Читать книгу Angel Of The Knight - Diana Hall - Страница 12

Robert careened around the corner, swept the great hall with a glance, then bounded up the stairs three at a time. Falke watched the anxious young knight race across the upstairs gallery.

“Lost her again?” Ozbern positioned his rook to capture Falke’s bishop.

“Aye, ’twould seem so.” Falke saved his bishop, the move putting Ozbern’s white rook in danger.

Falke’s squire, Harris, stumbled into the great hall, then strolled casually across the floor. When he reached the stairs, he, too, raced up them. Lady Wren’s two bodyguards exchanged shrugs on the balcony.

“Harris doesn’t know where she is, either?” Ozbern moved a pawn to block his rook’s capture.

“’Twould appear so.” Falke stretched his long legs and propped his fingers together as he pretended to study the chessboard. Seated in a small alcove at the far end of the room, he had a location that enabled him to survey the hall’s activities.

Servants bustled around the trestle tables, collecting the trenchers from the midday meal. Hounds milled through the floor rushes, eager to find scraps. Indulgent villeins threw bones and pieces of meat to the appreciative dogs. Though nearly waist high to the women clearing the table, the dogs remained docile, wagging their tails and licking the hands that fed them. Would that Falke’s vassals were as easily subdued.

Upstairs near the solar, Ivette and the ladies of Mistedge had retreated to their sewing and embroidery. His dismissal nearly a fortnight ago had Ivette playing the wounded lover, though they had shared but a kiss.

Seated near the hearth, Laron and Ferris shared a bottle of Norman wine, speaking in low tones and occasionally throwing a speculative glance toward Falke. Titus snored heavily near the high dais, his overindulgence of rich food and strong wine sapping his alertness. ’Twas one enemy Falke need not worry himself with.

He nodded slightly toward the expansive room. “All those who could do the lady harm are accounted for.” A wisp of a smile tugged at Falke’s lips as he slanted a glance toward the shadowy alcove just to his left.

Ozbern leaned across the board and whispered, “’Tis good to see you enjoy this duty.”

“’Tis naught but self-preservation,” Falke insisted.

“But ’tis an honorable decision nonetheless.” Ozbern smiled as he moved his queen.

“Do not read more than is there. I have no honor, wish no honor. I do and say as I please to get what I want.” Falke swore as he spied a bit of skin. A big toe, in fact. Light wavered through the high window behind him and lit on the corner of the alcove, illuminating a worn leather slipper with a toe protruding from the tip. Lady Wren.