The Merchant's Partner Read Online Free PDF

while his wife looked excited, but kept silent.
    At last the merchant shrank back like a whipped dog. Shooting a sullen glance at the Bourc, he shrugged. “I’ve said nothing that others here won’t tell you, but…if I’ve offended you, I ask your pardon. Ask the innkeeper where she lives, if you want to see her. He’ll know.”
    And that appeared to be all that he was prepared to say.
    When the Bourc drained his mug, Trevellyn hardly moved. He remained sitting, staring before him and carefully ignoring the Gascon. The Bourc looked athim contemptuously, then smiled at his wife. It pained him to see the sadness in her eyes, as if she was despairing at the misery of her life with her man, and the Bourc wondered again that such a lovely woman could have been manacled to such a brute. But there was no profit in thoughts like that, and he turned abruptly and went out to his horses.

-3-
    F or the love of God, will you get down, you brute! Lionors! No! No! I said… Lionors, NO! ”
    The bellow of despairing rage carried clearly from the house and far down into the valley as the servant handed the reins to the grinning hostler, and he could hear the sound of scrabbling paws slipping on the floor and pots smashing. He sighed and shook his head in vexation. Since Sir Baldwin had returned, he had been determined to maintain the great hunting pack that his father had owned, and kept a separate kennel for the hounds. But there was one bitch who refused to leave him: Lionors.
    Walking inside, he sighed again when he saw the hall. One great iron candle-holder was on its side, a bench was upset, and plates and mugs lay on the floor. In the middle of the floor stood the knight, hands on hips, red-faced and glaring, while in front of him was the dog, lying on her back, belly and legs waving submissively while her massive black jowls dangled ludicrously to display her teeth. A fearful brown eye rolled as Edgar entered.
    â€œAfter food again, was she?”
    â€œNo, damn it!” Baldwin kicked the submissive dog, but not hard, and strode to a chair. Flopping down, he eyed his dog sourly. “She was happy to see me.”
    It was always the same, the knight knew. Whenever he went out and left her behind, whether it was for an hour or a day, the result was the same: on his return she would try to bring something for him. In the beginning, when he had first come home to Furnshill, he had found it an endearing trait, a sign of the mastiff’s devotion. That was almost a year ago now, though. Two pairs of boots, one rug and an expensive cloak ago. “She was trying to bring me a present.”
    Edgar nodded, then bent to pick up shards of broken pottery. “What was it this time?” Shaking his head, the knight motioned to the floor beside the table. When he glanced down, Edgar saw the short hunting spear, heavily chewed at the middle, which lay beside the table. “She was carrying that?” he asked, genuinely surprised.
    It was only a few moments later that they heard the sound of an approaching rider. Lionors heard it first, her head snapping round as she stared at the door. Wiping his hands on his shirt, Edgar went out. After a few minutes he was back, and to Baldwin’s surprise, he wore a broad smile.
    â€œSir Baldwin, a visitor! John, Bourc de Beaumont, son of the Captal de Beaumont.”
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    â€œOf course, I knew your father well. We first met in Acre. That would be some six and twenty years ago now, of course.”
    Baldwin had been surprised at the demeanor of his guest. He remembered the Captal as being a cheerful, enthusiastic man, and yet the son was withdrawn, almost depressed.
    The Bourc had passed on messages from his father and some small gifts, and they were sitting before the fire, which had been stoked and now roared vigorously, lighting the room with a flickering orange glow.
    â€œHe rarely talks about those times, sir.”
    â€œI’m not surprised.