The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [61]
“Listen to him!” The cook rolled her eyes heavenward to invoke the gods. “Out of my kitchen, bard! You’re giving the scullery lads wrong ideas.”
Maddyn made her a mocking bow and left, shoving his way through the dogs. As he crossed the ward, it occurred to him that the entire troop had been in the barracks when he’d left it. While he was willing to share Clwna with other silver daggers, the thought of sharing her with an outsider griped his soul. He ducked inside the back door of the great hall and snagged himself a torch from one of the sconces, then searched through the ward with a growing sense of righteous irritation. In the aftermath of the feast there were lots of people about: servants bringing firewood and barrels of ale, glutted riders strolling slowly back to barracks or privy, serving lasses intent on flirtations of their own or running similar errands for their noble mistresses. About halfway to the stables he saw his prey—Clwna walking along arm in arm with one of the king’s guard. From the disarray of her dresses and the bit of straw in her hair, Maddyn knew that his suspicions were justified. Clwna herself settled any lingering doubt by screaming the moment she saw him.
“So!” Maddyn held the torch up like a householder apprehending a thief. “And what’s all this, lass?”
Clwna made a miserable little shriek and stuffed her knuckles into her mouth. With his hand on his sword hilt, Owaen stepped forward into the pool of light. Maddyn realized that the situation could easily go beyond irritation to danger.
“What’s it to you, you little dog?” Owaen snapped. “The lady happens to prefer a real man instead of a bondsman with a sword.”
It took every scrap of will that Maddyn possessed to stop himself from hitting Owaen in the face with the flaming torch. In his rage he was only dimly aware that they were gathering a crowd, but he did hear Clwna nattering on and on to some sympathetic listener. Owaen stood smiling at him, his mouth a twist of utter smugness.
“Well, come on, old man,” he said at last. “Don’t you have a word to say to me?”
“Oh, I’ll have plenty of words, little lad. You forget that you’re talking to a bard. I haven’t made a good flyting song in a long, long time.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Owaen’s voice was a childlike howl of indignation. “That’s not fair!”
At that the ring of onlookers burst out laughing; for all his swordcraft, he looked such an outraged boy standing there that Maddyn had to chuckle himself, thinking that in truth it hardly mattered who tumbled Clwna around in the hay. He was just about to say something conciliatory to the lad when Owaen, his face blushing red, unbuckled his sword belt and threw it onto the cobbles.
“Well and good, then, bard!” he snarled. “It’s breaking geis to draw on you, but hand that torch to someone, and I’ll grind your face in the stones for you!”
“Oh, for the sake of every god in the sky, Owaen,” Maddyn said wearily. “She’s hardly worth—”
Owaen swung at him, an open-handed slap that he dodged barely in time. At that there were yells, and a couple of men in the crowd leaped forward and grabbed the lad. Howling and swearing, he tried to break free, but they dragged him back and held him. By the blazons on their shirts Maddyn could tell that they were guardsmen, too. The reason for this unexpected civility pushed his way through the onlookers.
“Now, what’s all this?” said Wevryl, captain of the king’s guard. “Owaen, by the black hairy ass of the Lord of Hell! I swear that Trouble was your dam and Twice Trouble your grandam! What was he doing to you, bard?”
“Naught, truly, but making a fool of himself.”
“My apologies!” Clwna broke in with a wail. “I never meant to cause trouble, Maddo.” She paused for a couple of moist sobs. “Truly I didn’t.”
“Oh, over a lass, was it?” The captain looked profoundly annoyed. “The same tedious old horse dung, is it? Ye gods, it’s only fall! What are you lads going to be like when the winter sets in, eh? Very well,