Free The Mer- Lion by Lee Arthur Page A

was there that Seamus could see. Overall, the impression was of sturdiness, shoulders and thighs stretching his jerkin and tights. The legs were so well shaped, Seamus saw, that if they kept their proportions, they would one day make women grow wild. All in all, Seamus decided, he had never seen a more pleasing child.
    The child awaited his answer. Seamus had too much sense to deny the truth, but he had an inspiration. "Yes, for the while we'll have to cut back. But only until your father chooses to ride him again. Of course, you and I could see that he's exercised properly, if you wish."       
    Jamie considered that, mulling it over before he answered. Seamus liked that. As one who, except for his swearing, was essentially laconic, he found it refreshing that the child didn't run on and on. Finally Jamie spoke. "Yes, I think that would be fitting. I'd like that but, more important, so would Dunstan. Are we then agreed?" Jamie smiled.
    The unearthly beauty of that smile, so like his mother's, took Seamus's breath away. He only nodded. The child, contented, his world put in order at last, grew grave, looked Seamus full in the eye, and commanded, "Then help me down, Master Seamus. It is long past my bedtime, I must not tarry here."
    Only as they were about to leave the mews did the little boy venture a question. "Will he live, do you think, Master Seamus?" Try as he might, the boy couldn't keep the catch out of his voice.
    "He's a good man, a godly man, a clean-living man," Seamus
temporized.                  "
    Jamie ignored the obvious, and seized upon the essential. "Is clean living important, then?"
    "Oh, very."
    "More than praying?"
    Seamus fell back upon his area of expertise. "I don't know. But the horse with good habits, who eats temperately, getting neither thick nor thin, seems to live the longest and heal the fastest."
    "My father never gets thick nor thin."
    "No, he always stays just right."
    "So he should heal fast. But just the same, I'll pray for him. Will you pray for him, too, Seamus?"
    "With all my heart, my lord, and for your good mother as well." There was a long pause. "Pray for me too, Seamus." "For you too, my lord."
    Content that the conversation had gone the way he wished, the child said no more, but left Seamus and started across the courtyard toward the outside stair that led up to the family's apartments. Seamus watched him for a moment, then turned about, to go to the comfort of his bed and Nelly's arms. Abruptly, he was grabbed about the legs by two very determined arms.
    "Thank you, Seamus. I love you, Seamus. Good night, Seamus."
    Before Seamus could say a word, he was released and sturdy legs propelled their owner back to the stairway. And as suddenly as had come that declaration from a child he'd ignored until now, so suddenly did Seamus transfer to her son much of the unrequited, useless love he'd lavished on his lady.
    CHAPTER 3
     
    The earl lived, a tribute more to his constitution than to his physicking. His mind healed less quickly. At first, he refused to believe his arm was gone, claiming it itched or the sheets felt cool to it. Only after he had reached out finitely with an invisible arm was he forced to acknowledge its loss. He found refuge in anger, but such rage could not be contained, spilling over to include all about him.
    Since Seamus's strength was needed daily in the sickroom, his presence was tolerated, but he was reviled for his clumsiness and for . having the audacity to rescue the earl from a good death on the battlefield. Boorde, whether present or not, was ignored, casually dismissed as a butcher in physician's robes. Seaforth refused to see or be seen by the Lady Islean whom he loudly and profanely blamed for his maiming. Though she covered her ears, still she heard and often fled the room in tears.
    But it was a dead man who was the special target of the earl's hatred. Ten times a day or more, Seaforth consigned James IV to purgatory for his benighted