Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book III ]

43

Uachi had one thing in common with his brother-in-arms Matei: he was not very good at waiting for other people to do things for him.

As he kept watch in their camp that evening, boiling some foraged tubers and greens for a dissatisfying supper, Diarmán made his way back to the castle. They had not been turned away from court officially, simply dismissed, and although rumors may have made the rounds, Diarmán hoped that he could at least make it as far as the courtyard in order to seek information.

When Uachi had wondered aloud whether he should go instead, Diarmán had snorted.

"You'll never be known for your charms," he'd responded, and Uachi couldn't argue with that.

It was the middle of the night by the time Diarmán returned. He looked tired, but pleased with himself. In one hand he carried a basket covered with a white cloth, and he was whistling a tune.

"Are you always this discreet?" Uachi whispered, unwilling to wake Ealin, who lay sleeping on the other side of the campfire. He'd heard Diarmán coming when he was still well away. He leaned in to stoke the fire, trying not to show how relieved he was that Diarmán had returned.

"Oh, my broad-shouldered northman, I am the very epitome of discretion," said Diarmán. As if to deliberately disprove this point, he gave a flourishing bow, then spun on his heel before folding himself down to sit on the other side of the fire. Uarria, who'd been dozing next to Farra until Diarmán's approach had woken her, sprang up and came to greet him, butting her head against his shoulder. Diarmán received her with an open arm, grinning. "Hello, Princess. Somebody is glad to see me. Shall we see what I've brought for you in the basket Uachi is too proud to ask me about?"

Uachi's belly gave a disgruntled rumble, and the man himself gave a disgruntled snort, irritated that Diarmán had picked up on his interest. Then again, the lordling wouldn't have to be a sage to realize that he was hungry. Stale bread and water didn't tide a man over for long.

Diarmán was busily unpacking the contents of the basket. As soon as the cloth came off, Farra was on her feet and joining Uarria at Diarmán's side, leaving Uachi all alone on the other side of the fire. After a minute or two of slowly unpacking the basket, during which Uachi did not ask a single question and tried not to glance in Diarmán's direction, the lord raised a bottle of wine and gave Uachi an innocent tilt of the head.

"Thirsty, you grump?"

"Grump?" Uachi scowled. "Who was the grump not an hour ago, moaning and telling me to go kick stones?"

"I most certainly have never moaned in your company," he replied crisply. "It's been a very trying day. Give me a little grace. Here." He tossed the bottle and Uachi, reacting on instinct, caught it from the air. "Then wipe that pout off of your face and come get some food."

"Is it stolen or is it poisoned?" Uachi asked. The cork was already loose on the bottle of wine, and he wondered if Diarmán had had a draught on his way back from the castle. He rose, uncorking the bottle and taking a sip as he crossed over to where Diarmán was holding court.

"Did you hear that, ladies? He thinks so low of me. As if anyone could bring themselves to poison a man as good-looking as I am. And stolen." He clicked his tongue, then took a bite of a roll that looked deliciously soft. Speaking around the mouthful and gesturing with his hands, the roll still clutched in the right, Diarmán explained, "I didn't steal a thing. 'Twas a gift from a kitchen maid with a figure such as you wouldn't believe, Uachi." He suggested the shape of that figure with his hands, although he had to be exaggerating for effect.

Uachi grimaced, scraping a couple of stones out of the way before sitting down at Diarmán's side. "You're vulgar."

Diarmán shrugged, sliding the basket toward Uachi. "The only lady present is asleep. Furry company excepted of course, Your Highness." He took another bite of his roll as he scratched Uarria's ears and chewed pensively, gazing into the fire. "I'm not sure what the appeal is, to be honest. Still. Spread a few kisses over 'em and she's ready to tell me the Bitch Pretender's life story—and, of course." He waggled the crust of the roll and grinned.