“Ailsa, come over here to the fire,” she was attempting to help the lad out. “’Tis too cold over there.”
Ailsa wouldn’t even look at her sister; she was gazing adoringly up at the pale-faced squire. “Where were you born?” she asked him.
Edward looked at her with the same fear that one would have when gazing upon a man-eating beast. “I… I was born in London.”
Ailsa batted her big green eyes at him. “I have never been to London. I hope to go someday. Do you suppose you will ever go back?”
Edward was starting to grow red around the ears. “I hope to.”
“Ailsa,” Toby hissed firmly. “Come over by the fire. If I have to get up to retrieve you, you will be very sorry.”
Ailsa noticed her sister, then. Threats always made her notice, mostly because she knew that Toby wasn’t bluffing. But she wouldn’t give up so easily; she grabbed Edward by the hand and began climbing off the bench.
“Come over by the fire,” she urged him. “It is warmer there. You can tell me more about London.”
Edward didn’t want to yank his hand away but he was truly terrified of the young girl. He followed her dumbly until they got within range of Toby, who mercifully reached out and disengaged her sister’s grip on the young man.
“Leave him alone,” she told her sister quietly. “He has duties to attend to.”
Ailsa looked outraged, then disappointed. She gazed up at the tall young man. “Do you really have duties to attend to?”
Edward nodded feebly. “I… I must bed the horses.”
“Go, then,” Toby said, smiling encouragingly at him when he didn’t move. “If you do not, then Ailsa will talk your ear off.”
Edward nodded, his gaze moving between Toby and Ailsa, before fleeing the hall. Toby watched him go until a large obstacle was suddenly in her line of sight. Kenneth had moved up to the fire, his big body blocking out half the hall from where he stood. As Ailsa moved away to pout, Toby shook her head and returned her attention to the blaze.
“Your squire is going to have to learn to stand up for himself,” she muttered to Kenneth. “Ailsa will take over his will to live if he is not careful.”
Much to her surprise, Kenneth actually snorted. “He has more courage than he displays,” he replied, holding up his big hands to warm them. “I would not worry about him.”
Toby lifted an eyebrow as if she didn’t believe him. “How old is he?”
“Fourteen years,” Kenneth replied.
Again, Toby shook her head. “And Ailsa is ten. She will soon be asking if he is betrothed. She is desperate, even at her age, to find a mate. I do believe she has little friends telling her that she must be wed by the time she is fourteen or she will become a spinster like me.”
Kenneth did look at her, then. “As for the squire, tell your sister to set her sights on someone else as he is already betrothed,” he told her. “As for you being a spinster, I suspect that will not be true forever.”
Toby’s head jerked in his direction, her hazel eyes wide with surprise. “Why in the world would you say that?”
“Because you are beautiful and wealthy. You are a fine prize.”
Stunned, Toby lowered her gaze and looked back to the fire. The big blond knight had barely said two words to her since their introduction and suddenly he was telling her that she was beautiful. She didn’t know what to say.
Fortunately, Stephen saved her from further bewilderment. He entered the hall with loaves of bread in his hands, followed by an old male servant with spindly legs and long, stringy white hair. The old man carried a tray with food laden upon it. Just as Stephen reached the table, Ailsa suddenly forgot her pouting and she rushed to the big knight as he put the bread down. In fact, she grabbed a loaf right out of his hand.
“It is brown,” she declared flatly. “I do not like brown bread. I want white.”
“You will take what you are offered and be grateful for it,” Toby said sharply, quietly. “Now sit and eat. Stop making a nuisance of yourself.”
More pouting from Ailsa. The old man who had accompanied Stephen pulled back the cloth that covered the tray he had carried. He picked up a small earthenware jar and held it timidly in Ailsa’s direction.
“Do you like honey, my lady?” he asked gently. “A little honey on the bread will make you think that angels themselves eat it.”
Ailsa eyed the jar. “I… I like honey.”
The old man smiled at her and put the jar down, taking a hunk of the brown bread and slathering some white butter uponit. Then he poured honey all over it and handed the sticky-sweet mess to Ailsa.
