The Running Vixen by Elizabeth Chadwick Read Free Book Online Page B

drinking, stoppered the costrel and tossed it over to Austin, for whose edification this bout was partly taking place. ‘Care to wager?’ he challenged Adam and, spitting on his palms, raised his shield and dropped behind it to a battle crouch.
    Adam wiped his right hand down his hose and applied it once more to his sword-grip. ‘I’d not part you from your hard-earned coin,’ he retorted, shifting his stance on Thornford’s gritty practice-yard floor. As Jerold attacked, he leaped over the low swing of the blade and beneath the knight’s guard, feinting at the shield and sweeping under it. Jerold sprang backwards like a startled hare and a breath came hard between his teeth. Laughing, Adam pressed his attack.
    Horses clattered through the main gateway and into the bailey. Grooms went out and a servant came running in and spoke to the squire.
    ‘Lord Adam,’ Austin called, ‘Miles le Gallois is here. He’s brought you some horses and craves a moment of your time.’
    Adam misjudged his stroke, lost his balance, and found himself once more looking down the fuller of Jerold’s sword and into the knight’s laughing eyes. He pushed the blade aside in disgust.
    ‘Sorry, lord,’ said Austin, biting his lip.
    ‘My own fault, lad, I’m not concentrating.’ Adam thrust the blunted sword at the boy. ‘Here, take my place and see if you can improve on my performance.’
    ‘Shouldn’t be too difficult,’ Jerold mocked.
    Adam made an eloquent English gesture, dropped his shield and wandered into the main bailey.
    An elderly man was dismounting with care from Ralf ’s bay destrier. Behind him, an expression of wistful pleasure on his face, Renard was loosening the sorrel stallion’s girth, while beyond on a leading rein, the piebald sidled friskily.
    ‘Lord Miles!’ Adam strode forward with genuine pleasure and held out a calloused palm. ‘This is indeed a surprise!’
    Miles clasped the proffered hand. ‘Indeed it is,’ he answered, smiling as he gazed upon Adam’s state of sweaty déshabillé.
    ‘I’ve been practising my swordplay in the tilt yard - not with any great success. It’s a relief to leave it.’ Adam pushed his wet hair off his forehead.
    ‘Grandpa has brought you these on his way home, since you forgot them in your haste to leave us.’ Renard gestured towards the horses, his mouth curving with mischief. ‘My sister doesn’t usually have that effect on men, rather the opposite.’
    Adam gave Renard a sour look. ‘Perhaps I know her too well,’ he retorted.
    The youth shrugged. ‘Or not well enough.’ He fondled Vaillantif ’s whiskery muzzle and glanced at his own grey crossbreed. ‘It’s like riding silk. Old Starlight’s going to seem as rough as sackcloth by comparison.’
    Miles smiled at his grandson. ‘You’re developing expensive tastes, boy.’
    ‘Why not - I’m the heir, aren’t I?’ Renard’s spoke flippantly, but there was an almost bitter expression in his eyes. The sound of weapon play drifted across from the direction of the tilt yard. Leaving the horses, Renard sauntered towards it.
    ‘Too sharp for his own good sometimes, that one,’ Miles said, as the grooms set about unsaddling the destriers and leading them and the remounts to the water trough. It had once been a coffin, so the priest said, undoubtedly Roman, for there was a vague weather-beaten inscription in Latin just visible on its side. ‘With a tongue like that in his head, he’s got to learn when to keep it sheathed.’
    ‘Most lads of that age are indiscreet to some degree,’ Adam said, thinking of his own squire’s recent misdemeanours.
    ‘Or that’s what you tell yourself in lieu of throttling them.’ Miles eased himself down on the mounting block with a sigh, and spread his palms upon his knees.
    Adam laughed in wry acknowledgement and signalled to a servant. ‘You’ll stay to dine?’
    Miles thanked him for the hospitality, then added, relenting, ‘Renard’s a good boy really.