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Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
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focusing on
their surroundings. It had long been a habit, as it was the habit of most
knights, to be constantly aware of his surroundings. Threats often lingered in
the shadows. But no threat this night could capture his attention more than
Cantia’s graceful figure.
Somewhere during
the day, she had donned a heavy linen apron and tied a kerchief around her head
to keep her gorgeous hair out of her eyes. The garments were simple, course
even, but she still wore them like a goddess. The woman could wear nothing that
made her look bad. But more than that, her spirit seemed much improved. She
had greeted him with a clear, even expression and had even smiled, however
faint. He was pleased to see that she appeared in a better state of mind.
Entering the
cool, dark keep, she took the food into a small alcove directly off the entry.
It was barely large enough for three people, but there was a small table and an
even smaller hearth that smoked and sparked as she set the food down. Tevin
stood just outside of the doorway until he realized that she wanted him to come
in and sit down. He did so, silently, as she removed the cloth covering the
contents of the tray. A large piece of bread, butter, a pitcher of wine and a
knuckle of beef await him.
“I thought you
said you weren’t hungry,” Hunt was standing beside him, puzzled, as he eyed the
food.
He looked at the
boy. “Your mother had gone to much effort to feed me. The least I can do is
eat.”
Hunt looked up
at his mother. “I’m hungry, too.”
She put her hand
on his head. “You ate enough for three people earlier this eve.”
“But I’m still
hungry!”
Before Cantia
could reply, Tevin tore his bread in two and handed the boy a chunk. “Here.”
“Butter, too?”
Tevin indicated
the butter and knife, to which Hunt helped himself generously. The lad pulled
up a chair and sat next to Tevin, eventually picking at the beef knuckle.
Cantia pulled his hand back the first time he tried.
“Nay, Hunt,” she
admonished. “This is his lord’s meal. Consider yourself honored that he has
shared his bread with you. Do not ask for more.”
Tevin tore a big
piece of beef off the bone and handed it to the boy. His dark eyes looked up at
her. “The worst I can tell him is no. There is no harm in asking for more.
Most ambitious men do that, and then some.”
She smiled,
properly contrite. She put her hands on Hunt’s little shoulders. “Thank you for
being so kind to him.”
Mouth full,
Tevin watched Hunt stuff his mouth with the beef. “He is easy to be kind to.
You have raised your son well.”
“Thank you,” she
said softly. “His father deserves a good deal of the credit.”
Tevin’s gaze
returned to her, watching a melancholy cloud suddenly drift across her face. He
moved to another subject quickly. He said the first thing than came to mind.
“Cantia,” he
said, pouring himself more wine. “That is an unusual name.”
She struggled
not to linger on thoughts of Brac, focusing on Tevin’s statement instead. “It
is the ancient name for Kent.”
“Your family has
been in Kent for many generations?”
There was a
small three-legged stool in the corner and she pulled it near the table,
sitting. “For hundreds of years. In fact, my family had a very specific role in
the ancient Kingdom of Kent, something that still carries through to this day.”
“What is that?”
She looked at
him, her lavender eyes reflecting the weak firelight. “The firstborn female in
my family always married the heir to the throne of Kent. Though the nobility
title was passed down through the males, the first born female had the most
important role. When William le Bâtard conquered these shores in the
days of my grandfather, our role became no less important. But because there
is no future king of Kent, I have married into the Stewards of Rochester,
traditionally the family that serves the king as the protector of the throne.”
Tevin realized
he
their surroundings. It had long been a habit, as it was the habit of most
knights, to be constantly aware of his surroundings. Threats often lingered in
the shadows. But no threat this night could capture his attention more than
Cantia’s graceful figure.
Somewhere during
the day, she had donned a heavy linen apron and tied a kerchief around her head
to keep her gorgeous hair out of her eyes. The garments were simple, course
even, but she still wore them like a goddess. The woman could wear nothing that
made her look bad. But more than that, her spirit seemed much improved. She
had greeted him with a clear, even expression and had even smiled, however
faint. He was pleased to see that she appeared in a better state of mind.
Entering the
cool, dark keep, she took the food into a small alcove directly off the entry.
It was barely large enough for three people, but there was a small table and an
even smaller hearth that smoked and sparked as she set the food down. Tevin
stood just outside of the doorway until he realized that she wanted him to come
in and sit down. He did so, silently, as she removed the cloth covering the
contents of the tray. A large piece of bread, butter, a pitcher of wine and a
knuckle of beef await him.
“I thought you
said you weren’t hungry,” Hunt was standing beside him, puzzled, as he eyed the
food.
He looked at the
boy. “Your mother had gone to much effort to feed me. The least I can do is
eat.”
Hunt looked up
at his mother. “I’m hungry, too.”
She put her hand
on his head. “You ate enough for three people earlier this eve.”
“But I’m still
hungry!”
Before Cantia
could reply, Tevin tore his bread in two and handed the boy a chunk. “Here.”
“Butter, too?”
Tevin indicated
the butter and knife, to which Hunt helped himself generously. The lad pulled
up a chair and sat next to Tevin, eventually picking at the beef knuckle.
Cantia pulled his hand back the first time he tried.
“Nay, Hunt,” she
admonished. “This is his lord’s meal. Consider yourself honored that he has
shared his bread with you. Do not ask for more.”
Tevin tore a big
piece of beef off the bone and handed it to the boy. His dark eyes looked up at
her. “The worst I can tell him is no. There is no harm in asking for more.
Most ambitious men do that, and then some.”
She smiled,
properly contrite. She put her hands on Hunt’s little shoulders. “Thank you for
being so kind to him.”
Mouth full,
Tevin watched Hunt stuff his mouth with the beef. “He is easy to be kind to.
You have raised your son well.”
“Thank you,” she
said softly. “His father deserves a good deal of the credit.”
Tevin’s gaze
returned to her, watching a melancholy cloud suddenly drift across her face. He
moved to another subject quickly. He said the first thing than came to mind.
“Cantia,” he
said, pouring himself more wine. “That is an unusual name.”
She struggled
not to linger on thoughts of Brac, focusing on Tevin’s statement instead. “It
is the ancient name for Kent.”
“Your family has
been in Kent for many generations?”
There was a
small three-legged stool in the corner and she pulled it near the table,
sitting. “For hundreds of years. In fact, my family had a very specific role in
the ancient Kingdom of Kent, something that still carries through to this day.”
“What is that?”
She looked at
him, her lavender eyes reflecting the weak firelight. “The firstborn female in
my family always married the heir to the throne of Kent. Though the nobility
title was passed down through the males, the first born female had the most
important role. When William le Bâtard conquered these shores in the
days of my grandfather, our role became no less important. But because there
is no future king of Kent, I have married into the Stewards of Rochester,
traditionally the family that serves the king as the protector of the throne.”
Tevin realized
he
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