Free Shadows and Strongholds by Elizabeth Chadwick Page A

into the cold autumn air. The duty guards ceased resting on their spear hafts and looked at him in surprise as he exploded from the hall In panic he ran from them and away from the domestic buildings towards the storage barns and stables in the bailey. There were plenty of hiding places and, if he was lucky, they might not find him for hours.
    Hens scattered before his flying feet. A pair of doves clapped skywards, winging for the safety of the shingled cote roof. He ducked into a barn near the wooden palisade that protected the ladies' garden from the depredations of the bailey's poultry and fowl. Lord Joscelin's horses were stabled there and the animals lifted startled heads from mangers and hay nets to watch him run past into the deepest shadows at the end of the barn, and there bury himself under a mound of bedding.
    His breath roared in his ears and, beyond that sound, he could hear the movement of the horses, the swish of their tails, the stamp of their hooves. He bent his head against his upraised knees, his eyes screwed shut. There was a superficial darkness, but behind it, in merciless clarity, he could clearly see the moment when the contents of the fingerbowl had dashed across his grandmother's face. He imagined the sting of her rod across the backs of his hands, but that didn't matter as much as the fear that Lord Joscelin might not want him now and that he would be forced to stay at Whittington and shamed into the bargain.
    One of the horses gave a low nicker and his stomach clenched as he heard a man's voice speak softly in response. Peering through the hay, he saw Joscelin de Dinan standing beside the roan cob, his hand on its neck. He appeared to be alone, and his expression was calm. Brunin deliberated. Should he stay where he was, hold his breath and hope that Lord Joscelin would go away, or should he stand up and make a clean breast of it? The lord of Ludlow glanced briefly at the bedding pile, but his gaze did not linger. He sauntered over to a large black pony and clicked his tongue to it, acting as if he had all the time in the world and that it was usual to spend it in a stable.
    Summoning his courage, Brunin unfurled from his hiding place and emerged in a small eruption of hay.
    'I wondered how long it would take,' Joscelin said. 'When I was a boy I used to lie for hours outside my father's warren, waiting for the coneys to poke their noses out of their burrows.'
    Brunin swallowed. He did not know how to respond, or even if he was expected to.
    'There is no need to look so worried,' Joscelin continued in the same easy tone. 'I have no intention of dragging you back to the hall. That would be the worst thing to do in the circumstances. I told them that since you were going to be my squire, I would deal with you.'
    'Are you going to whip me?'
    'What?' Joscelin's gaze widened. His eyes were the opaque gold-grey of field flints. 'God save you, child, of course I am not going to whip you. What happened was an accident… I hope.'
    Brunin licked his lips. 'I tripped over my grandmother's hound. It always hides under the tablecloth.'
    'Well then, it is not your fault.' The man looked to be almost on the edge of laughter. 'Unfortunate, I grant you, but not your fault. Gome here.'
    As wary as a cat, Brunin approached. When Joscelin reached out to pluck stalks of hay from his hair and tunic, he almost flinched, and Joscelin's levity vanished.
    'You have suffered rough handling, haven't you?' he said. 'And I can see that it's going to take longer than a day to alter things. If I were your father I'd…' He shook his head and seemed to change his mind about what he had been going to say. 'I suppose I have that chance now, don't I, and so do you. No use crying over a spilled fingerbowl.'
    Brunin gave him a questioning look. He wasn't going to be whipped, that much was obvious, but he was not sure what Lord Joscelin was talking about.
    'Tonight you will sleep on a pallet in my room with Hugh and Adam, and I will talk