studied the raised portcullis, a huge wooden grille with pointed ends. Sentries patrolled the wall walk above. At the other end of the gatehouse was a closed second gate that led to the outer ward. It was made of solid oak, inches thick and studded with brass.
Lowering his hood, Blaidd rode beneath the portcullis and into the gatehouse, passing under the murder hole. If enemies got trapped between the wooden grille of the portcullis and the solid inner gate, defenders could pour boiling oil or throw rocks through that hole. He shivered, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was wet with rain. He had seen a child accidentally burned by hot sheep’s tallow once, and the thought of a great vat raining such a doom from above was the stuff of nightmares.
Arriving at the inner gate, he pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted. Trev followed suit, and Blaidd handed him Aderyn Du’s reins.
Before Blaidd could call out a greeting, though, a panel in the right half of the door slid swiftly back. No doubt the sentries on the wall walk had notified the guards below that they had visitors.
A thin face wreathed in a rough, dark brown woolen hood appeared. The guard’s brilliant blue eyes regarded Blaidd as if he wanted to accuse him of cheating. “Who are you and what do you want?” a slightly husky voice demanded.
“It’s a woman!” Trev cried in what was meant to be a whisper, although it was loud enough to be heard twenty feet away.
After the first moment of astonishment had passed, Blaidd did what he always did when he met a woman. He smiled. “I wasn’t aware Lord Throckton had Amazons in his garrison.”
With an expression that looked suspiciously like scorn, the blue eyes surveyed him slowly, from the top of his soaked head, over his woolen cloak and leather jerkin, past his sword belt and breeches to the soles of his black boots. Then her expression changed to one of approval—because she’d caught sight of Aderyn Du.
Blaidd stiffened. Aderyn Du was an undeniably fine animal, but he wasn’t used to having his horse meet with more favor than he did.
Turning her attention back to Blaidd, the woman said, “I asked you who you were and what you want here.”
“He’s Sir Blaidd Morgan,” Trev declared incredulously, as if the whole world must know that.
Blaidd, however, knew that the whole world did not know of him, and it was very possible that his fame, such as it was, hadn’t traveled this far north of London and east of Wales.
“As my squire has said, I am Sir Blaidd Morgan,” he replied, once more his calm, genial self. “I’ve come to pay a friendly visit to Lord Throckton, provided you’ll let us through the gate.”
The woman sniffed. “You’ve come to court the Lady Laelia, like so many men before you. Well, good luck.”
“I do hope I have good luck, if Lady Laelia proves to be worth courting.”
“Well, well, no false modesty in you, sir knight, is there?” the woman replied. “It should be interesting to see how a Welshman fares. You are a Welshman, aren’t you?”
By now, Trev was fairly hopping with indignation. “Are you going to let her talk to you like that? Do we have to stand here like a couple of peddlers asking to come in?”
Blaidd continued to smile, and while he ostensibly replied to Trev, he didn’t take his steadfast gaze from what he could see of the woman’s face. “As a matter of fact, since she is keeper of the gate, I am going to let her talk to me like that, and keep us waiting, if she likes.”
The woman laughed, a low and rather cynical chortle. “I’ll give you credit for your manners, Sir Welshman,” she said. “Enter, then, and be welcome.”
She slammed the grille closed, and they heard the sound of the heavy bolt being drawn back.
“And about time, too!” Trev muttered. “God’s blood, Blaidd, that’s the rudest—”
“Never mind, Trev. We’re here without a specific invitation, so we can hardly be offended if the welcome is less than warm.”
“I hope Lord Throckton is more polite.”
“I’m sure he will be. It’s a nobleman’s duty to extend hospitality to a fellow nobleman.”
His squire didn’t respond; nonetheless, Blaidd could fairly feel the annoyance shooting out of him.
In truth, he was a little annoyed by the woman’s brazen manner, too, but he had had more experience with disrespect. His father was not nobly born, and it had taken winning several tournaments, as well as the friendship of the king, before Blaidd was truly accepted at court.
So while this was far from his usual reception both at castles and with women, he wasn’t as quick to take offense as Trev. As for the woman, he was very curious to see the whole of her face. If it was half so fascinating as those vibrant blue eyes, his time here might be more interesting than he had anticipated.
Although he mustn’t lose sight of his true, and important, purpose.
The gates slowly swung open, and he and Trev proceeded through, entering a wide, grassy outer ward. Beyond was the inner curtain wall of the castle, with towers at the corners.
Several armed guards—all men—stood at attention beside the gatehouse. The blue-eyed woman shrouded in a long brown cloak waited closest to the gate, as if she had personally drawn back the bolt. Her face was thin, her skin pale, and her blue eyes seemed rather too large for her face. But her features themselves weren’t too bad, and when he considered her lips, the first thought that came to mind was kissing.
“I hope you’ll forgive my questions, sir,” she said as she bowed low. “We so seldom have any visits from the king’s minions that naturally I was suspicious.”
Minion? Blaidd was no longer moved to excuse her insolence, vibrant blue eyes or not, and as for kissing her, he’d sooner kiss Aderyn Du.
“He’s not a minion!” Trev cried, echoing his thoughts. “He’s a friend of King Henry’s.”
“Trev, please, allow me to deal with this underling,” Blaidd said as he slowly ambled toward the woman until they were less than a foot apart.
She stiffened as Blaidd perused her in a leisurely manner.
“What’s your name, wench?” he asked with deceptive tranquillity before he gave her a smile that his opponents in armed combat had learned to dread.
Her chin jutted out with defiance. “Becca.”
“Tell me, Becca, do you always speak this way to your superiors?”
“Usually I don’t speak to anybody who considers himself my superior.”
She was, without doubt, the most insolent wench he’d ever encountered. “If this is the welcome nobles can expect at Throckton Castle, it’s no wonder to me that your lord is not held in high esteem at the king’s court.”
The woman’s steadfast gaze finally faltered—but only for the briefest of moments. “If he isn’t, that merely confirms what I think of the English court.”
“What do you know of the English court?”
Her eyes widened with what he recognized as a completely fraudulent innocent bafflement. “I never said I knew anything about the English court, sir. I said it confirms what I think about it.”
She bowed again, with an unexpected grace. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Sir Blaidd.”
He tilted his head as he studied her, not at all taken in by her change of manner. “Are you?”
“If what I’ve said causes trouble for Lord Throckton, I am.”
Then she smiled, with so merry an expression, it was like finding a flower blooming in the dead of winter. “But if my honesty means you think I’m an insolent wretch who ought