Ranulf was actually in what was for him a pleasant mood this morning, a miracle as far as Lanzo Shepherd was concerned. Instead of the usual foot to his backside to wake him, he got his red hair tousled and Lady Ella dropped in his lap for feeding.
“Think you Mae gave him a better ride than usual?” Lanzo asked his fellow squire, Kenric, who was already busy rolling up his blanket.
The older squire shook his head as he watched Ranulf saunter off into the bushes. “Nay, she always gives him better than the rest of us are like to get,” Kenric said without rancor.
They, like the other men, were used to being invisible to women whenever Ranulf was around. And Lanzo, only four years and ten, had not got much yet to speak of, so it made no difference to him.
“He is just glad to have this particular job near done,” Kenric continued, turning turquoise eyes back to Lanzo. “Old Brun, who recommended us for this one, said there would be little challenge to it, but you know how Ranulf hates dealing with ladies.”
“Aye, Searle said he would not accept the job at all.”
“Well, and so he has not, not really. At least he did not take Lord Rothwell’s money yet, even if he did allow Rothwell’s men to come along with us.”
“Slowed us up is all they did. But I do not understand why—”
“Gossiping like little girls again, are you?”
Lanzo blushed and scampered to his feet, but Kenric only grinned as Searle and Eric joined them. Both men were newly knighted, Ranulf having arranged it with the last lord they had hired out to, in lieu of payment.
He could have knighted them himself, but wanted them to have the sense of ceremony involved, as well as witnesses other than his own men. They were both eighteen, Searle of Tomes taller, blond, with light, merry gray eyes, and Eric Fitzstephen with hair as black as Kenric’s and hooded hazel eyes that always gave him a sleepy appearance. They had been with Ranulf and Sir Walter de Breaute much longer than Lanzo and Kenric, and yet the four of them had much in common. They were all bastards, born in the village or castle kitchen and denied by their lordly fathers, so lost the hope of ever bettering their lot. Half villein, half nobleman, shunned by both classes. If Ranulf had not recognized them for who they were and bought their freedom, they would still be serfs tied to the land owned by the very men who had sired them. But like recognized like, for Ranulf was a bastard himself.
“We were wondering why Ranulf refused to take the first half of the money for this job from Lord Rothwell,” Lanzo said in reply to Searle’s teasing.
“If you think about it, little Lanzo, the answer will come to you.”
“But the only answer is that he might not complete the job.”
“Exactly,” Eric replied.
“But why?”
Eric chuckled. “Now, that answer is not so clear. What think you, Searle? Did Ranulf just take a dislike to Rothwell, or was it that he did not believe Rothwell’s story about a broken betrothal?”
Searle shrugged. “He has worked for other men he had no liking for. And others have lied and it made little difference. Money is money.”
“Then it can only be the nature of this job, that it involves a lady.”
“Mayhap that and the other reasons combined. But whether he has made up his mind yet—”
“But we have come so far and have arrived,” Lanzo pointed out. “He must have decided by now. And he would not really turn down five hundred marks. Would he?”
No one answered, and Lanzo turned to see what they saw: Ranulf was approaching. Only then did the boy realize he still held Lady Ella in his arms, for only then did she let out a meow as if to wake the dead, or to let Ranulf think she was starving. Pampered bitch. Sometimes he wanted to wring her scrawny neck, but Ranulf would flay alive anyone who plucked so much as one of her short brown hairs. Ugly thing. How could a man love such an ugly thing?
“You have not fed my lady yet?”
“Ah, no, sir,” Lanzo was forced to admit.
“Mayhap I did not wake you properly?”
“I was just going,” Lanzo squeaked, holding one hand to cover his threatened backside until he was out of Ranulf’s reach.
Ranulf chuckled as Lanzo scampered away, then went on to his tent. Searle’s eyes met Eric’s and they both grinned.
Searle voiced both their thoughts after hearing that chuckle. “He has decided. We will escort the lady to her new husband. Lanzo was right. Five hundred marks is too much to turn down when it will make the difference of owning land or not. And land is all he thinks about.”
“Then mayhap he was never undecided. Mayhap he did not commit himself only to make Rothwell nervous.”
“Aye, that is possible. He well and truly disliked that old lord. We should have asked Sir Walter—”
