Knights Magi (Book 4) (50 page)

When you say entertain . . .

My lady understands exactly.   I am well-disposed to the idea, but Rondal . . .

I see. 
Tyndal could hear quiet amusement in Pentandra’s mental voice. 
Are the ladies objectionable?

Quite comely and well-mannered.  Rondal has misgivings over the propriety of the situation.  But the daughter offered him Ishi’s Kiss, so I don’t think there’s much to worry about.

And the mother?

Lovelier than her lord deserves and in a poor marriage to a boor.  A knight jongleur, with a flattering following of admirers and a fetish for rabbits.  She endures it while grooming her daughter for higher station.

That sounds suspiciously like my mother.  Then her sins are her own to bear.  I trust you aren’t as concerned with propriety?

I find myself strangely ambivalent on the matter at the moment,
he said diplomatically.

And the inspiration for this ambivalence?

The hungry way in which the lady gazed upon me.  Like a starving dog looking at a bone.

Then assuage your conscience, Sir Knight.  You are likely not the first bone she’s gnawed.

That was my feeling as well.

So tell your dull companion to attend to the higher matters of chivalry: coaxing a young lady into womanhood is a sophisticated process, and he is called upon by the goddess to play but one small part.  He should embrace the opportunity to feature so boldly in this young woman’s dreams.  Soon enough she will be married to some boorish old knight herself and be looking for distraction among her own errants.  He should give her a fond memory to recall on future lonely nights.

I shall relay your counsel, Lady Pentandra.  Thank you for your wisdom.

There was a mental snort.
  Wisdom?  It sounds like the ladies are damn near panting.  And if he can’t handle a simple seduction like this, they’re going to eat him alive once he gets to court.

“Lady Pentandra counsels that you accept your destiny boldly,” Tyndal informed his fellow apprentice quietly, “and without concern.  She says also that this is training for your future political service.  She’s correct, you know.  From what I’ve
seen of the court, seduction and flattery are as common as daggers and poison.”

He thought guiltily of his knowledge of Master Minalan’s dalliance with the shadowmage Lady Isily, back during the Battle of Timberwatch.  That had been something to do with court politics, he knew, although the details were sketchy.  It was a point of pride to him that he had never revealed his knowledge of the affair, especially to Lady Alya or Lady Pentandra.  The last thing he wanted to do was see Alya hurt.  And he suspected that if Master Min wished to tell her, he would have done so. 

Rondal stared at him in disbelief.  “She thinks I need to seduce a knight’s daughter?”

“She thinks that you should allow yourself to be seduced to the extant that the lady is willing,” countered Tyndal.   “As they are returning now, I suggest you plaster your warmest, most charming smile on your face and start thinking of poor jests to force her to laugh at.”

Rondal swallowed, a little pale faced, and nodded.  Both knights stood when the ladies returned, now clad in more demure traveling clothes.  Once they assured them that they looked absolutely beautiful, using the courtly language they’d learned, they escorted thenoblewomen to the yard where a small carriage waited.  Rondal took the reigns, with Lady Thena next to him, Kresdine and Tyndal behind. 

From the moment Kresdine sat next to him, her hands proved what her intentions were even as she calmly gave directions to Rondal.  He found his blood racing with excitement as she quietly caressed him, beginning innocently enough on his knee but progressing quickly northward.  He chanced a caress or two of his own that was met with her favor. 

One of the advantages of the sideless surcoat, Tyndal reflected as his fingers traced the outline of her left nipple, was its discreet accessibility.  He was gratified to see the lady close her eyes for a moment of quiet reflection as she enjoyed his attentions.    Lady Thena proved more demure, although she hooked her arm around Rondal’s as he drove.

The meadow the ladies suggested was at the crest of a hill overlooking the ripening fields of wheat and rye.  On such a glorious summer’s day finding shade was their biggest concern, but a big elm tree near the side of the meadow proved ideal, and they spread their afternoon meal under its shady boughs.   Bread, cheese, wine, fruit, a pot of preserves and a half-dozen boiled eggs made up their luncheon while they talked about the weather, the village, the crops, and the news of the wider world.

It was a pleasant meal, made better by the excellent weather and the attentive company.  Tyndal found his foot, once his boots were removed, caressing Lady Kresdine’s ankle under her skirt, out of sight of the others.  He exchanged several meaningful glances with her as they watched Rondal struggle with Lady Thena’s suggestive banter.  Finally, the older noblewoman caught his eye and something, he knew, was settled in her mind.

Don’t be surprised when Lady Kresdine finds some excuse to leave you alone with Thena,
Tyndal prepared Rondal, mind-to-mind.

What?  Why would she do
that?

She needs to isolate you to give her daughter the chance to seduce you.  She can’t do it in front of us, now can she?  That might be much for even these ladies.   I doubt her mother’s tutelage extends to that end . . . but then again . . .

So what am I supposed to do?
Rondal whimpered, as Lady Thena suggestively ate an apple in front of him.

Once you’re alone . . . kiss her,  you idiot.  And then enjoy yourself, though I’d advise stopping short of her virtue.  Unless you like the maid enough to wed her, I’d advise caution in that regard.

Now
you advise caution,
grumbled Rondal.

“Sir Tyndal, you said you had an understanding of horses?” asked Lady Kresdine innocently.  “This mead overlooks a pasture where there is a glorious chestnut mare I covet.  She belongs to one of our reeves, but I am considering purchasing her.  I would delight in having your counsel on the matter.”

“And where lies this pasture?”

“Just through that copse of trees,” she said innocently, indicating the rough-grown barrier that divided one field from the other.

“Then lead the way, my lady.  I am always eager to see new horseflesh.”  He rose and assisted Kresdine daintily to her feet, and then led her boldly toward the copse.  He didn’t need to look back to know that there was a panicked look on Rondal’s face. 

“Your daughter is quite lovely,” he said, quietly, when they were out of earshot.  “But you must have been twice as beautiful in your maidenhood.”

“She does, unfortunately, favor her father in some ways,” agreed Kresdine.  “But I was a pretty maid, by all accounts.  My father thought so . . . to the point where he married me off as soon as he was able to keep me out of trouble.  He sent me to this backwater to live with the Rabbit Lord in his dingy little manor.  He said he had to, to keep the peace in his house.  I had many suitors, at Thena’s age,” she bragged.

“Are you so unhappy here at Ramoth’s Wood, then?” Tyndal asked, as he held a
branch out of her way.

“It is a good life,” she admitted.  “I have my child and my dalliances.  I have friends, here.  And my husband, as dull as he may be, does provide for us, in his fashion.  But . . . it drains me,” she confessed.  “Every day is like a heavy fog, and I crave the slightest breeze to blow it away.” 

She stopped, once they were a few rods into the wood and out of sight of their companions, and she turned to face him.  He could see she was breathing far heavier than her exertions should warrant.  He expected her to be demure, but she surprised him with her directness.  “You are a handsome lord, Sir Tyndal.  Young, robust, and eager.  I admire that passion.”

“And you, my lady, are beautiful.”  It was a simple statement, but one which caught Kresdine by surprise – and was not unwelcome.  He could have praised her for any number of things – her wisdom, her daughter, the beauty of her home, her management of the estate – but it was flattery of her own beauty she craved.  And he was not lying.  Tyndal did find her beautiful, even if the blush of maidenhood had long fled her face.  He pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes unnecessarily.  “I envy the Rabbit Lord in this one thing.”

“You flatter me, my lord,” she said in a low voice.  “And yet I cannot help but wonder at your sincerity.  My daughter—”

“Is a
girl,
” Tyndal finished.  “A kitten who needs to sharpen her claws on the dull wood of my companion.  You, my lady, are a
woman
, and for all of your propriety,” he said, without a trace of irony in his voice, “you are just as much in need of honing your claws as she, if not more.”

She chuckled and kissed him.  “An old cat with but one kitten,” she mused, “what need have I for claws?”

“When a cat must lie with a rabbit every night, no doubt her claws get restless,” countered Tyndal, kissing her back. His arms wrapped around her mature hips as he stared her in the eye.  “My lady, do we really need to banter so?”

She sighed and smiled.  “It is refreshing to have a young knight who understands the game, Sir Tyndal, and thus relieve me of the burden of being a coquette.”  Kresdine moved closer and he embraced her ever more tightly, feeling every inch of her womanly curves cleave to him.  Her hands felt his back and shoulders as she pressed her breasts full into his chest.

He found her lips in earnest now.  They were full and warm and inviting, lacking the hesitation and self-consciousness of a younger maid but also lacking the sophistication of a more worldly woman.  He gave her high marks for enthusiasm, however - she kissed him hungrily, her mouth communicating her need and desire and accepting his passion in return.  He felt himself grow ever more aroused by her ardor.  Finally, he broke the kiss.

“I take it my lady knows of some leafy bower nearby where we are unlikely to be disturbed?”

“I know just the place,” she nodded, impishly, as she shrugged out of her sideless surcoat.  Her soft cotton shift revealed she had neglected underclothing, no doubt due to the heat of the day.  Tyndal measured her breasts with his hands without much interference, now, and he appreciated their weight and firmness.  Lady Kresdine appreciated the attention, arching her back and pressing them more firmly into his palms.. 

“And have you shown many young knights this bower?” he asked in a low voice as he allowed her breasts to go free.

“Not all were as fortunate as you, Sir Tyndal,” she said, leading him by the hand deeper into the grove. “I might be free with my favors, but I am choosy about to whom I grant them.”

Tyndal kept his doubts about her choosiness to himself.  She led him to a dense cluster of cedar trees clustered around a single low boulder.  From within, he could see, there would be little chance of them being spied upon.  Kresdine nearly skipped over to the boulder. 

“My shrine to Ishi,” Kresdine giggled, turning to face him again.  She looked ten years younger, now, her hair unbound and her formal bearing dropped with her outer clothes.  He kissed her again and felt her busy hands.  “Now, just how does this catch work?”

Their coupling was passionate, gentle and fierce at the same time.  Tyndal had rarely had the opportunity to explore a woman of such mature charms, compared to the young girls who threw themselves at him.  He found he admired them greatly, once he had removed Kresdine’s shift and saw her naked under the trees.

He did not speak as he pushed her gently back on the boulder, making a pillow of her shift under her.  He kissed his way down her body, as he’d been taught, leaving a trail of lips from her ear to the vale between her breasts, and thence to her quivering belly.

“My lord!” she sighed, happily, as she guessed his destination.  “Few men of your age are so attentive to a lady’s needs!”

“And few ladies are willing to judge a man not on height or length or width, but by his appetite,” he said, and began to pleasure his hostess. 

“Too true,” she groaned, laying her hand on the back of his head.  When he had taken her to the brink of ecstasy, he disengaged and stood.

“My lord?” she asked, breathlessly.  “Is there a . . . ah,” she said, understanding his need as he pulled off his jerkin and hose.  “I do so enjoy a bold knight.”  She examined him thoroughly with her eyes, once he had doffed his clothes entirely.  “And one with such a rampant lance . . .”

Tyndal said little else as he climbed between her knees.  He found her perch on the boulder sturdy enough so that he could entertain the lady’s lust with proper devotion.  He labored at the task fitfully, doing what he could to continue his hostess’ pursuit of pleasure while enjoying it himself.  Soon he tired of the position, and encouraged Kresdine to turn herself over.

“Like the peasants do it!” she agreed, lustfully, as she did as he bid.  “Like the animals do it!”

“Does your husband not enjoy such diversions, milady?” he asked, unsure whether mentioning him would cool her desire.

“Bah!  He knows but one manner of pleasure, and is deaf to suggestions of another,” she said, looking over her shoulder.  “But I revel in the primal nature of such positioning - surely Ishi intended her gifts to be enjoyed in every manner they can be!”

Tyndal seated himself firmly within her, causing her to gasp.  He paused his actions -- until she protested. 

“Is the rock uncomfortable my lady?” he asked, as he grabbed ahold of her naked hips.

“I . . . I cannot . . . I cannot even feel it,” she confessed, breathlessly.  “Indeed, I can feel but one thing, and I feel it from my head to my toes!”  Tyndal was glad she was not situated so that she could see the grin that spread across his face at the admission.  No man tires of hearing his manhood praised, he decided.

Nearly an hour later, the chestnut mare long forgotten, the two returned to Rondal and Thena.  The young noblewoman was laying with her head contentedly on Rondal’s stomach, and the young knight was looking both unbearably guilty and unmistakably pleased with himself.

Tyndal was likewise pleased with himself.  Lady Kresdine had been a passionate woman and an adept lover – a woman wasted on the tepid Rabbit Lord, he knew.   He counted himself well satisfied, and had satisfied Kresdine repeatedly . . . and a little loudly, according to Rondal, when he spoke mind-to-mind.

I nearly came after you, when I heard the scream, Rondal admitted.  Thankfully Thena persuaded me to stay.  She can be very persuasive,
he added.

I’m very pleased that you resisted the urge to rescue her, Tyndal answered.  Though I daresay the lady would have found something creative to do with another knight around.

Rondal didn’t say anything for a moment. 
What could she possibly do with . . . oh.  Dear Trygg’s tender ears, Tyndal, do these women have no shame?

I inspected Lady Kresdine fairly thoroughly,
Tyndal reported. 
If she has some, she must hoard it like a miser.  How about her daughter?

Lady Thena will make some lord a very passionate wife some day, gods willing,
Rondal said, as the two lovers approached the blanket. 

It sounds like you had a good time,
Tyndal said, reluctant to get any more details.  As curious as he might be, it was still
Rondal
. . . and the thought of him engaged in such sport was not appealing to Tyndal’s mind.

I . . . I did
, Rondal agreed, guiltily.
I think she did, too.

From the look on her face, that would be a safe wager,
Tyndal guessed. 

After quickly cleaning up the picnic, packing it away and mounting the carriage again, the party rode back to the manor as the late summer afternoon unfolded around them.

“About your debt to Cargwenyn,” Tyndal brought up, casually, as they finally entered the overly ornate gates of Ramothwood.  “My lady, if your estate could pay but a token of one or two ounces of silver,” he proposed, “I am certain I could persuade my master to wait on the balance . . . until, say, sometime after the Equinox?  Then we can return for the full amount, perhaps, when you have had long notice of it.”

Kresdine quietly smiled.  “That is a gracious and generous offer, Sir Tyndal.  I think that would be an appropriate course of action, until I can consult with my lord.”  And it neatly side-stepped the embarrassing issue of the state of her treasury . . . as well as promising her a return visit.  “And I do hope we can encounter one another again, perhaps at a baronial function.”

“I’m afraid my companion and I are men of action,” protested Tyndal.  “We have little time for such social affairs.  We expect to be deployed to Gilmora soon, to face the goblin hordes.  Not all knights, I’m afraid, have time to wax poetic at the sight of sunsets and the antics of rabbits.  Some must make their fortune with their swords, not their quills.” 

Apparently Sir Gamman’s works tended to dwell on simple pleasures and natural beauty, subjects with which Lady Kresdine had quickly tired of.  His one long martial work, she had confided between sorties, was a saga of the War of the Ancient Knights.  It had been somewhat popular for awhile, in parts of Sendaria, but the verses were considered hopelessly derivative of the great Golden Age poets of the later Magocracy by those who fancied themselves critics.  Tyndal vowed to procure a copy just so that he could witness the dull wit of the Rabbit Lord himself.

“When must you depart for such dangers, good knights?” asked Lady Thena, pouting prettily.  She had apparently grown fond of Sir Rondal, and from the blushes and sidelong glances the lad cast in her direction, the feeling was mutual.  Mere shallow infatuation, in Tyndal’s opinion, hardly more than the tryst he and Kresdine had shared. 

But Thena’s attention was also something his fellow apprentice needed more than the breath of life itself, after his difficult year.  Also in Tyndal’s opinion.

“We could be deployed any time, now,” Rondal said, slowly.  “And likely will, by the Equinox.  We await word on our precise orders, but our deployment is not in doubt.”

“Are you afraid?” asked Thena, quietly.

Rondal tried to console her.  “No more afraid than your father is, no doubt, when he goes to serve his liege in war.”

Thena snorted derisively.  “
Daddy?
  Daddy couldn’t hurt a . . . a
rabbit
.  You should see how mother orders him about—”

“Thena!” Kresdine reproved.  “Be respectful of your sire!”

“As
you
are, mother?” she shot back, challenging, over her shoulder.  “If Father ever had to face a real goblin, he’d soil himself . . . and you know it!  He is a parchment knight, Sir Rondal, hardly better than a manor reeve.  Proud of his lineage and his lore, but he is not a man of action like you brave knights.”  There was no disguising the contempt Thena held for her father, to the point where Tyndal began to feel uncomfortable on the cuckolded lord’s behalf.  Indeed, he found himself defending the ineffectual man.

“Now, Lady Thena,” Tyndal said, shaking his head, “there is more to being a knight than mere vainglory.  It is position, as well as station.  Not all are blessed by Duin with great skill at arms, yet that does not lessen their fervor or their devotion to their  duty.  Not all knights are fortunate enough to have to heed Duin’s horn and defend their homes.  I pray your sire never finds the need.”

“I am certain he would defend his home and his family as gallantly as any knight,” agreed Rondal.

“In his terrifying armor,” agreed Lady Thena, giggling, “with his helm crested with his dire . . . rabbit ears.”

“What?” asked Rondal, surprised.

“
Rabbit ears?
” asked Tyndal, amused.  “My lady, you jest!”

“I fear she does not, my lords,” Lady Kresdine said, quietly.  “My dear lord
Gamman is so proud of his illustrious house and its principals:
‘Fairness, Reverence, Modesty,’
qualities lore dictates are shared by the rabbit.  He therefore had twin silver rabbit ears added to his war helmet as a crest.”  There was little doubt in Tyndal’s mind how his new lover viewed the ornaments.

“What a fearsome visage he presents,” Lady Thena said sarcastically, her disgust obvious.  “At my introduction tournament he had the audacity to enter into the lists – with the sword, as he gets dizzy on horseback.  He strode into the lists with that ridiculous helmet and I nearly died on the spot of embarrassment.”

“He did cut a comical figure,” added Lady Kresdine with a bitter chuckle.  “By the grace of Trygg I maintained my composure as a good wife should.  Sir Dorix of Masran gallantly fought my lord, but in the end Gamman prevailed.”

“Honestly, Mother, Sir Dorix
let
Daddy win that bout to spare you the shame of dishonor as well as the ridicule the crowd developed for those preposterous ears. Sir Dorix is ten times the man my father is.”