The men continued on in silence, thoughts lingering on the lovely Lady Thorne. Was it possible that she had only used Kenton for her own means? Was it possible they were both simply using each other? Of course, it was. But what seemed odd to both Matthew and Gaston was the fact that Kenton seemed to let her use him quite freely. Never did the man have his guard up around her from what they had seen. That being the case, he wouldn’t be the only man to fall victim to a pretty but vicious face.
It would seem that even great men like Kenton le Bec had a weakness when it came to a beautiful woman.
A viper in disguise.
*
He’d been asleepagain.
Startled awake, the first thing Kenton realized was the very strong smell of cloves in the air. The air itself was warm and stale, smelling of that rotted smell of fabric that had become wet and not dried out properly. It was a heavy scent, mixed with the cloves, making the entire atmosphere wholly unpleasant.
Kenton lay there a moment, staring up at the canvas ceiling. The cloth was oiled, and draped, and he began to remember where he was: Saxilby’s tent. He remembered being brought here, put onto a pallet, but that was the last he recalled. A hand moved to his forehead where he had fallen and he gingerly fingered the lump there, although it wasn’t as sore as it had been. His vision was clear, too. As he lay there and fingered the bump, he heard a quiet voice.
“So you are awake?” a man said. “I was wondering if you ever would awaken. That was a nasty bump on your head.”
Kenton turned in the direction of the voice, seeing an older man seated upon a rather sumptuous bed. Kenton noticed that his neck didn’t hurt like it had earlier, either, and he was able to move better than he had in days. He shifted slightly to gain a better look at the man who was addressing him.
“Forgive me, my lord,” he said formally. “It is not usual for me to greet someone lying on my back. The bump on my head feels better but I am not entirely sure I can sit up.”
The man smiled faintly. “You look strong and healthy enough to me, Sir Kenton,” he said, his gaze moving over Kenton’s supine form. “You are, in fact, Kenton le Bec?”
With great effort, Kenton managed to roll onto his right side and realized that all of his pain hadn’t gone away, after all. He was still very sore.
“I am,” he grunted, breathing heavily. “Would you be so kind as to introduce yourself so I know who I am speaking with?”
The man on the bed stood up, stiffly. “John Saxilby,” he replied. “Finally, we meet in person. I have faced many a battle against you, le Bec, and I even saw you once, but I will admit that when you were brought to my tent, I did not recognize you. You appear quite different with your armor on.”
Kenton smiled, though it was without humor. “I can only imagine that I do not look like my usual handsome self,” he said. “It also seems that my armor and weapons were taken from me, however, things that would make me recognizable.”
Saxilby nodded. “I will make sure your things are returned to you,” he said. “But you should know that you are now my prisoner.”
“I assumed as much.”
“My physic has tended to your head for the past two days. He says you will recover.”
Very slowly, Kenton managed to push himself up into a sitting position. He was unsteady, and the world rocked a bit,but all things considered, he didn’t feel all that bad. More than anything, he was simply exhausted and hungry, with perhaps a bit of apprehension for the immediate future.
“You have my gratitude,” he said. “May I inquire to the status of my men? I saw that many were prisoners. What do you intend to do with them?”
Saxilby was moving stiffly because of the gash to his buttocks and hips. Sixty-nine black catgut stitches were holding the skin together. He shuffled towards a collapsible table, scratching gingerly at his arse. “Damn stitches,” he grunted. “They itch like the devil. I will have such a scar across my backside that not even my wife will find me attractive any longer. More is the pity.”
Kenton watched the man pour a measure of wine into two cups. He then collected the cups and headed to Kenton, extending one to the man. Kenton took it gratefully.
“Women are strange creatures, I am told,” he said as he gulped down the very tart wine. “Mayhap she will surprise you.”
Saxilby drank with Kenton, eyeing the big man on the floor. “Are you married, le Bec?”
Kenton shook his head. “I am not.”
“A betrothed, mayhap?”
“Nay.”
Saxilby drained his cup and turned back for more. “Then you are fortunate,” he said. “Women are more trouble than they are worth at times. Daughters, especially. I have five that you could have your pick from should you ever decide to lift your sword for Edward.”
Kenton’s grin turned genuine; it was a far more pleasant conversation than he had expected as a captor to a prisoner. In fact, he was quite astonished at Saxilby’s amiability. Even so, Kenton was on his guard. That was natural in his world.
“I am afraid I am not the marrying kind, my lord,” he said. “I would make a terrible husband.”
