Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  “Yes.”

  “Wotan’s cock and balls! Don’t you care?”

  “Yes, but it’s done.”

  However, it wasn’t. I found I couldn’t look at Lind without feeling that black anger wash over me. Each time I saw the sleek bob, the grey eyes looking up at me, I felt the humiliation of that apology.

  “I am deeply ashamed that I offended your honour, your person through the actions of my wayward thrall—and I humbly beg you forgive me, I beg for your mercy—” I did it well, followed the common formula, but Apollo knows it tore my pride, smashed it into pieces.

  I couldn’t forgive Lind, and that was a problem because it was shattering the bond I’d begun to form with her. I knew that I needed her, that without her I wouldn’t be able to get inside Ranulf’s tower, but I was hurting too much to heed my head.

  What was even worse was that I’d had her for just a week, so she ought not to mean much to me, but I found I missed her company.

  During the day I wanted to reach out and talk to her, but my shame came between my need and the remedy. At night I lay alone in the dark, yearning to call out to her and to drown in those soft, silken limbs, but again my shame stopped my tongue.

  In a word, it was hell.

  I absented myself as much as possible, taking Wolf out for gallops and avoiding being near her. Yes, I was a coward. I admit it.

  The one sensible thing I did was to pretend that all was well. I put on a public face of pride by taking her out the following night. We went to the Merry Troubadour and ate supper. Together.

  Of course, everyone in the city was gossiping about my fight with the steward and my humiliating apology. My name was being bandied about freely, and my shame was public.

  “He spoils her rotten,” the innkeeper whispered to a merchant.

  “I hear he had to pay a fine,” someone else sniggered. “Bet he did something so perverted, even the Guildsmen were disgusted.”

  “Well, you don’t give a thrall a silver collar for nothing.”

  It cut deep, that gossip, but at least I had the satisfaction of knowing the people would see I wouldn’t change my ways. It would have been fatal to toe the line and behave like everyone else wanted me to. But going out with my thrall just as if nothing had happened and putting up with sneers, whispers and stares didn’t do anything to lessen my anger.

  After a few days Lind did try to apologise, but I cut her off. That was bad, too. Lind’s been a thrall almost all her life, so she didn’t understand what honour and reputation mean to me. She thought I minded about the penny, not realising I wouldn’t miss it in the least. It was the apology that cost me.

  Anyway, I behaved like an arsehole. Instead of getting over myself and talking to her, I acted the master and treated her badly.

  We probably would’ve carried on like that for weeks, and I would’ve been well sunk at Ranulf’s tower, but just after Lind tried to make things better and I stormed off to the butts to practice with the duke’s bowmen, she came running.

  “Ware! Ware! Come quickly! It’s Wolf!”

  I took one look at her white face and wide, frightened eyes, and then I was running.

  For a hideous moment I thought someone might have shot my horse, or poisoned him, but he was standing in the garden, hale and hearty. Wolf was in fact very happy. He’d opened the door to the store cupboard, and helped himself to apples.

  “It’s all my fault!” Lind was in floods, wringing her hands. “I was wicked and selfish and now Wolf’s going to die!”

  I swept her up in my arms, hugging the lean frame to me. “Lind, you little fool, why would Wolf die?”

  “B-because he’ll get colic!” At her wail, Wolf stopped munching and came over, sticking a juicy muzzle in her hair. Lind was sobbing as she curled an arm around his mane. “I love him so much!”

  “Lind, you damn fool, Wolf’s fine.” I stood her on her feet. “Look, the sack was almost full, right? And there are apples all over the ground. He’s had just a dozen or so.”

  Lind wiped her eyes. Her eyes were red, her skin was blotchy, and she’d never looked sweeter. “R-really?”

  “Yes. A dozen apples won’t kill anything but his appetite for dinner, and probably not even that. Come on, let’s pick up the rest.”

  We picked the lot up, Lind gasping with relief at first, but when we checked the sack and found Wolf couldn’t have eaten more than eight or nine, she was in floods again.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m nothing but trouble to you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is! You’re good to me! You gave me chocolate, and you didn’t even mind when I got drunk, and all I did was got you into trouble! The constable says I’ve ruined your name!”

  Her remorse went straight to my heart. “Never mind, Lind. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not! The steward is a fat-gut loser pig!”

  I was acutely aware of the guards at the cottage gate and the people passing by. “Yes, but we can’t do anything about that.”

  Lind was too deep in self-recrimination to appreciate this, but I could see the guards grin. Nobody liked Duggard.

  My thrall was lashing herself as effectively as the justiciar might have. “And you had to pay a fine, too! A silver penny! I’m not worth that!”

  “Actually, it’s what I paid the seneschal for you.”

  I shouldn’t have said it; thralls know they’re bought and sold, but only a vulgar merchant mentions the purchase price. Thralls have feeling, too. However, Lind is always different.

  Her head came straight up, her eyes shocked. “You paid him a penny for me? But that’s far too much! What were you thinking, Ware?”

  Don’t you just love her? There’s nobody like Lind in the whole world. It’s just as well, really, because I don’t think Prydain could hold two Linds. One is trouble enough.

  I bit back a grin and sounded properly apologetic. “I’m sorry you think it too much.”

  “I’m not even a house thrall,” Lind was giving herself a proper beating. “I can’t iron, and all I can cook is stew.”

  “That’s very true, but I didn’t know that when I bought you.”

  “You didn’t even ask when we were at dinner that first night,” Lind sniffed. “And when you did ask about me, I was snippy.”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, I’ve learned my lesson,” Lind said penitently. “From now on I’m going to be good.”

  Part of me wanted to laugh because the thought of Lind as a proper thrall was ridiculous. She was incapable of it, but mostly her words melted away my resentment, cleansing the humiliation of the last five days. I didn’t care about the steward and his petty ways anymore.

  As for the rest, the hurt of that mass funeral pyre was still there, hidden deep and probably there for life, but now I would have my revenge because I had Lind. Wicked, rebellious, difficult, troublesome, glorious Lind. Also, I had a boner the size of the duke’s tower.

  “If you want to be good, prove it in bed.” Then, accompanied by cheers from the guards, I picked her up, slung her over my shoulder and carried her into the cottage.

  She wasn’t good; she was perfect. I had her stripped in seconds, revealing the slender, toned limbs, the small, high breasts and that long sweep of legs that ended in the pert arse. What got me, though, was her excitement.

  As we tumbled onto the bed, Lind giggled and gasped as she wound her way around me. “Freyja’s creaming purse, I missed this.”

  “Lind! Language.”

  “Well I could say Freyja’s creaming cun—”

  I kissed her before she could finish. Lind really is the limit. Cruder than a mercenary and liable to insult the goddess to her face, but her kisses would melt a heart made of stone.

  I sank into her welcoming arms, and then I was floating in bliss. My senses were reeling. Her skin was so soft that it was like brushing satin. Her scent, warm and feminine, augmented by apple, cinnamon and wood, enveloped me, rich and sweet. The little moans drove
me on, sending me pulsing inside her.

  We rocked together, our bodies melding as our embrace tightened. I felt her lips on my neck, her breath in my ear, and her ankles on my back as she pulled me deeper inside.

  As I looked into her eyes, half shut with mounting passion, the hot, wet silken tightness gripping my cock pulsed. She keened, writhing against me, coming in wild waves. I went with her, exploding inside her with groaning release.

  Lying on top of her, my sweat mingling with hers, I thumbed back her hair. She was grinning at me. “Good, right?”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Hmmm,” she was staying put, anchoring me with her long muscled legs. “You’re pretty good yourself, Ware.”

  “One minute.”

  “What?” Lind was yawning, an earth shattering affair that had her rippling underneath me.

  “One minute of being good.”

  The grey eyes were unrepentant. “Did the eastern girls call you sir in bed?”

  “Actually, they called me lord.”

  “Yeah, well, they’d have to.”

  I knew it was a trap but I bit anyway. “Why?”

  Her eyes were wide-open innocence. “Well, they were professional girls, right? When you’ve a lot of traffic, you’re better off calling everyone lord. That way you upgrade commoners to the nobility and you can’t mess up with names, either.”

  I had to laugh. “Lind, you’re evil!”

  But when I took her out to supper, my girl was far from evil. She looked pretty and she behaved like a sweetheart. She didn’t guzzle wine, although she drank happily, and the ‘sirs’ littered the conversation until even I thought it a bit much. “A duke would find it a bit oppressive to be sirred at the end of every single sentence.”

  “Maybe, but the fat-gut pig in blue at the next table liked it,” Lind said as she danced home beside me. “He was telling his wife that I was well-trained.”

  “Considering his table manners, I wouldn’t give him a lot of credit.”

  “I know. Wasn’t his wife a horror, too? I counted five chins.” At that, she turned a rapid cartwheel. “Five!”

  I had to laugh. Lind was outrageous, but she was a hell of a lot of fun.

  I like women as much as the next man, but I’d not spent more than a few hours with any of them until then.

  I’d been entranced and then rapidly bored by the elegant but empty-headed eastern girls, turned off by Prydain’s simpering citizens, disgusted at the lazy spoilt Guild princesses, and although I enjoyed the company of peasant girls who were earthy and strong, their interest was limited to crops, weather and children.

  Lind was different. She had a heart, she was clever, she worked hard and she was never, ever dull. She drove me insane, too, but I found that I liked her, even when I wanted to strangle her. That was pretty often because the ‘good’ Lind was outspoken, disastrously so, wild at hand, always, and definitely more likely to act than think.

  It was clear I’d have my hands full with her, but from that point on, I didn’t mind so much. It was just as well, because we were in for a lot of trouble.

  The very next morning, when I took her for her first archery lesson, she was shaking with excitement, on her best behaviour and yet, she attracted an audience that rapidly turned threatening.

  We worked under the eye of a dozen archers, including that old warhorse Kennard. “That’s the Llanfaes fletcher who burned down the Guild House and who tried to kill our steward,” he grumbled.

  Everyone stared, but when they realised our business, all the archers were furious at the sight of a thrall being taught to shoot.

  “He can’t do that. It’s illegal.”

  “It’s illegal for a thrall to carry a weapon, but seemingly it’s not illegal to use one.”

  “But that’s outrageous!”

  “He’s teaching her his craft, too. That’s can’t be legal. She’s a woman.”

  “He says she’s property, and so he can do what he likes.”

  “Why doesn’t the Guild stop him?”

  “Duggard tried but failed. The fletcher isn’t breaking any laws.”

  “That’s madness! He should be in jail!”

  “And why in Wotan’s name does she have a silver collar? Is he a pervert or insane?”

  I acted cool, but in my heart I was wondering if the innkeeper had been right. Maybe I had been abroad too long. Maybe I had gone insane. I was breaking with all tradition, all convention, and making enemies by the score. As if I didn’t have enough of those already!

  But my pride kicked in. I’d made a promise, so I’d stick to it. Also, I needed Lind for my revenge. If making more enemies was the price for avenging my family, I’d pay it.

  So I gave my first archery lesson. “Put the leather guard over your tunic so you ensure smooth action.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  At the sight of a girl in fighting gear, the archers were grumbling.

  “Imagine the target is the enemy.”

  “Done!”

  The archers were hissing with anger.

  “Pull back the drawstring, nock the arrow and then sight your target.”

  She did it beautifully, no doubt imitating the men she’d seen during her travels. “Like this, sir?”

  I ignored the muttered oaths and curses.

  “Yes, now keep your shoulders straight, eye the target, breathe in, sight again and as you exhale, let fly.”

  Novice archers have a nasty tendency to shoot short, long and even sideways, so I stood safely behind her as Lind squinted, breathed and shot. The arrow sailed through the air, landing in the outer ring of the target.

  “Score! One in the steward’s butt!” To my horror, Lind was dancing a happy jig. “Did you see? I imagine the target was that useless prick of a steward, and I got the fat-gut!”

  “Hush, Lind.” I could see the shocked eyes all around us. An insult would’ve been bad enough, but threatening the life of Guild members is unlawful in Caern, even if it’s make-believe.

  “You wicked wench! May Wotan hear and punish you!” Kennard was shaking with rage. “How dare you insult my cousin?”

  So that’s why Kennard was so keen on the steward; they were family. I summoned all my wits. “Exactly.” If she weren’t careful, Kennard and the steward would use this to haul Lind up to the justiciar. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  Lind looked, saw the shocked faces and curtsied. “Sorry, sir.”

  The voice was meekness itself, but the eyes were unrepentant. I knew that she didn’t give a damn, and I wanted to strangle her, but sense told me that there was only one way to deal with this.

  I frowned impressively, “Lind, you’re a disgrace. Don’t do it again.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “The steward is an official and therefore must be respected.”

  Her eyes told me she thought he was a fat-gut swine, but she nodded. “Sorry.”

  “Good. Now, go and get your arrow and do it again, but without dropping your shoulders.”

  Kennard was aghast. “That’s it? She ought to be caned!”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “The steward is right. You’re a traitor to your class.”

  “Nonsense. The words of a silly thrall can’t injure the steward.”

  Except of course they would, because it would be all over the city in a heartbeat. The Guild would flip their collective lids—and blame me. I ignored that sinking feeling that comes with anticipating trouble and went on with the plan: training in return for obedience.

  “Do it again, Lind and this time, concentrate.”

  “I don’t understand you,” Kennard said. “What you’re doing may be legal technically, but it’s wrong.”

  “It’s blasphemy, teaching a thrall, a female one, too, to shoot,” an archer said loudly.

  To make matters worse, Lind turned out to be a natural. She hit the target eight times out of ten, so I did the proper thing and praised her. “I’ve never seen someone do
so well on their first try.”

  “It’s not really my first. I used to borrow my last pig’s hunting bow when he was drunk,” Lind giggled. “I’ve practiced secretly for months.”

  Talk about oil on fire.

  “This is intolerable!” Kennard exploded.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Lind exclaimed, but she wasn’t.

  After that, I made her practice in the cottage garden. “Keep Wolf in his stall and for Apollo’s sake stop calling the target the steward.”

  “Absolutely!”

  But Lind was irrepressible.

  “I’ve had seventeen complaints about your thrall.” Three days later, Eward sent for me, ostensibly for a glass of wine and a chat about the tactics used by elephant troop commanders, but after his staff left, the talk became personal.

  Inevitably, it also turned to Lind. “She’s been turning cartwheels in the kitchen gardens, showing off her bare backside. She’s not wearing anything under her skirts.”

  “Oh, it must have been wash day.”

  Eward gave me an exasperated look. “That is not the point!”

  “My apologies. I’ll speak to her.”

  “And speaking of wash day, your thrall’s been singing rebellious songs intended to incite dissent while doing her laundry.”

  “I’m awfully sorry.”

  “My own Peony has been humming, ‘wash your pig clean away’ in my very presence.”

  “Dreadful. I shall take steps immediately.”

  “You should beat her!” Eward growled.

  “As you beat Peony?”

  “What? Peony is a fifth-generation family thrall. Her grandmother was my nurse!”

  I knew it, which is why I’d brought it up. Eward was as likely to beat the girl as he was his wife and daughters. Like most military men, Eward is remorseless in battle and soft as butter at home. Still, I felt for him. “Lind is dreadful. I’m very sorry.”

  “Even when she’s not intentionally causing trouble she’s a menace,” Eward sighed. “Her daily archery practice at the cottage attracts dozens of curious onlookers. The guards say it makes their duties extremely challenging.”

  “I’ll take her to the butts to practice instead.”

  “Much good that will do,” Eward grumbled. “My men are complaining about her every day, too.”