Page 33 of The Knight's Pledge
Lucan shook water from his cape as he ducked through the doorway into the common room at the end of the party. The low murmur of conversation among the patrons ceased for a pair of heartbeats as they regarded the newcomers, but resumed in earnest a moment later. Effie Annesley caught his eye and gave him a curt nod, her blue eyes like wet slate in the flickering glow ofthe cozy room.
Lucan turned at the signal to seek the proprietor of the establishment—he was permitted to speak now, apparently. At many of the inns they’d passed through, Effie had forbidden Lucan to secure the lodgings, saying that once the owners heard his “prim language, he’ll take us all for princes and rob us blind.” This inn seemed more respectable, and so it was Effie’s policy in such cases to appeal to the owner’s sense of pride at the privilege of sheltering such a dignified guest and his entourage, as Lucan had been instructed to imply.
A short, plump old man with a shining pate in the center of a thick ring of white hair was driving the two handles of an enormous serving tray, as a strapping young man carried the front edge. They came to the end of one of the long trestle tables positioned on the stone slab floor and set the tray on its hidden legs. The old man began passing leather tankards down the line of seated patrons. Lucan crossed the floor toward him, weaving through themaze of tables.
“Excuse me, I’m looking forthe innskeep.”
The old man glanced at Lucan briefly, a smile affixed beneath his bushy gray mustache. “That would be me, lord. But a moment, I beg. There you are,” he said with a groan as he stretched a bit further with a tankard to reach the last patronat the table.
He twisted his hands in a white length of cloth tucked into his apron, scrubbing at them as he turned to face Lucan fully at last. “Looking for a bed,are you, lord?”
The old man never lost his friendly expression even as his eyes took in Lucan’s full measure in a blink, and Lucan would have wagered that the proprietor could have then given an accurate accounting of his person down to the cost of his boots.
“Yes. As well as accommodations for my household. The rain has grown tiresome.”
The old man glanced over toward the bar where the band clustered. Chumley had already procured a tankard from a passing maid and the bottom was turned up. Said serving maid was currently pressing against Gorman in a friendly manner. Effie and Rolf appeared engrossed in conversation, Winnie’s hand tucked into the crook of Rolf’s arm; only Gilboe watched Lucan openly, a broad smile on his face. He nodded at the proprietorencouragingly.
The innskeep looked back to Lucan. “Certainly. I’ve a chamber left. Board for your animals. Includes supper victuals for your servants. The men can bed down in the stable.Ale is extra.”
“How much?”Lucan pressed.
The old man’s grin widened before he answered.
Lucan thought it a rather polite robbery, but he handed over the requested amount of coin while managing not to roll his eyes, realizing that Effie only instructed Lucan to secure lodgings in establishments in which the rent was likely to be steep regardless of his “prim language.”
The old man tucked the coins into a pouch hidden beneath the side of his apron opposite the towel. “I thank you. Top of the back stair, lord. Come to table whenyou are ready.”
Lucan turned and nodded Gilboe toward the stairs along the rear wall of the common room as he started back across the stone floor. Gorman slid from beneath the serving maid’s attention, plucking at Rolf’s cape before following Gilboe toward the steps. Lucan took his place at the bar at Effie’s side, opposite Chumley. Winnie tucked her hand beneath Lucan’s arm, and he foundhe didn’t mind.
“I’ll eventually run out of money, you know,” he advisedEffie gruffly.
“Getting out of that rain tonight is priceless,” she answered.
“Thenyoushouldhave paid him.”
Chumley lowered his tankard and Lucan’s gaze followed Effie’s in going to the man at once.
He reached for another from a passing tray, speaking in his low, smooth tone without looking at any of the trio directly. “Nine in the tavern. Three fine mounts with tack in the stable, although I cannot say whether they are travelling in company. Also four jacks, but only two with tack. Loft over the stalls withtwo bedrolls.”
“Merchants,” Lucan guessed. “With their wares. That leaves some well-to do travelers and perhaps some of the local villagers to make up the restof the crowd.”
Gorman inserted himself smoothly between Lucan and Effie.
“The chamber is safe. Only one other above the kitchens, reached by an outside stair. Occupied.”
“They got the warm room,” Effie lamented, and Lucan realized the chamber they’d rented likely overhung the exterior walkway between the stable and the tavern. It would be noisy and cold, buthopefully dry.
Gilboe shrugged. “No matter—good Sir Lucan’s paid for it, hasn’t he? The Lord has willed that we should eat without getting pissed on all night; let us proceed.”
Lucan pressed his lips together and waited a moment before Winnie tugged him along to join the rest of the party atan empty table.
The food was bland, but warm and filling, the stew thick and congealing in the stale bread trencher. The ale was crisp and dry and so, like Chumley, Lucan availed himself of the generous serving maid each time she passed. He watched Effie Annesley more closely as the tankards emptied, as a blazing fire to Lucan’s back lit up her features like a summer sunset. Her hair was drying, the little tendrils that had come loose from her customary plait curled up like honeysuckle petals around her jaw. She smiled often, laughed, leaned into Gorman with her palmon his chest.
Lucan then turned his attention surreptitiously to Gorman Littlebrook. He supposed the man would be considered handsome, with his wide, burly form, his thick, masculine beard and penetrating gaze softened by the deep crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. He was older than Lucan, but by how many years, Lucan could only guess. Rolf’s only son—only child. It was said that Darlyrede’s steward’s boy had likely died years ago after being caught stealing and then disappearing during the ensuing chase. It had all occurred before Lucan had been to France, and so besides a week or two of gossip amongst the servants at Castle Dare, he’d heard nothing more said of it. The only thing Lucan could definitively recall was that Gorman Littlebrook was presumed to have died, bringing both shame and grief—not to mention a debt—to his father. But yet, here Gorman was, alive, sitting next to Rolf Littlebrook, who had yet to offer any explanation to Lucan.
Lucan found he was suddenly a bit offended, and so to prevent his thoughts turning maudlin, he let his fuzzy gaze wander around thetable further.
Gilboe… what sort of religious house would foster such a strange man? And wherewerehis eyebrows?
