The Falcons of Montabard Read Free Page A

could accuse her of neglecting her duty or shunning her husband's child, bastard-born of a novice nun, begotten on the way home from the great crusade. What was lacking was the warmth that she bestowed freely on the children of her own body. For him the smiles had always been forced; for Waltheof, Maude and Simon, they were wide and joyous. Her offspring could do no wrong. Sabin, by quirk of fate and sometimes a petulant demand for attention, was usually caught out in transgression. It had not mattered so much while his father was alive. There had been the balance of his affection, albeit tinged with guilt, but after he died, that balance had been removed and Sabin had found himself trying to run up a steep and slippery slope. Sometimes he thought that it wasn't worth the battle, and that he should just slide quietly down into hell. Then again, perhaps he had already arrived there.
    'Why did you do it?' Simon asked.
    'Do what?'
    'Chase Lora when you could have had your pick of the court
    women.' A hint of envy flickered in the youth's blue eyes.
    'I like playing with fire,' Sabin said flippantly, pushing his bowl aside, the sops half-finished. 'I might as well ask you why you drank last night until you dropped. You knew it would give you a head like the bottom of a pond this morn, you knew it would make you sick, but you still went beyond enough and into too much.'
    'It was good wine' - Simon was still on the defensive — 'and I don't like sailing — even on the best galley in the fleet.'
    'Not because your stepfather would disapprove of you getting roaring drunk in a dockside tavern and you felt like defying his rules?'
    Simon's throat flushed red above his tunic collar. 'I didn't get drunk to spite my stepfather.'
    Sabin said nothing, but his look was eloquent. Two years after her husband's death, the lady Matilda had wed David MacMalcolm, Prince of Scotland: a political match, to be sure, but one from which deep affection had developed. The marriage had been blessed with several offspring, the eldest only six years old. Prince David took his parental responsibilities seriously and that included dealing with his stepchildren. Being the bastard of Lady Matilda's first husband, Sabin was on the periphery and only the most heinous of his misdemeanours were brought to Prince David's attention. However, they were numerous enough to have earned him a reputation and last night's incident was certain to add to it.
    Simon pretended great interest in a dubious stain on the trestle.
    Manoeuvring his cup to avoid his cut lip, Sabin finished his watered wine. 'I went after Lora because I liked the way she laughed and I wanted to unbind that hair of hers and run it through my hands,' he said. 'She wasn't jaded like some of the women at court. And yes, perhaps I did want to see if I could persuade her to abscond Henry's bed for mine. I admit that I might have overreached myself but—' He stopped speaking as the landlord's wife returned from a visit to the fishing boats,
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    her basket filled with two large crabs and half a dozen flounders. Her complexion was grey and she was trembling as she sat down heavily at one of the trestles. Her husband hastened to her in concern, demanding to know what was wrong.
    She looked up at him through welling eyes, then across at Sabin and his brother. 'The Blanche Nef,' she said. 'I have just heard that last night she hit the Chartereuse rock and sank.'
    There was a brief silence while the three men stared at her.
    'You are sure?' Her husband was the first to break it. He gestured at her basket. 'You know that Thomas trades more false gossip than he does fish.'
    'I didn't hear it from Thomas,' she said with tearful indignation. 'Emma told me. Her husband was out fishing and rescued a man from the sea at first light. He told them that the Blanche Nef had foundered on the reef and, when they tried to prise her off, she sank.' She waved her arm. 'Go and ask for yourselves if you do not believe me. Go and