“What’s wrong with Sir Walter?” The spindle slowly spun and dropped as the weight on the end pulled the wool thin and Edlyn’s fingers fought to twist thread from the fluffy ball of raw wool.
“Don’t get it too thin,” Alisoun warned while she wondered how to answer. Everyone within the keep seemed to have a theory about Sir Walter’s sudden tantrum this morning. With a calm she didn’t feel, Alisoun said, “Sir Walter apparently saw the enthusiasm with which I welcomed Sir David’s embrace this morning, and responded poorly. I see now I should not have left the door open.”
Edlyn’s eyes shone with excitement. “Philippa says if you had shut the door you’d still be in there.”
Alisoun’s hand jerked. The thread broke and the spindle hit the floor, and everyone in the great hall turned to look. “Did she?” She hid the color that inched up her cheeks by leaning over to pick up the spindle. “And what was the reaction to that?”
Hands freed of labor, Edlyn clasped them to her bosom. “They say it would be so romantic if the fair maiden of George’s Cross were wooed and won by the greatest mercenary in England.”
Unexpectedly, Alisoun almost laughed. “I thought you weren’t aware of Sir David’s reputation.”
“They told me.”
They. Everyone in the castle had been gossiping about David. Alisoun corrected herself. Sir David. She’d already learned the danger of thinking of him in a too-familiar way. He responded in a too-familiar way.
Now she’d given them more to gossip about, and from what she’d learned of David, he would nurse that gossip until he’d achieved his objective or she’d thrown him out. And she couldn’t throw him out.
Sliding the almost finished skein off the stick, she said, “I’m a widow, and I let a man kiss me. That is surely not so unusual an event.”
Edlyn giggled. “Not for anyone but you, my lady.”
Poking the unformed ball of wool, Alisoun found a strand and started another thread. The labor of making thread was every woman’s constant companion, be she lady or serf. It took twelve spinners to keep up with one weaver, and Edlyn had never developed the dexterity for creating an even thread. So every rainy day, Alisoun took Edlyn into a corner of the great hall and taught her about thread, trying to prepare her for the role of lady of the castle. When she thought today of what she had to tell Edlyn, a sick feeling clogged her throat. Poor child.
Quickly she corrected herself. Lucky woman. Edlyn was a lucky woman, and it was Alisoun’s glad duty to tell her so. She would do it…soon. Lanolin from the wool made Alisoun’s fingers soft, experience made her fingers supple, and again she showed Edlyn how to hook the thread to the spindle. “Twist it evenly,” she urged, then sat back to watch and think.
It had been stupid to go to Sir David’s room alone, but she’d wanted to prove something to herself. She’d wanted to prove she could be with him, see him, and not become the incompetent of the night before.
Last night, she hadn’t shown it, of course. She would never show such weakness. But his display of masculinity had shocked her in a titillating sort of way. She had wanted to stay and stare, and maybe wash him and see if it were possible that such a previously unimpressive appendage could grow yet bigger. That had been what had chased her from the room. Not fear or awe, but temptation.
“Damned curiosity,” she whispered.
Edlyn kept her eyes on the thread, but she grinned.
The child was growing up. She was smart enough not to comment on Alisoun’s chagrin, but still imprudent enough to think she could ask any question without chastisement. Alisoun had informed Edlyn’s parents of her liveliness, accompanied by a suggestion that they chose her husband with an eye to his kindness and not just his wealth. Their reply had been waiting when she returned from Lancaster, and the tone had been ominous. No one wanted advice from the oldest virgin widow in England.
Edlyn reverted to her original subject with the tenacity of a puppy jerking on a meaty sinew. “Sir Walter hasn’t been as respectful as he used to be, ever since Philippa…”
Alisoun looked up.
The warning in her gaze stopped Edlyn, and she reconsidered. Then she said defiantly, “Well, he hasn’t treated you well for a long time now.”
Alisoun had hoped nobody had noticed. She believed that for her people to feel secure, their leaders should be united in purpose. She knew, without doubt, that she, as the lady, should be the highest authority.
In retrospect, she realized she had placed her confidence in the wrong man. She had chosen Sir Walter, raised him from his place as a lowly knight. Then he had not only taken it on himself to reprove her, but he had failed to do the one thing she thought him able to do. When the assaults had begun and she demanded a solution, Sir Walter had suggested that Alisoun remain within the castle walls. For a woman whose responsibilities required that she ride to the village, to the fields, to her other estates, such a remedy proved one thing only—Sir Walter was incompetent. He would have to step aside, at least until the issue had been resolved.
Yet Alisoun didn’t know if anything could ever be resolved. Even if Sir David successfully kept her tormentor at bay, she feared—she knew—she would never be sure of her peace. But she’d done what she’d done. Dear God, what choice had she had?
“Edlyn, I’ve had a letter from your parents.” She didn’t try to infuse enthusiasm into her voice. She knew that would only frighten the girl more. “They have chosen your husband.”
Edlyn’s hands faltered. She almost dropped the spindle, and Alisoun heard the audible breath she drew. But she regained her composure with a speed that made Alisoun proud. “Did they tell you his name?”
She’d been practicing, Alisoun thought. She’d been expecting to hear, and practicing her reaction to the news. “It is Lawton, duke of Cleere. It is a very good match for you.”
“Cleere?” The spindle began to spin too rapidly. “Where is Cleere?”
“In the south of England.”
“How far south?”
“In Wessex.”
Edlyn’s skin paled to the color of ivory, her lips turned almost blue, but she said nothing.
Heart aching, Alisoun said, “I’ve met him. He’s a good man.”
“Does he have land closer to—” Edlyn swallowed, “—here?”
“Not that I know of, but perhaps your family gave him a parcel of land as dowry.”
Edlyn stared at Alisoun until Alisoun looked away. “My family has six girls. They cannot afford to give parcels of land away with every marriage. So…he’s a duke. I’m marrying a duke, and my family has nothing to give with me. Lady Alisoun?”
“Aye?” Alisoun responded as she should, with no emotion whatever. Almost no emotion.
“What’s wrong with the duke of Cleere?” Edlyn asked.
“There’s nothing wrong with him.” Alisoun realized she dithered while Edlyn waited in agony. “He’s a little older than I would have chosen.”
Edlyn’s voice rose an octave. “Older than David?”
God shield the child. She thought David old. “Older than two Davids.”
“I’m going to go away to a far place, and probably never see you or my family again, to be the wife of a man who…does he have any teeth?” Edlyn read the answer in Alisoun’s expression. “Or hair?”
“He’s got hair,” Alisoun said quickly.
Edlyn stared at Alisoun with unnatural calm. “I’ve been praying every morning at mass for a man who…not for a handsome man, or a clever man, or a rich man, but one who…” She shuddered. “He’ll want to kiss me, like Sir David did with you, and he won’t have any teeth. He’ll touch me all over, and his hands will be all dry-feeling like a serpent’s, and he’ll want me to touch him. All saggy and…”
Alisoun couldn’t stand it anymore. “Edlyn.” She laid her hand on the girl’s head. “I know Lord Lawton, and I give you my word, he is as kind and generous a man as any woman could want. Nothing can turn the clock back and make him young again. Nothing can move his home closer to mine. But you, of all people, know how important it is to have a husband who will treat you gently. I swear to you, he will do so.” Edlyn’s head drooped, and Alisoun slid to her knees and looked up into her face. “I’ve been praying, too, and I’m not dissatisfied with the results.”
“He’ll die, won’t he?”
She should reprimand the girl for ill-wishing such a good man, but such self-righteous nonsense was beyond her now. “Sooner or later.”
“I hope he doesn’t get me with child.” Edlyn seemed to be unaware that she was speaking her thoughts aloud. “I don’t want to die before him in childbed.”
No cruelty discolored her words, only a plaintive wish for life, and Alisoun found herself without the proper thing to say.
“Lady Alisoun, I think I’ll go to the chapel. I need to develop the proper resignation.” Edlyn smiled, a poor, pitiful thing, a smile not unlike the one Alisoun saw on so many wives’ faces. “Perhaps I can find it there.”
Watching Edlyn wander toward the stairwell, Alisoun wondered what had happened to the well-arranged life she’d lived for so long. In her conceit, she thought that if one planned properly, observed clearly, and always shouldered one’s responsibilities without reservation, one would escape the clutter and disorganization which ruled the lives of others. It had worked for years. For years, she had been undisputed lady of all she surveyed, unbothered by heartache, sedition, danger, or confusion. It had seemed to her that she had discovered the magic formula others sought, and the ease with which she worked it gave her a faint sensation of superiority.
Although her organization remained firmly in place, the heartache and sedition had found her. Heartache for Edlyn, suddenly an adult, but with a child’s vulnerability. Sedition from Sir Walter. Danger from Osbern. And confusion…Slowly, she leaned down and picked up the spindle Edlyn had dropped. Confusion. God’s shield, David of Radcliffe seemed to sow confusion all around him.
“Lady Alisoun is imagining things.” Sir Walter paced along the high walk atop the castle wall.
From here, they could see all the way down the hill to the village and well beyond, and David listened to Sir Walter while observing with a warrior’s eyes. “There wasn’t an arrow shot at her?”
“An arrow shot, aye. At her?” Sir Walter chuckled and threw his arm around David’s shoulders in a man-to-man gesture. “Nay.”
David stopped beside a crenellation and leaned out to look across Alisoun’s land, soft and green in the falling rain. The movement scraped Sir Walter’s arm off on the stone, and he wished he could scrape Sir Walter off as easily. The man had been dogging his footsteps and answering questions in such a munificent spirit he had convinced David of his culpability. Did he think David stupid? Or was he hoping to correct the mistake he’d made—to retain his position, or to diffuse suspicion? “Did you find the archer, then?”
“Nay, but poachers are notorious for being swift in escape, and none of them are likely to admit to shooting an arrow that had hit their lady.”
The forest had been cut back on all sides of the castle, leaving no easy cover for attackers, but nothing could remove the giant rocks which thrust themselves up through the flesh of the earth like bones from a compound fracture. “Why would anyone want to shoot at their lady?”
“Lady Alisoun won’t listen to…” David twisted around and leaned his shoulder against the mossy stone, and Sir Walter pulled a rueful face. “Well, you may have noticed, she has a mind of her own. She’s made unpopular decisions at times, but I doubt that anyone shot at her on purpose. I think it was a wild shot.”
“Hm.” David walked toward the tower nearest the keep. It overlooked the sea, and the scenery beyond changed from soft pastels to vivid stains of color. The purple sea reflected the clouds. Sea creatures rode through the snowy foam on the waves, flipping their browns and grays over and over with no caution for the wet, black rocks. Such a contrast, David mused. The domesticated calm of the village and fields and the ferocity of the water. Lady Alisoun belonged to the domestic side of this castle, just as the domestic side belonged to her.
Yet she’d grown up in the keep, and the keep hugged the ocean, using its rugged backdrop as a natural defense. She’d heard the waves breaking with every storm, smelled the salt and shivered in the untamed wind. Had Alisoun, strong as she was, resisted the might of the sea? Or had the sea formed that part of her that roiled in hidden ecstasy?
“Would you perhaps like to visit the stables?” Sir Walter clapped his hands and rubbed the palms together. “You can see the arrangements we made for King Louis. He’s a very famous horse, and we’re honored to have him in our care.”
“Aye? Has he spit on you yet?” The corner tower rose before them, and David opened the tiny door. Ivo huddled close to the basket of coals that heated the guardroom.
Sir Walter leaped through the door as if one of the coals had fallen in his braies. “Get out to your duty.”
Ivo just turned his head and stared. David didn’t know whom the big man-at-arms despised more—him or Sir Walter. But if the man despised Sir Walter, that was all to the good. That attitude could be used for David’s own purposes, especially since Ivo had shown his unwavering loyalty to Alisoun. Strolling to the basket, he stretched out his hands. “I don’t know, Sir Walter. Perhaps we should ask Ivo who fired the shot.”
“He doesn’t know anything.” Sir Walter spoke too quickly. “He’s just an ignorant man-at-arms.”
David answered. “I’ve found that if I’m searching for the answer to a puzzle such as the one facing us here, those men who are silent often know the most.”
Ivo snorted.
“If he knew anything, he would have told me what he knew,” Sir Walter insisted. “Isn’t that right, Ivo?”
Rising from his seat, Ivo towered over David and Sir Walter for one moment. Then he gathered his cloak from the hook and walked out into the rain, slamming the door behind him.
Sir Walter seemed torn between relief and embarrassment. “He’s half an idiot.”
“He doesn’t like me,” David said, half under his breath.
“Doesn’t he?” Sir Walter brightened. “Never mind. I can handle him.”
If Sir Walter always handled him as tactfully as he’d done when they walked in, Ivo could come to place his faith in David. And David well knew what a treasure that would be.
He went to open the door, and a young boy fell into the room just as if he’d been listening at the crack. David picked him up by the back of his tunic and held him off the ground as he examined him. A bit of a lad, ten perhaps, all elbows and knees and big blue eyes in a thin face. He kicked heartily while David dusted him off and set him on his feet. “Who are you?” David asked.
“He’s one of the pages, and he shouldn’t be here.”
Sir Walter grabbed the lad by a handful of his blond hair, but David latched onto Sir Walter’s wrist before he could give the boy a twist. God, how he hated men who were thoughtlessly cruel. They were worse than the others, the ones who knew what they were doing. Men like Sir Walter never imagined that a blow hurt worse when delivered to a boy trying his best, or that words from an idol could tear a wound that never healed. “He’s done no harm.”
“He shouldn’t be—”
“I should, too.” The boy interrupted, clearly lacking any sense of the danger he courted. “The lady sent me.”
Glaring, but taken aback, Sir Walter said, “Then give your message and begone.”
“I won’t. The lady said I should stay.”
Sir Walter’s hands twitched. “Stay. Here. Why?”
“I am to be Sir David’s personal squire.”
“Squire? Personal?” Sir Walter stared at the boy. “You?” He looked back at David, then started to laugh. “And I thought she liked you.”
David’s hand tried to form a fist, but he still held Sir Walter’s wrist.
Sir Walter’s laughter broke and he jerked back. “Curse you!” He rubbed the marks David had placed on his skin and for one intelligent moment, he saw enough of David to put fear into him. Then he tried to laugh again, not as successfully as before, and said, “I’ll leave you with your…squire, then.”
Wrapping his cloak around his throat with a flourish, he left David and the boy.
Now that the enemy had been removed, the lad lost his cockiness. He bent his head respectfully, then examined David without lifting his chin. David grinned at the boy’s idea of subtlety, and asked, “What’s your name?”
“I’m Eudo, lord.”
“Eudo,” David repeated. “And how long have you practiced your duties as squire?”
“Oh…” Eudo dropped his gaze to his feet. “A long time.”
A lie, but a badly told one. David liked that. He preferred not to deal with an accomplished liar. He also knew Alisoun had sent the lad to him for a reason, and he had faith in her judgment. He just needed to discover that reason. Genially, he said, “That’s good.” He didn’t remove his gaze from the boy.
Eudo began to twist as if he needed to use the garderobe. “I know I’m small, but I’m older than I look.”
David judged him. “Eleven, I would have said.”
Eudo jumped. “Older…than I look.”
David still didn’t move, standing with his hands lax, waiting for the truth.
Eudo made a bad choice. He decided to expand the falsehood. “I’ve been squire to lots of men. Dozens!”
Stroking his chin, David pulled a long face. “Too bad.”
“What do you mean?”
“I like to train my squires from the beginning. Like most knights, I have my own special ways I want my weapons and armor cared for, the way I want my meat carved, the way I like my—” he rubbed his stubbled chin, “—face shaved. If you’ve been squire to many men, I suppose you’ve picked up bad habits.” Slowly, he started to turn away and felt the bump as Eudo latched himself onto David’s belt.
“Nay!”
“What?”
“I…”
David looked down into the big, dismayed blue eyes and managed not to grin at the struggle portrayed therein.
“I wasn’t exactly the squire to dozens of men.”
“Half a dozen?”
Eudo slid down David’s leg just a little as if expecting a rap on the noggin. “A few.”
“Too many.” David tried to shake him off, but not too hard.
“One!”
Leaning over, David cupped Eudo’s chin to keep him from slithering onto the floor. “How many?”
Eudo took a deep breath and tried to speak, then blurted, “I begged so hard, my lady sent me to you with instructions to tell you…I’m just a page, and if you want another, more experienced squire, she will gladly oblige.”
“That’s the truth?”
“Aye, lord.”
“All the truth?”
Eudo nodded, and David looked him over. Tears cast a sheen over Eudo’s eyes, and his throat muscles clutched as he swallowed sobs. Brushing the hair off Eudo’s forehead, David declared, “I like you.”
Eudo didn’t respond for a moment, then he wiped his sleeve across his nose. “You do?”
“You’ll do nicely for my squire.” David released his chin and Eudo scrambled to his feet. Tugging his belt back up into place, David said, “You’re a man who tells the truth, regardless of the consequences.”
Eudo straightened his thin shoulders.
“You’ll always tell me the truth from now on, won’t you?”
“Aye, lord.”
“Do you swear?”
“Aye, lord.”
David frowned at the easy answer, and knelt beside Eudo so their eyes were level. “A man’s word is his most precious possession. When a man breaks his word, no one ever believes him again. So I want you to think, and think hard—do you swear to always tell me the truth, even if it should fetch you a beating, even if it hurts me, even if you fear the consequences?”
This time Eudo hesitated. His long, freckled hand rubbed his arse as he recalled pain. Then he looked again at David’s face, and something he saw there convinced him. “I swear, my lord, I will obey you in all things and always, always tell you the truth.”
“You’re a good man.”
Eudo’s smile broke forth and David suddenly understood how he had swayed Alisoun to do his bidding. Dimples resided in his cheeks, teeth crowded his mouth, and his grin almost spread from ear to ear. He would be hard to resist.
Standing, David clapped him on the shoulder. “Show me the lay of the castle.”
“Oh, thank you, my lord.” Eudo jumped in the air.
They stepped out into the rain and Eudo ran ahead along the wall walk, then returned. “Are you going to save our lady from harm?”
“I am.”
“Good.” He pointed at a jumbled clump of boulders. “The archer hid there when he shot my lady.”
His confidence surprised David. “How do you know?”
“I went and looked afterward. I looked in all of them, and found little bits of feather from the fletching and a fresh scratch in that one.”
With his gaze, David measured the angle and distance from the stones to the gate. A knave could hide there and shoot, then escape back into the forest easily enough, and none would be the wiser. “Did you tell Sir Walter?”
Eudo made a face. “Sir Walter doesn’t listen to me, so I did what I could to protect my lady.”
Fascinated, David asked, “What was that?”
“I planted thistles in the dirt in the cracks.”
David stared at Eudo incredulously.
Hunching his shoulders, Eudo mumbled, “It was the best I could think of.”
With a whoop, David lifted him into air and swung him around. “What a clever man you are.” Setting him on his feet, he dusted him off. “If I had ten allies like you, I could conquer France.”
“Really?” Eudo tried to subdue his grin, but it broke out. “You liked it?”
David tapped Eudo on the temple. “That’s doing the best you can with limited supplies. Every knight-errant learns it, or dies, and you’ve learned it earlier, and better, than most.”
Beaming under the praise, Eudo hurried to the stairs to the inner bailey, moving so quickly he skidded down the last four slick stone steps and landed on his knees. He glanced back quickly, embarrassed, but David plucked him out of the mud and said, “Best take care. I can’t use a squire with a broken leg.”
“Oh, I never break anything,” Eudo said airily. Then he seemed to recall his vow, for he stammered, “That is, I did once. My finger. But it was only a finger, and my lady set it and it’s fine. See?” He held it up and wiggled it. “And once I had to have my lady stitch up my back because I fell on a sword that someone had left laying on the ground.” He reconsidered. “Well, it wasn’t really a sword. More of a dagger. Or a knife. It was a knife. And it was me who left it on the ground. But I’m careful now. You can ask anyone. Well, don’t ask Sir Walter, because he still talks about the time I—”
With a pang, David placed his hand across Eudo’s mouth. The long-winded, earnest explanations suddenly reminded him of Bert, and he missed his daughter with an ache that got worse with every passing day.
Did she miss him, too? Would she have forgotten him by the time he got home? He wanted to gather Eudo in his arms, and hug him tight, but he didn’t make the mistake of thinking Eudo would welcome such an affront to his dignity. Instead, David said, “I said you had to tell me the truth. I didn’t say you had to confess every mistake you’d ever made.”
Eudo freed himself. “So I only have to tell you if you ask me?”
“You only have to tell me if you think you should.”
“But how will I know what I should tell you?”
“How do you know what to tell the priest in confession?”
“It doesn’t matter with our priest,” Eudo returned quickly. “He can’t hear anyway, and he always gives the same penance, so I confess everything.”
Lowering his chin, David stared until Eudo rocked back and forth on his heels uneasily. David said, “You know what I mean.”
“I guess…I have to tell you the stuff I don’t want to.”
Only David’s masterful control kept his laughter under restraint. “I’ll probably hear about it anyway, and I’d prefer to hear it from you.”
Envisioning a vast procession of mistakes and corrections, Eudo sighed. “How will I know when I’m ready to take care of myself?”
Rain had soaked David’s garments and the wet wool stuck to him, but he answered, “Good judgment comes from experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.”
“But bad judgment can be corrected,” Alisoun’s voice said.
The man and the boy turned to see her standing in the doorway of the kitchen hut.
“Sometimes.” Little dribbles of water inched their way down David’s flesh, reminding him of the travails of a summer siege when bugs swarmed, crawled, and bit. “Sometimes, a man’s reward for bad judgment can be death.” He ruffled Eudo’s wet hair. “That’s why it’s best to make your mistakes early, within the safety of my lady’s castle.”
Alisoun joined them, her face a pale oval beneath the hood of her cape. “Will Eudo be making his mistakes under your guidance?”
“I would have no other,” David answered. One cold drop fell out of his hair and slithered down his spine, and he shuddered convulsively.
Alisoun observed Eudo’s proudly jutting chin. “Then he is yours to train.”
Driven to madness, David began to scratch. First his chest, then stomach, then—
Alisoun made a sound like a wounded puppy, and when he raised his eyebrows in inquiry, she blushed, spun on her heel and marched away. He muttered, “I wonder what’s wrong with her?”
“Sir?” Eudo was trying to curb his laughter, and with less luck than David. “I think I know.”
“Tell me, lad.”
Giggling, Eudo pointed at David as he rubbed his palms over his stockings, hoping to wring a little of the water out. “That. My lady says you’re not supposed to scratch when others are watching.”
Suspending his scratching excursion, David stared in astonishment. “But I itch!”
“My lady says a noble knight takes care not to wipe his nose while eating.”
“Everybody knows that!”
“He never overindulges in drink.”
Remembering the first time Alisoun had seen him, David cackled. “How I must have shocked her.”
“And he never scratches his body.”
Trying to understand, David said, “His crotch, you mean.”
“Nay, not any part of his body.”
David stared at Eudo. “That’s nonsense!”
“My lady is very exacting in her manner.”
“Well, she’ll just have to learn better!”
Looking troubled, Eudo was about to speak, then visibly stopped himself. Lowering his head, he muttered, “Aye, Sir David.”
Defensively, David demanded, “What’s wrong with that?”
Glancing at him from the corner of his eyes, Eudo said, “I saw you this morning.”
“This morning?”
“Kissing my lady.”
“Oh.” David started toward the stable. “Is that also something my lady speaks against?”
“Nay. That is, I don’t know.” Eudo followed closely, anxious to impart his wisdom. “She hasn’t discussed kissing with me yet. But it looked as if you liked kissing her.”
A glimmer of comprehension broke through David’s indignation. “It was enjoyable.”
“Philippa said my lady doesn’t kiss casually. That if she kissed you, it was a very serious thing.”
David relaxed as he strode into the dimness of the open stable door. The rain outside made the hay smell almost moldy, and that, mixed with the odor of curry brushes and manure, combined to produce the odor of heaven. If he couldn’t be home, he’d rather be here, lingering to examine the horseflesh of Alisoun’s stables. Horses were contrary, rude, and given to senseless fits of jealousy. He understood them much better than he understood women.
He eyed Eudo’s skinny back as he skipped ahead. “Kissing my lady was a very serious thing to me. Do you understand, as my squire, that my secrets are sacred and not to be told?”
Eudo nodded.
“I want to court her.”
“I thought so.” Now Eudo turned and, walking backward, looked David over as carefully as David had previously examined him. He might have been Alisoun’s father, sitting in judgment of a suitor. After one very long moment, he made his decision and nodded. “If you listen to me, I can help you.”
One of the first things a mercenary discovered was that information from a source inside a beleaguered castle could shorten the siege perceptibly. Now David had found such a source, and he could scarcely contain his excitement. “I’m depending on you.”
“It’s very difficult to court my lady.” The lad was solemn, even when he tripped on a rake and fell over backward.
David picked him up and dusted him off, then held him in place. “What does she like?”
“Like?”
“What makes her happy?”
“Happy.” Eudo pondered that. “I don’t know if my lady is ever happy. She likes it when I don’t scratch. She likes it when I say my prayers every night without being reminded. She likes it when I write my grandparents without being reminded. She likes it when I bathe in the spring without being reminded.”
“What does she like for herself?”
Tilting his head, Eudo stared at David in puzzlement. “She doesn’t like anything for herself. She’s the lady.”
“She never laughs aloud?”
“Nay!”
“Nor ever smiles?”
“Aye, she does that!” Eudo’s features softened and took on a distant expression, like that of a man in love. “When she does, she looks all pretty.” Then he grew stern. “But men don’t make her smile, because she only likes men who work and do their duty without complaining. She says there aren’t very many who do that.”
David opened his mouth to deny this but found he couldn’t. “Perhaps not.”
“She says men try to claim more than their rights, and tell her how to order her house and plant her fields and sell her goods, when she knows more than ten of them.”
“I wager she does.”
Eudo had obviously considered David’s tactics well, and with a wisdom beyond his years, he said, “I think she’d like it if some man respected her and washed his face every day and did what he was supposed to without being told.”
“I think you’re right.”
“And maybe—” Eudo sounded shy, “—you could kiss her like you did this morning?”
David thought about that. “I think I might have to hold my kisses in reserve.”
“Huh?”
“For an emergency,” David explained to the puzzled lad. “For when she really needs it.” Turning Eudo, he marched him between the stalls. “But I’ll have you trim my hair straight and shave me, and if you see me scratching—”
“Aye, sir?”
“Take the strap to me.”