The Stone Rose Read Online Free PDF Page A

confident they would not cavil at the job in hand.
    De Roncier considered his captains through a haze of drink fumes. As soldiers, he did not think there was much to choose between them; they were as different as chalk and cheese, yet they worked in harness well enough. He knew little that was personal about either man. All that mattered was that they should follow his orders.
    The door gaped and Ned Fletcher marched in, a brimming pitcher in his hand. He set it carefully on the table. ‘
Mon seigneur
...’
    The Count’s eyes kindled.
    Reading determination on his cousin’s young face, Alan’s heart dropped to his boots. Oh, Jesu, not again. There was something, a hint only, in Ned’s eyes that reminded Alan of his brother William. He too had the suicidal tenacity of the idealist.
    ‘Fletcher,’ Alan invested his voice with menace, ‘get below.’ Ned was a reckless fool. The ones with a conscience were always the first to the wall. Had the boy learned nothing since leaving Richmond?
    ‘I...I’m sorry, Captain.’ Ned lifted his chin and continued with a baldness that made Alan close his eyes. ‘But I must have my say. I...I do not like the sound of this commission and I do not wish to take part in it.’
    The Norseman emerged briefly from his pitcher. ‘Insubordinate,’ he muttered. ‘Begging to be flogged.’
    De Roncier’s hazel eyes narrowed, became slits.
    Alan held his breath. Ned had gall, he’d give him that, but God help him. Did he realise the enormity of his folly?
    Ned stood his ground. ‘
Mon seigneur
, I’ve never used my sword against women and I don’t plan on starting.’
    ‘Use your sword against women? Who told you that?’
    ‘The...the men below.’
    The Count lifted a tawny brow. ‘Le Bret, is this the trooper you’re kin to?’
    ‘Aye,
mon seigneur
.’
    ‘Did you betray my plans to him?’
    ‘No,
mon seigneur
.’
    ‘You disappoint me, Fletcher,’ de Roncier flicked his eyes wide, a trick Alan knew had disconcerted many a more seasoned man than Ned, ‘listening to idle gossip.’
    ‘I...I’m sorry,
mon seigneur
, if I misunderstood,’ Ned stammered doggedly on. ‘But I want it noted that I will not attack women.’
    ‘Christ on the Cross! We’re only going to frighten a couple of thieving whores named Yolande and...’ de Roncier frowned ‘...I forget the other name. Whores don’t count, surely? You pick a fine time to tell me you’ve got
principles
!’ Uttering the last word with blistering scorn, he turned his gaze on Alan. ‘Do you have scruples, le Bret? Is this a family failing?’
    ‘I’ve never been able to afford them, my lord.’ Ned’s fists, Alan noticed, were clenched white at his sides, so he must realise that the whipping post was the most likely reward for his dissent.
    The Count linked his fingers, flexed them till the joints cracked, and took time to examine his fingernails. ‘Can you afford scruples, Fletcher? How much back pay do I owe you?’
    ‘Four months,
mon seigneur
.’ Alan’s cousin went red and white in quick succession as the implications of what de Roncier was saying went home. ‘No,
mon seigneur
! Whip me if you must, but you can’t withhold my money. I’ve earned it! I need it. My mother is ailing.’
    Malait’s hand went to his chest. ‘Our hearts are breaking, Fletcher,’ he drawled, eyes as round as pennies. The Viking continued to stare at the young trooper, and a disturbing light flared in the pale eyes.
    Ned stuttered. ‘
M.
..
mon seigneur
, I...I beg you–’
    ‘I never withhold payment from those who serve me well.’ De Roncier smiled pleasantly. ‘And you will serve me well, won’t you, Fletcher?’
    Ned’s sturdy, peasant’s jaw jutted. His lips parted. Alan concealed a sigh. His cousin was about to add insult to injury, and it was rather like seeing a child thrust its hand into a fire, hard to stand by and let it happen. Alan climbed to his feet, clicked his tongue in disgust and clapped Ned on the