Read Online Sir Bentley and Holbrook Court by Chuck Black - Free Book Online
Authors: Chuck Black
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pouch. Bentley heard coins jingle within as she took it to the shack.
Anya walked to Bentley and put out her left hand. “I'm Anya.”
Bentley knelt down and shook it. “I'm pleased to meet you, Princess Anya. I am Sir Bentley.”
Anya giggled. “I'm not a princess, and you're not a knight.”
“Well, you look like a princess to me, and since you're talking to me, I must be a knight.” Bentley gave a bow. “Tell me, little princess, do you like stories?”
Anya's eyes got big. “I love stories. Will you tell one?”
“Absolutely.” Bentley lifted Anya onto the back of the wagon. She squirmed in anticipation, finding just the right spot to settle in for a good listen.
“Once upon a time in a land far, far away,” Bentley began, “there lived a King.” He found a stick to swing about as a sword as he narrated and reenacted part of the King's story that he had heard as a child. Anya was mesmerized by the tale, and Bentley was so engrossed in his telling of it that he didn't realize Eirwyn had returned.
At the end, Anya tried to clap, and Eirwyn added to the applause. Although slightly embarrassed, Bentley bowed first to Anya and then to Eirwyn. At that, her clapping slowed, and her countenance dropped slightly.
“That was wonderful!” Anya exclaimed. “Will you tell me another?”
“Of course,” Bentley told her, “but not tonight. Next time I will tell you about a great Prince who came to save the people from the clutches of the Dark Knight!” he said with wide eyes. Anya giggled again.
“Come, little miss.” Eirwyn lifted her from the wagon. “I brought somethin’ special fer ye, and yer ma's askin’ fer ye.”
“Good-bye, Sir Bentley,” Anya said, and Eirwyn paused to look at him.
He grinned sheepishly “Good-bye, Princess Anya.”
“I like Bentley,” he heard the little girl say as Eirwyn carried her back into the shack. When she returned, Bentley offered a hand to help her into the wagon.
“I'm pleased to meet you… Eirwyn.”
She smiled, and he was once again repulsed by her rotten teeth. She allowed him to help her up. This time he sat next to her in the wagon. The odor had either diminished somewhat or he had grown accustomed to it. She guided the horse out of the village and back on the road toward Creighton's farm.
“Does Parson always sit back there?” he asked.
“Always.”
“What you've done for these people today is remarkable,” Bentley said. “Do you do it often?”
“Not often enough,” she replied, looking straight ahead.
“Lord Kingsley's taxes are too harsh for the people.”
A smirk flitted across her face, but that was all.
“Where are you from, Eirwyn?”
She sighed heavily. “My father owns land not far from here. We raise lotsa different crops… and hogs.”
“I see,” Bentley said, thinking,
That explains the smell
. “Would you mind if I helped you on your next mercy run?”
Eirwyn was quiet for a moment. “I don't think that'll work.”
Bentley nodded, and the rest of the trip back to the farm was made in silence. When they arrived, Bentley jumped from the wagon.
“I am…honored to have been a part of this. Thank you, Eirwyn.” He turned to leave.
“Bentley.”
He turned about.
“Thanks fer the hep. And don't tell no one my name.”
He nodded and smiled. She smiled back, but this time with her lips closed. As the wagon passed by, Parson looked at Bentley and nodded too. This time Parson's gaze was not empty, and the friendly gesture warmed Bentley's heart. He watched the wagon disappear down the road to the east, wondering if he would ever see this Maiden of Mercy and her large companion again.
LORD OF
OPPRESSION
Over the next couple of weeks, Bentley worked closely with Anwen in the family's field, learning as much and as fast as he could from her. Though the farm was quite small—like all the farms around it—the labor was grueling, especially on meager rations, and his body protested with sore muscles, aching
Anya walked to Bentley and put out her left hand. “I'm Anya.”
Bentley knelt down and shook it. “I'm pleased to meet you, Princess Anya. I am Sir Bentley.”
Anya giggled. “I'm not a princess, and you're not a knight.”
“Well, you look like a princess to me, and since you're talking to me, I must be a knight.” Bentley gave a bow. “Tell me, little princess, do you like stories?”
Anya's eyes got big. “I love stories. Will you tell one?”
“Absolutely.” Bentley lifted Anya onto the back of the wagon. She squirmed in anticipation, finding just the right spot to settle in for a good listen.
“Once upon a time in a land far, far away,” Bentley began, “there lived a King.” He found a stick to swing about as a sword as he narrated and reenacted part of the King's story that he had heard as a child. Anya was mesmerized by the tale, and Bentley was so engrossed in his telling of it that he didn't realize Eirwyn had returned.
At the end, Anya tried to clap, and Eirwyn added to the applause. Although slightly embarrassed, Bentley bowed first to Anya and then to Eirwyn. At that, her clapping slowed, and her countenance dropped slightly.
“That was wonderful!” Anya exclaimed. “Will you tell me another?”
“Of course,” Bentley told her, “but not tonight. Next time I will tell you about a great Prince who came to save the people from the clutches of the Dark Knight!” he said with wide eyes. Anya giggled again.
“Come, little miss.” Eirwyn lifted her from the wagon. “I brought somethin’ special fer ye, and yer ma's askin’ fer ye.”
“Good-bye, Sir Bentley,” Anya said, and Eirwyn paused to look at him.
He grinned sheepishly “Good-bye, Princess Anya.”
“I like Bentley,” he heard the little girl say as Eirwyn carried her back into the shack. When she returned, Bentley offered a hand to help her into the wagon.
“I'm pleased to meet you… Eirwyn.”
She smiled, and he was once again repulsed by her rotten teeth. She allowed him to help her up. This time he sat next to her in the wagon. The odor had either diminished somewhat or he had grown accustomed to it. She guided the horse out of the village and back on the road toward Creighton's farm.
“Does Parson always sit back there?” he asked.
“Always.”
“What you've done for these people today is remarkable,” Bentley said. “Do you do it often?”
“Not often enough,” she replied, looking straight ahead.
“Lord Kingsley's taxes are too harsh for the people.”
A smirk flitted across her face, but that was all.
“Where are you from, Eirwyn?”
She sighed heavily. “My father owns land not far from here. We raise lotsa different crops… and hogs.”
“I see,” Bentley said, thinking,
That explains the smell
. “Would you mind if I helped you on your next mercy run?”
Eirwyn was quiet for a moment. “I don't think that'll work.”
Bentley nodded, and the rest of the trip back to the farm was made in silence. When they arrived, Bentley jumped from the wagon.
“I am…honored to have been a part of this. Thank you, Eirwyn.” He turned to leave.
“Bentley.”
He turned about.
“Thanks fer the hep. And don't tell no one my name.”
He nodded and smiled. She smiled back, but this time with her lips closed. As the wagon passed by, Parson looked at Bentley and nodded too. This time Parson's gaze was not empty, and the friendly gesture warmed Bentley's heart. He watched the wagon disappear down the road to the east, wondering if he would ever see this Maiden of Mercy and her large companion again.
LORD OF
OPPRESSION
Over the next couple of weeks, Bentley worked closely with Anwen in the family's field, learning as much and as fast as he could from her. Though the farm was quite small—like all the farms around it—the labor was grueling, especially on meager rations, and his body protested with sore muscles, aching
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