Knights Magi (Book 4) (48 page)

Tyn!
Rondal said, mind-to-mind. 
She’s damn near naked!

It’s a hot day,
Tyndal observed. 
Shut up.  I’m working.

There were only a few reasons why a woman would abandon propriety in such a way, Tyndal knew, and few of them involved her
naiveté about such things.  A lady of the manor had certain social expectations.  Meeting guests, particularly strangers, required a level of presentation that Lady Kresdine had not indulged in.  While it could merely be a mark of her casual nature, Tyndal reasoned, as Lady Pentandra was wont to say, you rarely see boobs unintentionally.

Tyndal was on his guard.  He could understand why Rondal was standing there like the village idiot in the face of Kresdine’s sensual display.  He’d likely only seen a handful of boobs in his life and that included his mother’s when he nursed.  But Tyndal had attracted attention from unlikely quarters, and he was wise enough now to know when a woman was using her charms to influence, more than to allure.  Lady Kresdine was up to something.

“Then pray state your business, Sir Knight, and let us dispense with it,” Kresdine said, as she toweled her dark blonde hair dry, her light blue summer mantle peeking open.  “My husband is away inspecting his estates and is not due until eventide, so you will have to contend with my poor management in his stead, if the matter cannot wait.”

Tyndal knew then that the matter was not naivite, which he had doubted to begin with.  That meant her purpose was either business or pleasure.  Tyndal found himself prepared for either eventuality, or a combination of the two.  While he enjoyed the spectacle she granted, he wasn’t going to let this woman gain the upper hand in negotiations through the pretense of immodesty. 

“My colleague and I represent the Castellan of Sevendor, Sire Cei of Cargwenyn, known far and wide as The Dragonslayer,” he began.  “Perhaps you have heard of him, milady?  The Wilderlands knight who bested the field at Chepstan Spring Fair a year ago, to win the hand of a lady and an estate?”

“Such news has reached me in this remote manor,” she admitted, smiling.  It was a pretty smile.  The name of Sire Cei sparked Lady Thena’s interest as well, and she sat up on her bench attentively.  “What business does our humble estate have with such a worthy knight?”  She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, exposing her slender neck.  Tyndal could hear Rondal swallow.  Amateur.

“In the assumption of his new estate, Sire Cei wishes to clear the accounts.  It is stated in the estate’s book that Ramothwood owes a sum to Cargwenyn for the purchase of a hundredweight of honey.  As we were passing by, he imposed on us to stop and inquire after the bill.”

“Such things oft escape my husband’s attention,” she said with a girlish giggle.  “He is a very important man, you know, the head of the Council of Seffwan.”  Tyndal had no idea what that was, but she sounded like he should be impressed.  He made a point not to be.

“Surely he has an attendant who sees to such things, my lady?” reproved Tyndal. 

“We did.  Alas, old Gilmar died last year of a wasting cough.  Our new man is . . . learning the job, but he has yet had the chance to clear some of our accounts.  I sincerely apologize for the oversight, gentlemen. 
Bamar!
” she called in a harsh voice that belied her previous gentle tone.

A few moments later a thin, pasty-faced man with a scraggly beard appeared, breathless, his eyes wide with fear.

“Yes, milady?” he asked with a shaky bow.

“These gentlemen are here inquiring as to an account on behalf of a friend of theirs.  They say we owe for a hundredweight of honey, more than two years ago.  The estate’s name is Cargwenyn. “

“Cargwenyn, milady?” Bamar asked, confused.

“It appears that your father clearly bungled yet another matter, Bamar, and it falls to you to set it right.  Investigate the book and verify the debt, and report back here immediately.   In the meantime, I think we will have wine here in the garden to enjoy the coolness of the water on such a hot day.  Have it delivered and then ensure we are not disturbed unless I send for you.  Is that understood?”

“Y-yes, milady,” he said, bowing even lower.  “I shall see to it at once.”

She turned back to Tyndal while he scurried off.  “His father was just as weak,”
she confided with disgust.  “An ineffectual man who couldn’t do the simplest thing without guidance.  I do not know why my husband persists in keeping Bamar in his sire’s place; if anything, he is even worse.  But he
can
read,” she admitted, “and he does know his place. 

“Now,” she said, gesturing to the pleasant poolside garden under the looming eye of the verdant rabbit, “would you perhaps like to doff those mantles and lay aside your swords for an afternoon, gentlemen?” she asked, sweetly.  “My daughter and I have been confined here for days by the heat, and it is two weeks yet until the next ball of any consequence.   Without distraction, we may soon succumb to hysteria.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want
that,
” agreed Tyndal, smiling, as he unfastened his cloak pin.

What the hell are you doing?
Rondal screamed in his mind.

I’m getting comfortable,
Tyndal replied. 
You should, too.  This is going to take awhile.

Why
?

I don’t know yet, but she’s up to something.  Just follow my lead for once.

Rondal didn’t reply, but he did remove his summer mantle and lay it on a stone bench with Tyndal’s.  Next they removed their mageblades and laid them on top.

“So what have you ladies been filling your time with today?” Tyndal asked as Lady Kresdine led him by the hand to a larger bench . . . large enough for two, and sporting a long, soft pillow of down.

“Idle gossip,” Lady Thena said, “vicious, brutal, scandalous gossip.  A common weakness of our sex, I’m afraid,” she added with a coquettish smile.

“How delightful!” Tyndal said with a grin as he settled into the great stone seat.  Lady Kresdine settled in beside him, an intoxicating cloud of floral scent following her.  Rondal just stood there, looking awkwardly around, as if purposefully avoiding the seat next to Lady Thena.

Sit down, idiot!
Tyndal shot. 
And don’t mention magic!

Where do I sit?

Next to the pretty girl, maybe?
Tyndal shot back sarcastically. 
I said follow my lead.  I’m smiling, you be smiling.  I’m sitting down, you sit down.  And then keep your mouth shut.

I . . . I can do that,
Rondal said, and then plastered a smile on his face before sitting down next to Thena.

Tyn, she’s . . . she’s kind of young, isn’t she?

Only a year or two younger than we are,
Tyndal pointed out. 
She’s getting to sit next to a handsome young knight errant.  Some girls go their whole lives without getting a chance like that.  It’s what they dream about, or didn’t you figure that out at Chepstan?  So shut up and let her enjoy the moment.

I’m not handsome,
was all Rondal could respond.

Try not to let her know that,
Tyndal advised, and turned his attention to the woman sitting so alluringly next to him.

“Now,” he began, settling in, “as we are strangers in your land, we are curious about its history and the reputation of your noble lord.  Is he a puissant gentleman?”

“Daddy?”
Thena burst out with a giggle.

“My daughter is impolitic,” Lady Kresdine said, smoothly.  “Her father is of noble lineage and distinguished house.  Sir Gamman was properly squired and belted, but his skill lies far more in oratory than action.  He has never drawn his blade in anger,” she admitted.  “When he serves out his duty to his liege, he oversees the garrison at Garsby Castle, protecting our land from invasion from Bocaraton.”

Tyndal was surprised.  “I was not aware of the danger of invasion from Bocaraton,” he admitted. 

“There isn’t one,” agreed Lady Kresdine, who seemed disappointed in the political situation.  “My husband spends a month watching the wheat grow outside of the castle walls.  Every autumn,” she said with some deliberation, “betwixt the equinox and the Feast of Huin.  We ladies are left in solitude at that time . . . and are always welcome of diversion.” 

Tyndal almost swallowed nervously, before he caught himself.  Her meaning was unmistakable.  One thing he had learned from the patient tutelage of Lady Pentandra in the arts of love was knowing the subtle ways a woman indicated how desirous she was . . . often in ways she herself was unaware of.  Tyndal had a suspicion that Lady Kresdine knew precisely what she was doing, and what she was saying.  He responded as he knew she wished.

“Mayhap if we are near Ramoth’s Wood we could stop by to alleviate your inactivity,” he said, diplomatically.  “But if your lord is not renown for his skill at arms, of what use is his oratory?”

“Oh, my lord has a gift with speech,” she said, with quiet humor.  “He can expound at length upon
whatever
topic comes to mind . . . endlessly.”

“Do his words have such value, milady?” asked Tyndal.  It was clear that Lady Kresdine had mixed emotions about her husband’s talents.

“Apparently his entourage believes so,” she admitted with a sigh.  “He is considered a troubadour of some repute . . . by some.  A small but . . . small band of knights and admirers who follow him incessantly, eager for whatever spittles of wisdom or thick, steaming piles of verse might fall from his lips.”

“My lord sounds . . . charismatic,” offered Rondal, looking uncomfortable with Lady Thena’s proximity and casual attire.  For her part, the young noblewoman was eyeing his fellow like a kitten eyes a mouse that might or might not be too large for its abilities . . . but who was daring enough to make the attempt.  Poor Rondal . . . he had no idea what a voracious young woman absent the frontiers of propriety was capable of.  And from her attitude and demeanor, Lady Kresdine was not discouraging of her daughter’s attentions.  On the contrary.

“Charismatic?” she asked, amused.  “Mayhap.  Our marriage was arranged by my father and seemed a well-suited one, at the time.  He was charismatic,” she disclosed.  “I had hopes of . . . well, let us not speak of that.  Our union is pleasant enough.  My lord’s business and his philosophies keep him away frequently, and my daughter and I have found amusement and distraction in society.  We attend what functions we’re able, and entertain ourselves at need.  Ah!  My servant returns.  Let me pour us some cool wine, gentlemen,” she insisted, leaving the bench and her mantle behind.  Clad only in her swimming shift, still damp from the pool, there was little Trygg had given her that Tyndal did not gain a glimpse of.

That confirmed it enough in his mind.  Tyndal had no doubt just in what form that entertainment occurred.  Regardless of her other motivations, here was clearly a woman who exercised her frustrations by supplementing her marital fulfillment with . . . well, with passing knights errant, he reasoned.  Like himself.  He could not help but feel excited by that thought.

Rondal was, too.  But not in a positive way. 
Tyndal, what are we doing?

At least it’s
we
now,
Tyndal said, as he watched Lady Thena straighten Rondal’s baldric unnecessarily.
You’re being seduced,
he observed. 
See how she’s touching you when she doesn’t need to?  And how she’s looking at you and looking away?  She admires you.  In a moment she’s going to ask you to tell her how manly you are, somehow.  Don’t disappoint the lady.  Brag a little.

But that’s hardly chivalrous—

It’s
completely
chivalrous.  You are entertaining a lady.  That’s what a good knight does.  She just wants details, so she knows who she’s seducing.

She’s not seducing me!

Not if you stick with that attitude,
agreed Tyndal. 
Ishi’s glorious holy twat, Ron, when the universe decides to grant you a boon, dare to take it, won’t you?  Bravery on the field is hollow if a man is a coward in the bedchamber.

We’re not in a bloody bedchamber!
he said as Lady Kresdine brought a tray of silver goblets around to his bench. 
We’re in a bloody garden in the middle of the bloody afternoon!

Which means that we can actually see their faces without the glamor of candlelight,
Tyndal pointed out. 
They might not be the fairest ladies in the land, but they are comely enough.  Pretty ladies in a beautiful garden with a creepy giant rabbit . . . this is an errant’s dream!

Those sorts of dreams usually end with an angry husband and father with a band of fanatical followers with swords chasing the hero out of the domain.

Relax,
Tyndal soothed. 
He’s far from here, we have legitimate business, and believe me, this is not milady’s first such entertainment.  She’s of the kind who treats love the way some knights treat tournaments, and she’s grooming her daughter for the same.  You are merely an exercise,
he pointed out. 
So enjoy the examination for once.

“To Ishi’s lips,” Lady Thena said, dipping her finger in the sweet white wine and letting a single drop fall from her lip to the ground in solemn libation.  It was a maiden’s blessing.  It required a response.  Tyndal watched in amused sympathy as his horrified fellow was forced to complete the rite or humiliate his hostess.  He knew which course propriety and chivalry required.