“What are you three doing?” he demanded softly.
Three pairs of big blue eyes looked up at him as if startled by the question. He could see the hostility seep back into their expressions but, so far, not one of them had made a move against him. They seemed to be posturing an awful lot.
“Brendt hurt his head,” the tallest child said angrily. “You did….”
Gart waved the boy off. “That is not what I meant,” he took another step down. “What are you three doing attacking men who enter the keep?”
The tallest boy’s brow furrowed. “Robbing them!”
Gart couldn’t help it as his features screwed up in confusion. “Robbingthem?”
“Aye,” the boy insisted. “This is our castle. Whoever comes in this door belongs to us.”
Gart stared at the lad a moment before finally shaking his head. Truth be told, he was fighting off a grin. The lad was deadly serious.
“Who are you?” he finally asked.
The boy stood tall. “Romney de Moyon,” he announced. “These are my brothers, Orin and Brendt. Our father is Julian de Moyon, Baron Buckland, and this is our castle. Who are you?”
Gart came down the rest of the stairs and stood in front of them, massive fists resting on his hips. He avoided the question. “Why do you have white powder all over you?”
Romney looked at his brothers before returning his attention to Gart. “Because we are ghosts. You cannot see ghosts and it makes it easier to rob people.”
Gart rubbed his hand over his chin and mouth so the boy would not see his grin. It was really quite dastardly and very humorous, he thought.
“I see you quite clearly,” he ran a finger across Romney’s chest, peering at the white powder. “What is this?”
“Dust from the stone,” Romney told him. “Father is building a house for the soldiers and this is the dust from the white stone.”
Gart inspected it a moment longer before wiping it on his tunic. His gaze moved to the youngest, who was no longer crying, but still rubbing his head.
“Had you not attacked me, you would not have hurt your head,” he was looking at the smallest boy but lecturing all three. “Does your father know what you are doing?”
Romney lifted his shoulders, for the first time losing some of his confidence. “He does not care,” he said. “Will you give me your money or will I have to fight you to the death?”
Gart bit his lip to keep his smile from breaking loose. “Are you sure you want to fight me to the death?”
“I am sure.”
“I do not have any money on me.”
Romney’s fair brow furrowed and he looked to his brothers with uncertainty. “Well,” he said reluctantly. “We will wait until you return for it. Come back with your money.”
“I will not,” Gart said flatly. “Why do you want my money, anyway?”
“Because,” Romney said. “We want to buy nice things for my mother and sister.”
Gart scratched his head. “Your mother and sister?” he repeated. “Surely they have enough nice things.”
Romney shrugged. “It makes them happy. When Mother is crying, it will make her stop.”
Gart scratched at his chin again, a little puzzled at the last sentence but he didn’t pursue it.
“I see,” he said. “I am afraid that I am going to disappoint you, your mother and your sister. You will have to get your ill-gotten gains somewhere else.”
Romney didn’t like that answer at all. It was clear he wasn’t used to having his wishes denied. Gart eyed the children one more time before turning for the stairs and the three were on him in an instant with their fists and sticks. Gart rolled his eyes with frustration as he grabbed Romney by the arm and twisted it behind his back. Romney screamed and the other two lads stopped their onslaught.
“Oww!” Romney howled. “You are hurting me!”
