Elizabeth Chadwick Read Online Free PDF

interrupted, stepping forward. “Master FitzWarin is in his charge.”
    “Lord Walter sent you?” The guard raised his brows.
    “Yes, sir. As you know, he’s responsible for training the squires attached to Lord Glanville’s retinue. He wants to see the shield.”
    “Well, why didn’t you say so?” The man opened the door and gestured Jean to enter. “Not you,” he said to Fulke. “It would be more than my life is worth. I’ve no intention of hanging for a boy’s petty squabble.”
    Moments later Jean returned. He was holding the shield in a curious fashion so that the blazon faced inward and all that was visible was the wooden backing and arm straps.
    “Satisfied?” The guard closed the door and stood foursquare in front of it, making it clear that he would not budge again.
    “Thank you, my lord,” Jean said, bowing and using the inflated form of address to flatter the man’s vanity. He started to walk rapidly away.
    Fulke hurried along beside him. “What are you hiding?” He grabbed for his shield. “Give it to me.”
    Reluctantly, Jean let him have it. “There’s no sense in losing your temper.” He laid a restraining hand on Fulke’s sleeve.
    Fulke gazed mutely at the shield he had been so carefully tending that afternoon. The smooth, painted leather had been scored repeatedly with the point of a knife, completely obliterating the blazon. So strong was the malice in the knife that several deep grooves had been cut into the underlying wood.
    Rage rose within Fulke like a huge, red bubble and with that rage came hatred. To destroy a man’s blazon was to insult not only him, but also his entire family and bloodline.
    “Whatever you are thinking, he is not worth it,” Jean said, his gaze darting between Fulke’s expression and the shield. “We can have one of the armorers put a new skin on this and no one will know the difference.”
    “But I will,” Fulke said in a voice choked with fury. “This changes everything.”
    “Look, we have to go back to my lord’s lodging. We’ve risked enough as it is.”
    Fulke gazed at him blankly for a moment, then, with a shudder, controlled himself. He walked stiffly into the adjoining hall, his fist clenched tightly upon his shield strap. There he stopped and stared like a hound spotting its prey. King Henry was talking to a cluster of officials and courtiers. And John was with him, a little pale around the gills, but showing few other signs of damage.
    “Don’t do anything foolish,” Jean muttered out of the side of his mouth. “Lord Theobald will not be tender with the shreds of us that remain.”
    Fulke shook with the effort of controlling his rage. “I’ll kill him, I swear I will,” he snarled.
    His glare was like a lance and John sensed it, for suddenly he turned his head and their eyes met as if they were on a battlefield. John murmured something to his father, who was deep in conversation with Ranulf de Glanville.
    The King bent an ear to his son’s swift murmur, and then he too stared across the room at Fulke. “Christ,” muttered Jean beneath his breath as Henry crooked his finger and beckoned Fulke.
    Fulke swallowed, but more with the effort of restraining his fury than with trepidation at approaching the royal party. He strode over to the group, his head high and the shield brandished to show John that he knew what had been done. Only when he reached the King did he kneel in obeisance and bow his head, his black hair flopping over his brows.
    “Get up,” Henry commanded.
    Fulke did so and immediately towered over his sovereign who was of average height and stockily built. The once flame-red hair was sandy-silver and Henry stood with shoulders braced as if his kingship weighed heavily.
    “You have your grandfather de Dinan’s size,” Henry said, narrowing his eyes. “And the same propensity for trouble, it seems. What do you have to say for yourself in answer to my son’s accusation that you tried to kill him?”
    “That his