“And you won’t be? In that helmet? You’re a lord, I’m your lady. You want me to be conspicuous. You want other men to lust after me. Don’t you?”
There was a double meaning in that question, which he ignored, but he did risk a smile of surrender. Sybilla was no delicate damsel in need of coddling. She could look after herself better than he could.
“Well, in the absence of my squire, you can assist me in donning my mail, my lady.” He tried on the helmet with the twin-stag crest. Even with the padding still inside it, it was tight on his ears, but it would suffice. He put it down and inspected the cuirass. The back plate had suffered some dents where it had hit some tree branches, but was still wearable. He hoisted the breastplate into place. It was a snug fit.
Sybilla slunk around the table to him. He wondered if her hints of availability were all pretense, all tease, and if that was what he was supposed to wonder. She had guessed his shyness at first glance. She would have tied him in tangles instantly if he had not been armored by his love for Madlenka.
“You’re serious about letting that hussy accompany you?” Justina asked, appearing in the place Sybilla had just vacated. She was spinning, and her spindle did not miss a twirl.
“Could I stop her?” he asked. “Pull it tighter, please… I can barely tell night from day in that sallet, so I need her to look out for Speakers. And she can probably vanish faster than I can. She’s had more practice. Tighter!”
“I’m better at undressing men than dressing them,” Sybilla said.
“If she is,” Justina sniffed, “then she doesn’t stay around to let them return the favor. Remember I’ll be watching you. And remember that this is a matter of life and death, young miss, not an exercise.”
Whose death? And what sort of exercise? If Sybilla had been given Speaking lessons to develop her talent, then why must Wulf not have them?
He told her, “You’ll need a warmer cloak. There’s snow on the ground there and more snow threatening.”
She pouted and disappeared.
“I hope she doesn’t do that where workadays can see her,” he said.
“She won’t. She’s got more wits than she chooses to show.” Justina was suddenly closer to proud grandmother than crabby governess. “This is a good trial for her. Just what are you planning to do?” x201C;="0em" width="1em" align="justify"› “Go to Long Valley and look for the Dragon. I may find the whole force moving out, of course, if they’re really Havel’s men. If they’re Wends and I can find the bombard, I don’t suppose I’ll be able to get near it. But if there’s a bridge I can curse before it tries to cross it, that would help, wouldn’t it?”
“If it doesn’t get blessed later, to remove your curse.”
“Havel Vranov had three Speakers, but all related to him. How many does Duke Wartislaw have?”
“Don’t know,” the old woman said crossly, watching her spindle twirl ever closer to the paving. “But most rulers keep one or two in the shadows, even if they don’t know it themselves. Warty’s been very successful at clawing his way up. If he does have hirelings, they’ll certainly be there, guarding his precious cannon, so keep your eyes open for halos.”
Wulf tried on the helmet again. Keeping his eyes open in that was not much of an advantage over having them closed. He took it off and tucked it under his left arm, which is what its owner would have done when he didn’t have a squire handy to carry it. The crest would still show. That, his surcoat, and the scarlet cloak dangling down his back proclaimed that he was a nobleman. He might run into one of Two Stags’s personal friends, who knew that he was listed among the missing. Wulf must gamble that the Long Valley camp was in a state of busy anarchy as the army absorbed its costly defeat and prepared another assault.
Sybilla reappeared in a garish cloak and hat of cloth of gold, the sort of garments a queen might wear. Admittedly, it set off her nimbus splendidly. Wulf glanced at Justina and met mockery in her eyes, so he did not comment. Certainly no one was going to notice him with that vision riding alongside him. Which meant that Wulfgang Magnus, esquire, was about to venture onto a field of battle sheltering behind a woman’s skirts, was he? He couldn’t do that!
But he had gone this far, hoping perhaps that Justina would forbid her ward to accompany him, and now it seemed that she supported the idea. He reminded his tattered honor that he needed Sybilla to help watch out for other Speakers, and she would be at no more risk than he would be. Less, in fact, because even if she did not use talent, men would be much less likely to shoot a woman out of hand and any man who tried to molest a Speaker would be very surprised by the results. Also, he realized, a Pomeranian Speaker would know the two’s company rule and would hesitate to challenge a party of two Speakers.
He must just hope Vlad never heard about this.
“I need a sword,” he said. “And there are horses at Gallant. Join me when I move to Long Valley, all right?”
Sybilla sat down on the bench, adjusting her cloak. “Don’t be too long. I’m not accustomed to being kept waiting.”
CHAPTER 11
Tap… tap… tap… Turn. Tap… tap… tap… Turn.
Anton was pacing the solar-fireplace to window, window to fireplace-and the jerky view was unsettling. Otto was there, too, slumped in a chair and watching the mindless parade. He wished he knew where Wulf had gone. Neither man was speaking, but Anton’s thunderous expression threatened hellfire.
He paced. Otto waited wearily for the next outburst.
Vlad had gone off to lead a sally from the south gate, in the faint hope of being able to reach the first bridge and destroy it. Otto and Anton were in the salon, where the war had been forgotten.
Otto had appointed himself Anton’s warden. If the situation had not been tragic and potentially disastrous, it might have been funny. Anton was even more casual about women than Vlad. He would fornicate like a billy goat whenever he had the chance, changing partners in a bedroom as readily as in a ballroom. But now he was effectively married, so he was suddenly steaming fury and vengeance against Wulfgang for seducing his wife. Girls were pleasure; wives were property. All he could talk about was what he would do when he caught him, ignoring the fact that Wulf was a Speaker and untouchable.
Once upon a time, Otto had been able to miss a night’s sleep and barely notice, but not now; he was getting too old for a military life. He was also deathly worried by the siege. Unless the family Speaker could provide a few more miracles, Castle Gallant was going to fall. As soon as Wartislaw had the bombard emplaced, he would demand that Anton surrender the castle. No Magnus had ever done such a thing, but this situation looked so hopeless that Otto seriously thought he may have to suggest it. The only alternative was sack, and then he might never see Branka and the children again. What would happen to Dobkov while his sons were too young to defend it?
Anton mumbled something.
“What?”
“I said I will kill him! Adultery is low treason!”
“You won’t kill him. You need him. Slacken off, Anton!” To remind him of what had happened when Wulf lost his temper yesterday would not help matters at all. True, Anton had been taken by surprise. In a properly staged fistfight, his huge advantage in reach would count, but why should Wulf stick to fists? He was the better man in wrestling or swordplay, and he could work miracles.
Then Wulf was there, although the door had not opened. He was clad in half-armor, carrying a crested helmet under his arm, and sporting a surcoat whose insignia Otto did not recognize. His expression was as grim as his brother’s.
Anton wheeled around a chair to confront him, hand reaching for his dagger. Otto struggled to his feet, fatigue forgotten, preparing for trouble. ? {e="epaC; What have you been doing with my wife?” the count roared.