The Falcons of Montabard by Elizabeth Chadwick Read Free Book Online Page A

said and the mockery was back in his voice. 'You do not need to pile your packhorse with quite so many riches, my lady. I am already convinced.' He tilted his head. 'I will go willingly, but what does Edmund Strongfist say to this suggestion?'
    Matilda had the grace to blush. 'He doesn't know yet,' she admitted.
    'Ah. And if he does not want me?'
    'I think it unlikely. Whatever your reputation, no one has ever disputed your talents in the field. He would be mad to turn down the skills of another warrior on the journey.'
    'And if I get out of hand, they do not call him Strongfist for nothing.' He finished the wine and set the cup aside. 'If I were him, I think that I might err on the side of madness.'
    Matilda sighed. 'You are being given a chance, Sabin,' she said softly. 'Do not waste it. Here you have been marked by what has gone before. In Jerusalem, they do not know you. You will be just another Frankish face in the crowd with a future and a reputation to mould as you choose.'
    The door opened and Helisende returned with a basket of oatcakes still warm from the griddle and glazed with honey.
    The maid glanced in his direction. 'You have told him?'
    Sabin smiled at her.
    Matilda looked rueful. Helisende had always had a soft spot for Sabin, ever since he had been brought into their household as a swaddled scrap barely two weeks old.
    'Indeed my lady has, and that it was your idea.' Easing to his feet, Sabin took the basket from Helisende and lightly kissed her cheek. 'I always knew you wanted to be rid of me the most.'
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    She gave him an affectionate cuff. 'Sit down before you fall down and eat those oatcakes,' she said brusquely. 'If I want rid of you, it's because I'm ambitious for you. You no more fit in here than a war sword belongs in the kitchens for chopping parsnips.'
    This time Sabin's laughter was genuine. 'I would not have put it quite like that.' He began to wolf the oatcakes.
    'Well, I would,' Helisende said stoutly. She wagged her index finger. 'I expect great things of you, and not the kind that have brought you to this pass.'
    Sabin swallowed, cleared his palate with the last of his wine and looked at the two women. 'Then I will not disappoint you by saying that you are expecting too much.'
    'No, you will not.' Helisende folded her arms with the determination of a battle commander about to send a champion onto the field.
    Matilda turned away, knowing that her own faith would never match that of her maid's and that, for once in his life, Sabin was probably right. 'I will go and speak with the Prince,' she said. 'The sooner he is told, the sooner matters can be resolved.'
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    Chapter 4
    Sabin stood in the gateway at Roxburgh and made his awkward farewells. The December morning was hard with frost, good for travelling but bitterly cold. Prince David clasped his hand briefly and gave him a nod that contained both goodwill and warning.' Your last chance,' he said. 'Use it wisely.'
    'You think me capable of wisdom?'
    David's lips twitched. 'Are you not travelling to the land of miracles?'
    Sabin returned the smile, albeit sourly.
    From the children there were kisses and hugs. Young Henry had to be stopped from dashing around like a spark on the wind, and upsetting the horses. Countess Matilda embraced Sabin and he returned her clasp. Both of them acknowledged that it was a public duty, but neither drew back. Helisende wept and for an instant clung with maternal ferocity.
    'Promise you will send word to us.' She drew her knuckles across her eyes.
    'I promise . . . God willing.' He grinned. 'I will send you a bolt of golden silk from the harem of a Syrian emir.'
    'I want no gifts. That you are safe will be reward enough.'
    Finally, there was Simon. The youth was dressed for the occasion in the blue cloak that had belonged to his Saxon grandfather. Lined with the pelt of an arctic bear, it was a rare garment. His stepfather might be a prince, but Simon was heir to an earldom and royal blood ran in his own