Peril on the Sea Read Free Page A

countryside has produced, save, if I may say so, the young mistress of this place.”
    â€œNo,” said Baines, who had been trembling with illsuppressedanger. “You may not say so, my lord, if you please, and you hear my master when he says that this is not a good night for visitors.”
    But as Baines pronounced this rugged attempt at courtesy, he made the mistake of gesturing with his sword, more to add meaning to his words than as a threat. Sir Gregory lifted a booted foot from his stirrup and kicked Baines hard in the chest.
    The servingman went down, and Sir Gregory guided his steed forward with a quiet
cluck, cluck
sound. No horse would choose to put a hoof on a human body, which provided at best unsteady footing. But this horse had been trained, or at least had learned to accommodate his master. The horse placed a metal-shod hoof on Baines’s chest as the man stirred, catching his breath.
    â€œPlease let me speak with you, Sir Anthony, inside where it is warm,” said Sir Gregory with what was in him a great demonstration of diplomacy. “I would so regret,” added the knight, “being forced to injure your man.”

6
    L ET ME SAY what we all know to be true, Sir Anthony,” said Sir Gregory when they were all settled before the hearth.
    â€œAs you wish,” answered Anthony. He added, with a dry laugh, “Although when a man sent by Lord Pevensey speaks of the truth, even the mountebank hides his coin.”
    â€œYou wrong me, Sir Anthony,” protested Sir Gregory. “I am not a bird hound, trained to leap at a whistle.” Cecil sat in the shadows, firelight glinting off the brass pommel of his dagger as he took a long swallow of wine.
    Anthony smiled and said nothing further for the moment. He was a tall, lean man with sandy hair. He was quick to take pleasure in life, and quick to grow concerned. He could hide his feelings from someone like Sir Gregory, who did not know him well and who was too vain—in Katharine’s view—to sense another man’s feelings in any event. Anthony could not hide his tensions or his happiness from his daughter, however, and she could see how anxious he was.
    Their visitor leaned forward, with his elbows on the table. A maplewood cup of wine was beside him, the last of the best drink that Fairleigh had to offer. A fire was burning merrily in the grand fireplace—a great oak had fallen last winter in a gale, and firewood, if nothing else, was plentiful.
    Sir Gregory gave a wondering glance at Katharine, who had joined the two men at the table. It was not entirely usual for women to confer with men, but with the death of Katharine’s mother four years previously, Anthony had come to rely on Katharine’s judgment regarding everything from whether he should wear a hood instead of a cap to whether the sheep—when there had been a flock—might be ready for shearing.
    â€œMy daughter,” explained Anthony, “is my partner in commerce.”
    This phrase was calculated to carry weight—where business was concerned, age and sex stood aside for good judgment regarding money. While women entered life, and marriage, at a disadvantage, many a widow ran a prosperous business, and a bright husband might seek a wife with the capacity for balancing income and expense.
    â€œWhat a prize,” said Sir Gregory, “your daughter will be.”
    â€œShe is a prize to me, as she was to her late mother,” said Anthony. He added, perhaps foreseeing a discussion of marriage, “My daughter is not chattel.”
    Sir Gregory lifted a finger, as though to acknowledgeAnthony’s remark without necessarily agreeing with him.
    Baines entered the room at that moment, casting a baleful glance in Sir Gregory’s direction. Baines was nearly the last of a committed staff of servants. Sedgewin the gatekeeper had stayed on, too, a man who had sailed to Naples as a youth and who now kept pots of dwarf