“Of course not.” For the first time, Toby’s tone softened. “I simply cannot believe that the king would want aid for his cause at the expense of starving out many of his loyal subjects.”
“It is that serious?”
“It could be. Winter is not yet over and harvest will not come again until next fall. Our people must have something to live on, my lord.”
Tate was quiet a moment; he glanced at the two massive knights who had accompanied him. One man was a giant, with short brown hair and cornflower blue eyes. The second man wasn’t as tall but he was enormously wide with white-blond eyebrows. The pair of them gazed back at Tate and he knew either one of them would have gladly taken the lady over their knee at that moment. His focus moved to the squire, the skinny lad who accompanied him everywhere. The boy had a somewhat submissive expression. So far, none of those expressions helped Tate sort through the situation.
After a moment’s deliberation, he turned back to Toby. “What would you suggest, mistress? I will leave it to your good judgment.”
Toby was surprised at the question. She had expected far more of a battle, ending in her defeat. She thought quickly, hoping to come up with a solution that would placate him and not send her family to the poor house.
“There is a herd of older sheep that we were considering sending to the slaughter simply because their wool has become so tough,” she said. “It is only around two hundred head, but the wool could be sheared one last time and sold for market value,and then the herd could be slaughtered for meat. It would bring you nearly as much given the proper market and negotiations.”
“Of which you would so kindly provide me.”
Toby nodded, feeling a good deal of relief. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”
“I would see the herd.”
“You will dine with us first, my lord,” Balin insisted. “Toby can take you to the herd at first light.”
He wondered what adventures in indigestion he would discover during the course of dining with the opinionated Mistress Toby Cartingdon. If the woman was formidable in the public arena, he could only imagine her stance in a private setting. He was loathe to admit it to himself, but he was more than curious to find out.
*
“An interesting meeting,”the blond knight said as they made their way to their chargers, tethered at the livery near the church. Sir Kenneth St. Héver had served under Tate de Lara for many years and had, consequently, experienced many things with him. But the latest experience in the church was a curious one. “An interesting town.”
His counterpart, Sir Stephen of Pembury, was the larger, darker knight. He was the more congenial of the two. “What kind of town can it possibly be that allows itself to be run by a female?” he said what they were all thinking. “A strong man could do wonders here.”
Tate had noticed an inn across the street and, collecting his destrier, began moving in that direction. “It seems to me that she has done wonders without the aid of a man. No matter how distasteful her manner, we are nonetheless fortunate to have received a sizable donation from her father.”
Pembury snorted. “She is a beautiful woman. Too bad she has the disposition of a wild boar.”
St. Héver glanced at him. “Do you have aspirations for her, then?”
“Me? Never.”
“You could marry her and run the town.”
“Somehow, I doubt it. She is accustomed to being in charge. Could you not see that?”
St. Héver merely lifted his white-blond eyebrows in agreement. The very thought was appalling, but Tate wasn’t paying any attention to their chagrin. He was focused on the tavern and obtaining some much needed food and drink. Leaving the horses, they made their way inside the smelly hovel and found a table in the corner where a round woman brought them ale, bread and cheese. The young squire with them shoved half a loaf in his mouth before the knights had finished pouring their drink.
“Slow down, lad,” Tate admonished lightly. “There is more bread to be had. No need to choke yourself.”
The youth grinned and slowed to chew. The two men at arms that constantly shadowed the group of four took position against the wall opposite the table. They were the first line of defense against any potential happening, which was a fairly normal occurrence. England, and the world in general, was a dangerous place.
With the squire no longer in danger of choking and the knights settled with their ale, Stephen put his thoughts into focus.
“Did anyone notice if we were followed?”
Tate shook his head. “I do not think so. I’ve not seen evidence in a couple of days.”
Kenneth took a deep drag of his ale. “We lost them in Rothbury,” he said. “If nothing else, Mortimer’s men are easy to spot. They follow us out in the open.”
“He doesn’t have to keep them to the shadows because he governs the entire country,” Stephen snorted. “What does he have to fear?”
Tate regarded the ale in his cup. “He has to fear a young man on the cusp of adulthood who holds the throne he so dearly wants,” he muttered, more to himself than to the others. He glanced up at the knights. “She asked valid questions, you know.”
