“Yet still you support another uprising.”
Tate knew this moment would come; he just did not think it would come so soon. He turned fully to Toby, a radiant vision in the ambient light of the fire. The sight of her caused the harsh response on his tongue to ease. It was difficult to become angry with such beauty.
“I would not consider Edward’s right an uprising, mistress,” his voice was steady. “Do you deny the rightful king his entitlement?”
“Of course not. But is there not a more peaceful way?”
“If you have any suggestions, you have my full attention.”
Toby wasn’t a military expert by any means. Her gaze trailed to the two enormous knights standing near the hearth; their expressions were harsh and she did not like the feeling radiating from them. The men at arms were far enough away that theyprobably had not heard the conversation, but the squire was looking at her as if he had something to say to all of it. She almost wished she hadn’t spoken out; too many times she would speak before thinking. This was one of those times.
“It would seem to me that the Queen would willingly relinquish the right to rule to her son,” she said. “He is the king, after all. Unless the Earl of March has poisoned her against her own son, what mother would not want to see her child achieve his claim?”
“Power has a strange way of blinding those it serves,” Tate said. “The king has attempted negotiating with the Queen. She does not believe him ready to assume the full mantle.”
“And you believe that he is, my lord?”
Tate’s dark eyes were intense. “I would stake my life on it.”
There was something in his sincerity that Toby dare not question. Thankfully, the meal was brought at that moment, precluding the discussion from burgeoning into something uncomfortable. Her father, however, made sure to corner her privately as the guests took their seats.
“If I have ever asked one thing of you, now is the time. Behave tonight, if not for yourself, then for me. Please.”
There was heavy alcohol on his breath. That was a usual occurrence, but Toby would have none of it tonight. “If you promise not to get drunk and fly out of control as you do, I shall promise to behave.”
Balin’s expression turned cold. “Mind yourself, daughter. And do as I ask.”
With reluctance, Toby silently agreed and went to take her seat. She ended up seated at Tate’s right hand; the knights were across from her, the squire on her right, and her father at the end of the table.
She was mildly uncomfortable seated so close to Tate. His hand was near hers and she put her hand in her lap. He lapsedinto a quiet discussion with his knights while Toby silently attended her meal. When the knights laughed at something and she looked up to see what the joke was about, Tate apologized.
“I do not believe I have made formal introductions to you, my lady.” He indicated the two armored men across the table. “These are my trusted friends, Sir Stephen of Pembury and Sir Kenneth St. Héver. They have informed me that I have been most rude by way of presentation.”
Toby looked at the men, suspecting they said nothing to Tate about his rudeness. More than likely, the laugh had been at her expense. She simply nodded at them as Tate indicated the young man sitting at her right.
“And this is my squire, John of Hainault.” The lad looked mortified as all eyes turned to him. His mouth was full of food and it was a struggle for him to chew and not choke. “Careful not to get close to him, else he might bite. He eats everything within arm’s length these days.”
“He is a growing boy,” Balin said. “Though I have no sons, I was a lad once. ’Tis a pleasure to see a young man with a healthy appetite.”
Ailsa made her grand entrance at that moment. Not strangely, she singled out the squire and planted herself firmly between the young lad and her father. She had a tendency to like older boys. Her big green eyes were fixed on him, his clothing, his hair, even the way he held his spoon.
“Gentlemen, my youngest child, Mistress Ailsa Cartingdon,” Balin said. “I hope you do not mind that I have allowed her to join us.”
Tate passed a cursory glance at the child, who had eyes only for his squire. The knights barely looked up from their meal. The squire, however, seemed clearly uncomfortable.
“Hello,” Ailsa said to him.
The young man swallowed hard. He cast the girl a quick glance. “Hello.”
Ailsa watched with interest as he practically buried his face in his food in an attempt to avoid talking to her. “What is your name?” she asked.
“J-John,” the boy replied.
“How old are you, John?”
“Fourteen years.”
“Are you a knight yet?”
