young knight or to get what he had come for. Andrew seized the man’s hesitation to plant himself between the two.
“Your wit has grown stale, Andrew,” Jack whispered behind him. “Let me prick this hog some more. It entertains our countrymen far better than a mummer’s play.”
Andrew answered out of the side of his mouth. “Chill your anger, Jackanapes. Tis too hot for a fray.”
Gareth dropped his hand, though he still maintained his aggressive stance. “Methought you were cowering inside your pretty pink tent, Ford. I am much amazed that you had the courage to sally forth where the hellish sun could burn that soft skin of yours. Ha! But I see you have been shopping!”
He pawed through Andrew’s pile of colorful silks and satins, then pulled out a green gown and held it up for the crowd to see. “By my troth, do you prance around in this attire for your own amusement? Or do you entice your pretty Cavendishes with a wanton’s feathers?”
Andrew’s common sense clouded with hot anger.
Jack choked. “I will saw him in half with a rusty razor!” he roared, much to the delight of the mob.
Andrew stomped on the boy’s foot to silence him. Then he snatched Marianne’s dress out of Gareth’s sweaty hands. “Speak quickly, tedious fool. Why has an ill wind blown you against my doorstep?”
“The wench,” Gareth growled. “You have toyed with her long enough, Ford. I thank you for preparing the way for me. She should be well opened by now—atleast, I think that is what you have been doing with her. Looking at you, tis hard to tell.”
Andrew curbed his natural impulse to flatten the knave.
“Hold your tongue, Gareth! Why should I allow myself to give way to your rash choler? Do you think I am frightened when a spoiled child whines? Should I tremble because of your slanders? Not so. Methinks your words have gone up in smoke—back home to the devil, your master.”
Gareth opened and closed his mouth like a stickleback fish tossed on a riverbank, but no sound came out. Andrew pressed his advantage.
“In fact, I cannot devise a name too unworthy or ridiculous to fit you. Furthermore, you have an undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained and unconfirmed sense of fashion. By my troth, you have butchered all your buttonholes!”
The crowd whistled and applauded Andrew’s witty retort.
Gareth jutted out his chin and snarled, “I have paid good money for the chit and I demand my satisfaction!”
Andrew shook his head with mock sorrow. “Then I fear you have misspent your fortune in a bad business venture. Speak to the bawdmaster, not to me. Tis he who holds your purse. Only this morning, I paid him twice over last night’s sum. The lady is mine until I say nay. Now remove your presence from my threshold, and good day to you.”
Gareth took a step forward. Jack drew his sword and pointed it over Andrew’s shoulder. “A fool and his money are soon parted, eh, my lord?” Jack taunted. “What else do you want to part with this morning? Yourlong nose—or the jewels that dangle between your legs? Tis all one to me.”
Several of Gareth’s henchmen took hold of their leader’s shoulders and pulled him back.
“God’s teeth! I will bury you in the sand of the tiltyard,” he sputtered.
Jack dipped his blade in agreement. “I look forward to the pleasure, my lord. Name the day and hour.”
“Twill be your last day on earth! And, you Ford, you will wish you were dead before I am finished with you!” Hogsworthy spat on the ground at their feet before turning away.
Andrew drew in a deep sigh of relief as he watched the irate man push his way through the snickering crowd. His cohorts followed after him like a ragged pack of whipped hounds.
“Put up your sword, Jackanapes. Tis all over but the drinking. Methinks Sir Gareth will have a ringing head before the supper hour.”
Jack rammed his blade back into its scabbard. “How could you let that stretched-mouthed villain insult
“Your wit has grown stale, Andrew,” Jack whispered behind him. “Let me prick this hog some more. It entertains our countrymen far better than a mummer’s play.”
Andrew answered out of the side of his mouth. “Chill your anger, Jackanapes. Tis too hot for a fray.”
Gareth dropped his hand, though he still maintained his aggressive stance. “Methought you were cowering inside your pretty pink tent, Ford. I am much amazed that you had the courage to sally forth where the hellish sun could burn that soft skin of yours. Ha! But I see you have been shopping!”
He pawed through Andrew’s pile of colorful silks and satins, then pulled out a green gown and held it up for the crowd to see. “By my troth, do you prance around in this attire for your own amusement? Or do you entice your pretty Cavendishes with a wanton’s feathers?”
Andrew’s common sense clouded with hot anger.
Jack choked. “I will saw him in half with a rusty razor!” he roared, much to the delight of the mob.
Andrew stomped on the boy’s foot to silence him. Then he snatched Marianne’s dress out of Gareth’s sweaty hands. “Speak quickly, tedious fool. Why has an ill wind blown you against my doorstep?”
“The wench,” Gareth growled. “You have toyed with her long enough, Ford. I thank you for preparing the way for me. She should be well opened by now—atleast, I think that is what you have been doing with her. Looking at you, tis hard to tell.”
Andrew curbed his natural impulse to flatten the knave.
“Hold your tongue, Gareth! Why should I allow myself to give way to your rash choler? Do you think I am frightened when a spoiled child whines? Should I tremble because of your slanders? Not so. Methinks your words have gone up in smoke—back home to the devil, your master.”
Gareth opened and closed his mouth like a stickleback fish tossed on a riverbank, but no sound came out. Andrew pressed his advantage.
“In fact, I cannot devise a name too unworthy or ridiculous to fit you. Furthermore, you have an undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained and unconfirmed sense of fashion. By my troth, you have butchered all your buttonholes!”
The crowd whistled and applauded Andrew’s witty retort.
Gareth jutted out his chin and snarled, “I have paid good money for the chit and I demand my satisfaction!”
Andrew shook his head with mock sorrow. “Then I fear you have misspent your fortune in a bad business venture. Speak to the bawdmaster, not to me. Tis he who holds your purse. Only this morning, I paid him twice over last night’s sum. The lady is mine until I say nay. Now remove your presence from my threshold, and good day to you.”
Gareth took a step forward. Jack drew his sword and pointed it over Andrew’s shoulder. “A fool and his money are soon parted, eh, my lord?” Jack taunted. “What else do you want to part with this morning? Yourlong nose—or the jewels that dangle between your legs? Tis all one to me.”
Several of Gareth’s henchmen took hold of their leader’s shoulders and pulled him back.
“God’s teeth! I will bury you in the sand of the tiltyard,” he sputtered.
Jack dipped his blade in agreement. “I look forward to the pleasure, my lord. Name the day and hour.”
“Twill be your last day on earth! And, you Ford, you will wish you were dead before I am finished with you!” Hogsworthy spat on the ground at their feet before turning away.
Andrew drew in a deep sigh of relief as he watched the irate man push his way through the snickering crowd. His cohorts followed after him like a ragged pack of whipped hounds.
“Put up your sword, Jackanapes. Tis all over but the drinking. Methinks Sir Gareth will have a ringing head before the supper hour.”
Jack rammed his blade back into its scabbard. “How could you let that stretched-mouthed villain insult
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