in the great hall with Mellette one side of him and Eve FitzWarin the other. An appetising aroma wafted from the dishes set at intervals along the board. There was boiled wheat delicately flavoured with almond milk, soft white bread, and a spicy fruit and venison stew. FitzWarin's chaplain had blessed the food and folk were setting to with a will.
Mellette gave him a narrow look. 'None of my grandsons is dull-witted,' she said.
'Indeed not, my lady. Only sometimes a quiet child is seen as being thus, when in fact he is absorbing knowledge like a cloth soaking up water.'
'When he was smaller and just learning to talk, he would ask questions faster than I could answer them,' Eve volunteered in her soft voice. ' "What" and "why" were constantly on his tongue.' She glanced almost wistfully at Brunin where he sat at a side table on the dais between Joscelin's two squires.
Joscelin chuckled. 'My youngest daughter is still like that.'
Mellette's lips pursed. 'Would you serve me with some of the venison, my lord,' she said, changing the subject, reminding Joscelin of his manners.
Joscelin applied himself to sweetening the older woman. Probably her face would crack before she allowed a genuine smile to cross it, and he did not attempt that far. But he pandered to her desire to be treated like a lady of the royal court rather than a dowager living in a timber keep on the edges of Norman rule. Under his deference and subtle flattery, she thawed a little. The lines between her brows relaxed. She preened and made elaborate hand gestures as she spoke, emphasising the wealth of gold on her fingers. Joscelin silently hoped that the meal was not going to be one of those interminable affairs that lasted all night. He could do without that particular
Slowly, a little unwillingly, Brunin removed the garment and the good humour vanished from Lord Joscelin's eyes as he studied the marks. 'They are fresh,' he said. 'How did you come by them?'
Brunin shrugged. 'I had an argument with my brother,' he said reluctantly. His natural reticence had been exacerbated by both his grandmother, who never listened to his side of a story, and a subtler conditioning that suggested only weaklings told tales.
'Your brother did this?' Joscelin lifted his brows. 'Which one?'
'Ralf, my lord. But it doesn't matter.'
'It doesn't?' The eyebrows remained aloft.
Brunin shook his head. 'Not now, because I kicked him in the stones.'
Joscelin rubbed his hand over his mouth. 'Ah, now I understand why he was hunched over in the courtyard like an old man.'
Brunin compressed his lips. Behind Joscelin, Hugh and Adam were openly grinning and their expressions were so infectious that Brunin almost choked.
'Well,' said Joscelin, 'it seems to me like tit for tat. Doubtless if someone was trying to throttle me, brother or not, I'd kick him in the stones, too. Once you start your training, we'll deal with all the things you can do to protect yourself against an opponent bent on killing you… although it seems to me that you have made an excellent start.'
The door opened and FitzWarin strode into the room in his usual vigorous manner that made him look as if he was being blown from behind. Then he stopped, hands to his belt, and looked at the rare smile lighting his son's face, and the humour glinting in Joscelin's eyes.
'Is everything well?' he asked.
'Very well indeed.' Joscelin gave Brunin a conspiratorial look. 'I think my new squire is going to be a great asset to my household.'
'Of course,' said Mellette, 'the boy is not without some training. He might not be able to carve meat and cut trenchers, but he can pour wine well enough and set the high table.'
Joscelin nodded. 'From what I have seen, he is quick to learn,' he murmured. 'He does not chatter like a magpie, but perhaps that is all to the good. His silence does not mean that he is dull-witted. Far from it.' He was seated at the dais table in the great hall with Mellette one side of him and Eve FitzWarin the other. An appetising aroma wafted from the dishes set at intervals along the board. There was boiled wheat delicately flavoured with almond milk, soft white bread, and a spicy fruit and venison stew. FitzWarin's chaplain had blessed the food and folk were setting to with a will.
Mellette gave him a narrow look. 'None of my grandsons is dull-witted,' she said.
'Indeed not, my lady. Only sometimes a quiet child is seen as being thus, when in fact he is absorbing knowledge like a cloth soaking up water.'
'When he was smaller and just learning to talk, he would ask questions faster than I could answer them,' Eve volunteered in her soft voice. ' "What" and "why" were constantly on his tongue.' She glanced almost wistfully at Brunin where he sat at a side table on the dais between Joscelin's two squires.
Joscelin chuckled. 'My youngest daughter is still like that.'
Mellette's lips pursed. 'Would you serve me with some of the venison, my lord,' she said, changing the subject, reminding Joscelin of his manners.
Joscelin applied himself to sweetening the older woman. Probably her face would crack before she allowed a genuine smile to cross it, and he did not attempt that far. But he pandered to her desire to be treated like a lady of the royal court rather than a dowager living in a timber keep on the edges of Norman rule. Under his deference and subtle flattery, she thawed a little. The lines between her brows relaxed. She preened and made elaborate hand gestures as she spoke, emphasising the wealth of gold on her fingers. Joscelin silently hoped that the meal was not going to be one of those interminable affairs that lasted all night. He could do without that particular
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