Page 95 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Chapter 19
Bink quaffeda large glass of ale while Bakeley droned on. His brother had convened this meeting at the table spread with hot dishes. Old battlefield habits died hard, and Bink ate. It was wise to eat when one could during a break in the fighting. He’d barely tasted the beef and the pudding, so much on edge was he from fatigue, worry, and nagging apprehension.
Kincaid had joined them, as well as Bakeley’s man, who called himself George Stewart, a man with the refined narrow face of a popinjay poet, and the silent dark eyes of a hawk.
He was, Bink decided, another of the old lord’s operators.
“They’ll be calling on Parliament to gather,” Bink said. “You’ll be wanting to take your place in the Lords.”
Bakeley winced. Stewart chewed blandly. Kincaid shot Bakeley a hard look and went back to his plate.
Bakeley’s flinch was the sparest of shudders, a mere whisper of movement, and strange. The absence of grief at Shaldon’s passing hadn’t surprised Bink, eager as Bakeley must have been to get the old man off his back and take on the full role of his Lordship. That would include donning his cloak and coronet for the Lords.
Bakeley adopted a nonchalant look and waved a hand. “Plenty of time for that.”
“Not if this bunch starts a rebellion. It will be all hands to battle if that happens.”
“It won’t.”
“I’m not so sure. We encountered a bunch on the road and had a chance to chat. They want blood back. When the choice is between starving and lopping some lord’s head—”
Kincaid cleared his throat loudly.
Bink stood and went to the window. Day was sliding into night, a sliver of a moon making its way higher.
“How many men do you have outside?”
Bakeley lolled back in his chair. “Do not worry, brother.”
“There are two with the house,” Kincaid said. “As well as the coachman and groom who escorted us here, plus our six.”
Bink lifted an eyebrow.
“The Scotsmen have returned,” Kincaid said.
“And?”
“Those two did break away from the group, but they didn’t follow us.”
Bink turned back to the window and reexamined his memory of the group on the road. The two men had been dressed just as roughly. They’d grumbled with the others when he’d asked about the demonstration. He could not put his finger on what had made them stand out.
He’d rather have heard they’d been disposed of. “Where did they go?”
Kincaid’s jaw moved. “They followed them west and then they lost them.”
His hands curled into fists. “Lostthem?”
The older man grimaced. “They were good, or else lucky.”
“And then what, your men doubled back and found us how?”
“I put a man on the road,” Stewart said.
“In any case,” Bakeley said, “there’s no telling if they were Agruen’s men. They might have been weavers for all we know. Bink, your men are resting, as should you. We leave at first light for London. Paulette will be safe here.”
“And who will see to her safety here?”
“I will.” Stewart said, no emotion detectable in his narrow, cold face.
