Margaret Moore - [Warrior 14] by In The Kings Service Page A

collar of his tunic. “Well, Sir Blaidd, she don’t like to lose, o’ course, but you’d better do your best.”
    Sir Blaidd planted his feet. “I didn’t let her win. Imade a bad shot. Trev will confirm that it’s been known to happen before.”
    Trev didn’t look pleased. “He’s an excellent shot.”
    “Not all the time,” Blaidd insisted, which was the truth, and Trev should just admit it. This wasn’t a tournament, after all. “What about the time I shot your father in the leg?”
    Becca’s eyes widened, while Dobbin whistled and the other men listened in stunned silence. “You shot Sir Urien Fitzroy?” Dobbin asked in a whisper.
    “Aye. Last year. He was too confident in my aim and stood too close to the target.”
    All eyes turned to Trevelyan, who blushed in silent confirmation.
    “You should have heard the words he used on that occasion,” Blaidd added. “Colorful, to say the least. Of course, I deserved everything he said.”
    “Perhaps you’re a bad shot, after all,” Becca allowed.
    “So do you wish to try again or will you accept your victory?”
    “Since you are willing to confess that you hit the famous Sir Urien, I am willing to accept that I won fair and square.”
    Blaidd relaxed, then their gazes met and held for a moment, until they both blinked and looked away.
    Out of the corner of her eye, Becca saw Meg hurrying toward her.
    She was glad for the interruption, she told herself, as the girl came to a halt. Meg cast a quick glance at young Fitzroy, and a longer one over Sir Blaidd, before addressing Becca. “The wine merchant’s come, my lady.”
    “Oh. If you’ll excuse me, Sir Blaidd, Dobbin.” She surveyed the rest of the soldiers. “And you, too, men. I must see to ordering wine. Or I could stay here and try to get another bull’s-eye—”
    “No, no, my lady!” various voices called, some loud, some muted. “You won, fair and square.”
    “And nobody else gets the wine you do from that old snake!” another voice called from the back.
    “Your soldiers have wine, not ale?” Sir Blaidd asked, obviously a bit surprised.
    “Both. My father says men with full bellies and good drink are more apt to be grateful, and loyal. Treat them well and they’ll protect you and your land as if they’re family. But wine is served only on Sunday. The rest of the time they have ale.” She raised her voice. “Or my father would be a pauper, the way they drink.”
    A chorus of cheerful denials filled the air, and Becca laughed, enjoying the easy camaraderie she shared with the soldiers, even though she knew that what they most appreciated about her was the food and drink she ensured was provided for them.
    “Men come from all over England to serve Lord Throckton,” Dobbin confirmed just as proudly. “We’ve got the best soldiers in the land here.”
    “Yes, I can tell he’s got an excellent garrison,” Sir Blaidd agreed. “And the wine I’ve enjoyed has been most excellent, too.” He bowed. “I thank you, my lady.” And then the impertinent fellow winked. “AndI trust I shall continue to enjoy fine wine, excellent food and good company for the rest of my stay here.”
    “How long might that be, Sir Blaidd?” she asked without thinking.
    His dark brows rose. “Are you suggesting I’ve overstayed my welcome?” he inquired, causing the men all around them to fall silent.
    “Not at all,” she hastened to assure him, anticipating what her father would say if he heard she’d asked such a direct question to a guest. “I simply need to know how much of the best wine to get.”
    “I hope you’re not implying I drink too much?”
    “No, no!” she protested, getting a little flustered. “We always keep a store of good wine, but I’m sure my father will want you to have the very best Bartram has, so I should know how much to purchase. I meant no criticism of you.”
    “I just wanted to be sure,” he said, breaking into a wide smile.
    She stared at him in