Free Murder in LaMut by Raymond E. Feist, Joel Rosenberg

thoughts to the man at your back, my lord. If a man insists on keeping his thoughts to himself all the time, well, you find somebody else to watch your back.’
    The Baron scowled. ‘I’m not overly impressed with the three of you,’ he said. ‘You distinguished yourself with bravery during the ambush, certainly more than one would expect from a bunch of freebooters, but your swordwork was clumsy–at least what I saw of it–and if Lady Mondegreen hadn’t spurred her horse so quickly, she would have been brought down by the Tsurani without much trouble at all.’
    Kethol started to open his mouth, but desisted at Pirojil’s head-shake.
    ‘We’ll try to do better, next time, my lord,’ Pirojil said. He had already had enough of arguing with somebody who would not be persuaded for one afternoon.
    But you couldn’t trust Kethol to keep his mouth shut about such a thing. Kethol would have to explain himself–it was one of his few weaknesses–and that would do nobody any good at all.
    Pirojil pointed a finger toward the front of the column, tapped the finger against his own chest, jerked his thumb toward the rear of the column, and spurred his horse.

    Lady Mondegreen’s eyes held steady on Kethol as he dropped back beside her, replacing Durine. ‘How soon do we arrive, Kethol?’ she asked.
    If he remembered right, and he did, the outer wall of Mondegreen Town was just beyond the next bend, across a stream, and then over a ridge. ‘I believe we should be there within the hour, Lady.’ Why the Lady of Castle Mondegreen wouldn’t know the area around the keep better than a soldier who had only been through here once, during the war, he didn’t know. ‘We’ll have you safe in your own bed this night, and may it be a comfort to you.’
    ‘I’ve some comfort in my own bed, that’s true,’ she said. ‘Though my husband is a good man, a gentle man, but a very sick man, and has been, for the past few years.’
    Oh , he didn’t say. And is that why you spend your time warming other men’s beds? ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he did say. It seemed like the appropriate response.
    She pursed her lips momentarily. ‘Others suffer far worse than do I.’
    ‘Is the Baron much older than you?’
    She frowned. ‘Yes, he is. And is there something wrong with that?’
    ‘Not at all.’ Kethol shook his head. ‘But it must be difficult–’
    ‘Yes, it’s difficult.’ She patted at her belly. ‘It’s difficult when you marry an older man, and are expected to produce an heir, and don’t.’ She started to say something more, then stopped herself.
    ‘There’s no need to watch your words around me, Lady,’ Kethol said. ‘I’m not loose of tongue, and I’ve got no stake in local matters.’
    She didn’t look at him. ‘How fortunate for you,’ she said, through tight lips.
    They rode in silence for a few minutes.
    ‘I seem to have something of a widespread reputation,’ she said at last.
    ‘Perhaps.’ Kethol shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. The only gossip I get to hear is usually about how one sergeant is a glory-hound, or another officer will never send his men out in front of him if he doesn’t have to–the private lives of our betters isn’t a topic for barracks conversation.’
    Which wasn’t entirely true. It might not have been a topic for Kethol ’s barracks conversation, but some of the Mut soldiers gossiped like fishwives, and Lady Mondegreen was often a subject of their chatter. If you believed the gossip–and Kethol never either believed all or none of it–she flitted from bed to bed with wild abandon, looking for the satisfaction that her ancient husband couldn’t have given her.
    She looked at him, long and hard, as though trying to decide something.
    A crow fluttered down and took a perch on an overhanging tree limb, and cawed down at them.
    Well, as long as it didn’t shit on him, he didn’t mind.

    Pirojil shook his head. Unless you knew how and where to look, the castle