“Out,” Gart snapped softly when he saw what the boy was doing. “If you do not keep your hands to yourself, I am going to tie you up and hang you from a tree.”
Romney grinned but removed his hands. He gazed up at Gart. “What are you doing?”
Gart was in another bag, pulling out small daggers. “You can help me sharpen these.”
Romney was eager to do so but yanked his hand away when he reached out to grab one without permission and Gart smacked it. Frowning, he rubbed at his stinging fingers.
“When are Orin and Brendt coming?” he asked.
Gart removed two more small daggers from his bag. “Soon,” he told him. “I am sending my men to retrieve them today.”
Romney watched Gart carefully set the daggers in a row. “Can you tell your men to bring my sword, too? I left it at Trelystan.”
Gart nodded as he inspected a nick on one of the daggers. “I suppose so,” he glanced at the boy. “Perhaps we can even have a real one made for you.”
Romney’s eyes widened. “Truly?” he asked. “Can I have a crossbow, too?”
Gart wriggled his eyebrows. “Your mother has been clear in her decision against the crossbow,” he said. “But perhaps we can convince her that a real sword would be in order.”
Romney was so excited he could hardly stand it. With an invisible sword in his hand, he began jumping around the armory, fighting mail coats on frames and doing battle with unseen enemies. Gart watched him with a smirk.
“You will be a fearsome knight someday,” he told him. “But your new sword will be quite dull until you grow older.”
Romney didn’t care. All that mattered was that Gart had promised him a real sword. He continued fighting the unseenenemy until he bashed into a mail coat on a frame and tipped the entire thing over. Gart just looked at him and shook his head.
“Pick it up,” he commanded softly.
Contrite, Romney tried and tried to heave the frame up but it was far too heavy for him with the mail upon it. Finally, Gart took pity on him and stood the frame up while Romney tried to straighten the mail coat. When he was finished, he looked at Gart with a big eager grin and Gart broke down into snorts of laughter, running his big hand over the boy’s blond head affectionately.
On the way out of the armory, Gart carried four daggers and Romney had one in a heavy sheath. Gart was concerned the boy would trip and impale himself so he gave him the weapon with the thickest sheath.
Romney was surprisingly careful, however, carefully taking the steps and then very carefully crossing the kitchen yard. Once inside the manse, he continued to be very careful with the blade as he moved through the corridor and into the entry hall with its big, stone steps.
As they reached the stairs, little Christina spied Romney out in the entry hall and began to squeal for him. Romney didn’t want to play with the baby, because he was far too big for that sort of thing, but then he noticed that there was a tray of sweets in the reception hall and that had his attention. Emilie saw the pair as they went to mount the steps.
“Romney,” she said happily. “Your mother is awake and will be joining us shortly for a meal. Will you please join us also?”
Romney was lured by the treats but he also wanted to help Gart sharpen the daggers. Gart saw the boy’s indecision and pulled the sheathed blade out of his hand.
“Go and enjoy the treats,” he told him. “I will save this blade for you.”
Romney scratched his head, looking up at Gart. “Are you sure?”
“I am.” Gart threw his chin in the direction of the reception room. “Go. I will send your mother down.”
Romney skipped off the steps and into the reception room. Gart could hear Christina crowing happily at the boy’s appearance, which made him smile. Romney seemed to have that excited effect on children, like a Pied Piper that could lead them all into delirious childhood joy. He had the air of leadership about him, even at such a young age. Mounting the rest of the steps, he knocked softly on Emberley’s door.
“Come,” she said, muffled behind the panel.
Gart pushed the door open, his gaze falling on Emberley as she secured a linked copper belt around her hips. She was wearing a pale yellow linen surcoat with a square neckline, a garment that enhanced her figure beautifully. Her blond hair was free-flowing, wavy because it had been braided in her sleep, and a pretty shell comb secured the front of her hair off her face. Gart sighed dreamily at the sight of her.
“Good morning, my lady,” he greeted softly.
She beamed at him, smoothing down the bodice of the surcoat. “Good morning, Sir Gart,” she went over to him, leaning against him and kissing him sweetly. “Did you sleep well, sweetheart?”
He kissed her again, nuzzling her face with his nose. “I always sleep well when you are with me,” he murmured. “How do you feel this morning?”
She stood back from him and adjusted the copper belt. “I feel remarkably well.”
