“Tell me again.” Sir Edris held his head as he sat on the edge of his unmade bed. Dark bags hung under his bloodshot eyes. It was approaching the dinner hour, and the effects of his early-morning drinking were still lingering. “What exactly did he say?”
They were in his suite at The Maggie. It was inappropriate for Natalie to be alone with him in his private quarters, but with Reg having left the previous week, she had been acting more and more like the knight’s squire.
She checked the bandage. Sir Rowan had expertly stitched the wound shut; however, there was going to be an ugly scar across the top of his bicep. Then again, Sir Edris had scores of scars. He wore them like badges of honor.
“He said you insulted his family or some such nonsense.”
“Insulting one’s family is no frivolous matter,” Sir Edris said gravely. “Had he insulted you, I would have called on him as well.”
The fact he insisted she was his family warmed her heart.
“Donnie…” Sir Edris went on, perplexed, “Donnie? When have I ever said anything about him? Sure, we’ve had our differences. We all have. But I’ve never—” Natalie smeared Sir Edris’s greasy substance over the wound. It smelled like mud and rancid meat, but the knight swore by its healing properties. “Have you ever heard me say anything about Sir Donald?”
She dressed the wound in clean bandages. “To be honest, I have trouble keeping all you men straight. Sir this and Sir that. Half of you are named after fathers and fathers of fathers who were adventurers as well. I should make a list of names so I can follow who you are talking about.”
Sir Edris chuckled. “That would be a long list. A long list, indeed.”
“And”—Natalie nudged him, sensing he was about to go melancholy again—“yours will be right at the top as the greatest adventurer of them all.”
Sir Edris brightened slightly, then the light in his eyes dimmed.
“Not yet. I need two more.” He frowned up at the dark wooden beams crossing the ceiling. “Two more. One to tie. One to—” He noted Natalie grinning at him. “I suppose it’s all childish codswallop to you, isn’t it? Trying to win the most quests in history?”
Natalie sat on his bed next to him. “Not at all. You have every right to think about posterity. Who wouldn’t want to be the best of the best? You and Sir Drake and Barton the Black…you’ll all be remembered forever.”
“Forever is a long time.” Sir Edris arched an eyebrow at her. “And how do you know about Barton the Black?”
Natalie waved a hand. “A girl has to know these things, now don’t we?”
They laughed.
“At any rate,” Sir Edris said, the sadness returning to his tired face. “I passed his tally years ago. But he was one for the history books. Shame what happened to him. He should’ve retired when he had the chance.”
Natalie still wasn’t sure what had happened to Barton the Black, but she wasn’t about to ask. Sir Edris stared contemplatively at a picture of the rolling ocean on the bedroom wall.
“But Drake…” Sir Edris went on wistfully. “I’ve been so close for so long. One more quest to tie him. Just one more!” He bowed his head as if praying. “Just one more.”
Natalie stroked his arm and waited.
Eventually, he continued. “If only this last quest would’ve worked out. All of that subterfuge with your cripple.” She fought the urge to correct him. “All of that work and planning for nothing. Blast it! I wasn’t even in the right realm.”
“There’ll be another quest soon,” Natalie reassured him. “Won’t there?”
“Perhaps in the spring, when King Lionel returns from his war up north.”
“There you go! Rest up for a few months and enjoy your time with Sir Rowan and Sir Oliver. You’ll be sleeping in ditches and sloshing through bogs before you know it.”
“Perhaps.”
For a moment, Natalie thought she saw a tear in his bleary eyes. He shook himself and put on a grim smile. “First, I need to address this matter with Donnie’s son. Insulted his family? What under heaven? I’d never—at least not openly. And nothing worth calling me out over. Are you sure he didn’t say something more specific?”
“No. Not a word.”
“It’s the damnedest thing.”
“Are you really going to fight him?”
“The term is duel. A fight is with fists. And yes, I have to. I accepted.”
“But you’re hurt. Even Sir Row—”
“Now, none of that, Nat,” the knight said sternly. He rocked himself to his feet, the bed’s springs squeaking in relief. “You know how I live my life. Honor is—”
“Yes, I know,” she said, mockingly. “Honor is everything.”
He stopped pacing. “Nat—”
“Okay. Don’t mind me. You boys and your rules.”
“Rules are what separate us from the animals.”
Natalie tried to lighten the mood. “I’ve seen you knights eat. Trust me—you are animals.”
Sir Edris didn’t appear to hear her.
“Rules…” he said again. “That’s what’s so blasted curious about this whole business. The bastard isn’t playing by them. Who stabs a knight who isn’t on his guard? And to call me out like that? Was he drunk?”
“Not that I could discern. He seemed more nervous than anything.”
“Nervous, eh? At least that’s something.” Sir Edris winced as he moved his left arm.
“Are you okay?” she asked pointedly.
He batted the comment away, though he was plainly in pain.
Natalie wouldn’t be so easily dismissed. “Are you going to be able to—?”
She didn’t want to finish her question. She knew the answer. Sir Edris, for all his fame and physical prowess, was getting old. His beard was flecked with gray. His eyes no longer shone with vigor and vitality. He routinely grunted when he got out of chairs. And, although Natalie hated to admit it, much of the bulk that had been solid around his chest and shoulders two years before was now sagging slightly around his middle. During the last quest, he hadn’t spent much time hunting for the small box that reportedly hid Queen Cassandra’s secret diary. He mainly stayed in inns and taverns while Reg raced here and there, collecting information. She watched him absentmindedly rub his injured arm.
“Why did I say two-handed weapons?” he mumbled to himself.
He flexed his bicep. One of the stitches must have torn; a spot of blood seeped through the white bandage. Natalie tended to it. The edges of the wound were red and irritated. She lathered it with more medicine and changed the bandage, this one tighter than the first.
“Is there—?” She had to ask, despite how he might take it. “Is there any way you can postpone the duel? I mean, are there any rules allowing for a delay due to injury?”
The knight shook his head. “Technically, I was injured prior to him calling me out.” He gave her a pensive smile. “But don’t you worry. I’ll be fine.” He led her to the door. “Now, my dearest daughter, you best leave me so I can prepare for tonight.” He picked up a sword that was taller than she was. It appeared clumsy in his hands.
Something occurred to Natalie. She blurted out, “But the fight isn’t until tomorrow!”
“What?”
“You said, ‘tomorrow night, an hour after sunset.’”
Sir Edris pondered this. “Did I?”
“Yes! And that was said this morning. The sun was rising. So—”
The relief in Sir Edris’s face broke Natalie’s heart.
“Yes. Quite correct. It’s tomorrow night, then. Even so…perhaps I should rest. My head is pounding. Be a dear and bring me some food from the kitchen, will you? Whatever you think is good. Maybe a steak, or soup, or something. I think it’s best if I stayed out of sight until the duel.”