Read Online Sir Bentley and Holbrook Court by Chuck Black - Free Book Online Page B

Braith?” Bentley asked. “What kind of man is he?”
    Creighton leaned back in his chair. A look of despair came over him.
    Walsch finished a drink from his cup. “We'd hoped that Lord Kingsley's son might one day rule more justly than his father.” He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic. “But alas, Sir Avarick has been the boy's guide these past seven years, and I fear he will be worse than his father.”
    The five of them were silent for a time, and then Walsch stood up. “On that fine note, I'd best be off.”
    Anwen gave him a hug. “Thank you for the corn cakes, Walsch. You and Bentley have been too kind to us.”
    Walsch blushed. “'Tis nothin’. They was just going t’ spoil anyways.” With a smile, he left the cottage.
    Later that day, Bentley and Creighton were out in the field harvesting a ripe crop of barley. Bentley had quickly mastered the use of the sickle, though it caused him to miss the feel of his sword in his hand.
    “Oh joy,” Creighton muttered as he looked toward the road from Holbrook.
    Bentley followed his glance and saw three mounted men coming their way.
    “Who is it?” Bentley asked.
    “Sir Avarick,” Creighton said nervously. “Just smile and agree to whatever he says.”
    As the riders approached the farm, Creighton and Bentley ceased their labor. Creighton lowered his gaze, but Bentley stared up at the menacing form of Sir Avarick. He was partially clad in black armor and was indeed a mighty warrior to behold. His jaw line was broad, square, and smooth except for a small scar near his right ear. His hair was jet black, his dark eyes piercing as he glared down at Bentley. “Lower your eyes, knave,” his deep voice boomed.
    Bentley hesitated, offended by the arrogance of the man. He dropped his gaze momentarily, then glanced back up to see Avarick looking sternly at one of his cohorts.
    “Why didn't you tell me this farm had two laborers?”
    “I did not know, my lord.” The knight bowed his head in submission.
    “Is this true?” Avarick demanded of Creighton.
    Creighton glanced up, then lowered his eyes again. “My leg was broken in an accident, my lord. This kind man agreed to help me untilI fully recovered. I couldn't get to town to see the landlord to tell him, but we were going today.”
    Avarick glared at Creighton. “Don't lie to me, peasant. If you are working in the field, you are certainly able to see the landlord. You are not authorized to hire a laborer!”
    “He did not hire me,” Bentley said bluntly.
    Avarick turned his glare to Bentley, and they locked eyes. Bentley fought the urge to challenge the man, reminding himself that he was just a swordless peasant.
    “Lord Kingsley requires extra tax for any additional laborers on a farm,” Avarick said. “Sir Owen, mark this farm down for an extra ten percent tax.”
    “Yes, my lord,” the knight replied.
    At that Creighton looked up with look of despondence. “My lord, I can hardly pay what you already require, and my leg is barely—”
    “Silence!” Avarick drew his sword.
    Gripping his sickle tightly, Bentley stepped forward and slightly in front of Creighton.
    Creighton pulled backward on Bentley's shoulders. “I'm sorry, my lord. I will gladly pay the taxes Lord Kingsley desires. It is my honor and privilege.”
    Avarick clenched his teeth and gripped his hilt tightly as he glared at Bentley. Creighton continued to pull Bentley backward, a couple of steps away from Avarick's horse.
    For a long moment, Avarick scowled and pointed his sword at Bentley. “Watch your actions, knave!” He then sheathed his sword, wheeled his horse around, and rode off in a huff toward the next farm. His knights thundered after him.
    “That was too close,” Creighton said with a big sigh. “He has struck men dead for less.”
    Bentley was still angry and stared after Avarick. “Why do these people put up with him?”
    Creighton looked at Bentley in disbelief. “Because we have no choice. Either we do