Page 56 of The Herald's Heart
Talon let his head drop to his knees. “’Tis no good. My woman has no children.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“She will have none of me.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it, Amis. I’ve made a great mess of things.” Talon turned his head to his friend.
Brows raised, his friend studied him for a moment.
Talon mentally squirmed.
“Come,” Amis urged. “Let us get you home. You can tell me all about it while you put food in your belly.”
The mention of food was the final straw. Talon crawled to the nearest bush and emptied his stomach.
When he finished, Amis extended a flask so Talon could fill his mouth with water. He swirled the liquid around to wash away the sour taste of drunkenness, then spat and filled his mouth again. This time he swallowed.
“Feel better?”
“Some.”
“Let’s go, then. We’ve a murder to solve and a lady to pursue.”
The lady was the last thing Talon wanted to talk about. He looked around. “I seem to have lost my horse.”
“The keep isn’t far. We can walk. ’Twill be better for your stomach.”
“Aye. When we get there, we’ll have ale and break our fast.”
They set out in companionable silence.
“So what’s this woman’s name?”
“Larkin. Lady Larkin Rosham.”
“You jest.”
Talon shook his head.
“Lady Rosham, truly? But she is supposed to be dead.”
“Well she’s not, and if there’s any fire from which I must pull my butt, ’tis of her making.”
“Oh ho. This is a tale I must hear.”
• • •
“And that’s when she left me.” Talon sipped carefully at his tankard of ale. He’d tried to avoid mentioning his humiliation at Larkin’s hands but failed. Amis was as persistent in ferreting out the truth as any of Edward’s hounds. His friend accepted Talon’s explanation that she was an orphan and her identity was in question, though the local abbess who’d given Lady Larkin shelter believed her to be of noble birth.
Having shared his misery with his dearest friend, Talon felt hopeful that on some distant day, his heart might not hurt at the thought of Larkin. One look at Amis’s expression, and Talon cringed inwardly. He was a miserable host, wallowing in self-pity over a woman who should mean nothing to him.
“’Tis not so bad, Amis.” He clapped a hand on the other knight’s shoulder. “Already, you have made me feel that I could forget the troublesome wench.” He filled his mouth with ale before he could utter the denial that shouted in his mind.
“’Tis much worse than I imagined,” Amis said morosely into his flagon. “You’re in love, and with a woman who does not appear to return your affection.”
Ale spewed from Talon’s mouth. He jerked his head aside to avoid spraying his friend. “What?” He wiped his lips and chin on his sleeve. “Why would you make such a stupid remark?”
