In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,128
captain’s appearance. The mountainous silhouette of ominous shadows became a barrel-chested pillar of brawn and muscle with a face that put a carved grotesque to shame. He was younger than the harshness of his voice had suggested—twenty-two or three, perhaps—and wore his authority with as much assurance as he wore his impressive hauberk of jazerant work. Glittering rows of round steel plates were attached to an underlying suit of canvas, with each plate overlapping slightly like the scales of a fish. Even more daunting to the eyes of the beholder was the weapon he carried—no ordinary sword, this, but a glaive, long-handled and curved like a scimitar, boasting a sharply barbed hook on the concave edge. He made an impressive and intimidating sight riding down the street toward the inn. Villagers stopped what they were doing to stare. Even the dogs and kites that usually chased after horses’ heels, yapping their imitation of Bedlam, cringed mutely by the roadside.
Sedrick of Grantham, who was accustomed to owning the advantage of size in most company was clearly lacking in this instance. And Eduard, who rarely felt slight by comparison to any man, allowed a moment for his ingrained fighter’s instincts to reflect back over his years of training and combat and wonder what tactics would be effective against such a foe … if, indeed, there were any.
Hopefully he would have no reason to draw upon them.
Brevant’s mount, a behemoth of horseflesh in its own right, drew to a halt outside the inn. Lord Henry de Glare, assuming the guise of leader, walked out under the leaden sky to offer greetings.
“My lord Gisbourne finds himself at a loss how to apologize for this oversight,” Brevant announced without preamble. “When he was informed there were members of the Pembroke household”—his wary black eyes slid to the marshal’s device, now boldly displayed on the front of Henry’s surcoat—“staying within sight of the castle, he immediately bade me—Captain Jean de Brevant—extend an invitation to you and your party to share more suitable lodgings.”
“My thanks to you, Captain Brevant,” Henry responded. “We would naturally be pleased and honoured to accept.”
Brevant smirked and glanced at the inn. “I am also informed there is a wounded man in your group? Does he require a litter?”
“An unfortunate accident,” Henry allowed. “Serious enough to waylay us a few days while he attempts to recover his strength. A litter is unnecessary, but would be most appreciated, I am sure.”
While Brevant signalled two of his men forward with a chair, Henry turned and raised his hand. The door to the inn opened at once and Lord Dafydd ap Iorwerth, supported on one side by Sedrick and on the other by Eduard, was helped out into the street and lifted onto the chair. He groaned audibly as his arm took a small jolt before the sling was adjusted, whereupon he slumped forward in the seat as if he was only able to maintain his balance with the utmost effort. Two more of Brevant’s men stepped out of line and joined their comrades as they prepared to lift the carrying poles. Eduard, who was trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible, met the captain’s eye over the top of the litter as it was hoisted, and acknowledged him with a slight nod of his head before taking up a position beside Lucifer.
Ariel and Robin were the last to emerge, and the only ones who wrought a noticeable change to the blank expression on Brevant’s face. Ariel wore a deep green velvet tunic she had carried folded in her saddle pouch. The cuffs and hem were banded with gold braid, the collar of miniver fur was turned down in a deep vee to display the pure white delicacy of her throat. Her hair had been parted in the middle and plaited into two thick coils behind each ear, held in place by jeweled barbettes. Over all she wore a hooded cloak in a matching green velvet, lined with fur and trimmed with bands of embroidery. Her face was as pale as her breath as she said a few words to Robin, who instantly darted forward as if to obey a command from his mistress.
Oddly enough, it was Robin whose further actions were followed by the jet black eyes, followed and frowned upon with a look of distinct unease. The reason for this was made clear when Henry was mounted alongside Brevant and the latter was able to whisper a low warning.