her with enough intensity to send varying shades of red and pink into her cheeks.
“And does this virtuous abstinence extend to the wine as well?”
She ran the tip of her tongue across her dry lips and glanced at the shimmering red liquid in her goblet. “The men on the walls have only had ale, a weak and watery brew at that.”
“Edward!”
His squire jumped forward. “My lord?”
“Fetch Mistress Fletcher a stoup of weak, watery ale.”
“Aye, my lord.”
He hastened away to fill the command and Thomas reached for the goblet of wine, draining half of it in a swallow. When the squire returned with a plain wooden bowl of ale, he leaned back again and waved a hand to indicate she should drink.
“You were going to tell me how you came to be such a fine archer.”
She sipped from the edge of the bowl to moisten her mouth and set it down again. “I know not where the skill comes from, my lord, aside from a keen eye and a steady hand. Father said I could shoot the eye out of a hare when I was four.”
“Why was I not informed of this skill until today?”
“Would you have done more than smile and nod and pat me on the head?”
“I might have. You give me little credit.”
“Then you should know I can read and write as well. I can do sums and I make the very fine paper your seneschal uses to keep your books, letters, and journals. I speak French and Latin, though I find writing both to be a test of patience.”
He continued to stare for a moment, then tipped his head back and laughed. It was a deep-throated, completely masculine sound and echoed throughout the great hall, causing conversations to pause once again.
Noting the interest, he stood and took up his goblet of wine. “Come with me, girl. Bring your ale.”
He walked away from the board without waiting to see if she followed. With a glance around the hall, and specifically at Edward the squire, who was attending upon her chair, she stood and dutifully followed the knight across the dais and up the staircase that led to his private apartments in the north tower. Her nerves, by the time she climbed the winding stairs, were jangling so badly the ale was splashing over the sides of the bowl.
On the upper landing, she paused to catch a full breath and steady herself. Every eye in the great hall had been upon them and every thought behind those eyes must have been assuming he was taking her to his chambers to bed her.
In truth, that was her first thought as well and she knew not whether she should be terrified or thrilled beyond measure.
He appeared at the arched doorway and frowned.
“Come along. I don’t bite.”
She could not feel her feet but by some inner command, they moved forward. She followed him through the antechamber, where a spartan pallet suggested this was where his squire slept. Through another, thicker oak door, she entered the main solar, a large room with a raised bed at one end, several chests and an armoire at the other, and a very tall, very wide cupboard without doors that held at least a hundred books. The rest of the space was taken up by a hearth, a writing table, and a large padded chair with a tall carved back. Tapestries hung on all the walls and there were carpets underfoot. Three shuttered windows afforded breathtaking views of the fields and forests surrounding the castle, each with deep ledges and real glass panes.
A magnificent, full suit of armor stood on a wooden frame, the hauberk made of polished steel half moons. Beside it were three swords of varying lengths, a shield with his coat of arms, a helm, and various other weapons and garments of war that gleamed in oiled readiness.
“When you say you can write Latin and French, I assume that means you can read both?”
“Yes, my lord. Most of the words.”
“No offense, but a fletcher would not seem to be the type to educate a son, much less a daughter.”
“No offense taken, but he was not always a fletcher. And it was my mother who insisted I learn