Serpent (10 page)

             
“He seemed to think that twenty years of age was quite old,” he replied steadily, hoping to calm her. “He thought that mayhap there was a reason why she was so old and still unmarried. It was not a horrific reaction, but one that had my initial ire.”

             
That didn’t soothe Jordan in the least. “So he thinks we would provide him with a hag of a wife?” she said, outraged. “Penelope can have her pick of any man in England!”

             
William went to her, putting his big hands on her shoulders to calm her. “I know, love,” he said soothingly. “Do not upset yourself so.”

             
“She is far too good for the likes of him!”

             
“I know, love.”

             
Jordan wouldn’t be eased. “What are ye going tae tell him?” she wanted to know. “I dunna want me daughter marrying such an arrogant lout as that. He isna worthy of her!”

             
“I know.”

             
“Then ye tell him or I will!”

             
As William grunted softly, with regret that his wife was so angry, the flap to the tent was pulled back and Jemma entered bearing a tray of cups. Something was steaming from them as she approached William and Jordan.

             
“Warmed wine,” she told them. “Drink it while it’s hot. There’s some food for ye, too, if ye are hungry.”

             
Jordan turned to her cousin, furiously. “Do ye know what Bhrodi de Shera said about Penelope?” she said. “He said she was too old for a bride! He thinks we would give him a relic of a wife!”

             
Jemma, who possessed the legendary fire of a Scots more than anyone alive, scowled at her cousin. “That is ridiculous,” she said, glaring at William. “Did ye tell him so?”

             
William knew he had his hands full with two very angry Scotswomen. One did not insult a member of their family and get away with it; he’d seen their retribution towards someone who did and had no desire to beat them off of de Shera. With a grunt of impatience, he held up his hands.

             
“Do you think I would let the man insult my youngest, my baby girl?” he said, more forcefully to gain the upper hand with them. “Of course I put him in his place and I do not need anger from either one of you at this moment. I have a bigger problem on my hands.”

             
“Bigger than an insult tae yer daughter?” Jordan asked, incredulous. “What could that be?”

             
William looked at her with exasperation. “I have already pledged Penelope to him and if I withdraw that pledge, then that will be very serious, indeed,” he replied. “At this moment, I am not at all certain I want to leave her here with him. With his arrogance and her temper, they’d be at each other’s throats in a matter of minutes.”

             
Jemma made a face. “Well and good,” she said. “Mayhap Penny will kill him and our problems will be solved.”

             
William just rolled his eye, shaking his head and turning away from the pair. Jemma, still riled, turned to see Paris standing back in the shadows. The man had historically been her nemesis, since the very day they had met, but there was also a very strong loyalty and camaraderie between them. Paris was Jemma’s biggest antagonist but he was also, behind her husband, her biggest supporter. It was a true love-hate relationship in every sense of the word.

             
“Were ye there when the arrogant Welshman insulted Penny?” Jemma asked him. “Well?”

             
Paris nodded patiently. “Ease yourself, banshee,” he said, using his familiar nickname for her. He was the only one who could call her that and get away with it because between the two of them, it was a term of affection. “It was not as bad as what you might think. Twenty years of age
is
rather old to be married. The man’s reaction was understandable, although the words of insult dealt after that were not.”

             
Jemma flared. “So ye admit he did insult Penny!”

             
Paris actually took a step back as Jemma and Jordan both approached him; though they were elderly women, there was nothing elderly in their expressions. It was all fire.

             
“You’ll not harm me, do you hear?” he said, moving away from them as they followed. “I do not like women following me about in rabid packs. I shall tell my wife and then you’ll both have trouble!”

             
Jemma and Jordan slowed but they didn’t stop completely. Paris’ wife was also their cousin, a tall and sweet woman whose health had been terrible over the past few months. It was why she had not come to Wales; the physics said it was a cancer, something that sickened and saddened all of them deeply. Paris, in fact, couldn’t deal with it at all; the man was an excellent healer and understood well how the body functioned, but when it came to his wife, he couldn’t face the reality of it. It was something they didn’t speak of in front of him for that reason. The end of Paris’ world was approaching and the man couldn’t accept the fact.

“Caladora is too fine a lady,” Jemma said after a moment, her expression softening somewhat.
“Nay, Callie wouldna give us trouble. She’d applaud us for telling ye to stand up for Penny!”

             
William watched the pair go after Paris, daring him to tell them something they did not want to hear. He had to step in.

             
“Leave him alone,” he said. “In fact, I would have both of you put this out of your mind. My dealings with de Shera are my own and I do not need or want your interference. Is that clear?”

             
Jemma was still going after Paris but Jordan stopped. “She’s me daughter, too, English,” she said. “I am very concerned by what ye have told me. De Shera needs tae be put in his place.”

             
“And I shall.”

             
“When?”

             
“Let me sleep on it, at least. I will deal with him tomorrow.”

             
“May I come?”

             
“You may not.”

             
That started the riot all over again.

⌘

              Two hours of mail repair and Penelope was bored out of her mind. The squires usually did this kind of thing but her father’s squire was occupied with a charger that had a swollen fetlock, so she had been relegated to repairing her own armor.

             
She could hear her parents arguing in the great tent but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Every once in a while there would be a raised voice, or she would hear her father’s scolding tone, but she couldn’t hear what was being said. She gathered that the first meeting with de Shera hadn’t gone well. Truth be told, she wasn’t particularly surprised. Her father had a way of not getting along with men when the subject was her.

             
It was a cold and damp night, and the mist from the marsh was settling heavily over the castle. What had once been a bright moonscape was now covered up by the advancing fog from the nearby bay, giving the grounds a spooky and edgy feel. Torches were upon the battlements, giving off spots of light in the gray mist, and all was very quiet for the most part.

After the battle with the beast of the lake, it seemed that everyone had settled down, but there was a feeling that perhaps they were waiting for something more to happen. Perhaps the violence of the night was not over yet.

Penelope could feel the uneasiness, too, even though she was safe and sound in the protected wagon. The wagon actually had armored sides so she was perhaps the best protected out of anyone in the entire party. It was a very cozy wagon, like her own private chamber, and she felt very safe. But she was also very bored and very curious as to what her parents were arguing about.

Finally, her curiosity
got the better of her and she put the mail down. It was mostly repaired, anyway. She had changed clothes after the battle at the marsh because she had been covered in mud, and had washed down as well. Lavender water provided by her mother had washed the mud off her neck and hands and face, and she had dressed in a heavy linen shift, snug leather hose, and a heavy leather and fur robe that went all the way to the ground. The sleeves were snug, and the wrists and neck lined with fur so that it was very warm. The long, dark hair that fell past her buttocks was re-braided and pinned with great iron pins into a bun at the nape of her neck. Penelope didn’t like to wear her hair free as a maiden would have; she found it got in the way of what she was doing, so it was always neatly braided and pinned. It also fit better under her helm that way.

S
he was well protected against the chill as she wrapped herself up in a big shawl that belonged to her mother. It smelled like Jordan and Penelope took great comfort from it. Swaddled in the shawl and her leather and fur robe, she was insulated against the cold as she opened the wagon door and took the five wooden steps down into the bailey. The mist, growing thicker by the moment, cloaked her as she made her way to the tent where her parents were still bickering.

Penelope lingered outside the tent flap for a moment, listening to her mother scold her father about something. Most of it was in Gaelic, which Penelope understood somewhat, and from what she could tell, her mother wanted her father to fight someone. Probably de Shera from the way they were talking; something about the meeting hadn’t gone well at all
.

Penelope didn’t want to get in the middle of it, mostly because she knew she would
only exacerbate the problem, so it would be best to stay clear of her mother and father until they decided what to do about it. They both knew her position on it so one more opinion to the situation wouldn’t help. When she heard her Aunt Jemma pipe up, she moved swiftly away from the tent. With Aunt Jemma in any argument, things were likely to get lively and she didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. She wondered if she should go for her Uncle Kieran; he was usually the only one who could calm Jemma. But her better sense told her to just stay away.

So, she did. Penelope rounded the tent and moved through the very tight collection of shelters that dotted the eastern portion of Rhydilian’s bailey
. She passed by her brothers’ tent, hearing them muttering inside and moved past the tent belonging to her Uncle Paris. Just as she passed by, Apollo emerged.

“You, there,” he called softly. “Where do you think you are going? You are not running away, are you?”

Apollo had his father’s sense of humor and his mother’s red-headed looks. He was one of her favorite cousins with his ready smile and gentle manner.

“And if I am?” she retorted.

He made a wry face. “I will be forced to stop you.”

“You can try.”

She was grinning as she said it and he shook his head. “Nay,” he said, putting up his hands in surrender. “You take too much pleasure fighting with me. Where are you going, anyway?”

Penelope shrugged. “I thought to search for the privy,” she said. “I am going to assume it is near or in the great hall over there.”

Apollo glanced in the direction of the big stone hall with the sharply angled thatched roof, now shrouded in mist. “Mayhap,” he said. “Shall I escort you?”

Penelope shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “I do not need you.”

Apollo grinned. “You have never needed of us, Penny. You are too independent for your own good.”

“Will you be sorry to see me go
, Apollo?”

He shook his head firmly.
“I will wish the man the best of luck. He will need it.”

Penelope grinned
and balled her fist at him, but she continued on. The mist seemed to be heavier now as she wandered across the bailey, glancing up at the sentries on the walls with their torches and knowing that Apollo was watching her from afar. The boys were always watching her from afar to make sure she didn’t come to any harm. It used to annoy her badly and it still did, so she ducked behind the D-shaped keep in order to break the man’s line of sight. When she was sure he couldn’t see her anymore, she moved into the shadows of the great stone wall, moist with the mist and slick with moss, and headed in the direction of the cold and dark hall.