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Authors: Ashley York
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reward for even trying. In his sixth year, he was shipped off to the monastery at Mont Saint-Michel in Normandy where he studied with the monks. Who would have thought a skinny little good for nothing would take to his lessons so well?
The one man did. Duke William. John liked the big man who smelled of horses and leather with the kind blue eyes.
"You speak Latin very well, son. What is your name?"
"I am called John."
"We ll, John, I am called William."
John pretend ed William was his father. He was a bastard, too, but he knew who his father was. What had the king been about? Why did he find any interest in a scrawny little boy? How did he know what John could become?
Now of all the knights under his command, King William weds the Saxon princess to John. Yet another test and he falls short again. Damn. Rowena was correct to scoff at his interest. He was nothing but a nameless bastard.
John pushed himself off the bale, brushed at his seat. The close confines of an unknown castle were not what he needed right now. He headed toward the only lit building visible from where he stood. The sign of "Owl and Thistle" swung noiselessly above the door of the two-story tavern. John did not doubt he would be welcomed as Lord of the manor. Perhaps he would find a soft place to lie after all.
Chapter Seven
When John arrived at the Owl and Thistle, the taverners could barely contain their enthusiasm at having the new Lord himself stay with them. They ran around seeing about improving his accommodations. His presence caused quite a bit of commotion.
With much on his mind, he sat in the quiet hall on the long wooden bench.
The tinkle of a bell sounded nearby. John turned toward the front entrance, unsure if he'd heard anything. He listened. It stopped. Crossing his legs at the ankles, he began to get comfortable and heard it again.
J ohn stood abruptly and went back the way he'd come in. A strangely dressed man bent at the waist, peered out the door.
"Do you look for something in particular?" John asked.
The man jumped and turned. His face was inscrutable until he smiled broadly. "Ah, my lord." He opened his arms as if in welcome to a close friend. "How wonderful that you grace my presence again."
John pressed his lips together. It was the man he'd met earlier at the feast. The strange declaration made him think twice about this being a coincidence. "And what say you, Mort of Bedgrove near Aylesbury was it?"
Mort nodded and closed the distance. He wrapped a beefy arm around John's shoulder to steer him back to the bench he'd vacated. "Ah, my lord, I have many duties that take me to strange places."
The man stopped and motioned to the bench. John remained standing.
Mort raised his brows in a questioning way, his hand at his chest. "May I?"
John dipped his head and Mort settled himself upon the seat. "This inn is the one closest to the goings-on. As I said, I am at your service which requires my being nearby."
John drew his brows together in a thoughtful way. "And what was the service again?"
Mort's eyes locked with his. "Whatever is required of me."
John did not flinch but inside he fumed. What game was William playing at, sending one of his spies? To do what? Keep an eye on him?
"And you do this why?"
Mort finally looked down at his hands, the bells on his arms sounding with the movement. "Methinks you are not as in the dark as you would have me believe."
"So tell me why the king sent you here?"
Mort smiled at him. "I knew you were a wise one. The king always checks on what is his. He does not like to be uninformed."
"So there is nothing I need to know about?"
Mort searched his face. John wanted the man to share what he knew, regardless of his orders from the king. If there was trouble about, John needed to know so he could be prepared.
"I like you, Sir John. I believe you have a good heart. How you have stayed that way with all that is going on around you is a mystery to me." His fat hand patted John's arm as he
The one man did. Duke William. John liked the big man who smelled of horses and leather with the kind blue eyes.
"You speak Latin very well, son. What is your name?"
"I am called John."
"We ll, John, I am called William."
John pretend ed William was his father. He was a bastard, too, but he knew who his father was. What had the king been about? Why did he find any interest in a scrawny little boy? How did he know what John could become?
Now of all the knights under his command, King William weds the Saxon princess to John. Yet another test and he falls short again. Damn. Rowena was correct to scoff at his interest. He was nothing but a nameless bastard.
John pushed himself off the bale, brushed at his seat. The close confines of an unknown castle were not what he needed right now. He headed toward the only lit building visible from where he stood. The sign of "Owl and Thistle" swung noiselessly above the door of the two-story tavern. John did not doubt he would be welcomed as Lord of the manor. Perhaps he would find a soft place to lie after all.
Chapter Seven
When John arrived at the Owl and Thistle, the taverners could barely contain their enthusiasm at having the new Lord himself stay with them. They ran around seeing about improving his accommodations. His presence caused quite a bit of commotion.
With much on his mind, he sat in the quiet hall on the long wooden bench.
The tinkle of a bell sounded nearby. John turned toward the front entrance, unsure if he'd heard anything. He listened. It stopped. Crossing his legs at the ankles, he began to get comfortable and heard it again.
J ohn stood abruptly and went back the way he'd come in. A strangely dressed man bent at the waist, peered out the door.
"Do you look for something in particular?" John asked.
The man jumped and turned. His face was inscrutable until he smiled broadly. "Ah, my lord." He opened his arms as if in welcome to a close friend. "How wonderful that you grace my presence again."
John pressed his lips together. It was the man he'd met earlier at the feast. The strange declaration made him think twice about this being a coincidence. "And what say you, Mort of Bedgrove near Aylesbury was it?"
Mort nodded and closed the distance. He wrapped a beefy arm around John's shoulder to steer him back to the bench he'd vacated. "Ah, my lord, I have many duties that take me to strange places."
The man stopped and motioned to the bench. John remained standing.
Mort raised his brows in a questioning way, his hand at his chest. "May I?"
John dipped his head and Mort settled himself upon the seat. "This inn is the one closest to the goings-on. As I said, I am at your service which requires my being nearby."
John drew his brows together in a thoughtful way. "And what was the service again?"
Mort's eyes locked with his. "Whatever is required of me."
John did not flinch but inside he fumed. What game was William playing at, sending one of his spies? To do what? Keep an eye on him?
"And you do this why?"
Mort finally looked down at his hands, the bells on his arms sounding with the movement. "Methinks you are not as in the dark as you would have me believe."
"So tell me why the king sent you here?"
Mort smiled at him. "I knew you were a wise one. The king always checks on what is his. He does not like to be uninformed."
"So there is nothing I need to know about?"
Mort searched his face. John wanted the man to share what he knew, regardless of his orders from the king. If there was trouble about, John needed to know so he could be prepared.
"I like you, Sir John. I believe you have a good heart. How you have stayed that way with all that is going on around you is a mystery to me." His fat hand patted John's arm as he
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