“I understand that you have apparently lost your mind.”
“There are many things in this world that I will tolerate and many things that I learn to accept,” Tate was standing behind Toby, listening to everything that had been said. “But the one thing I refuse to accept is a daughter’s disrespect to her father. You, Mistress Toby, have an appalling lack of manners. I have seen such display from the moment I first entered this church.”
Toby was ashamed and defensive at the same time. “If honesty is a sin, then I am indeed guilty, my lord.”
“It is not a sin. But your lack of control is.”
Toby wisely refrained from an opinionated retort. She wasn’t a fool and calmed herself with effort. “May I speak frankly, my lord?”
The corner of Tate’s mouth twitched. It was difficult for him not to smile at what was surely to come. “By all means.”
Toby took a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t about to slap her for her insolence. “My father became prosperous by hard work and good luck, but only by harder work and even more good fortune have we maintained it. My mother used to maintain the business when I was very small, but that duty passed to me several years ago after she became ill. Since that time, we have seen our prosperity grow many times over. Were it not for me, however, my father would have given everything away and we would be living in poverty. He is generous beyond compare and does not know when to stop.”
“And you believe that donating to the king’s cause is an example of how your father does not know when to stop?”
“Not necessarily. But we were counting on that harvest of wool to pay wages to our farmhands for the next year. Many people depend on us for their livelihood.”
Tate cocked his head thoughtfully. “Then your opposition is not against the king himself.”
“Of course not.” For the first time, Toby’s tone softened. “I simply cannot believe that the king would want aid for his cause at the expense of starving out many of his loyal subjects.”
“It is that serious?”
“It could be. Winter is not yet over and harvest will not come again until next fall. Our people must have something to live on, my lord.”
Tate was quiet a moment; he glanced at the two massive knights who had accompanied him. One man was a giant, with short brown hair and cornflower blue eyes. The second man wasn’t as tall but he was enormously wide with white-blond eyebrows. The pair of them gazed back at Tate and he knew either one of them would have gladly taken the lady over their knee at that moment. His focus moved to the squire, the skinny lad who accompanied him everywhere. The boy had a somewhat submissive expression. So far, none of those expressions helped Tate sort through the situation.
After a moment’s deliberation, he turned back to Toby. “What would you suggest, mistress? I will leave it to your good judgment.”
Toby was surprised at the question. She had expected far more of a battle, ending in her defeat. She thought quickly, hoping to come up with a solution that would placate him and not send her family to the poor house.
“There is a herd of older sheep that we were considering sending to the slaughter simply because their wool has become so tough,” she said. “It is only around two hundred head, but the wool could be sheared one last time and sold for market value,and then the herd could be slaughtered for meat. It would bring you nearly as much given the proper market and negotiations.”
“Of which you would so kindly provide me.”
Toby nodded, feeling a good deal of relief. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”
“I would see the herd.”
“You will dine with us first, my lord,” Balin insisted. “Toby can take you to the herd at first light.”
He wondered what adventures in indigestion he would discover during the course of dining with the opinionated Mistress Toby Cartingdon. If the woman was formidable in the public arena, he could only imagine her stance in a private setting. He was loathe to admit it to himself, but he was more than curious to find out.
*
“An interesting meeting,”the blond knight said as they made their way to their chargers, tethered at the livery near the church. Sir Kenneth St. Héver had served under Tate de Lara for many years and had, consequently, experienced many things with him. But the latest experience in the church was a curious one. “An interesting town.”
His counterpart, Sir Stephen of Pembury, was the larger, darker knight. He was the more congenial of the two. “What kind of town can it possibly be that allows itself to be run by a female?” he said what they were all thinking. “A strong man could do wonders here.”
Tate had noticed an inn across the street and, collecting his destrier, began moving in that direction. “It seems to me that she has done wonders without the aid of a man. No matter how distasteful her manner, we are nonetheless fortunate to have received a sizable donation from her father.”
Pembury snorted. “She is a beautiful woman. Too bad she has the disposition of a wild boar.”
St. Héver glanced at him. “Do you have aspirations for her, then?”
“Me? Never.”
“You could marry her and run the town.”
