Free Time to Love Again by Flora Speer Page A

lad. I see a servant coming
toward you with a look that suggests Theu was finally able to get a
word in to tell Savarec we’ve a king’s messenger among us.”
    “But I’m not,” India protested.
    “Don’t tell Savarec that,” Hugo advised
kindly. “He’ll treat you better if he thinks you are. He’s a good
man, and a brave one, but a bit too much in awe of rank and
title.”
    Once on the ground, India faced a swarthy
fellow who sported both a lush beard and a sweeping mustache.
    “If you will be so good,” the man said,
almost stumbling over the words in his eagerness, “please come with
me. Savarec regrets that he was not aware of your presence. This
way, please, good sir.” With what was apparently intended to be a
bow, the man indicated that India should precede him into the
building.
    “Go on,” said Hugo, his big face perfectly
serious. “Don’t worry about the rest of us. I’ll see the men well
billetted, and then I’ll join you.” By now India’s guide was some
distance ahead of her, and after a quick glance in the man’s
direction, Hugo gave her a long, slow wink. “Enjoy your exalted
state, lad.”
    She knew as she entered the building that she
was probably in serious danger of having her disguise penetrated in
that place, but suddenly she felt like laughing. Hugo had looked so
comical, and the other men had been openly grinning their
encouragement. She followed Savarec’s man with a jaunty step.
    “My dear young man,” exclaimed Savarec when
she had been shown into the great hall, “I assure you, I intended
no slight when I neglected to greet you as well as Count Theuderic
and Lord Marcion. Come in, please, and join us.”
    India did as she was bidden, looking around
with great interest at this first Frankish interior she had seen.
The hall had a high roof and a long pit down the center of its
stone floor, wherein burned several separate and rather smoky
fires. Two rows of tables were arranged on either side of the
firepit, confirming India’s assumption that this was where the
garrison assembled for meals. Theuderic, Marcion and their host
stood together near the door. The only other people in the room
were servants who were setting the tables with wooden plates and
cups. From behind the door at the end of the hall wafted the smell
of cooking meat and vegetables, particularly cabbage, which
overlaid the even less pleasant indoor odors of damp wool and
unwashed bodies.
    Savarec himself looked reasonably clean, his
graying hair and mustache carefully combed, his clothing fresh and
unspotted. He personally poured a cup of wine and gave it to India,
his manner revealing no sign that he saw the woman beneath the
boyish exterior. Offering up silent thanks to heaven for Savarec’s
acceptance of her, India took the cup from him with a polite bow of
her head.
    “Drink it slowly,” warned Theuderic. “After
the last few days, wine will be new to you.”
    On impulse, she lifted her cup, toasting him
for an instant before she drank. She saw his eyes widen in
surprise. At once, he returned the gesture with his own cup. The
wine was slightly fizzy, and a little too sweet for her taste, but
it was doubtless the safest liquid she could drink in that
land.
    “Excellent,” she said to Savarec, as if she
were a connoisseur. Savarec looked pleased.
    “I hope you will find the evening meal to
your liking also,” he said, beaming at her. “I am curious to know
more about your land of Chess-veeck , which Count Theuderic
has been describing to me. Will you be good enough to tell me about
it tonight?”
    “Describing it? Theuderic?” India stared at
that gentleman, but all she got in return was a bland, innocent
look.
    “We will talk more tonight,” Savarec
promised. “For now, let this servant escort you to your room while
I oversee the details of our feast. I regret that we are so
overcrowded that there is but one guest room available, and most of
your men will have to sleep in the barracks.