Page 2 of Peregrine's Call
“What’s wrong?” Cecily asked.
“Not a thing, my lady,” Robin said, trying to believe it herself. “I pray my learning to sew will not be in vain, and that I’ll be able to take my skills to the Ballard estates.”
“How well said.” Cecily smiled.
Robin grinned back. She did have some skills. She was an excellent rider, and she could hunt with a falcon or with hounds. She’d learned proper modes of address for nobility, and she also knew how to read and write quite ably in French—the most necessary language for a lady.
Just then, the door to the courtyard swung open, pushed by a guard. He saw Cecily and huffed out a greeting.
“My lady. Ladies,” the guard said, somewhat out of breath. “We just got word that Sir Octavian is approaching the manor. He’ll be here within the hour. Perhaps sooner.”
At the mention of the name, Robin’s breath caught in her throat. “Octavian is coming here? At this moment?” she gasped. Oh, Lord, if he saw her in such a gown, he’d laugh. Little, scruffy Robin dressed as a lady!
“I had no notion of this,” Cecily said. “Was there more to the message?” she asked the guard.
The man shook his head. “Nay, my lady.”
“I’ll see that everything is prepared for a guest,” Cecily said, already turning to the task at hand. “No, wait. I must finish brewing the remedy for the tenants who are sick. Robin, you shall see that a chamber is made ready, and that Octavian has what he needs for his stay.”
“I should change,” Robin protested. “This gown is ridiculous. I must get my own outfit back on….”
“Nonsense,” Cecily said firmly. “If we wish to know what effect it will have, how better to test it than by displaying it? Tav is always honest.” Cecily used Octavian’s nickname with easy affection.
Robin herself never dared to be so familiar with the knight, who was five years older than she was, and a close companion to Sir Alric. To her, Octavian had always seemed a paragon.
The first time she’d ever met him, she was only fourteen and certain she knew everything about how the world worked. Then she saw him.
Octavian wasn’t anything like other knights she’d encountered. First, most fighters, even knights, tended to be rough men who relied on their strength and swords rather than words to make their way in the world. He was built as a fighter, of course—tall, with strong shoulders and chest after years of training. And more so than many knights, Octavian was excellently educated because he’d been raised in a strict, religious environment by monks who seemed to know everything, and then passed it on to Octavian. His familiarity with many languages helped him travel from the Holy Land, where he’d been born, through Europe and finally to England.
In England, he was unusual. The son of black Africans living in Aleppo, his skin was many shades darker than Robin had ever seen. And though his parents died when he was just a baby—hence his childhood in a monastery—Robin assumed they must have been beautiful to have given their child such a face. Octavian had warm brown eyes and a mouth that eased into a smile whenever he greeted her. Unlike a lot of the men she’d grown up around, Octavian shaved routinely and kept his hair cropped so short his scalp was visible, which just made his high cheekbones stand out. She thought he looked more like a prince than a soldier.
He’d always been kind to her, and treated her with none of the condescension so many other men did—which made her admire him all the more. But admiring was one thing. Speaking to him as an equal was quite another, and she certainly couldn’t imagine sayingTavin such a comfortable manner.
It hadn’t always been that way. When she was young, she spoke to Octavian—and indeed everyone—with the boldness of a child who feared nothing. But that was before she learned proper behavior, and how to speak to her betters with respect. Over the past few years, she found herself more and more…flustered…around Octavian, despite how much she looked forward to his infrequent visits.
The women separated, and Robin moved toward the guest room, determined that all should be perfect. That was the task of a lady, and wasn’t that what Robin wanted to be?
Chapter 2
Sir Octavian de Levant wasused to traveling at a moment’s notice. He was a knight in the service of Lord Denis of Courci, who in turn swore allegiance to King Stephen. Because Tav spoke many languages and had the full confidence of his lord, he was frequently asked to carry letters from one person to another among the king’s vassals—and unwritten messages that were far more covert. He enjoyed such tasks. Tav was an inveterate traveler, and he loved seeing new places, however humble or grand they might be.
But this particular trip would be more challenging than most. It might even get him killed. Tav hoped to increase his chances of surviving by gleaning vital information from old allies. Hence the journey to Cleobury.
Octavian rode on through the familiar countryside. Sheep grazed here and there, since the land was too hilly for good farming. He continued, keeping his horse’s pace steady, even though he wanted to hurry.
Cleobury had always been a haven for him. Alric was one of his closest friends, along with the knights Sir Luc and Sir Rafe. Together, they’d fought in numerous battles, and Octavian would trust any of them with his life. Despite being born far away in the Levant, from parents who were commoners, Tav felt he’d found a home in this far corner of the world.
When he reached the manor of Cleobury, the gates stood open. Alric insisted on the open gates as a matter of policy. He wanted the residents to know they were free to come and go.
“Sir Octavian!” a voice called. One of the guards atop the gatehouse waved. “We got your message. Ride in to the courtyard!”
Octavian rode under the gatehouse, noting the thick walls of the manor. If war ever did threaten Cleobury, Alric would have the place sealed tight within moments. Tav dismounted, but before he’d even managed to hand the reins over to one of the stable boys, he was hailed by a new voice.
“Tav!” The name practically boomed out, and the man who called out strode across the wide courtyard to crush Octavian in a fond embrace. “What brings you here? We heard nothing of your coming till an hour ago!”
“That’s because I didn’t have much warning, but even so, I would not have been able to tell you beforehand.”
Alric pulled back to consider this, his expression indicating that he read Tav’s true message—he was on business more urgent than the usual tasks his own lord Denis sent him on. Alric asked, “How much of a hurry are you in?”
