Page 145 of Forbidden

The vassals who had remained to watch their new seneschal at work laughed. The running battle between the widow and the pig was a source of much amusement at the keep.

Smiling, Duncan switched his hazel glance to the serf who stood uneasily in the great hall, his cap in his gnarled hands and his ill-shod feet flat as a cart bottom.

“Ethelrod, have you any objection to the widow as a wife?” Duncan asked.

Red crept up the man’s bearded cheeks to his weathered forehead.

“Nay, s-sir,” he stuttered. “She be a f-fine lass.”

“Then the solution to the problem of the pig becomes clear,” Duncan said. “The day you wed Widow Mary, you will no longer be a serf.”

Ethelrod was too stunned to do more than open and close his mouth.

“Sir Erik’s present to you on your wedding day,” Duncan continued, “will be enough wood to build a stout swine pen.”

A shout compounded of laughter, approval, and celebration went up in the great hall. In less than a fortnight, the vassals had come to fully approve the keep’s seneschal.

Before the commotion had settled, Duncan stood up, drawing Amber with him.

“Come and ride with me,” he said. “I find I enjoy your knowledge of the keep and its vassals as much as I need it.”

“Where shall we ride this time?”

“Where we have ridden every day since we wed,” Duncan said, nodding to the vassals as they cleared a way for him through their ranks.

“The southern trail through Wild Rose hamlet and the fields to the forest,” Amber said, smiling. “’Tis my favorite ride. Wild Rose creek sounds like laughter.”

Only two horses waited out in the bailey. There were so few fighting men left at Stone Ring Keep that Duncan refused to put them to work as an unneeded escort when he and Amber rode out over the keep’s land. No outlaws had been seen or heard within half a day’s ride of the keep since one of their kind had been hanged by Erik.

Duncan lifted Amber onto her horse, then mounted his own. As always after settling into the saddle, he checked the position of his sword and that of the hammer. To Duncan, the gestures were as natural as breathing.

Side by side, the two horses clattered through the bailey and thumped over the stout wooden draw-bridge. As they rode, Amber answered questions concerning the history of the various fields, who tilled them and how well, who was freeholder and who was serf, who was well and who was ill.

“I don’t think you ride out along this path to hear the creek,” Amber said finally as they rode into the forest.

“I ride out to have you teach me about the keep.”

“And Hawk Hill, which lies close to our way, is a good viewpoint to look out upon the keep’s land,” she said.

Duncan nodded.

“You will make Erik a fine seneschal.”

“I would make him a better warrior.”

“He doesn’t doubt your mettle,” Amber said.

“Then why won’t he use me at Winterlance, where Norsemen are rumored to be thick as summer grass in the fields?” Duncan asked angrily.

“You are more valuable to him here. Only Saturday last, one of his cousins was sniffing about the vassals, testing their will.”

Duncan grunted.

“By now,” Amber said, “Erik’s cousins know that Stone Ring Keep has a new seneschal who is much respected by the vassals.”

When Duncan didn’t answer, Amber looked at him unhappily. He was glancing around with narrowed eyes, as though searching for something.

And his hand lay on his sword hilt.