“No.”
“Bah,” Sir Simon scoffed, sitting down across from her. “Drink something,” he snapped his fingers, and a mug of ale was brought to the table by a meek servant girl. Laila’s heart broke for her as they shared a moment of eye contact while the girl sat the mug down on the table before her. She had a broken lip and a bruised eye, and Laila knew they were fresh injuries. She wanted to kill every man in that inn, but she was powerless to do so.
“So then,” Sir Simon said, leaning forward on one of his elbows and taking up his mug in the other. “Had a bit of an adventure, did you?”
“If it’s all the same to you, Sir Simon,” Laila said coldly, “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Bitter, eh,” Sir Simon said, grinning. “I can’t blame you. I hate losing myself. Hate it. Worst thing in the world. But I have to give you credit. Running away from Lord Hamilton, ha! Don’t think any other lady in the Kingdom would have tried it.”
“He is a wretched man,” Laila said tersely. “Surely, you cannot deny that.”
“Oh, no, I never would,” Sir Simon said, bobbing his head. Laila was astounded by how calm he seemed, how at peace he was with his role in the world, and the deeds he was willing to carry out in the name of a man he called wretched and cruel. “But he is rich, richer than the King, they say.”
“Where is your morality?” Laila asked, her eyes narrowing. She wanted to splash the ale all over his fine tabard but instead just gripped the mug with all her might, channeling her fear and frustration into the iron grip. “You are a knight. That is supposed to mean something.”
“Maybe it did, long ago,” Sir Simon said with a shrug. He took a long drink of his ale and gave a satisfying belch. “But it doesn’t anymore. As for my morality,” he said, trailing off. Laila saw a fog come over his eyes as horrible, traumatic memories washed over him. “I left it on the field.”
“Which field?” Laila asked.
“The first one,” Sir Simon answered. Then he became stone-faced once more, taking another long drink. “It is no use prodding me so, Lady Laila,” he went on, planting the mug down on the table with a thump. “I’m here to do a job. I’m doing it.”
“Will we depart in the morning?” Laila asked, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. “For Castle Willby?”
“That will be up to Lord Hamilton,” Sir Simon said.
“Lord Hamilton?” Laila gawked. “He is here?”
“He will be,” Sir Simon said. “Just you wait.”
“Have ye forgotten our agreement?” a particularly rugged-looking Scot approached. He was older than Sir Simon, and Laila saw many battle scars adorning his face and exposed arms.
“Nothing is forgotten,” Sir Simon said, waving his hand dismissively. “Lord Hamilton will see it fulfilled.”
“He best,” the Scot said, stopping a moment by the table to study Laila. She felt the intensity of his gaze moving up and down over her, and she squirmed under the weight of it. “So she’s the one that warrant’s all the trouble?”
“Aye,” Sir Simon said, “she’s the one.”
“Not that pretty,” the Scot grumbled and went past the table to join some of his countrymen by the near hearth.
“These Scots.” Sir Simon chuckled as he walked away. “Still a wonder to me how they ever won the war.”
“They had more to fight for, perhaps,” Laila said, trying to get a verbal jab in while the iron was hot.
“And what do you know of it?” Sir Simon said sharply, a dangerous glow creeping into his eyes. “You were but a child; you have no idea what that war was or war at all!”
“I mean that they fought for freedom,” Laila persisted. “And you fought for King Edward’s glory.”
“Freedom,” Sir Simon said with a chuckle. “No wonder you ran.”
“Is it a jest in your mind?” Laila asked firmly, determined to stand her ground.
“What is freedom?” Sir Simon asked, raising an eyebrow. “Servitude to one lord, rather than the other. You ran from Lord Hamilton to serve a different man. There is no such thing as freedom. The last free men were the Northmen on their longships, so many hundreds of years ago, not a care in the world but where they landed and what they could take. No, there is no freedom anymore, not in Scotland, not in England. Everyone serves someone, and the sooner you learn that the better off you will be.”
“Lord Hamilton approaching!” a knight yelled out, hustling into the inn. “Lord approaching!” Laila felt a chill run up her spine.
“You’re about to learn that right now,” Sir Simon said, downing the rest of his ale. “Your Lord has come.”
