Vellan came up close to her, lightly touched her face, and said, “Your nose is falling off.”
She grabbed her nose to keep it from sliding to the right. She said as she patted it back into place, “And your nose, sir, is too ugly to fall off.”
Lord Vellan grabbed his nose, twisted it a bit, then patted the tip. “My nose is not at all ugly. It is a warrior’s nose, one of ancient lineage. But your nose, now, I have never seen a nose so ill-fashioned on a face.”
She sighed. “I am relieved that it didn’t happen sooner.”
Vellan laughed behind his hand, said low, “I am as well, Merryn. It is a fine performance you and Bishop have provided us. I am pleased to see that you and Bishop are closer than you were when he took you away from here. Where have you been?”
“I have been more places than I wished ever to visit, Grandfather. Hurry, we must go to the inner bailey. Bishop might need me.”
Vellan raised an old brow.
They heard an animal roar, but it came from a man.
Merryn lifted her skirts and ran. “By all the saints’ holy dreams, what has Bishop done now?”
36
BISHOP YELLED, “COME along, young puppy, let me see if you have any skill, any strength, any cunning.”
Bishop was very pleased. A straightforward, simple fight, something he was good at, something that made his blood hot and his young heart pump fast and hard.
He looked back to see Merryn coming down the stone stairs to the great hall, just ahead of Lord Vellan.
So Merryn’s grandfather had finally figured out who they were. That was all right. Lady Madelyn then appeared behind her husband, and Bishop saw him turn to speak quietly to her. She nodded slowly, smiled, sent a small wave to him.
Bishop took the sword from Dolan. “Thank you. You are a good man. Do you wish to stay here after your master is buried?”
Dolan stared at him, then slowly nodded. “Aye, my men as well.”
He yelled again, “Well, Fioral? Have your bowels turned to water with fright?”
Suddenly Crispin stepped into the circle formed by all the people in the inner bailey.
He laid his hand on Bishop’s sleeve. “Listen, sir, I cannot allow this. It is vicious murder. You cannot protect yourself from him. No, I will not allow it. Give me the sword, old man, and go take yo
ur rest yon beneath the apple tree.”
He then whirled about and yelled, “I will fight you, Fioral—not this old man who’s never done you any harm!”
Now this was unexpected. Bishop raised his hand and laid it on Crispin’s shoulder. He said low, “There is no need for your valor, Crispin. It is I, Bishop of Lythe, here to claim what is mine.”
Crispin nearly tripped over his boots, he was so surprised. “My lord,” he said at last. “It is difficult to believe. By all the saints’ wedded mothers, I have never in my life seen such a fine performance. It is quite remarkable. You look older than I do.”
And that was quite an accomplishment, Bishop knew. “I thank you, Crispin. For myself, I thought that Merryn’s performance was even better.”
“By all the saints’ colored rosary beads, that old hag who makes my belly lurch just to look at her is my lady Merryn?”
“Aye. Now take your ease, Crispin. Let me deal with our poacher.”
Fioral’s men were ranged behind him. Bishop saw him speaking to a smallish man who looked as tough as a chicken that had survived many a fox. What was that about?
Then Fioral, a big smile on his mouth, strode into the center of the circle, slashing his sword to and fro, so quickly, with such force, that the air seemed to vibrate.
“Well, old man, do you wish to lay your head on that rock by Dolan’s foot? I will lop it off so quickly you will feel scarce anything at all. What say you?”
“After I have stuck my sword through your guts, Fioral, I will then smash your head with the rock. What say you to that?”