bid me.”
“And a good warrior deserves his meal. Here you are.” Haven placed several slivers of dried meat into Thomas’s hand. “Have you ever eaten dried meat before?”
“No, sir.”
“Well then, do not bite the meat. Put one end in your mouth until it gets soft. Then bite off the soft part and chew it up. When you’ve done that, do it again until all the meat is gone. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Thomas fell silent while he worked at eating the hard food.
Haven watched the clearing. As the moon rose, its light cast sharp shadows over the grassy space between the oak and the trees on the clearing’s opposite edge. But nothing took on the shape of a man, and nothing moved.
Eventually, Haven became aware that Thomas slept. He shifted the boy to a more comfortable position. Then Haven resumed his vigilance. He offered a prayer to God for Thomas’s safety and waited, watching all the while.
Haven feared the time when weariness would overtake him and he too would sleep, leaving them both defenseless. He would do everything in his power to delay that moment as long as possible, but he knew it would come.
Chapter Nine
Haven’s hand leapt to his sword before the noise of several horses completely woke him.
“I would not, if I were you,” came a lazy warning.
Haven heard the rasp of more than a dozen blades, and he dropped his hand from his weapon. He turned his head to see who spoke, but sudden movement from Thomas distracted him.
“Owain,” the boy shouted, as if he had just been crowned King of the May.
Haven grabbed Thomas before the child could scramble away and go running into the circle of armed and mounted men who cut off all possible escape. “Hush, Thomas, these are enemies.”
“No.” Thomas now stood on Haven’s thighs looking toward the men. “That’s Owain, my father’s sergeant-at-arms. He cannot be an enemy. On my birthday, Owain swore to my father that he would protect me,” Thomas explained, his face now nose to nose with Haven’s.
Too many thoughts raced through Haven’s mind. Now is not the time to remind Thomas that his father is dead. If Owain was Roger’s man, then Thomas is in little danger, but I may be as dead as Roger. Is Owain the leader of these men? If not, who is, and what is their connection to Owain? How do I get Thomas to stay silent so I can handle this, and if I am lucky, save both our skins?
“Thomas,” Haven spoke with the same gentle firmness he used when training Watley, “are you a warrior, and am I your commander?”
Thomas nodded.
“Then get behind me, while I talk with Owain.”
Thomas’s face scrunched into a concerned pout. “Owain’s my special, good friend. Promise you will not hurt him.”
Haven smiled at the boy’s drastic misreading of who might hurt whom. “Thomas, a warrior does not question or put conditions upon his commander’s orders.”
“Aye, Sir Haven.” The boy climbed off Haven’s legs and squeezed himself between Haven and the tree.
When Thomas had settled himself, that lazy voice came past Haven’s shoulder once more. “You are wise to retain the only advantage you have. Turn the boy over to us now, and we will let you go unharmed as soon as we have all of Roger Dreyford’s family in safekeeping.”
“I cannot do that.”
“Are you certain?”
“Show yourself. Only cowards negotiate from hiding.”
A mailed man rode into the center of the circle. “A cautious man knows when to let the enemy believe him a coward.”
So this was the Owain of Roger’s letters. Dreyford had described his sergeant-at-arms as one of the most skillful but unorthodox fighters he had ever seen. According to Roger, Owain employed a fighting style that combined animal cunning with cold logic and an overriding passion for bloodletting. Roger had been very glad not to be on the wrong end of any weapon Owain held. Now it looked to Haven as if he were in that unenviable position.
“I will tell you once again, de
“And a good warrior deserves his meal. Here you are.” Haven placed several slivers of dried meat into Thomas’s hand. “Have you ever eaten dried meat before?”
“No, sir.”
“Well then, do not bite the meat. Put one end in your mouth until it gets soft. Then bite off the soft part and chew it up. When you’ve done that, do it again until all the meat is gone. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Thomas fell silent while he worked at eating the hard food.
Haven watched the clearing. As the moon rose, its light cast sharp shadows over the grassy space between the oak and the trees on the clearing’s opposite edge. But nothing took on the shape of a man, and nothing moved.
Eventually, Haven became aware that Thomas slept. He shifted the boy to a more comfortable position. Then Haven resumed his vigilance. He offered a prayer to God for Thomas’s safety and waited, watching all the while.
Haven feared the time when weariness would overtake him and he too would sleep, leaving them both defenseless. He would do everything in his power to delay that moment as long as possible, but he knew it would come.
Chapter Nine
Haven’s hand leapt to his sword before the noise of several horses completely woke him.
“I would not, if I were you,” came a lazy warning.
Haven heard the rasp of more than a dozen blades, and he dropped his hand from his weapon. He turned his head to see who spoke, but sudden movement from Thomas distracted him.
“Owain,” the boy shouted, as if he had just been crowned King of the May.
Haven grabbed Thomas before the child could scramble away and go running into the circle of armed and mounted men who cut off all possible escape. “Hush, Thomas, these are enemies.”
“No.” Thomas now stood on Haven’s thighs looking toward the men. “That’s Owain, my father’s sergeant-at-arms. He cannot be an enemy. On my birthday, Owain swore to my father that he would protect me,” Thomas explained, his face now nose to nose with Haven’s.
Too many thoughts raced through Haven’s mind. Now is not the time to remind Thomas that his father is dead. If Owain was Roger’s man, then Thomas is in little danger, but I may be as dead as Roger. Is Owain the leader of these men? If not, who is, and what is their connection to Owain? How do I get Thomas to stay silent so I can handle this, and if I am lucky, save both our skins?
“Thomas,” Haven spoke with the same gentle firmness he used when training Watley, “are you a warrior, and am I your commander?”
Thomas nodded.
“Then get behind me, while I talk with Owain.”
Thomas’s face scrunched into a concerned pout. “Owain’s my special, good friend. Promise you will not hurt him.”
Haven smiled at the boy’s drastic misreading of who might hurt whom. “Thomas, a warrior does not question or put conditions upon his commander’s orders.”
“Aye, Sir Haven.” The boy climbed off Haven’s legs and squeezed himself between Haven and the tree.
When Thomas had settled himself, that lazy voice came past Haven’s shoulder once more. “You are wise to retain the only advantage you have. Turn the boy over to us now, and we will let you go unharmed as soon as we have all of Roger Dreyford’s family in safekeeping.”
“I cannot do that.”
“Are you certain?”
“Show yourself. Only cowards negotiate from hiding.”
A mailed man rode into the center of the circle. “A cautious man knows when to let the enemy believe him a coward.”
So this was the Owain of Roger’s letters. Dreyford had described his sergeant-at-arms as one of the most skillful but unorthodox fighters he had ever seen. According to Roger, Owain employed a fighting style that combined animal cunning with cold logic and an overriding passion for bloodletting. Roger had been very glad not to be on the wrong end of any weapon Owain held. Now it looked to Haven as if he were in that unenviable position.
“I will tell you once again, de
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