The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [62]
Owaen’s face drained dead white. In the crowd, a couple of men snickered.
“Oh, here, Captain,” Maddyn said. “If you’re flogging him for my sake, there’s no need.”
“Not for your sake—for the sake of peace in the dun. You might pass that on to that troop you ride with, too. I won’t tolerate this sort of fighting. Save the bloodlust for spring and our enemies.”
In the morning, when they dragged Owaen out to the ward for his lashes, Maddyn refused to go watch, although most of the other silver daggers and half the dun did. It was entertainment of a sort. With his blue sprite and a couple of gnomes for company, he wandered around to the back of the stables and lounged on a bale of straw in the warm sun. Caradoc eventually found him there.
“Is it over?” Maddyn said.
“It is. Wevryl tells me that Owaen’s been naught but trouble ever since he rode his first battle, bragging and swaggering around, so he decided it was time to show the lad his place. Aches my heart. Look, they put this young hothead in the king’s guard because he’s the best swordsman they’ve ever seen, and so what does he do? Sit around most of the year and watch the old king sleep. No wonder he’s as hot as summer tinder. He’d be better off in the silver daggers.”
“You keep saying that. Well, if he keeps on being so cursed arrogant, you might have your chance to recruit him yet.”
They always say that bards have a touch of prophecy. For close to a week, Maddyn saw no sign of Owaen, not even in the great hall at meals. He was apparently keeping strictly to himself and letting his wounds heal, and as painful as two stripes were, it would be the shame that would be paining him the more, Maddyn assumed. Since every silver dagger knew what shame tasted like, when Owaen did reappear, they went out of their way to treat him as if nothing had happened. The young handpicked riders in the king’s guard had no such hard-earned compassion. When a stiff-backed Owaen took his place at table for the first time, he was greeted with a chorus of catcalls and a couple of truly vicious remarks about whipped dogs and kennels. Since Wevryl was nowhere in sight, Caradoc stood on his position as a captain and went over and broke it up. His face bright red, Owaen gulped ale from his tankard and stared down at the tabletop.
When Caradoc came back, he sat down next to Maddyn.
“Little pusboils,” the captain remarked. “Now that’s a truly stupid way to treat a man when your life might depend on him someday in a scrap.”
“Even stupider when he’s a man who could cut you into pieces without half trying.”
“Now that, alas, is true-spoken.”
Later that morning Maddyn was grooming his horse in front of the stable when Clwna, all nervous smile and sidelong glance, came sidling up to him. If she hadn’t been so thin and pale, she would have been a lovely lass, but as it was, her blond hair always smelled of roast meat and there was always grease under her fingernails.
“Have you forgiven me yet, Maddo?”
“Oh, easily. Going to meet me out in the hayloft tonight?”
She giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hand like a court lady, a gesture that was somehow pathetic.
“Here, I’ll be riding to town today,” Maddyn said. “I’ll buy you some ribands from the tailor. What colors would you like?”
“Oh, blue and green, and my thanks. You’re so sweet, Maddo. I like you the best of anybody.”
“Oh huh! And how many of the lads do you say that to?”
“Only you. And maybe Aethan but only sometimes. Sometimes he frightens me.” Unconsciously she brought her hand to her throat. “Sometimes he looks at me, and I think he’s going to hit me, but then he only says some mean thing and walks away.”
“When he does that, he’s thinking of another woman, lass, not of you. Stay away from him when he’s in that mood.”
“I will, then.” She went suddenly tense, looking over his shoulder. “Oh ye gods!”
Maddyn turned to see a gaggle of guardsmen strolling their way with Owaen