“Which direction?”
“West.”
“And you know this man?”
She shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “He came to visit my father on occasion. Once, my father took a trip to Asturias and Glynn supplied him with some guards in addition to the ones that belonged to him. My father paid well for those additional guards.”
“He is a friend of your father?”
She snorted softly. “My father has no friends who are warlords,” he said. “They are only necessary acquaintances, he says.”
“A wise perspective.”
She turned to look at him, noting the sapphire dragon tunic he was wearing. “I will admit that in addition to his low opinion of the church, my father has a low opinion of not only Welsh warlords, but English knights as well,” she said. “You are as close as I have ever been to an English knight. Do you think men who fight understand what it means to be true and noble friends to others?”
Kevin thought on his Executioner Knights brethren. He thought of Gareth, back at Wybren, as well as his brother and the other knights who formed the inner core of William Marshal’s stable of agents. He thought of their honor, their willingness to die for one another, and the extreme bond they shared.
It was like nothing else on earth.
“Aye,” he said after a moment. “I believe men who fight can be the best and truest of friends. Nothing bonds men like facing life and death together. Nothing endears one man to another as much as a man who has just saved the life of his friend. Bonds between warriors are the strongest bonds I have ever seen.”
She was listening intently. “You sound as if you know these bonds.”
He nodded as much as his helm would allow. “I am fortunate enough to have formed some of my own.”
“Are you a champion, then?”
“Nay,” he said quietly. “But I have served in a company of the greatest champions the world has ever seen.”
He said it so reverently, almost like a prayer. Those words were sacred to him, she could tell. Somehow, the stiff and professional persona of Kevin de Lara seem to take on more dimension because she had just caught a glimpse of the emotion beneath.
The man had feelings.
“Do you still serve with them?” she asked. “These great champions, I mean. Are they still alive?”
He nodded slowly. “They are,” he said. “Although we almost lost my brother a couple of years ago in battle, but he has since recovered. The men I have served with are still alive, still doing their sworn duty.”
“What is that?”
His helmed head turned in her direction. “To protect England, of course.”
That sounded very much like an unemotional, upstanding English knight again, as if he’d realized that he had let his guard down for a brief moment. Even so, Juliandra had caught a glimpse of what lay below the surface, that mixture of knightly honor and a man’s natural emotion.
She found him increasingly fascinating.
“But you now command a bastion in Wales,” she said. “How is that protecting England?”
“I’m the one that is supposed to be asking the questions, remember?”
She fought off a grin, embarrassed. “You have only asked me a couple,” she said. “What else do you wish to know?”
He turned his head in her direction and she could see the glittering of his eyes through the slits in the helm’s faceplate.
“When I think of something, I will ask you,” he said. “Meanwhile, no more chatter. Get back behind me until we enter the village.”
Juliandra nodded, reining her horse back until she fell in behind him. There was less than an hour to go on the trip, so she settled back, satisfied for the moment with the conversation they’d had so far. She’d learned more about him than he had about the Welsh, but Juliandra was pleased about it. In a brief conversation, she’d come to learn a little about the fine knight who was in command of Wybren.
And she liked what she’d heard.
