Read Online Sword of Justice (White Knight Series) by Jude Chapman - Free Book Online
Authors: Jude Chapman
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of his sword. The chevalier reached down, grabbed the young knight’s elbow, and hauled him to his feet. “You’ll do. Though you have much to learn, pompous twit I know you to be.”
Drake bent over, hands to knees, and caught his breath. “And the second rule?”
“Never trust anyone,” said the chevalier . “Not even me.”
Drake retrieved the lion sword and sheathed it. He found a few more bruises to nurse on top of the many he already had. Settling on the chair opposite Drake, Mallory dipped a sleeve into his tankard and wiped blood from a split lip. All around them, tables and chairs were righted and set back into position. Aveline Darcy dispensed ale and lewd jokes about knights and their small assets, putting everyone in a gay mood, though when she reached Mallory and Drake, she had nothing to say. Her piercing eyes said everything for her and more eloquently than any words could voice.
Mallory swept his head in the direction of her departing back and said for Drake’s ears only, “Aveline Darcy is known to dispense favors in the upper chambers a half night a throw.”
Drake eyed her shapely legs, subtly revealed with every kick of her skirts. “I’ll have to curry those favors. Soon.”
“She’s choosy, is this daughter of an alewife, and she’s been known to leave permanent scars on her victims.”
“I’ll have to take my chances, won’t I?”
The chevalier grinned. “My, my. Seems your service with Richard has grown more than a beard on your face.” Mallory settled back, his eyes lowering to the tankard clutched in his hands. “Your brother, by the bye, delivered safe. Quiet as a lamb he was, boarding the king’s galley, and hardly a backward glance, seeing that he was hog-tied hand and foot.”
Mallory chuckled into his ale and Drake joined in, each laughing at a different joke.
“As for myself,” d’Amboise said, “I don’t believe Drake could have committed such a deed as to kill and mutilate a man. Any man, no matter the offense. Do you, Stephen?”
Drake met Mallory’s stare. “Testing my loyalty?”
“Not all brothers get on. Could be you two don’t. Though from what I’ve seen over the years, I’d say you were protective of your big brother, mayhap overprotective.”
“If so, I’ve no complaints. Neither does Drake.”
“I suppose you’ve made some inquiries of your own, then, about the mutilations.”
“Aye, for all the good it’s done. Whoever killed Maynard of Clarendon covered his tracks well enough.”
“Mayhap the murderer is no longer hereabouts, making Drake an outlaw for the rest of his days. ’Twould be a shame.”
Drake shrugged a shoulder. “Neither of us will rest until the truth has been laid bare.”
Mallory nodded understanding, but his face was sanguine. His kind knight—the kind who lived by the sword and more times than not, died by it—didn’t believe in high tales or fair justice. “Myself, I live on the edge of steel, the rumps of loose women, and the dregs of a keg of ale. You lads, you’re different. You have the mark of grace upon you. I can see that as well as any man. Hence, I have no fear you’ll come out smelling sweet. Dead, mayhap, but rosy.” With that, the chevalier sighed and staggered to his feet. “Never forget, always watch your backside.” He rejoined his fellow knights, who roundly congratulated him and bought him another drink.
* * *
When Graham de Lacy entered the alehouse, pretty as you please, and sat among congratulating compatriots as if nothing untoward happened a few days past, Drake was once more on the receiving end of Aveline Darcy’s calculating eye. She delivered ale and wordless warning in equal measure, saying more with a single look than any daughter of an alewife. She glided away with a sigh and a sway, and didn’t look back.
“You were looking for me.” Graham compensated for his short stature with fine clothes and brash conceit. He stood above Drake and drank thirstily from his
Drake bent over, hands to knees, and caught his breath. “And the second rule?”
“Never trust anyone,” said the chevalier . “Not even me.”
Drake retrieved the lion sword and sheathed it. He found a few more bruises to nurse on top of the many he already had. Settling on the chair opposite Drake, Mallory dipped a sleeve into his tankard and wiped blood from a split lip. All around them, tables and chairs were righted and set back into position. Aveline Darcy dispensed ale and lewd jokes about knights and their small assets, putting everyone in a gay mood, though when she reached Mallory and Drake, she had nothing to say. Her piercing eyes said everything for her and more eloquently than any words could voice.
Mallory swept his head in the direction of her departing back and said for Drake’s ears only, “Aveline Darcy is known to dispense favors in the upper chambers a half night a throw.”
Drake eyed her shapely legs, subtly revealed with every kick of her skirts. “I’ll have to curry those favors. Soon.”
“She’s choosy, is this daughter of an alewife, and she’s been known to leave permanent scars on her victims.”
“I’ll have to take my chances, won’t I?”
The chevalier grinned. “My, my. Seems your service with Richard has grown more than a beard on your face.” Mallory settled back, his eyes lowering to the tankard clutched in his hands. “Your brother, by the bye, delivered safe. Quiet as a lamb he was, boarding the king’s galley, and hardly a backward glance, seeing that he was hog-tied hand and foot.”
Mallory chuckled into his ale and Drake joined in, each laughing at a different joke.
“As for myself,” d’Amboise said, “I don’t believe Drake could have committed such a deed as to kill and mutilate a man. Any man, no matter the offense. Do you, Stephen?”
Drake met Mallory’s stare. “Testing my loyalty?”
“Not all brothers get on. Could be you two don’t. Though from what I’ve seen over the years, I’d say you were protective of your big brother, mayhap overprotective.”
“If so, I’ve no complaints. Neither does Drake.”
“I suppose you’ve made some inquiries of your own, then, about the mutilations.”
“Aye, for all the good it’s done. Whoever killed Maynard of Clarendon covered his tracks well enough.”
“Mayhap the murderer is no longer hereabouts, making Drake an outlaw for the rest of his days. ’Twould be a shame.”
Drake shrugged a shoulder. “Neither of us will rest until the truth has been laid bare.”
Mallory nodded understanding, but his face was sanguine. His kind knight—the kind who lived by the sword and more times than not, died by it—didn’t believe in high tales or fair justice. “Myself, I live on the edge of steel, the rumps of loose women, and the dregs of a keg of ale. You lads, you’re different. You have the mark of grace upon you. I can see that as well as any man. Hence, I have no fear you’ll come out smelling sweet. Dead, mayhap, but rosy.” With that, the chevalier sighed and staggered to his feet. “Never forget, always watch your backside.” He rejoined his fellow knights, who roundly congratulated him and bought him another drink.
* * *
When Graham de Lacy entered the alehouse, pretty as you please, and sat among congratulating compatriots as if nothing untoward happened a few days past, Drake was once more on the receiving end of Aveline Darcy’s calculating eye. She delivered ale and wordless warning in equal measure, saying more with a single look than any daughter of an alewife. She glided away with a sigh and a sway, and didn’t look back.
“You were looking for me.” Graham compensated for his short stature with fine clothes and brash conceit. He stood above Drake and drank thirstily from his
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