took Servanne’s small, gloved hand into the crook of his arm.
“I do not doubt you will feel overwhelmed at first by the size of Bloodmoor. It is rather overlarge and gaudy for a simple man’s taste. I grew up exploring the alleyways and alcoves, yet there are still times I stumble across a corridor or an apartment I have never seen before. Over the years there have been many renovations and additions as well, so I prefer to remain in the main keep; by far the most hospitable area of the castle.”
Said with a smile, Servanne was left wondering if she was being given advice … or a warning.
“I was never one to enjoy exploring, my lord,” she assured him quietly. “A few rooms and a garden will satisfy my curiosity more than adequately.”
“There are gardens aplenty within the main bailey. I would most happily take you on a tour myself when you have rested sufficiently from your travails.”
Servanne smiled with what she hoped was demure acquiescence and touched a hand to her skirts to lift the hem as he led her toward the stairs.
The great hall, in every castle the centre of all activity, was usually built a storey above ground level, entered by means of an enclosed stone stairway. Constructed with defense in mind—although it seemed ludicrous to suppose any attacking force could ever penetrate this deeply into the stronghold —the stairs were steep and narrowed immediately upon passing through the arched doors. The walls were slanted sharply to the right to hamper a swordsman’s arm if he was attempting to fight his way into the keep. Servanne was forced to walk close to the stone in order to keep abreast of Wardieu, who showed neither reluctance nor discomfort in finding his hip and thigh brushing frequently against hers.
At the top, a wide landing opened into a windowless gallery with a high, vaulted ceiling. The only sources of light were large multi-branched candelabrum, some wheel-shaped and suspended from the ceiling on chains that could be raised or lowered, some on tall wrought iron stands fit into niches in the walls. Iron cressets were bolted to the stone to provide racks for extra torches, but they stood empty for the moment. Only the lazily smoking candles yellowed the air with their acrid perfume of animal tallow.
“My dear,” said Wardieu, holding a hand toward an open doorway on the right. Servanne’s skirts rustled softly over the bare stone floor as she walked to where he indicated. Later, she would think it odd to have heard such a faint, delicate sound when the chamber they were approaching echoed with voices, laughter, and the squall of daily living.
De Gournay halted on the threshold of the great hall, his blue eyes moving slowly around the cavernous interior. Suitably named, the room stretched up nearly as high as it sprawled out. Several dozen men and women bustled about at one task or another, their voices drifting shrilly upward to where Wardieu and Servanne stood at the top of a short flight of steps. An enormous raised dais commanded one end of the hall, and below it long trestle tables flanked the length, the farthest stool looking no bigger than a speck through the haze of smoke and murky light. A relatively modern innovation—a fireplace—was hewn out of one wall, its cavity filled with seven-foot lengths of blazing tree trunks. Ornamenting the empty spaces were the pennants and captured banners, crests and shields of past enemies. Crossed swords, iron starbursts, full suits of heavy armour, crossbows, lances, and scimitars captured on Crusade were mounted prominently on the walls; here and there, stretched out on display, were the skins of exotic animals killed in faraway lands: tiger, leopard, and panther. The floor was covered in rushes, none too fresh by the look and smell. Dogs fought and fornicated in snarling abandonment, and in one corner of the hall, a man and woman had obviously caught a similar enthusiasm and were panting and heaving to the cheers of several rowdy onlookers.
“My men fight hard,” Wardieu murmured in Servanne’s ear. “It is only reasonable to expect them to play hard as well.”
“I would not deny them their right to relaxation, m’sieur,” she replied stiffly. “I would only gainsay them the need to do it before an audience.”
Wardieu studied her expression a moment then left her in the care of his squire while he descended the steps alone. He walked toward the frenetic group of men and, without warning,