shed blood in her solar.’
Alan swallowed down a scathing reply. He had taken a risk with de Roncier’s temper, but he had been fairly confident that he would not have the stomach for killing an unarmed man. The Count hired others to do his dirty work.
‘Look here, le Bret,’ de Roncier had recovered his composure, ‘you’re a good soldier. I know the rank and file respect you, and I don’t want trouble with the men. I’m willing to add half a pound of purest English silver to your pay if you finish the job. You can have it tomorrow.’
‘Half a pound?’ Alan looked deep into his lord’s hazel eyes. If de Roncier was trying bribery, he must be desperate. In Duke’s Tavern, a sergeant had revealed that the Herevis were distant kin to de Roncier. It must be some ancient quarrel over birthright for it to matter so much.
‘Half a pound,’ the Count confirmed with a confident grin.
The form of a young girl in a vivid blue dress sprang into Alan’s mind. Ned was not the only one to dislike this commission. ‘I’m uneasy about this,
mon seigneur
. It’s a women’s household.’
‘There’s a lad–’
‘That one!’ Alan dismissed Raymond Herevi with a scornful wave of his hand. ‘He’d be no more use in combat than a lute player. I’ll wager he’s never wielded a knife on anything more lively than the meat on his trencher.’
‘Don’t you turn womanish on me, le Bret.’ The Count thudded a heavy fist on the table, and the costly Eastern wine glasses shivered and tinkled. ‘You are beginning to sound like your lily-livered kinsman, Fletcher. What’s his problem? Is he a coward?’
Alan recalled the gangling colt of a boy who had trailed faithfully after him when he had been forced to leave England looking for work, because mercenaries were banned in England. Ned had been all eyes and legs, and it could not have been easy for him to leave everything he held dear to follow his older cousin. ‘No,
mon seigneur
, Ned Fletcher’s no coward.’
‘I’ll have his tongue nailed to the whipping post so he can’t infect any more of the troop with his high-minded tattle. I’m surprised at you, le Bret. I’d have thought you would be immune.’
‘It is nothing to do with Fletcher,’ Alan said, though privately he wondered if there was a germ of truth in what de Roncier was saying. He did feel torn. He needed the money – who didn’t? – and normally never thought twice about what he did to get it. But when Ned had spoken out, Alan had taken a long, hard look at his lord. And if he had summed up the position truly, the man was no more than a blustering coward out to steal someone else’s birthright.
Alan was no saint that he could sit in judgement over others. He had smothered his conscience years ago in the need for coin. How much lower than that could you sink? That he needed the money was irrelevant. Did his need justify the shedding of blood, the killing of women and children? Alan was tired of dancing to de Roncier’s tune. He wanted out, and here was de Roncier offering to increase his pay. He wished his conscience had remained dormant a little while longer. Perhaps he’d take the extra money and push on to greener pastures...
‘What about St Clair?’ Alan asked. ‘Don’t you anticipate a fight while he protects his woman and children?’
De Roncier’s hair gleamed like fire in the cresset lights. ‘St Clair hasn’t got enough guards to keep the house under surveillance all the time,’ he said. ‘Besides, he won’t be expecting an outright attack on the house.’
Alan brought his brows together. ‘
Mon seigneur
, I don’t think I’d recommend an outright attack. It’s too obvious. Someone’s bound to recognise–’
The Count swung round, picked up a solid, brass-topped poker and stirred the fire into life. ‘Point taken.’
‘And afterwards,
mon seigneur
,’ Alan pressed on, ‘don’t you think St Clair will retaliate? Yolande Herevi means much to him. I’ve
Alan swallowed down a scathing reply. He had taken a risk with de Roncier’s temper, but he had been fairly confident that he would not have the stomach for killing an unarmed man. The Count hired others to do his dirty work.
‘Look here, le Bret,’ de Roncier had recovered his composure, ‘you’re a good soldier. I know the rank and file respect you, and I don’t want trouble with the men. I’m willing to add half a pound of purest English silver to your pay if you finish the job. You can have it tomorrow.’
‘Half a pound?’ Alan looked deep into his lord’s hazel eyes. If de Roncier was trying bribery, he must be desperate. In Duke’s Tavern, a sergeant had revealed that the Herevis were distant kin to de Roncier. It must be some ancient quarrel over birthright for it to matter so much.
‘Half a pound,’ the Count confirmed with a confident grin.
The form of a young girl in a vivid blue dress sprang into Alan’s mind. Ned was not the only one to dislike this commission. ‘I’m uneasy about this,
mon seigneur
. It’s a women’s household.’
‘There’s a lad–’
‘That one!’ Alan dismissed Raymond Herevi with a scornful wave of his hand. ‘He’d be no more use in combat than a lute player. I’ll wager he’s never wielded a knife on anything more lively than the meat on his trencher.’
‘Don’t you turn womanish on me, le Bret.’ The Count thudded a heavy fist on the table, and the costly Eastern wine glasses shivered and tinkled. ‘You are beginning to sound like your lily-livered kinsman, Fletcher. What’s his problem? Is he a coward?’
Alan recalled the gangling colt of a boy who had trailed faithfully after him when he had been forced to leave England looking for work, because mercenaries were banned in England. Ned had been all eyes and legs, and it could not have been easy for him to leave everything he held dear to follow his older cousin. ‘No,
mon seigneur
, Ned Fletcher’s no coward.’
‘I’ll have his tongue nailed to the whipping post so he can’t infect any more of the troop with his high-minded tattle. I’m surprised at you, le Bret. I’d have thought you would be immune.’
‘It is nothing to do with Fletcher,’ Alan said, though privately he wondered if there was a germ of truth in what de Roncier was saying. He did feel torn. He needed the money – who didn’t? – and normally never thought twice about what he did to get it. But when Ned had spoken out, Alan had taken a long, hard look at his lord. And if he had summed up the position truly, the man was no more than a blustering coward out to steal someone else’s birthright.
Alan was no saint that he could sit in judgement over others. He had smothered his conscience years ago in the need for coin. How much lower than that could you sink? That he needed the money was irrelevant. Did his need justify the shedding of blood, the killing of women and children? Alan was tired of dancing to de Roncier’s tune. He wanted out, and here was de Roncier offering to increase his pay. He wished his conscience had remained dormant a little while longer. Perhaps he’d take the extra money and push on to greener pastures...
‘What about St Clair?’ Alan asked. ‘Don’t you anticipate a fight while he protects his woman and children?’
De Roncier’s hair gleamed like fire in the cresset lights. ‘St Clair hasn’t got enough guards to keep the house under surveillance all the time,’ he said. ‘Besides, he won’t be expecting an outright attack on the house.’
Alan brought his brows together. ‘
Mon seigneur
, I don’t think I’d recommend an outright attack. It’s too obvious. Someone’s bound to recognise–’
The Count swung round, picked up a solid, brass-topped poker and stirred the fire into life. ‘Point taken.’
‘And afterwards,
mon seigneur
,’ Alan pressed on, ‘don’t you think St Clair will retaliate? Yolande Herevi means much to him. I’ve
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