The Falcons of Montabard Read Online Free PDF Page B

too much and fell asleep across a table.'
    'And you?'
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    It would have been easy to lie. Sabin considered saying that he had been roughed up during a dice game, but he knew that the truth would eventually emerge. If not here at Roxburgh through a slip of the tongue, then at court, where his face, whatever its hue, would be less than welcome. 'I was abed with King Henry's youngest mistress,' he said. 'She persuaded Henry to let her stay behind and sail on the Blanche Nef. I took her to a tavern. By that time, Simon was snoring in his wine.'
    'I see.' The grooves of muscle deepened and a hint of distaste gave the firm lips a downward curl. 'And your face?'
    Sabin shrugged. 'The King was more jealous of his rights than I thought. He set some men to watch over her . . . they interrupted us and this was the result. I am not proud. You are right to look at me in that way. Lora is dead. Without my persuasion she would still be alive.'
    David sighed and steepled his hands beneath his chin. 'What am I to do with you? You lurch from one scrape to another. If it's not gambling, it's whores. If not whores, then drink and brawling. Surely you have been raised to do yourself more justice than that? What would your father say if he could see you now?'
    Sabin had been waiting for that particular club to emerge from the armoury. Every time he was caught straying from the path, it was used to belabour him. 'Since he is dead, we will never know, and, even if you are married to his widow, you have no right to put words in his mouth.' He jerked to his feet and felt the bench wobble behind him with the force of his movement.
    'Sit down,' David said icily. 'I have not finished speaking.'
    'You have nothing to say that I want to hear,' Sabin answered. 'I wish that I had drowned on the Blanche Nef too. I am sorry for my sake and yours that I did not. Who knows, perhaps we'll both be more fortunate next time.' Turning on his heel, turning his back on the Prince, he strode from the room. The act of standing erect and lengthening his stride sent pain lancing through his ribs and abdomen, but his pride held him straight.
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    He half expected the Prince to call him back or to send guards after him, but nothing happened, save that the space between his shoulder blades was suddenly very sensitive.
    He knew that he had been rude and graceless, but that was in self-defence. If Prince David had been less judgmental, Sabin might have been more conciliatory himself. Besides, he was torn. A part of him cared deeply what his father might think about him, but another part remained angry that his father was dead, that whatever he might have felt and said was shut in the silence of the tomb.
    The grim speed of his exit brought him from the hall and into the courtyard. A bitter wind was blowing and yesterday's drizzle had become a harder, unforgiving rain. A practice for winter, Sabin thought. It always came earlier to these hills than in the softer south.
    One of Prince David's knights was preparing to leave. Sabin knew Edmund Strongfist by sight but had no deeper acquaintance with the man, except to know that he was of English ancestry displaced by the Normans after Hastings and resettled on the Scottish side of the border. Strongfist heeled his horse and turned towards the gate, and Sabin saw that he had a female companion. Heavily cloaked against the weather, there was little of her to see, although as she passed he received the impression of startled doe-brown eyes and a glint of dark braid. The impression was fleeting and gone and Sabin had no time to dwell on it as the couple rode on their way, a man-at-arms and a packhorse in tow.
    He stood shivering in the courtyard, undecided whether to go back inside and find somewhere warm and inconspicuous to hide for the rest of the day, or to squelch into the town, commandeer a corner of the alehouse and live down to Prince David's worst expectations. The sight of three off-duty soldiers heading in that direction made