Free Warlock and Son by Christopher Stasheff Page A

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?"
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    "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