Surely, though, the White Brethren did not walk so fast; or did they amble, coming back this way? I couldn’t remember, I who was trained to note such things. My very wits felt frozen.
We stopped first at the lesser hall, where my presence was less known. A few stared curiously, and one of the housecarls came up gaping, touching his forelock to Joscelin, respectful of the insignia of the White Brethren. "What do you desire?"
Joscelin jerked my arm, nodding at me. "Tell him," he growled, sounding for all the world like an annoyed thane. Not the words I’d given him, but they would work; perhaps it would arouse less suspicion this way.
"Lord Selig has decided to make camp with Kolbjorn and a few men," I said. "He’s sent for a skin of mead, two sacks of pottage and a cook-pot. Bring them to the stable; my lord Trygve will ride to meet him."
"Only one skin of mead?" the carl wondered aloud, then gulped with fear, glancing at Joscelin.
"Three," Joscelin retorted, giving my arm another shake, turning away as if in impatience and drawing me after him. I wasn’t sure it had worked, until I heard the carl shouting for assistance.
My knees trembled as we made for the great hall. When Joscelin pushed me through the doors, I nearly stumbled, and found myself angry at him for it. It gave me strength enough to stand upright, glaring at him. He glared back, following close on my heels as I headed for Selig’s room.
Gerde was not in sight, Elua be thanked. In Selig’s room, I shut the door and pointed to the cupboard, which I’d not bothered to relock. Joscelin threw it open and gathered up his arms quickly, buckling his vambraces in place, replacing Trygve’s belt with his own, settling the daggers in their sheathes. He took off the wolf-pelt to put on his baldric, hiding his scabbard back under the pelt when he was done. I tangled the hilt of his sword with a length of his abundant hair, and prayed no one would notice a Skaldi warrior bearing Cassiline-style arms. Joscelin grabbed up the saddle-packs and nodded at the door.
"Melisande’s letter!" I gasped, struck by a sudden awful realization.
"I thought you had it." He stood waiting, leathern packs in one hand.
"I do." I tore the packs from his hand and wrenched open the one with the letter, rummaging frantically until I found it. "Selig doesn’t know we know his plan to betray d’Aiglemort," I said grimly. "If we take the letter, it will tip our hand. He’ll alter his plans accordingly, and any advantage will be lost. We’ll have to forego proof." I placed the letter back where I’d found it, on a high shelf in the cupboard. My hands were trembling, and I wiped them on my skirts, taking a deep breath. "All right. Let’s go."
We weren’t so lucky in leaving.
Halfway to the door, Gerde emerged from the kitchen and caught sight of us. "Where are you going
"Selig’s orders." Joscelin muttered it, keeping his eyes on the door and towing me forward.
"/ never heard anything about it!" Gerde kept walking, hands on her hips, irritation in her voice. Another few yards, and she’d realize it wasn’t Trygve beneath the wolf-hood. I shook Joscelin’s hold off my arm and stepped between them.
"And why would you?" I asked, letting my voice fill with scathing contempt. "Does Lord Selig send for you, when he is minded to have pleasure? Does he send for any woman in his steading?" I swept my gaze across the hall, meeting gaping stares. At least no one was looking at Joscelin now. "No, he does not," I continued haughtily. "He is worthy of the name King, and he sends for one worthy of pleasing a King. And if it is his pleasure to make camp this evening and send for me to join him, anyone who would remain long in his favor would be well-advised not to question it!"
I spun on my heel and marched toward the door. Joscelin gave a disgusted shrug in the general direction of the hall, moved ahead of me and shoved the door open, following me through it. I could hear the furor rising behind us, like a kicked hornets' nest. If we were caught, there would be no mercy spoken anywhere in Selig’s steading on my behalf.
"Not so fast," Joscelin said under his breath when we were outside. I had been hurrying. I forced myself to slow to a more measured pace, grateful for his sense.
Selig’s stables, if they could be called such, were merely a long row of lean-tos erected against the wind in a large paddock. The Skaldi do not coddle their animals, reckoning to keep them hardy. A few horses remained in the paddock, huddled together for warmth; my shaggy pony was among them. One of the carls came running, seeing a White Brethren approach.
"The stocks were sent," he said breathlessly, "and we’ve your horse near saddled, sir. Is it true Waldemar Selig is making camp?"
"Selig’s orders," Joscelin repeated brusquely.
"Lord Selig has sent for me as well," I said imperiously. "You will bring my horse and see him saddled."
