The Falcon Throne (The Tarnished Crown Series) by Karen Miller Page A

cock-tease. The poor duke. He couldn’t see her for what she was. Sick in love with his son, he was babe-blind. Why were men so stupid?
    Holding Liam close, feeling the ache in her breasts that told her she was too full of milk, she hurried up the spiral staircase then along the stone corridor that led to the nursery. The man-at-arms, Emun, he was in his rightful place again. He saw her and rolled his eyes, finger pressed to his lips.
    Slowing, she felt her heart thump.
Morda?
she mouthed, and he nodded. Sighing, she smiled her thanks. He smiled back, not such a bad man, Emun, even if he was rough. He’d not had to warn her. Could be he’d like a kiss sometime. He’d earned it. Sucking in a deep breath, she stepped into the nursery.
    “
Slut!
” shouted Lady Morda, leaping forward with bony arms outstretched. “Give the babe to me, you drabbish lightskirt!”
    Even as Liam woke, Ellyn clutched him tighter and half-turned away. “Please, my lady, you’ll—”
    Liam opened his gummy mouth and howled. It was his angry cry, his hungry cry, and her aching breasts spurted milk at the sound. Lady Morda stepped back. She knew that cry too. And she knew that whatever the duke’s son wanted, that came first. Always.
    The old cow pointed at the nursing chair. “Sit,” she hissed. “Feed him. I go downstairs to the duke. He will be told what you’ve done. Expect a whipping, at the least.”
    Ellyn sat, unlaced her tunic, bared her breast and set Liam to suckling. Outside, in the corridor, Lady Morda was berating Emun. She’d see him whipped too, and perhaps a hand taken for good measure. Or an eye put out, his cock sliced off. He’d be sorry he let the sluttish wet nurse past him. Hating her, Ellyn stroked Liam’s downy head. She’d speak up for Emun, she would. Tell the duke she’d waited till the man-at-arms had needed a piss, then slipped out of the nursery. She’d say she’d not meant to cause trouble, Liam was fussy, wantinga walk, and she was hungry. No harm was done. Duke Harald would listen. He gave her many kindly looks–and he had little care for Lady Morda. The old bitch wouldn’t have the pleasure of maiming poor Emun.
    Liam made happy little gurgling sounds when he sucked. Charmed by them, adoring him, Ellyn closed her eyes. Her lamb, her precious lamb. She’d keep him safe from Lady Morda, and every other harm.
    Trapped in his chair, near-deafened by that old bitch Morda’s shrieking rage, Harald felt his fingers itch for a sword. A cursed pity the court’s niceties demanded a lack of naked blades and bloodshed. He couldn’t even summon the serjeant to kill her for him, since Morda was cousined in some distant degree to Argante and so was thrust out of his reach. To his lords’ and ladies’ tittering amusement, and threatening to drown out his minstrels, the old sow was demanding the hide of Liam’s wet nurse.
    “But my lady,” he said, when the hag paused to draw breath, “would you have me a tyrant? How can I chastise without cause?”
    Morda’s pebble-grey eyes bulged. “Without
cause
?”
    “Morda…” Standing beside him, slender fingers lightly rested on his arm, Argante favoured her kinswoman with a cool smile. “His Grace is right. In your dismay you’ve not told us what the girl has done to earn this demanded whipping.”
    “She took your son from his cradle!” Morda spat, her miserly dugs heaving beneath the green brocade bodice covering them. “She wandered with him about the castle like a drab, heedless of the hour and chill, and if she did not show her privy parts to every man-at-arms in passing I am not a true servant to His Grace and that babe!”
    More tittering. The court’s pages, holding silver trays of cooling food, stared at the bitch and each other. Two smothered giggles. Harald felt his teeth grind. Morda was making a fool of him.
    “You saw her drabbish? With your own eyes, this very night?”
    “Saw her?” The high colour in Morda’s sallow cheeks