Page 16 of Desire's Ransom
Chapter 5
“I’m only repeating what I’ve heard, m’lord,” Sir Warin claimed as the five knights rode along the sun-speckled, tree-lined road.
Sir Ryland de Ware wasn’t fooled for an instant. Warin’s words might sound innocent. But his eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Enough, Warin.” He glowered at his right-hand man. “I know very well that Irish wenches donothave tails.”
Sir Osgood chimed in behind them. “Are you certain, my lord? I’ve heard those claims as well.”
“Oh, aye,” Sir Godwin added solemnly. “Tails…and flippers, some of them.”
Osgood couldn’t contain his laughter. He burst out with it, earning him a cuff from his brother Godwin for ruining the jest.
“Are you knaves quite finished?” Ryland grumbled.
It was easy for them to taunt him about the matter. None of them had been betrothed by the king to a woman they’d never met.
Of course, he was well aware, as the firstborn son of an old and noble family, he had no choice when it came to marriage. Men like him were instruments to be used for power and influence. Brides were carefully selected to create political alliances. In Ryland’s case, that political alliance included leaving his beloved England and laying claim to a castle in a strange and savage country. Nay, not a castle—a tower house. In Eire, their strongholds were made of plastered timber, not impenetrable stone.
He supposed he should be grateful. It was an honor, after all. The king had chosen Ryland as the knight he most trusted to claim and tame the wild folk of Ireland.
But he didn’t feel grateful. He felt trapped.
He sighed as his men snickered around him. His bride-to-be might not have a tail, but she probably had the sickly pale skin and fiery red hair so many Irish lasses seemed to possess. Worse, she might have the fiery temper to go with it.
But what no one dared utter, what Warin was trying desperately to distract him from, was a more unsettling claim about his Irish betrothed.
“What about the other matter?” Sir Laurence finally murmured. “That she’s a murderer?”
The other men turned on him.
“God’s eyes, Laurence!” Warin spat. “Why did you have to bring that up?”
Laurence scowled. He preferred to have things out in the open, to face his enemies head-on. He’d been brooding over the match ever since Ryland had announced it.
“Pah!” Godwin scoffed. “There’s no proof of the claim.”
“The lady was a child,” his brother Osgood added. “’Twas an accident, certainly.”
Ryland frowned. He wasn’t so sure. Since coming ashore and getting his first taste of Irish wenches—a foul-mouthed innkeeper, a sharp-tongued brewster, and a bitter harpy selling fish—he was convinced the whole lot of them were capable of murder.
But Warin, for all his jesting, had a sensible head on his shoulders.
“Look, m’lords, if it were true,” he reasoned, “wouldn’t they have hanged her for the crime? Instead, they’ve promised her to the most glorious, noble, and upstanding knight in all of England.”
The others groaned.
“Come, come, gentlemen!” Warin exclaimed with an impish glint in his eye. “Do you not agree?”
Godwin gave Warin a cuff on the shoulder. “Slathering it on a bit thick, aren’t you?”
“Sir Rylandisthe most glorious, noble, and upstanding knight in all of England,” Warin protested with a wink. “And he’ll fight any man who says he isn’t.”
The men laughed at that.
“And Warin will no doubt be wagering his purse on the outcome,” Osgood added.
Ryland shook his head, but he had to give Warin a grudging smile. Warin might be full of folly, but no man could ask for a more loyal companion.
