Her mother chuckled. "You think so? You should see the way he looks at you. Oh, Lisa, I know longing when I see it, and he craves you mightily. If he seems a little brusque at times, then that is merely because he is struggling to contain his feelings. Realizing how far above his own station you are, he is being careful not to embarrass you by revealing his great affection and desire. His worship must be unspoken and distant. Understand the strain this places on his self-control."
Awrrk!
Lisa drew a very deep breath. "He told me himself that he is celibate because he has no choice in the matter. When I said ox, I meant ox!"
The countess knew what that word meant, and her fair cheeks colored. "I doubt it very much! If he suffered an injury of that, um, description, then the story would be general knowledge. Your Master Campbell has a reputation as a libertine and lecher, but Sir Tobias's is above reproach."
Oh, worse yet! Humiliation! "You have been making inquiries?"
"Certainly. Women of the lower sort have thrown themselves in his path and he, er…"
"Steps over them?"
"Exactly. Are you quite sure of your own feelings in the matter, dearest? I have seen how you, in turn, regard Constable Longdirk when you believe you are unobserved. He is, of course, a magnificent figure of manhood, Hercules himself. Any young girl can be forgiven a certain fascination with such an Atlas."
"Atlas?" Lisa said hoarsely. "Don't you mean Grendel? That side of beef? Let me tell you, Mother, that all his stupid posturing as comandante is going to end very shortly. Even Hamish admits that he was lucky at Trent — that he was only elected commander because they couldn't agree on anyone else. And now the Khan has sent one of his sons to rally the opposition, so that problem will not arise again. Prince Sartaq will appoint a suzerain, and the suzerain will send Toby Longdirk packing, right back to the Highland bog he crawled out of in the first place!"
Even those harsh words failed to ruffle her mother's maniacal serenity. "Will he really? Princes don't discard warriors who win wars, Lisa, they promote them. I think," she added, fixing her daughter with a reproving eye, "that you had better face up to cold reality, dearest. Everyone is now talking as if your father is dead, which legally may be true. Under English law an underage heiress becomes a ward in chancery, and Tartar law or Florentine law won't be much different."
Lisa opened and closed her mouth a few times… "Or even the laws of chivalry," Blanche continued. "As heir to the throne of England you are a ward of your father's overlord, the Khan, or his suzerain, or perhaps this darughachi prince. One of them, certainly. Not the Florentine courts, I hope. Whichever it turns out to be, he will choose a husband for you."
This was ghastly! Even Hamish had never mentioned anything so grim. Talking Mother into something was a matter of persistence and hard work. Tartar princes might be much less malleable. "Mother…?"
"You bring a kingdom as dowry, dear. If the Khan wishes to confer royalty on a commoner, the easiest way is to marry him to a queen, you understand? Now the outstanding military figure in Europe at the moment is Sir Toby. I foresee a great future for Longdirk."
"Foresee anything you like for him as long as you don't include me in it!"
"Lisa, Lisa! Don't deceive yourself. Oftentimes we foolish women fail to understand our own desires. Many a highborn maiden has fallen in love with a man of inferior social station and exaggerated his rough qualities in her own mind to deny the stirrings in her breast. A certain amount of animal sensuality is a virtue in a man, alarming though it may seem to a virgin. I remember how terrified I was when my own parents informed me that they had chosen a man barely older than myself to be my husband. I quite—"
"No! No! No!" Lisa clapped her hands over her ears and fled howling from the courtyard.
CHAPTER THREE
Although the banquet had lasted late into the night, Toby had been out riding Smeòrach since before dawn. Between times he had slept, but poorly — too many things to do, too much to think about. Drumming had wakened him. He heard drumming often now, and the fact that others did not made it no less real to him. He was convinced that the darughachi had set shamans to spy on him, but if the Tartars could do that, then so could the Fiend's hexers. It was past time he found a replacement for Maestro Fischart.
Dusty and bleary-eyed, he strode into the courtyard. Hamish was there already with a pile of reports and correspondence. He looked up and frowned. "Did you come to bed at all?" At times he mothered Toby infuriatingly.
"You were asleep. And still snoring when I left." Toby sat on a stool and enjoyed a long yawn. The one bright note in the morning was that the Company had money again and could hold a pay parade at long last. He leaned his arms on the stone table and scowled at the heap of paper. "What bullguts have you got for me today?" He took a harder look at that face he knew so well and spoke more gently. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. There's a letter in from—"
"Tell me."
Hamish sighed crossly and laid a pottery paperweight on the heap, although there was no wind. "You tell me what you think of Lisa."
A tiny demon of temptation told Toby to scream at the top of his voice, grab Master Campbell up by the throat, and wave him like a flag. Here they were preparing for a war that would decide the fate of Europe for centuries to come and his chief helper and closest friend — his only friend — was obsessed by an animal fire in his crotch. A fire that could never cook anything. Why couldn't he lust after some two-lire bawd who would drag him into the bushes and quench the blaze for him? Twenty minutes' rollick and he would be the old Hamish again, at least for a day or two.
Lisa? Toby scratched his unshaven jaw. "If you like statuesque blondes, she's one of the greatest beauties you'll ever meet. She has a wit like a whip, a mind like a rapier, and nerves of steel. She is also totally spoiled, completely self-centered, and as devious as an Italian. Not," he added, seeing the storm clouds roiling in Hamish's eyes, "that she can be blamed for all that. It goes with the royal blood. She had a bizarre upbringing, and her mother is nine-sixteenths madder than a March hare. As a king's wife she'd be magnificent, but never as a ruler in her own right. Not for another ten years anyway. I can't imagine her grinding meal or milking the goat. Why do you ask?"
The storm clouds had not dispersed. "Her mother thinks you are in love with her."
Toby said, "Oh, demons!" under his breath.
"You do not deny it?"
"I have told you what I think of her. If I could have dreams, old friend, they might well include a Lisa in them."
"She says you make eyes at her." Hamish bared his teeth. "Her mother is plotting to marry Lisa to you! You are going to destroy Nevil's army, reconquer Europe, marry Lisa, and become King of England."
If a ditch-born bastard was a suitable match for the future queen, then why wasn't a schoolmaster's son? Toby was aware that Queen Blanche had taken to smiling at him excessively. He snapped at both her and her daughter as much as he could to keep them away. Apparently that strategy was not working.
"She's even madder than I thought. Marry? I don't dare even smile at a girl, you know that!"
His suffering friend was not convinced. "Are you sure? How long since you lost control of the hob? It didn't escape you even at the Battle of Trent. If you can stay master in a turmoil like that, with gramarye and demons loose, then you can stay master anywhere!"