Belaset's Daughter - By Feona J Hamilton Page 0,16

moment," she said. "You’re too weak, Master Guy. Rest here awhile, until your strength returns. One of the men from here will get a message to your father, and tell him you’re safe."

"But how can anyone from the de Tourney household go to my father?" said Guy.

"You are for Henry."

Joan looked at him.

"Are we?" she said. "Then why are you lying here, within the de Tourney gates albeit in the stables? Now stay where you are, and I’ll fetch a bowl of broth for your unhappy stomach, and a man for your message."

She hurried out of the stables and across the yard, then up the steps and into the house.

The hall was crowded, and smoky from the fire in the centre. At one end sat Roger de Tourney, his head thrown back, laughing at a jest from one of his companions. Small groups sat gossiping on benches further down, and a few dogs roamed about, looking for tidbits. The meal which had been eaten had ended some minutes ago, but most people were reluctant to leave the warmth and companionship of the big hall. No-one took much notice of the well-known figure of Joan, although a few gave a friendly nod as she passed.

Up on the first floor, where Madeleine had retired at the end of the meal, Joan knocked at the heavy oak door, and entered. Madeleine sat close to the fire, gazing into it, her sewing on her lap, her hands idle for once. She looked round as Joan came in, and the expression on her servant’s face made it clear that something needed her attention.

"What is it, Joan?" she said.

Joan came close, so that she could speak in a low voice.

"We have Guy de Montfort is our stables," she said.

Madeleine gaped at her.

"How comes he here?" she said, at last.

"I found him, wandering in the street, not knowing where he was, or what day it was,"

said Joan. "He had been drugged and left for dead in some priest’s room..."

Madeleine grasped her arm.

"Where?" she interrupted, urgently. "What has been happening?"

Joan shook her head.

"I don’t know all of the story," she said. "He wanted to go on to Earl Simon’s straight away but the poor lamb’s too weak to stand. He’s had no food for two days. How he’s still alive I don’t know!"

"We must feed him and look after him until he’s strong enough to leave," said Madeleine. "The stables will do for now and you must keep him out of sight as much as possible. Who knows he’s here?"

BOSON BOOKS

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Belaset’s Daughter

"Only three men from the yard," said Joan. "And I’ve already told them that they haven’t seen him."

"But can we trust them?" said Madeleine, with a worried frown. She stood, and put the sewing on a small table near the chair in which she had been sitting.

"We can trust one of them, that’s for certain, " said Joan. "Trubodi was one of those who helped he said not a word to show that he knew Guy. Since he came from the Earl with a message from your husband, who better to return to him with a message telling him that his son is safe with us?"

"Joan, you’re a marvel!" said Madeleine, with a laugh of relief. "I’ll leave you to find food for Guy, and I’ll find a man to ask my husband to come to me."

She whisked out of the door, the pensive mood of a few moments ago gone completely.

Joan followed more slowly, turning away from the hall when she reached it, and taking a narrow back stair to the rooms below. In the kitchen, the cook was busily scolding anyone who was within hearing, and wiping her streaming face with a piece of rag. The heat was intense, especially after the cold outside. Pots bubbled and steamed, the fire roared and crackled, and a small boy sat as close as he dared, while he dipped dirty bowls into a wooden tub of scalding water to wash them.

A pile of clean bowls stood on the table, some still wet from their recent dunking in hot water. Joan took one and ladled into it some of the stock which was kept bubbling all day.

The cook glared across, to see who was interfering in her domain, but said nothing. Joan and she had exchanged words before, and she already knew who would come off worse if she tried again. She would have scolded anyone else daring to help themselves to food, but Joan was the Lady Madeleine’s