“I am simply asking that you think about what you are saying.”
Balin rolled his eyes. “With you around, I can do nothingbutthink. Now be still before the crowd turns against us.”
As Toby and her father exchanged opinions, back against the wall something was stirring. Several men stood in a unit, draped in dark cloaks as they listened to the spirited debate. The first man tossed back his hood; he had a face of classic male beauty, a granite jaw and full lips. His hair was dark like a raven’s wing, shorn up the back yet long enough in the front so that it swept across eyes the color of storm clouds. He was a striking example of perfection, completely out of place among the worn, colorless peasants. He watched everything around him like a hawk, not missing a movement or a word. It was apparent that he was absorbing everything in his element until he had enough information to make a reasonable judgment.
The man moved forward through the crowd, taking his entourage of five with him. People moved out of his way instinctively, not wanting to be trampled by the man who was a head taller than even the tallest man in the church. He approached Balin and Toby and softly cleared his throat.
“Forgive me, my lord,” the man’s voice was deep and rich. “I realize this is a town meeting exclusively for the residents of Cartingdon but I wonder if I may speak to the throng.”
Balin and Toby looked at the man. Balin’s reaction was far less than Toby’s; the moment their eyes met, she felt a strange buzzing sensation in her head. It was enough to cause her to pull her gaze away, looking to her father to see if he was having the same odd reaction. He seemed unaffected.
“Who would you be, my lord?” Balin asked.
“I am Tate Crewys de Lara.”
As if on cue, the group escorting Tate threw back their hoods and cloaks, exposing enough armor and weapons to handle a small battle quite efficiently. Two of the men were enormous; they were knights of the highest order, clad in expensive metalprotection. Two shorter, stockier men-at-arms supported them, dressed in leather protection and sporting fine Welsh crossbows. The last member of the entourage was the squire, a lad of fourteen or fifteen years. He was tall, thin, and fair-haired.
“My… my lord de Lara,” Balin was clearly shocked. “Although we have corresponded on the occasion of taxation and audits for your lands, this is the first we have met. I am indeed honored, my lord.”
Tate heard his words, but his focus was on Toby. Now that he was closer and could see her more clearly, she was indeed worth a second look. “I have spent the majority of my life in London or in France, with the wars, and have hardly spent time in this land for which I hold title,” his gaze lingered on Toby. “Harbottle Castle is a garrison I have seen three times in my life.”
Balin could see where Tate’s focus was and indicated his child. “May I present my eldest daughter, Mistress Elizabetha Aleanora de Tobins Cartingdon. She is the one who has seen to your requests with regard to revenue from the parish.”
“Mistress, I thank you for your service.”
“My pleasure, my lord.”
Tate’s gaze was like an immovable object. He tried not to be obvious about it, but the lady was quite lovely. Such beauty was very rare. He did not, however, like the bold nature he had seen come forth from her since their arrival. Were it not for that flaw, he might have considered speaking further with her.
“Please, my lord,” Balin put his hands up to quiet the crowd. “Speak to our people. Tell them of England’s need.”
When Tate looked away from her, Toby felt as if she had been jolted. He had held her in such an odd trance that his sudden departure startled her. Still, she retained enough of her wits to remain attuned to the subject at hand.
“My lord, if I may,” she said carefully. “These are simple people with simple lives. Things like war frighten them, notinspire them. I am afraid a thunderous address will only further alarm them.”
Tate looked at her. “Mistress… Elizabetha, was it?”
His tone bordered on contempt. Toby struggled to retain her courage. “I have not gone by Elizabetha since my birth. I am known as Toby, my lord.”
“Toby? That is a strange name. A man’s name.”
“It is a nickname, my lord, given to me by my grandsire.”
“Why?”
“His family name was de Tobins. My mother gave it to me as a middle name. Everyone called my grandsire Toby and he called me the same.”
Tate’s reply was to give her one more look, a once-over, and turn back to the crowd. Toby took the opportunity to study the man; the Lord of Harbottle, the title for the Harbottle Commons lordship he held, was an exceptionally tall man with arms the size of tree branches and enormous hands. Though he wore no armor, merely layers of heavy tunics, breeches and massive boots, Toby could tell by the width of his shoulders that he was, quite simply, a very big man. She backed off, unwilling to provoke Cartingdon’s liege, but she didn’t leave completely. To do so, if he was going to war-monger, would have been to do a great injustice to the populace of Cartingdon. She felt as if she had to protect them.
Tate saw that she wasn’t leaving and he tried not to let it affect him as he addressed the uncertain throng. He wasn’t sure why she was so distracting, but she was.
“Good people of Cartingdon, I am Sir Tate Crewys de Lara, Lord of Harbottle. As your liege, it is a privilege to speak with you this day.”
The crowd had simmered, but they were still uneasy. Tate continued in an even voice.
“I have listened to your mayor speak on young Edward’s behalf,” he said. “I am here to tell you that the king is ready, willing and able to assume the mantle left by his father. Those who are not the rightful rulers have assumed his throne. Most of England’s nobles understand this and to them I have made my plea. I have spent many years in the service of the young king and I can personally vouch for his abilities. He is wise, thoughtful, and fair as much as his young age will allow. With the proper advisors, the rest will come with time.” Tate raked his fingers through his short, dark hair as he collected his thoughts. “I sent word to Mayor Cartingdon days ago requesting men and money for the king’s cause. My men and I have been in town for two days, observing the people and countryside. It is by sheer fortune that we are here for the meeting that will decide the aid you will provide Edward the King. I could easily tax you to death or simply take what, by all rights, belongs to me. But I choose not to do so. I would like the support from Cartingdon to be genuine, for the young king and his cause. I believe he will establish a stable monarchy from which we may all benefit. Therefore, I ask you to please decide favorably upon him. England is Edward, and Edward needs your help.”
By the time he finished, the entire church was silent. The townsfolk looked at Balin, Toby, each other, attempting to determine if what their liege said was true. He sounded convincing. Toby, too, was almost convinced of the young king’s cause after his speech; she stood slightly behind Tate and to the right, able to see his strong profile. There was something about him that conveyed truth. She looked at the knights standing well behind him; they, too, seemed strong and virtuous. Even the squire seemed honorable. One of the villagers broke the silence.
