Read Online Tender is the Knight by Kathryn Le Veque - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
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was, to be truthful, feeling slighted. He seemed to talk to her a great deal when there weren’t the judgmental eyes of his men watching him.
“ I have only lived at Launceston for eight years,” she replied. “Before that, I lived with my mother. When she died, I went to live with my father.”
“Why did your parents not live together?” Riston asked.
“My mother took care of her sick mother,” she answered. “When my grandmother died, my mother followed shortly.”
“Tragic,” Riston said. “Where their deaths related? Contagious, somehow?”
Ryan ’s golden brown eyes were soft, remembering that painful moment in time. “All of us suffer from the same affliction to our lungs,” she said quietly. “Though mine seems relatively tame compared to my mother and grandmother’s.”
Across the table, Charlotte took a deep drink of her wine. “How convenient for us,” she rumbled. “Perhaps you shall die like your mother and grandmother and save us the trouble of having to kill you.”
No one said a word; in truth, it wasn’t Riston’s place to say anything at all, and Dennis’s gray eyes hardened but he, too, kept silent. But it wasn’t cowardice that kept him quiet; it would do no good to argue with Charlotte at this moment. Any word from him and he could quite possibly find himself in a sword fight. His sister had a habit of speaking with her sword, especially when she was drunk. But he had no doubt that he would speak with her later when she was sober.
Seated beside Riston, Clive alternately chewed his lip and downed his tepid drink. He too had been listening to the conversation, but like most of them, had learned to ignore Charlotte when she was drunk.
“What affliction is this you speak of?” he asked. “When they coughed, did it seem to bring up their very lungs?”
Ryan was still trying to forget Charlotte’s words. “Aye,” she said. “It was… messy.”
Clive nodded and took another drink. “But you do not cough blood?”
“No.”
“Then you do not have the same affliction as your mother and her mother.” The chalice in Clive’s hand was empty and he pounded the table for more. “What they had was a disease. I have seen it many times.”
Ryan wasn’t sure if she should listen to an inebriated knight. Richard’s physic had called her affliction a disease, so she assumed it was the same as her mother’s and grandmother’s, only to grow worse with age.
“’Twas difficult to watch them both suffer so,” she finally said. “In the end, I was taking care of them both.”
Charlotte was gazing at her from across the table. A soldier tried to talk to her but she cuffed him on the head and sent him away. “How terribly noble of you,” she muttered. Then, she fixed on her brother, sitting silent in the midst of the conversation. “Well, brother, you promised us blood and submission this night. When are we to be privileged to this event?”
Dennis looked steadily at his sister. “In time, Charlotte.”
The faintly smug expression on her mannish features dissolved into one of anger. “That is what we have all been waiting for. You cannot deny the men their ultimate victory, Dennis. You promised.”
Dennis simply stared at his sister. He felt as if he had been hit in the chest with her words. On the eve of their father’s death those weeks ago, he had said many things to appease his grieving troops and his own wounded heart. Now his words were coming back to haunt him.
When he had proposed this marriage in the days following that terrible event, it had been with two things in mind; one was peace. He was so terribly sick of war. But Charlotte and his men hadn’t wanted peace. Therefore, to placate them, he had promised them something else. Now they were expecting him to follow through that promise.
Ryan could not help but sense something ominous. Swept with a creeping sense of foreboding, she turned to her husband. “What is she speaking of, my lord?”
Dennis
“ I have only lived at Launceston for eight years,” she replied. “Before that, I lived with my mother. When she died, I went to live with my father.”
“Why did your parents not live together?” Riston asked.
“My mother took care of her sick mother,” she answered. “When my grandmother died, my mother followed shortly.”
“Tragic,” Riston said. “Where their deaths related? Contagious, somehow?”
Ryan ’s golden brown eyes were soft, remembering that painful moment in time. “All of us suffer from the same affliction to our lungs,” she said quietly. “Though mine seems relatively tame compared to my mother and grandmother’s.”
Across the table, Charlotte took a deep drink of her wine. “How convenient for us,” she rumbled. “Perhaps you shall die like your mother and grandmother and save us the trouble of having to kill you.”
No one said a word; in truth, it wasn’t Riston’s place to say anything at all, and Dennis’s gray eyes hardened but he, too, kept silent. But it wasn’t cowardice that kept him quiet; it would do no good to argue with Charlotte at this moment. Any word from him and he could quite possibly find himself in a sword fight. His sister had a habit of speaking with her sword, especially when she was drunk. But he had no doubt that he would speak with her later when she was sober.
Seated beside Riston, Clive alternately chewed his lip and downed his tepid drink. He too had been listening to the conversation, but like most of them, had learned to ignore Charlotte when she was drunk.
“What affliction is this you speak of?” he asked. “When they coughed, did it seem to bring up their very lungs?”
Ryan was still trying to forget Charlotte’s words. “Aye,” she said. “It was… messy.”
Clive nodded and took another drink. “But you do not cough blood?”
“No.”
“Then you do not have the same affliction as your mother and her mother.” The chalice in Clive’s hand was empty and he pounded the table for more. “What they had was a disease. I have seen it many times.”
Ryan wasn’t sure if she should listen to an inebriated knight. Richard’s physic had called her affliction a disease, so she assumed it was the same as her mother’s and grandmother’s, only to grow worse with age.
“’Twas difficult to watch them both suffer so,” she finally said. “In the end, I was taking care of them both.”
Charlotte was gazing at her from across the table. A soldier tried to talk to her but she cuffed him on the head and sent him away. “How terribly noble of you,” she muttered. Then, she fixed on her brother, sitting silent in the midst of the conversation. “Well, brother, you promised us blood and submission this night. When are we to be privileged to this event?”
Dennis looked steadily at his sister. “In time, Charlotte.”
The faintly smug expression on her mannish features dissolved into one of anger. “That is what we have all been waiting for. You cannot deny the men their ultimate victory, Dennis. You promised.”
Dennis simply stared at his sister. He felt as if he had been hit in the chest with her words. On the eve of their father’s death those weeks ago, he had said many things to appease his grieving troops and his own wounded heart. Now his words were coming back to haunt him.
When he had proposed this marriage in the days following that terrible event, it had been with two things in mind; one was peace. He was so terribly sick of war. But Charlotte and his men hadn’t wanted peace. Therefore, to placate them, he had promised them something else. Now they were expecting him to follow through that promise.
Ryan could not help but sense something ominous. Swept with a creeping sense of foreboding, she turned to her husband. “What is she speaking of, my lord?”
Dennis
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