Spring's Fury Read Free Page B

treat him as a child. Burying his discontent beneath the expression of the carefree youth that always seemed expected of him, Gilliam came to his feet.
    Geoffrey, Lord Coudray, strode past the tall screens guarding the hall from the door's draft. Although he was fully armed in a chain mail tunic over leggings of the same metal mesh, he had removed his helmet and shucked his metal hood and cap before entering the room. Fisted in one of his ungloved hands was the cloak of a small and bony lad.
    Travel in November's blustery weather had burned the boy's pale skin raw and streaked his cheeks with dirt. Knotted spikes of fine brown hair thrust up over his generous forehead to stand above his hood, snarled into place by the wind. What with the child's wide-set brown eyes, the whole came together to give him a mummer's astonished look.
    "Geoff, I am here," Gilliam called out, the power of his deep voice nigh on lifting the painted linen panels that covered the stone walls. "Is this a wedding gift you bring me?"
    "Nay, the bed is my gift, my mother's youngest son. Taking on a squire is work and I'll not have you complaining that I make gift of work," Geoff retorted. His easy stride made the boy trot as they crossed the expanse of rush-covered floor.
    "Ah, but the bed's too short," Gilliam teased.
    "It wouldn't be if you'd stopped growing before you were too tall for it." Geoff shot back.
    Gilliam laughed, truly pleased to have his brother here. "Come close, let me have a look at this squire of mine."
    Geoff came to a stop in front of his younger brother and thrust the boy out before him.  Gilliam made a pretense of eying the lad.  It wasn’t the boy he wanted to study.  Although he and Geoff were different in height and build, they were startlingly alike in appearance, or had been until little less than a year ago. They shared their golden hair color and shape of face, even the same inability to grow a proper beard. All that made them different was Geoff’s missing eye and the scars that crossed his face, gifts from Geoff's wife, now blessedly deceased.  The scars had healed flat, and a patch covered his ruined eye.
    Geoff didn’t miss the attention. "They mend well enough," he said softly as he recognized Gilliam's interest, the pain in his voice not physical. His remaining eye, a slightly darker blue than Gilliam's own pale eye color, grew darker still against it.
    Gilliam instantly shifted subjects. "So, will you stay for the wedding?"
    "What?" Geoff asked in confusion. "Here I was coming with apologies on my lips for being late, thinking the deed was done yesterday. Did I get the day wrong?"
    "There were complications." Gilliam managed to swallow his anger behind a wry grin. "My beloved claims to be betrothed to Ashby's neighbor."
    "That is not possible," Geoff instantly protested.
    Gilliam gave a lift of his brows. "Ah, but the new abbot seeks ways to break free of Rannulf's influence, and my bride gave him just the tool he wanted. This Abbot Simon insisted on sending to Ocslade, demanding the man's appearance so he might decide whose claim is valid."
    His brother's single-faceted gaze sparked with sudden amusement. "Rannulf must be nigh on mad with rage. I warned him he expected too much of the abbey, and that the monks resented him for it."
    "Aye, he's there right now, using all his diplomacy and tact to ease the situation. He'll manage, he always does," Gilliam said with an unconcerned shrug. "Now, why not introduce me to this squire of mine. A boy is far better than a bed." Knowing how intimidating his great height could be, Gilliam sat on the bench, then winked at the boy. The lad only turned his face to the side.
    "Jocelyn," Geoffrey said mildly, "come put out your hand and greet my brother, the new Lord Ashby. Lord Ashby, this is Jocelyn, heir to the manor at Freyne, wishing to be fostered in your home."
    Bottom lip trembling, Jocelyn reluctantly thrust out his hand, his eyes now focused on the floor. "Well met, my