Page 27 of The Knight's Pledge
Chumley’s eyebrows went up. “Hoo. Well, you might be surprised, Sir Lucan. I daresay, you just might yet be.” He drained the bowl, tipping it up with both hands, and then set it on the table where it wobbled to a rattling standstill. “Let this old drunk give you a piece of advice that may or may not have been gleaned from around the piss pot in a whorehouse: Don’t cross Effie. If you do, know there’s not one of the family who won’t cut you down. Cut you down dead. You’re worth less than the shit on her shoesto any of us.”
He winked at Lucan. “Including me, love.”
Lucan’s blood boiled. He was angry and humiliated, and had just been warned by a fellow who couldn’t even stand during the day without first having imbibed of an entire pitcher of ale. He ought to seize up the man and toss him onto the Strand.
A corner of Chumley’s mouth quirked up, as if he could read Lucan’s thoughts. He waited.
Lucan also waited, his intuition clanging like a bell.
“Perhaps later?” Chumley said at last, and used the arms of the chair to push himself to his feet. He began walking across the rug, his gait now steady and sure. He quit the room, leaving Lucanalone at last.
* * * *
Lucan ate dinner alone that evening, all the band having deserted the house on the Strand fornearby taverns.
Lucan had not been invited.
He wasn’t yet certain how he would proceed come the morning, when they were to once more depart for the northern reaches of England. He was mulling over his options when Stephen entered the dining hall and walked briskly to the side ofLucan’s chair.
“A visitor for you, lord. He’s come to thekitchen door.”
“Who is it?”
“A soldier, lord. From Westminster, I believe.”
“Whatdoes he want?”
“I don’t know, lord. He wasn’t forthcoming when asked. Shall Isend him away?”
Lucan considered it with a frown. “No. No, of course not. Bring him through.”
A moment later, Lucan’s concern evaporated, and he gave a silent sigh of relief as the familiar form appeared. “Ulric, what are you doing here? Not been sent to arrest me, I hope.”
“Nay, lord,” Ulric said with a grin, coming near to Lucan’s chair as he rose and clasping hands. “The king doesn’t know I’ve come, and I suspect it’d be myself arrested if he should find out. I’ve leave for the evening, thanks to your return—on my way to find a bit of sport. But I have been first charged with delivering toyou a parcel.”
Lucan recognized the satchel right away as Ulric ducked from beneath the strap—old and faded and patched. He’d first seen it on the island of Caedmaray, and then for the last time at Steadport hall.
Itwas Padraig’s.
Lucan took the bag from Ulric. “You can’t know how glad I am to see this. Will youhave a drink?”
“Nay, lord—I’m out the way I came, as quickly as I can manage it. The fewer them who see me, the better for us both.”
“Quite, I’m sure,” Lucan said, barely able to restrain himself from tearing open the flap and checking the bag’s contents in that moment. “But do tell me, how are the sons of Scotland?”
Ulric grinned. “They aren’t as impressed with His Majesty’s hospitality as is youngGeorge Thomas.”
“The old woman? Lady Hargrave—what’s the word?”
Ulric shook his head. “I wouldn’t know, lord.”
“I understand,” Lucan said gruffly. “I won’t keep you, then. Thank you, Ulric.”
The captain bowed and then turned and left the chamber.
Lucan slid the satchel onto the table, shoving aside the platter containing his forgotten meal. He loosened the flap and peeked inside the bag. A thickness of dark cloth greeted him, and Lucan pushed the doubledgarment aside.
Iris’s portfolio!
