The Illuminator by Brenda Rickman Vantrease Read Free Book Online Page A

heard gossip about him and the tavern wench at the Black Swan. She hoped his experience did not go beyond the sighs and gropings of green youth. But he already wore a thin little stain of a mustache, and if he had inherited his father’s whoring nature, there might be little she could do about it except to teach him discretion. Harmless flirtation with tavern maids was one thing, but she would not have him fouling their nest with his lechery.
    They returned quickly. The maid, with flushed cheeks and simpering manner, followed Alfred into the room.
    â€œGlynis said that my lady mother had need of a lusty lad with a sturdy back. So here I am. I’m your man.” One rust-colored curl escaped the leather thong that bound it and bobbed against his cheek.
    â€œMore boy than man, I would say. Though for want of any other, you’ll do. Put your sturdy back to shoving that desk beneath the window.”
    If the boy wondered at the curtness of her response, he made no mention of it, but good-naturedly set himself to the task.
    â€œ ’Tis easy enough,” he said, pretending less strain than the heavy oak furniture would cause a man full-grown. She wondered what else he’d done to impress the plump little chambermaid.
    Giving the desk one last, red-faced push so that the mullion window was exactly centered above it, he asked, “Why did you want the desk beneath the window? And I see you’ve cleared Father’s belongings.” He blew a breath at the offending curl to clear it from his blue eyes—the only feature he shared with his brother.
    â€œYou may leave us, Glynis,” Lady Kathryn said. “I’ll put fresh linen on the bed.” She waited until she heard the girl’s footsteps fade away.
    â€œWe are to have a lodger, Alfred.” She picked up the sheet Glynis had brought and turned to the bed, talking to her son over her shoulder. “I would have told you about it sooner, but you have seen fit to deprive yourself of your mother’s company for the last two nights.”
    â€œColin said you had a headache, and I didn’t wish to disturb you.” He rapped his knuckles against the oak table.
    Too much restless energy, she thought. He reminded her of a simmering pot working up a head of steam. She whipped the sheet in the air. It settled with a snap onto the bed. “Well, in any case, I doubt you were in any condition to wait upon your mother, whose pain would have only been enhanced by the sight of her oldest son so far in his cups he could barely walk, and at such a green age—a boy scarcely weaned, who cannot hold his beer.”
    Good. She had at least succeeded in bringing a deeper blush to his naturally ruddy cheeks.
    â€œI see Colin was ready enough to tattle—”
    â€œYour brother, sir, told me little enough. Agnes told me how she had to clean up the puke from your linen. I will not have my son made the butt of jokes among serving wenches and villeins. And while we’re on the subject, you make too free with my maid. I’ve seen the calf-eyed looks that pass between you.”
    The boy at least had the grace to look embarrassed, though he did not hang his head in shame. But neither did he flare back at her as a young Roderick would have done—though whether his temper was checked by discretion or affection, she couldn’t say.
    â€œI fear I’ve been too lax with you. From now on, you will be home by vespers.”
    â€œVespers,” he whined, his eyes sparking like flint on stone. He shook his head, loosening another shaggy curl. “I hate that priest. Is he—?”
    â€œNo, Alfred. Father Ignatius is not moving in. And if he were, I would hardly give him your father’s quarters. We are to have lodgers.”
    â€œLodgers! By God’s wounds, Mother, surely we are not so poor that we must rent out my father’s—”
    â€œDon’t take that tone with me, Alfred. And you may