Page 12 of Seducing the Sorcerer
If Fenn had been surprised by the bow and the apology and the “Mr. Todd,” the offer of a room simply floored him. A room? As if he were a guest? Whatever was the sorcerer playing at? Or was “guest” polite code for “prisoner”?
At Fenn’s feet, the horse’s head jerked. It stretched its neck, gripped a cobble with its mouth and pulled itself along. Then it gripped the next cobble and the next, inching along with the frantic haste of a caterpillar that sees a bird.
Fenn stared at it, uncomprehending. Morgrim was watching it too. The sorcerer was still frowning, but now there was something else in his face: something interested, something eager. Whatever it was, the sorcerer was in the grip of a powerful emotion.
The horse was inching away from the gatehouse, away from the offered room. Away from the tapestry room with the—
—suddenly, Fenn felt he understood.
“The moths. Happen it don’t fancy them moths,” he said.
The sorcerer frowned some more, deepening the already deep groove between his eyebrows. Clearly, he was a bloke for whom disapproval was a near permanent state. He wiped the rain from his face again, flicking the water from his fingers with a contemptuous gesture.
“I was not offering the room to the horse.”
Morgrim bit the words out with exaggerated courtesy, as if he were a whisker away from losing his patience. Fenn, however, was so weary that he was nearly losing his.
“I know that, but it follows me—look, it stays with me, got it? So, a stable would suit. If you got any stables?”
One of the sorcerer’s eyebrows rose. He raked Fenn with his gaze again, like he hadn’t looked enough already. Perhaps he was finally taking in Fenn’s ragged trousers and filthy jacket and scraggy grey beard and hair. Whatever he saw, he didn’t argue.
“Show Mr. Todd to the stables please, Jasper. Let him sleep. I can see he needs it. Tomorrow, let him tidy himself up. A bath. New clothes. There are plenty of suitable garments in the linen cupboard in the gatehouse. You know where to look. Make sure he gets a good breakfast.” He turned to Fenn. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Mr. Todd. When the palace clock strikes eleven, please come to the hall.” He indicated the tower with a graceful sweep of his hand. “Oh, and bring the horse, if you would.”
He turned his back on Fenn’s thanks, strode up the tower steps and slammed the doors behind him. There was the squeal of the bolt sliding home and the flames in the cressets died. It felt as if a tornado had decided to take itself off to bed.
Fenn breathed a sigh of relief. He was pretty sure Jasper was doing the same.
“Gods,” Fenn said. “He always like that?”
Chapter 3
Jasper looked as if he thought it was a trick question. “Like what?”
“One minute barking at you like a wolf and the next all ‘I do apologise’ and ‘would you like a room’. Confusing sort of bloke, ain’t he?”
Jasper said, carefully, “The master doesn’t often entertain. And we weren’t expecting visitors.”
“You don’t say.”
Fenn glanced at the horse, which raised its head to goggle backwards at him. “Great help you were,” he muttered to it.
Jasper was still keeping his distance. And not turning his back on Fenn. The lad went crabwise towards a large double door under the loggia to the right of the tower, and laid the sword down on the cobbles against the wall, as gently as he might put down a sleeping baby. He took a couple of steps away from the sword with evident relief.
“Shall I show you to the stables?” Jasper asked.
“So, what am I?” Fenn’s heart was still beating overly fast, but Jasper seemed no threat. “Prisoner? Prospective member of staff?” He thought a bit and added, scoffing, “A guest? Really?”
Jasper twitched. “I don’t know, sir.”
“Sir”, eh? Jasper was playing it safe. He kept glancing up at the tower door, as if half-expecting Morgrim to come back and have another go at him. Fenn felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. He had a sweet, anxious face. Couldn’t be much fun for him, stuck in here, seemingly alone with the most frightening man in the country.
Then it occurred to Fenn that Jasper was very handsome in a delicate, willowy sort of way. And that there had been something about the way Morgrim had looked at him. Perhaps Jasper wasn’t a retainer in training at all, but a very different kind of servant. Poor little bastard, if that were the case. Fenn liked a pretty lad himself, but only if the lad had a choice in the matter. Anyway, it was none of Fenn’s business, but when he left, perhaps he might offer Jasper a lift away from this awful place on the back of the horse.
“Well then, these stables?” Fenn said.
Jasper took a crystal lantern off a hook and stroked it to brightness, then opened one of the double doors and stood there, holding it open. “This way, sir.”
Fenn said to the horse, “You coming? Because I ain’t carrying you.”
