Reckless (Age of Conquest #5) - Tamara Leigh Page 0,70
she was pressed into by those who would do more than touch and pinch. And it made Daryl want to—
Be a fool, he silently rebuked as his sire would do were he here. That is her path, this is mine. Better to break bread with the conquerors than be the bread made of the conquered.
He pushed up out of his chair. With the confidence of one worthy of becoming De Warenne’s equal, which all the nearer he would be when he, rather than Maël D’Argent, delivered the leader of the Rebels of the Pale to William, he crossed the back of the dais and halted between the prince’s chair and the high seat.
Despite how much De Warenne imbibed, it hardly seemed necessary for the knight seated on the man’s left to bring Daryl to notice with a jut of his chin. But only then did the Lord of Red Castle sit back in what looked more a throne than a chair and acknowledge his guest.
“Young Daryl.” The hitch of his mouth portending amusement, the light in his eyes annoyance, Daryl almost wished he had not abandoned his seat. De Warenne frowned. “I listened well to your account of the chase that foul rebel has led you on. Is it possible I missed some detail during the first recitation as well as the second?”
He made it sound as if what was reported ere the meal was little more than boasting. It had not been, though Daryl was rightly proud of his accomplishments. “All is told, my lord. I but wish to discuss the morrow’s hunt of Thetford and its wood.” He nodded at the prince’s chair. “May I?”
De Warenne looked to the knight with whom he had been conversing. “What think you, Maurice? Is the capture of one rebel leader who has disbanded his followers of concern to me?”
“As Vitalis is of concern to our king,” Daryl spoke before thinking—and sharply, “he is of great concern to you.”
De Warenne’s gaze returned to him, and if ever that warrior spoke without thought, it would have been then with much drink in him and words to match the fire in his eyes. However, his lower jaw fit back into its joint, and a sickeningly tolerant smile arose.
“You are correct, Daryl of the Saxons,” he slid in the first blade. “Whatever is of concern to our king is of concern to me.”
Fearing he might once more retch—and beyond his mouth since both hunger and thirst were well-sated—Daryl clenched his abdomen. “Forgive my passionate loyalty to our sovereign. This Saxon in whom King William places much faith only seeks to deliver him something long denied. And sooner his burden can be lightened if we are thorough in laying our plans.” He swept his hand to the prince’s chair. “With your permission.”
De Warenne arched an eyebrow. “As our sovereign places much faith in this companion by entrusting his second son’s well-being to him, which includes honoring and respecting Richard’s rank, it would be an insult were the prince to find you seated at my right hand upon his return.”
Daryl nearly moistened his lips. “You are correct, my lord, and I am grateful for your schooling in the ways of my adopted people. Hence, I shall stand while—”
“Where is Prince Richard, Maurice?” De Warenne turned from Daryl as if he were at his side only to refill his cup.
“He has been gone a long while,” the knight said and swept his gaze around the hall, then leaned near, though not so near his words were only for De Warenne. “Oft he looks upon those fair sisters, and I see only one here.” He chuckled. “Mayhap he has accepted your invitation to gain a man’s experience with women.”
“Or defies me again.”
“I think not, my lord. He seemed truly repentant on the day past.”
“Were he not disposed to falsehood, I might believe it,” De Warenne said. “It is a fine line to walk with one so near the throne—push hard to make a warrior of him, discipline him, advise him, but dare not cross an ever-shifting line that could alienate one’s future king.”
Such talk seemed treasonous to Daryl. True, as Richard was William’s second-born son, it was possible he would succeed his sire and older brother, but it was wrong to speculate over the death of a king who yet lived.
It was Sir Maurice who alerted De Warenne to his inappropriate musing, nudging his liege and nodding in Daryl’s direction. Once more, the Lord of Red Castle looked to