The Rogue Knight by Vaughn Heppner Read Free Book Online Page A

flexed his shoulder blades. To be whipped like a peasant...no. His father had been a knight. That had never been clearer to him than today. He scowled, and then he saw Sir Philip watching him.
    Sir Philip’s scarred face tightened. He urged his stallion closer to the Baron and cleared his throat.
    Baron Hugh turned. He’d been talking with the chief huntsman. “Speak,” the Baron told Philip.
    “Baron,” said bald Sir Philip, “I’m thinking back to a time eleven years ago.”
    “Yes, yes.”
    “I think the dog boy grows overbold,” Sir Philip said. “The Earl must not hear of that or it may bring unneeded trouble upon you.”
    Baron Hugh nodded sagely, his red-rimmed eyes thoughtful.
    Huge Sir Philip said, “Maybe the Baron would allow me to add to the dog boy’s punishment?”
    “Speak your mind, old friend.”
    Sir Philip said, “Let the dog boy’s offending hand be chopped off, milord.”
    The others gasped. Even Harold had the decency to look shocked.
    Sir Philip seemed oblivious to them. He was saying, “A surer sign to the other peasants couldn’t be given, milord. Otherwise, I’m afraid, the peasants may think that the slaying of game is a trivial matter to you.”
    “No!” shouted Richard. “Only a Turk could say such a thing. The dog boy is a loyal servant. To treat him as you suggest is ill-mannered.”
    Sir Philip’s fleshy old face grew mottled with rage. His hand tightened around his sword-hilt as he shifted his stallion toward Richard.
    Baron Hugh scowled. “Hold your tongue, Squire. You forget yourself.” He nodded to bald Sir Philip. “Yes, very well. I agree. Now please, good friend, don’t take offense at my squire.”
    “But his words, milord, I cannot let them stand,” Sir Philip said, his yellowed teeth clenched.
    Cord felt faint, his knees weak. He wondered if he should make a run for it.
    “I spoke the truth!” Richard shouted at Philip, his own hand on his sword-hilt.
    “Hold!” Baron Hugh roared at him.
    Everyone stared at Richard.
    “You will keep silent,” the Baron told his squire.
    Richard, with fury in his eyes, somehow managed to control himself.
    “We will settle this later,” Baron Hugh said to Philip.
    “Yes, milord,” huge Sir Philip said. “Later, as you say.”
    “And you, dog boy,” Baron Hugh said.
    Cord looked up, his face pale, his knees almost buckling. He considered sending his hounds at the footmen and making a break for it. To lose a hand—He tried to swallow. All his thoughts were in turmoil.
    “You will lose your offending hand,” Baron Hugh told him, “but only if Saint Hubert frowns upon you and Old Sloat escapes us once more. Only then. For I’ve already spoken in Saint Hubert’s name, yes?”
    Sir Philip nodded, although it seemed reluctantly.
    The Baron grinned down at the dog boy. “If Saint Hubert smiles upon you, Cord, and you are to be the forester, then you’ll need both your hands.”
    Cord managed a sickly grin. He wanted to vomit, but he had to stay strong. Otherwise.... He didn’t want to think about otherwise.
    “Yes, milord,” he said.
    The Baron shook his long white hair like a haughty wolf. “Release the bloodhounds! Let the chase begin!”
     

Chapter Three
     
    Bloodhounds bayed as they crashed through the underbrush. Cord followed close behind despite the sharp twigs that jabbed his unprotected feet or the occasional thorns that made him curse. Soon the bloodhounds burst through the underbrush and rushed to the edge of the fief’s major watercourse. There they lost Old Sloat’s scent. Two bloodhounds immediately rushed upriver, the other two down. They snuffled through the reeds with frenzied activity, desperate to find the old boar’s trail. Across the Iodo River, the deep green of Clarrus Woods traveled up the hills into Welsh territory.
    Richard reigned in his sweating palfrey. It was a highbred stallion but lacked a destrier’s bulk, training and savagery.
    “The scent has vanished?” Richard