Magnus squinted, trying to make out what the bauble was, but it twisted and turned in a patch of sunlight that made its form seem to blur. "What should I pay thee with?" Magnus demanded. "My soul?"
"Oh, nay! I shall take no pay. I exist but to aid those who are in need-or who will be."
"I trust not those who profess to offer much and ask little."
"Yet thou hast," the ragpicker called after him, "for thou hast acted from that same principle thyself, time and again." That rocked Magnus a little; he liked to think of himself as motivated by healthy self-interest, though he was aware that it came in many disguises. Still, he realized the comment was just a barb to hook him into further argument and possible exploitation, so he ignored it and rode on.
The trail curved, hiding the ragpicker from view. Magnus was tempted to go back to make sure the man had disappeared, but steeled himself against the impulse.
He rode on as dawn turned into morning, sending dapples of sunlight through the leaves of the forest. The ground began to slope upward, and the trees thinned out. Magnus crested the rise, broke through a final screen of scrub, and saw another village below him in the morning mist. The sunlight struck through the clouds, and sent a shaft down to highlight the collection of huts. Magnus halted, charmed by the sightand realized that glistening in the shaft of light were the whitewashed boards of a church steeple. With an uncomfortable pang of conscience, he remembered that it was Sunday. The church bell began to toll.
Magnus sighed and shook the reins. "Come, good mount. I must needs go forth to the chapel, some holy words to hear." He rode down into the valley, following the dirt road, softened now with the autumn rains, and came up to the church as the last few parishioners were filing in. But he was not quite late-a lady on a white palfrey, flanked by four men-atarms, was riding down an adjoining road, coming behind him.
Magnus dismounted, tying his horse's reins to a tree limb. He strode up to the church door, then glanced back to make sure his horse had grass to eat ...
And saw the lady watching him, with a gleam in her eye. Something about her regard made Magnus uncomfortable. He turned back to the church door, doing his best to ignore her. . . .
"Hold, sirrah!"
Magnus whirled about, instantly seething at the demeaning term-the more so when he saw it was a guardsman who had spoken it. Didn't he know Magnus's rank without having to be told? Even coated with dust and in his travelling clothes, his garb was clearly that of a nobleman, or at the very least, a squire.
But the guardsman wasn't entering-he was holding the door wide, and his fellows had stationed themselves behind the lady, who was marching toward the door. She looked up at Magnus, and her glance seemed to pierce him. He stood numbed by surprise, and she smiled, with newly moistened lips. "Art thou so hot to enter then, young man?"
"Young man!" Magnus took refuge in outrage. "Thou art not so much older than I, milady-and thy servants want rebuke! Thou must needs teach them to know their betters!"
"What!" the guardsman cried, and his halberd swung down.
Magnus dropped his hand to his sword. "School him, lady, or I'll do it for thee."
The three other men instantly lowered their halberds. Magnus stood poised, hand still on his sword, and locked gazes with her.
Her eyes seemed to swell; her lips parted.
Magnus felt a current pass through him, leaving him shaken. He hoped he looked like a frozen statue.
The lady's lips curved into a lazy smile, and her eyelids drooped. She turned to the guardsmen. "Wherefore dost thou stand here idle, good fellows? Get thee in, to hear the holy man. Nay, get thee all within!"
"But my lady . . ." The guard was clearly taken aback. "Thy safety ... thine husband. . ."
"Mine husband is my concern." Her voice sharpened. "And this stranger is no brigand; couldst thou not tell his quality, by the look of him?"
The guardsman gave Magnus a doubtful glance that as much as said that he knew exactly of what quality Magnus was, and the young man's grip tightened on his sword; but the lady snapped, "Go!" and the four guardsmen filed into the church, with wary glances behind.
Magnus watched them go, his face stony, his hand relaxing from his sword hilt-and suddenly very wary of turning to look behind him.
"Hast thou no taste for aught but steel?" the lady said, her voice throaty. "No desire to sheathe thy blade in a proper scabbard?"
"Why, so I do." Magnus slammed the blade back by his side and turned to give the lady a cold bow. "Naked steel must not be borne within the church. By thy leave, milady, I'll step within."
"Art thou so eager to hear a sermon?" There was a faint sneer in her voice. "Nay, belike thou art a very cleric of a warrior, who dost live by the Church and the Book."
That stung, but Magnus knew at least the name of the game, if not its strategies, and retorted, "I am a man for the Book and the Law indeed. Good morn to thee, lady."
"Why, then, speed thee to God." Her lips smiled, but her tone was contemptuous. "And I had thought to bid thee home to dine, to slake thine appetite of me."
The thrill that passed through him was nothing he could control; Magnus had to remind himself that there was no sin in feeling desire, only in giving in to it. "'Tis not seemly for a lady to entertain a gentleman other than her husband."
"Mine husband is off to the wars," she said instantly, "or to attend upon his suzerain at a conference of lords, regarding their rights in opposition to the Crown, which must surely be much the same as a battle-and will detain him for some weeks yet."
"What knight is this?" Magnus demanded. "Tell me thy husband's name." He could feel himself slipping, and hoped that personifying the man might make him lose interest in the wife.
She frowned, realizing the gambit; but protocol, and regard for her own status, prohibited a refusal to answer. "He is Sir Spenser Dole, and I grow lonely in his absence."
"Then thou art fortunate in having so many brave servitors to accompany thee." Knowing the man's name didn't lessen the tide of hot blood flowing through Magnus's veins, but it did explain the situation-Sir Spenser Dole was a knight advanced in middle age, fifty in a world to which sixty was ancient, and the young woman had no doubt been married to him against her will, in accordance with custom and her father's wishes, cementing an alliance between two knights, or perhaps even their lords.
Magnus bowed again and turned away, determined to have nothing to do with the lady, nor with her invitation. "Be easy, knight." Her touch was featherlight on his arm, but sent the current coursing through him again, and he stopped in spite of his good intentions. "I do not seek to turn thee from a course of honor, but only to give rest and comfort to a valiant warrior who, I doubt not, hath ridden long and is both a-hungered and weary." She moved around to his side, far enough that he couldn't help but see her, her eyes wide and imploring. "Nay, wilt thou leave me lorn?"
He knew he should have-but the lady was very beautiful, and Magnus's pulse was pounding in his ears, and what harm was there in sharing a breakfast with her? "The Mass," he protested, in a last feeble defense-but he had the door open, and could hear the priest chanting the Lavabo.
"The Book has been moved," the lady said with a lazy smile, lips full and moist. "The mass is half-spent, and thou must needs come again to the church at another time. Thou hast done as well as thou might, to honor holiness on the day of rest-but travellers have ever great difficulty in finding a priest, and thou art surely to suffer no blame if thou hast not had a Mass."
"Half a Mass is better than none......"
"Not to the Church, who would have thee come again if thou dost come too late."
Which was true; coming in after the Credo meant that his Sunday obligation was not fulfilled.
"Rest thee, then," she said softly, smiling almost proudly. "Come away to my castle, and find repose and refreshment." The church door slipped from nerveless fingers; he turned away from the chapel, following the sway of her hips, and telling himself there was no harm in light conversation.