rigid gasped and sat back. “Alys!” she repeated, then clapped her hands over her mouth in horror. “ ’Tis a secret!” Burke teased. His manner was as playful as one would be with a younger sibling, and Brigid giggled. She repeated her pledge with her fingertips.
Then her mouth drooped with dejection. “Why not me?”
Alys bit her lip at the sight of her cousin’s vulnerability. She nearly stepped forward, but Burke took Brigid’s hand again in his.
Alys watched as he turned the full weight of his charm upon her cousin. “Brigid, there is a special bond between a man and a woman meant to be together. They know each other when first their eyes meet, they understand that each was made for the other.”
“Love,” Brigid said with a shy smile.
“Aye, love ’tis and no match should be without its flame.” Burke looked down at her hand, his expression pensive.
Brigid smiled. “I want love.”
Burke smiled at her. “Then I am not the man for you. There will be such a man, Brigid, and he will cross your path when you least expect him.”
But Brigid’s smile faded and she shook her head sadly. “Not me. I will not be able to talk to him.”
“That is not true,” Burke insisted gently. “You have just spoken to me.”
Brigid glanced up in alarm, her eyes flew open as she realized what she had done.
Then Brigid flushed anew and fixed her gaze on the ground. “I c-c-cannot do it again.”
“Of course you will,” Burke maintained. “You are a lady of charm, a lady of beauty, and one day a man will be as awed by you as you will be of him.” Tears shone in Brigid’s eyes, and Alys blinked back a few of her own. Burke gave Brigid’s fingers a squeeze. “Wait for him, Brigid. You deserve no less.”
Alys spun and flattened her back against the wall, biting her lip to fight her tears. Far from taking advantage of Brigid’s truth, Burke had behaved with a rare gallantry.
And his chivalry had made Brigid forget to stutter. ’Twas no small thing, and Alys knew she must thank him, whatever the toll he demanded in return. Alys heard Burke clear his throat and peeked around the corner again.
The knight grinned as he braced his elbows on his knees. “So, Brigid, can you help me win Alys’s affections? I shall need aid if I am not to make difficulties for my lady with your mother.”
But Brigid did not smile. She shook her head. “Nay.”
“Why not?”
“She is not allowed.”
Alys frowned in the same moment as Burke.
“What nonsense is this?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. Alys took a good look, but Brigid was not intimidated by his increasing volume.
Nor apparently by the flash of his eyes.
Brigid tapped a fingertip. “First, Malvina.” She indicated herself. “Then Brigid.” She smiled sadly for Burke. “Then Alys.” She shrugged. “But no one wants Malvina.” Brigid kicked her feet. “We wait and wait and wait but no one comes.”
And no one ever would, Alys realized with a start. She would never be free of this place, by Aunt’s dictate! ’Twas unfair!
Burke had already leapt to his feet. “Who made this demand? Who insisted that Alys could not wed at her choice?”
Brigid opened her mouth, but Burke held up a hand to silence her. “Nay, Brigid, I can guess the truth readily enough.” He spun and headed for the portal where Alys was hidden, the grim look of him enough to make her heartbeat skitter. “What I do not understand is why I did not know.”
And Alys knew from whom he would seek the truth. It seemed rather a poor excuse not to have even known. She picked up her skirts and turned to flee, toping to take advantage of the fact that neither knew she was there.
Dame Fortune, once again, did not play Alys’s game.
Alys heard Burke mutter her name, then the thunder of his footsteps as he gave chase. She was not even out of sight when he rounded the corner, and he paused to bellow, no doubt certain she could be readily caught.
“Alys! You listened!”
Alys spun to a halt, turning to face him proudly. He would catch her and she knew it well—she would rather face him here. “Aye. I wanted to be certain you treated my cousin with honor.”
Burke’s eyes gleamed as he advanced upon her. “You secreted yourself in the shadows! You eavesdropped upon us.”
Alys could not argue with that.
Burke took a dozen quick strides to bring them toe to toe, his voice dropping to a low silky tone that melted Alys’s knees. He smiled down at her, looking like a cat who had cornered its prey. “Why, Alys, you deceived us both.”
He had her there and Burke knew it well.
Alys looked past him to the portal to the garden, then flicked a glance to Burke’s eyes. Even in the shadows, he could see her slow flush.
“ ’Twas only for a moment,” she said tentatively.
“ ’Twas a deception.” Burke found himself enjoying this change of circumstance. “Indeed ’twas a manner of lie.”
“Only a small one,” Alys argued.
“A small lie?” Burke granted her a skeptical glance and spoke with deliberation. “But I understood there was no difference between a small and a large lie.”
Alys glared at Burke but did not abandon the field. Ye gods, he loved that she was so quick of wit. She folded her arms across her chest and looked him in the eye. “ ’Twas for the greater good.”
Burke grinned. “Ah! I have heard much of the greater good this day.”
Alys swore with a thoroughness unexpected. “You are a most vexing man,” she muttered impatiently. Burke could not hold back his chuckle. Alys glanced up, then her lips quirked with laughter as if she guessed the direction of his thoughts and could not stop her response.
“There seems to be much of that trait hereabouts,” Burke teased, and was rewarded by a glimpse of the lady’s own smile.
“An epidemic,” she agreed, and Burke laughed aloud.
Then Alys propped her hands upon her hips and regarded him cockily. “ ’Twas a lie, I admit it. There! Are you satisfied?”
“Far from that,” Burke mused. “Though perhaps a token of your esteem would soothe me.”
“A token …” Alys frowned, then her eyes widened in understanding. The twinkle dancing there revealed that she was not so horrified as she might pretend. “I shall not kiss you as penance for being protective of Brigid!”
Burke sighed with mock resignation and leaned against the wall. “Ah, then I fear I shall not be satisfied any time soon.”
And Alys laughed. Her fingers rose to her lips as soon as the sound bubbled forth. Her eyes danced with mischief and her dimple not only appeared but lingered.
“So you did listen,” Burke concluded with satisfaction.
“Of course I listened. I do not know what to expect from you.” She eyed him warily. “ ’Twas a pleasant surprise.”
Burke supposed that was a compliment. “Then you must have heard Brigid.”
“Aye.”
“Did you know of this dictate?”
Alys shook her head, clearly unhappy with the revelation.
“And there lies the root of your aunt’s concern. For if you wed and had a son, that son likely could challenge Deirdre or her daughters for Kiltorren when Cedric passed away.”
Alys did not argue his thinking. “Especially if neither of Cedric’s daughters wed.”
“Aye. ’Tis appallingly simple.” Burke shoved a hand through his hair. “Your aunt would keep you from wedding, she would insist upon this nonsense of Isibeal being a whore so that you would not even be tempted to bear an illegitimate child.”
Alys’s smile tightened and disappointment lit her fine eyes. “My own blood would see me die alone, unhappy and untouched, merely to ensure their own legacy for another generation.”
Burke held her gaze. “For the sake of Kiltorren.”
She studied him for a long moment. Burke knew he did not imagine the glimmer of hope in her eyes. “And what do you say of that?”
An easy question. “ ’Tis wrong, of course!”
But Alys’s eyes narrowed. “And?”
Burke gestured helplessly. “And it cannot continue.” Now Alys frowned. “And?”
“And what?”
“And what would you do about it?”
Burke flung out his hands. “Take you away, of course, with or without your aunt’s permission. Alys, you have only to say the word and we will leave this keep behind us. We could be gone before midday!”
“And I could repeat every error my dame ever made before nightfall.” The lady growled in frustration. “How could you expect so much of me for so little?” She pivoted smartly and marched away, leaving Burke dumbfounded.
“Alys! I am yours!”
“ ’Tis not enough!” the lady cried. “I am not such a witless fool that I would grant my all to a man who offers naught but a honeyed tongue!”
And Burke felt a shiver of dread.
How could Alys know that he had spurned his hereditary estate? Did she care more about such matters than he? Did she not believe that he could win a king’s ransom at the tourneys?
Did he not have enough to offer his intended bride? Too late he recalled that the lady had insisted that at Kiltorren, she was at least certain to be fed.
Nay, she could not have so little faith in him as that!
But Burke was not entirely certain of that.
“Do not be so quick to dismiss the merit of a honeyed tongue,” he called after her for lack of anything better to say.
Alys laughed in a spurt born of surprise, then glanced over her shoulder. “Incorrigible,” she declared, then disappeared into the kitchen.
“Tempted,” Burke answered grimly. “Frustrated and alone.” He folded his arms across his chest and glared after Alys. How could she not trust him to ensure her welfare?
’Twas insulting.
“She likes you,” Brigid murmured from behind him, and Burke turned to find the girl watching.
Burke shoved a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and considered the array of obstacles before him. “ ’Tis true you must be wed first?”
“Malvina,” Brigid insisted, her gaze troubled.
And rightly so, to Burke’s thinking. ’Twould not be easy to find Malvina a spouse, and Burke had no doubt that Deirdre had tried. Indeed, this seige was proving to have many fields of battle, not a one of them an easy victory.
But the simple truth was that finding Malvina a spouse would not only fulfill Deirdre’s condition, but convince Alys that Burke had no intent to wed her cousin.
A deed, if ever there was one.
In that moment, the rain began to fall in heavy drops, sending both knight and maiden inside with all haste. ’Twas fitting weather for the task confronting him, Burke could not help but note.
Indeed, ’twas a good thing he was not a man who was readily daunted.
Burke’s mood was markedly less than prime.
Hot with purpose, he had ridden out before midday to seek Malvina’s match. ’Twas imperative that he wed Alys’s cousins before offering formally for her hand once more. He would not tolerate Deirdre finding any reason to deny him, and he would not leave any doubt in Alys’s mind of his proposal or its sincerity.
So he descended upon a keep to the west of Kiltorren, shocking the residents with his sudden and sodden appearance. Sadly, they had no sons available for wedlock and no news of any unmarried men within range.
He begged accommodations and headed out the next morn to the south of Kiltorren, only to have similar results.
On Tuesday he made his way east, his quest yielding naught.
Wednesday took him to Killarney itself and Burke had high hopes for the prosperous town. A settlement of sufficient size, here he was certain there would be young men desiring a nobly born bride, perhaps interested enough to ask few questions of the lady’s nature. But it seemed rumors of Malvina’s nature preceded him, for more than one nobleman covered his mouth to hide a smile at the mention of Kiltorren.
Burke had the definite sense that Deirdre had trodden this ground before him, and done so many times.
He was so determined to check every possibility, to interview every family with any prospects, that it grew dark before he was done. Burke sought refuge in an inn, not pleased in the least to be away from Kiltorren.
He could only hope that Alys did not pay for the exchanges they had had on Sunday. Burke glared at the ceiling as the locals caroused in the common room below and refused to consider the possibility of failure.
Burke de Montvieux did not fail at any objective.
And he would not fail at this one.
’Twas still raining the next morn. Burke rode back to Kiltorren with a heavy heart, the fine steady mist of rain doing naught to improve his mood. Perhaps an answer lurked at Kiltorren itself. Perhaps the steward knew of someone, or the gatekeeper had heard a tale, or the priest in the village could be of aid.
Somewhere in Christendom, there had to be a man desperate enough to make Malvina his bride.
Encouraged at the thought, Burke gave Moonshadow his spurs, never expecting to find the very candidate he sought already standing at Kiltorren’s own gates.
Talbot was certain he had ridden to the ends of the earth. Indeed, the ocean rolled beyond the tower of this isolated keep, its surface unmarred by ship or silhouette of distant land. The wind shoved chill fingers through his damp garments, the rain fell without cease. Goats milled behind the portcullis, their inquisitive gazes fixing upon Talbot at intervals, their jaws working incessantly.
He had ridden clear across this cursed island to find a faltering farm.
Indeed, Talbot had slept in places no better than hovels these past nights, he had found no wine, no women, and what passed for song made his ears ring. Last eve, he had bedded down in a field, and awakened cold, stiff, and damp. His squire, Henri, complained constantly, his nasal whine making Talbot long to throttle the boy.
Trust his uncle to send him to this godforsaken corner of the world! At moments like this, Talbot wondered whether his uncle’s wealth was truly worth the ordeal of winning it.
’Twas a sign of distress that he could even question such a fundamental tenet
And now, after all he had endured, the gatekeeper was disinclined to admit Talbot to this cursed keep. Indeed, the man had barred the gates against their arrival and stood now behind the portcullis, his arms folded across his formidable bulk.
Talbot’s minuscule measure of charm completely deserted him.
“What in the name of God do you mean I cannot pass?” he asked impatiently. “I am sent on a mission to Kiltorren and I demand admission!” His voice rose in irritation and his mare stepped agitatedly. ’Twas not a fine, even-tempered beast, though Talbot blamed his uncle for that as well.
The man could have bought him the finest stallion, and so readily that he would not even notice the expense of the coin. But Millard had this curious idea that a knight must “earn” his way in the world.
Talbot would much prefer to be given his due.
The gatekeeper did not so much as blink. “And I say you shall not have it, not until I have a better explanation for your arrival.”
“What nonsense is this? Have you no manners in this foul corner of a yet more foul country?”
The keeper inhaled sharply. “I was born and raised in this corner of this country …” he began, a thread of anger in his tone, but Talbot waved off this recounting of family history.
“I care naught for your birthright, unless it ends with my admission to the keep,” he snapped. “And a fine bowl of rabbit stew would be welcome, a glass of good Burgundy wine, and a plump willing wench.”
“Aye!” Henri agreed with a hearty bobbing of his head. “Wenches and wine would be fine, indeed.”
“See to it!” Talbot demanded.
But the gatekeeper squared his shoulders stubbornly and did not move. “We have few visitors at Kiltorren,” he declared. “And one cannot be too cautious in admitting armed knights to a holding.” He looked Talbot dead in the eye. “I say you shall not pass.”
Talbot flung out his hands. “Will you not even speak to your lord? What manner of hole have we found where the nobility are treated like common dirt?”
The gatekeeper smiled wryly. “Perhaps I shall find a moment to speak with him this evening.” He shrugged. “Or in the morning.”
“In the morning!” Talbot shrieked, his steed shying at the sound. “And what am I to do in that time? Where am I to sleep? And where am I to find a decent meal?”
The keeper shrugged, clearly enjoying Talbot’s discomfiture. As if to emphasize the unacceptability of these arrangements, thunder rumbled in the distance and the cold rain slanted down with new vigor. “Killarney is a half-day ride that way,” the keeper declared with no small measure of pleasure. “If you left now, you could reach there before the evening meal.”
Talbot swore. He dismounted and stamped his feet, he strode through puddles and kicked muddy water at the gates. His fists were clenched tight, his face was hot, he was filled with the anger of impotence.
And the cursed keeper merely smiled. “Indeed,” that man commented, “you do confirm my very worst fears of your intent.”
Talbot snarled, but the keeper stepped toward his hut, oblivious to the knight outside his own gates.
The insolence of it all! To be disregarded by a mere gatekeeper was beyond disgraceful. Talbot put his hand on the hilt of his sword and strode to the portcullis, not entirely certain of what he intended to do but determined to see results.
And in that moment, the pound of hoofbeats filled the air. The gatekeeper turned back, his heavy features alight with curiosity. Talbot found himself turning the moment he recognized the gait of a destrier.
Another knight!
But this knight rode alone. How could that be?
Talbot frowned as the silhouette of the arrival drew out of the mist. The man rode with haste, bent over the neck of a steed whose magnificence was not concealed by distance. Indeed, the stallion was so fine and so black, its step high, its coat glossy. ’Twas the manner of destrier Talbot had always desired, and he disliked this knight, simply for riding it, without knowing any more about the man.
Talbot slipped back into his saddle, not wanting to be at a complete disadvantage when this oddly solitary knight arrived.
The man who pulled the black steed to a halt beside Talbot did so with a flourish. His armor left no doubt of his knightly status, neither did his finely embroidered tabard nor his fur lined cloak. Fine spurs gleamed on his heels, his steed was mud-splattered but wondrously caparisoned. He was soaked to the skin, just as Talbot was, but this knight seemed unreasonably delighted, despite his state.
He had already doffed his helmet and shoved a hand through his dark hair, loosing raindrops like a shower of jewels.
“And who,” the knight asked with amusement, “have we here?”
“Sir!” The keeper crowed with delight. “The ladies have been asking after you.”
Aye, this knight was cursedly good looking and would give Talbot a contest for the finest wench. Talbot hated him even more.
The knight grinned, a merry twinkle lighting his eyes. “All of them, Godfrey?”
The keeper chuckled. “All but one, though I daresay she is more interested in your return than all of that.”
This seemed to please the knight, who surveyed Talbot anew. Indeed, he clucked to his steed, that beast prancing around Talbot’s own sorry mare in a tight circle.
Even the destrier would not acknowledge the mare, so humble was she. Talbot’s ears burned with shame, he gritted his teeth and pretended not to notice this knight’s survey.
“This man calls himself a knight,” Godfrey supplied. “And would pass my gates without explanation.”
“I told you well enough that I had a mission at Kiltorren,” Talbot snapped.
“A mission?” the knight inquired silkily.
“ ’Tis not to be confessed to any soul who crosses my path.”
The knight arched a dark brow, riding behind Talbot to complete his circular survey. Talbot itched to watch the man but did not want to show weakness by turning to look. He stared stiffly ahead, wondering what mischief this knight intended to make.
For there could be no doubt that the man had something on his mind.
“Is your master oft so testy?” the knight asked Henri.
“Aye, sir!” the boy declared, and Talbot clenched his teeth yet tighter at the gatekeeper’s quick smile. “Though ’tis worse when he has need of a cup of wine and a wench, as he does now.”
Talbot would box his squire’s ears for that impudence.
The knight paused beside Talbot. “And what does your wife think of your wenching?”
“I have no wife!” Talbot retorted impatientily. A trickle of rainwater made its way beneath his chemise and ran coldly down his back. “And I fail to see what import that is. I ask only to be admitted to this keep, to find comfort and some measure of hospitality …”
The knight’s eyes flashed. “No wife! But you must have a betrothed.”
“My marital circumstance has naught to do with entering this godforsaken hovel on the edge of the world.”
But the knight merely smiled. “Have you a betrothed?”
“None!”
The knight’s brows rose. “Indeed?” He surveyed Talbot once more—most insolently to that man’s way of thinking—then met his gaze again. “But you must be a knight. You do have spurs and a blade.”
Talbot heard an implication that his armament was less than adequate in the knight’s words and was immediately infuriated. “Of course I am a knight! I am a nobleman! I am in need of hospitality and welcome, a welcome that would be offered more readily anywhere else in Christendom!” he raged. “Must we stand in the rain while you satisfy your cursed curiosity?”
“All these assets, yet no betrothed.” The knight rubbed his chin consideringly, as if Talbot had said naught. He turned to the keeper. “Do you think he is foul to look upon, Godfrey? ’Tis not my matter of expertise.”
“Nor mine, sir, but I daresay many a woman would take him.”
“Indeed.” The knight’s bright glance swivelled back to the simmering Talbot. “Are you without inheritance, then?”
“Such rudeness! I fail to see what my circumstance has to do with passing beneath these gates!” Talbot ranted. He dismounted and strode through the puddles to grip the portcullis. He gave it a hearty shake but the keeper did not even show the courtesy to look alarmed. “I am Chevalier Talbot d’Annoceaux and I demand that you grant me admission …”
“D’Annoceaux!” The knight nodded to the keeper with approval. “A fine family, Godfrey, there can be no doubt of that.” He sidled closer. “My mother has oft spoken of an old flame of hers, one Richard d’Annoceaux.”
“My uncle,” Talbot supplied stiffly and returned to his saddle. “He took holy orders and is currently the bishop of Sainte-Madeleine.” He flung out his hands. “Does that win me favor in your eyes?”
“A bishop, Godfrey.” The knight released a low whistle. “That is not a measure of influence many families can claim.”
“Nay, indeed, sir.”
The knight leaned closer, and Talbot instinctively did not trust the glimmer of humor in his silvery eyes. “And your father would be?”
“Michel d’Annoceaux, the eldest and heir of Theobald d’Annoceaux, but I fail to see the import …”
The knight tilted his head and spoke as if Talbot said naught. “You must then have older siblings.”
Talbot inhaled with impatience. “I have an elder brother, whom my father grooms to manage Annoceaux, though even he does not show the audacity to insult my presence as you two …”
“Ah! So you are left without legacy. And hence without right to claim a bride.” The knight sat back with satisfaction at having solved the riddle, but before Talbot could complain once more, that man turned to the gatekeeper again. “Is it not a shame, Godfrey, to see a young man so full of prospect denied the chance to take a bride?”
“Aye, sir, that it is.”
Before Talbot could protest this discussion of his fortunes, the knight turned to Henri once more. “Is your master taken with a single woman?”
“Sir?”
“Does he pursue a lady who has stolen his heart?”
“Nay, sir, he prefers to spread his affections far and wide,” the squire contributed with more forthrightness than Talbot believed the situation merited. “My lord is popular indeed among the wenches, though his uncle claims he will have bastards at the gates if ever he wins a piece of land.”
The knight was smiling again. “And what manner of wench does he prefer?”
“Plump and willing, sir.”
“Henri! Bite your tongue!”
The squire looked chastised but the knight chuckled. “We could assure half his needs were met, at least.”
The keeper gasped, then guffawed. “Ah, sir, now I see the direction of your thoughts!”
Talbot had the sneaking sense that he was being mocked, or that the knight played some game at his expense, though he could not fathom what was amiss. ’Twas not an unfamiliar feeling, for he oft felt this way in his uncle’s presence.
The difference was that he did not have to humor these two.
Talbot was well and done with this pair and their infernal questions. “I am delighted to have provided your amusement on this day,” he began hotly, gathering the reins into his hands. “But if we are to make Killarney …”
“You cannot leave!” the knight protested.
“I will not sit in the rain and be mocked!”
The knight looked contrite in turn. “Godfrey, have we mocked the man? Indeed, ’twas not my intent.”
“Nay, sir, we but inquired after his credentials.” The keeper braced his feet against the ground and eyed Talbot. “Though we have yet to learn of his errand here.”
“I have told you that I ride to Kiltorren on a mission …” Talbot began tightly, but the knight interrupted him once more.
“And we should dearly love to hear the details.” He smiled. “Do not leave, Talbot of Annoceaux.”
At least, matters had changed course in Talbot’s favor. “Surely we could adjourn to the keep proper,” he suggested, taking no pains to hide his irritation, “and continue this discussion in whatever modicum of comfort could be won here.”
“Indeed,” the knight said with a slight inclination of his head. “I am certain that Lady Deirdre and Lord Cedric would be delighted to make the acquaintance of a knight of such fine lineage as yourself. Godfrey, if you would be so kind. I shall personally ensure that this guest makes no mischief.”
“Fair enough, sir.” The keeper, his grin too wide for Talbot’s taste, immediately cranked open the portcullis.
Talbot’s blood began to boil. This knight had but to ask and his will was done! Talbot deliberately closed his mouth and tried not to resent the differences in their circumstance.
He could loathe this country, for their failure to respect a noble knight, if naught else.
The two knights rode beneath the spiked gate, Henri trailing behind. Talbot could not help but compare his own steed once more to that of the newly arrived knight. Proximity did naught but make the contrast worse and did not reassure Talbot in the least. The black beast must be worth a small fortune.
Indeed, at such close quarters, Talbot could see that this man’s blade rested in a fine scabbard far beyond his own means, that the man’s boots and tabard and even his very trap was worth a king’s ransom.
What manner of man might Talbot have become if he had been granted his due from the outset? What might his life have been if he had been born first, instead of his brother Theobald?
’Twas unfair, there was no doubt of the matter.
“And who are you?” Talbot demanded testily, the comparison and the weather making his tone sharper even than usual.
The knight pulled off his glove and offered his hand. “Chevalier Burke de Montvieux.”
Talbot felt the blood drain from his face. By reputation, Burke de Montvieux was a champion, a knight who never lost a seige, a man who had but to desire something to make it his own. His good fortune was legendary—as was his charm, his handsomeness, and his wickedly lethal skill with a blade. Talbot knew that Burke rode with his sire, a sorry excuse of a mercenary, the father as reputed for his savagery as the son was for his grace.
But what was Burke de Montvieux doing here?
Talbot swallowed awkwardly and decided ’twould not be clever to irk such a man. He hastily shed his own glove and took Burke’s hand. “I apologize for my comments,” he said hastily, but Burke waved off the words.
“It is naught. Indeed, I cannot tell you, Talbot d’Annoceaux, how very delighted I am to make your acquaintance.”
Talbot blinked. “Truly?”
“Truly.” Burke nodded with vigor. A bevy of sodden goats trotted out of their path, bleating complaint, their bellies mud died and their tits hanging low. Talbot swallowed a grimace of distaste at finding himself in such humble surroundings.
“Are you familiar with Kiltorren at all?” Burke demanded. “ ’Tis a rare prize, and I would be pleased to show you its many merits.”
Talbot had no eye for agricultural matters, but this place did not seem to be prospering. There was almost no activity in the village beyond. Indeed, the place had the tired look of somewhere abandoned. And no wonder! The estate was more rock than soil. Talbot had yet to hear of crops that flourished in stone. Even the goats had a hungered look about them.
They certainly eyed him overmuch.
But his companion seemed oblivious to all of this. “After all, we have some time before the meal and the company of women beckons us into the hall.” Burke turned an expectant smile upon Talbot. “Shall we?”
Talbot looked longingly toward the golden glow spilling from the distant portal, a prospect of warmth and food, women, perhaps wine, certainly greater comfort than he was currently enjoying.
God’s blood, he could not believe what he endured at his uncle’s command!
But, on the brighter side of matters, this knight’s intervention had won Talbot the admission to Kiltorren that he craved. He had but to let the man exhaust himself, then he could seek this Isibeal.
Indeed, Burke might tell him all he needed to know.