Free Percival's Angel by Anne Eliot Crompton Page B

wide on his, she raised both bony little hands against his chest.
    Rings. Bright rings winked pretty colors on every finger, even the thumbs.
    Take her jewels if you must.
    Rings are jewels.
    Cautiously, he lifted his hand from her mouth. She took a quiet breath and watched him.
    Carefully, he let go of her shoulder. She lay still and watched him.
    He took one little bony hand and pulled off the rings, finger by finger. She gasped a bit when a ring stuck; otherwise, she lay silent.
    There. Like that, in the pouch. Now the other hand. She says no “nay.” I must be doing it right.
    Holy Michael, I’m hungry! That food back there smells right good.
    Percy rose up from the lady and turned to the table.
    Lili was already there, stuffing bread into her pouch.
    Accept a friendly gift of food…If none is offered, fill your need…
    He made for the table and filled his need.
    Breads. Meats, fish, fowl, and something like bread but honeysweet. Hungry Percy wolfed.
    Lili snatched three or four sweets and returned to her watch-out post by the entrance.
    A good girl, my Lili. Useful.
    Following her example, Percy stuffed honeycakes into his pouch with the rings. Never tasted the like of these!
    A rustle of movement behind him. He turned to face the lady.
    Slowly, making no sudden move, she sat up on the bed; licked her lips, and asked softly, “Sirrah? Knave? Fellow?”
    Percy informed her through a big mouthful of fowl. “Sir.”
    â€œSir! Ha! Ha-ha-ha!”
    Unaccountable laughter. Chewing, he stared.
    â€œVery well. Sir; my lord has gone hunting.”
    â€œM-hmmm.” Nod.
    â€œHe will return soon. With his men.”
    â€œM-hmmm?” Chew. Gulp down.
    â€œHe will be angry.”
    Angry? Why?
    â€œWhat are you, a beggar?”
    What’s that? Shrug. Tear off a hunk of pork.
    â€œYou are not a peddler…Oh!” Her plain little face lit up. Excitement turned it almost pretty. “A bard! Sir, are you a bard?”
    Could she not see? “Knight am I.” Pop in the pork.
    â€œHa-ha-ha!” She shook pretty black hair back over her shoulders. Cocked her head. “I know! You’re a jester! A fool! My lord sent you here.”
    Percy scowled.
    â€œYou’re good. But rough for my taste. A soup kettle makes a good helmet, I admit. But where’s your sword?”
    Percy gestured toward his Bee Sting.
    This big flagon here, does it hold horrible milk, or water?
    With both hands Percy lifted, tipped, and quaffed.
    UGH! Neither milk nor water, it burned his tongue, then his throat, and all the way down to his stomach. Gingerly, he ran tongue over teeth, testing the awful aftertaste. Still, he was thirsty; so he drank again, more slowly.
    â€œEasy on the ale, Sir Jester. My lord likes his ale.”
    From the entrance, Lili said, “Percy, get one of those warm covers and let’s be gone.”
    Percy let the flagon fall. He wiped the taste off his lips and looked at the embroidered coverlets on the bed.
    â€œHard to carry.”
    â€œI’ll carry it.” Lili disappeared outside.
    Percy strode to the bed. The blue and red coverlet he had his eye on lay under the lady. He took her by waist and shoulder, lifted her aside, not too urgently, and took it up.
    Anger stiffened her face and turned it plain again. Homely.
    Coldly, she asked, “Who is that boy?”
    â€œMy friend. We travel together.”
    â€œTravel? You are traveling?”
    â€œAye, this moment. Farewell.”
    â€œI assure you, my lord will avenge this robbery! He will hunt you down like a wolf.”
    He could try. Percy shrugged.
    â€œLeave the coverlet. Then maybe he will only break all your bones.”
    Percy slung the coverlet back over his shoulder. Lili might regret offering to carry this! But it would cheer up a cold night.
    â€œWould you know the name of your doom?”
    Turning to leave, he looked back inquiringly.
    â€œFor the rest of your short