"Do you want her?"
"What?" Lord Peter turned his gray head to his host, surprised by the question, jolted by the interruption.
"I said, do you want her? You keep staring at her." Theobald wiped his nose with the hand that held his knife.
"That girl? The one at the foot of the table?" Lord Peter tread warily, unsure of his host, unsure of the hostility he saw mirrored in the man's eyes. "She's very pretty."
"Pretty?" Theobald snorted, holding his knife clutched tight in one hand and lifting his cup with the other. "Aye, look at her. Her mouth is so wide and red and smooth, and her hair is black, long, clear down her back. It looks magnificent against that skin of hers. Plague take her, Saura's body is the kind poets sing about. She's got legs up to her rump. A very nice rump, it is, too. A tiny waist and these. . . ." Theobald used both hands to gesture, sloshing ale into his lap and cursing.
Repelled by the catalog of her charms and by the thought of the lout laying hands on the girl, Lord Peter apologized stiffly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know she was your concubine."
"Concubine!" Theobald sniggered with contempt, hating the girl with his darting eyes. "I wouldn't have her in my bed, nor give her to you for yours. She's useless, can't you see it? She's blind, blind as a treble-bandaged mole. She's the daughter of my first wife and Elwin of Roget, and I can't even marry her off. A stone hanging around my neck, worthless!"
Worthless? Lord Peter wondered. What had drawn his attentiorf was the way she seemed to manage the production of dinner from her seat. The movement in the great hall swirled around her; the serfs spoke to her respectfully, bowed, and did her bidding. She murmured to her maid and the woman hurried off in the direction of the kitchens. The servant returned and whispered in Saura's ear, and Saura climbed off her bench. Lord Peter watched with close attention to see her stumble, but she moved gracefully, lightly touching the arch that divided the great room and disappearing into a stairwell.
"I'm interested in her woman," Lord Peter told Theobald, never taking his eyes from the spot where Saura had vanished. "What's her name?"
"Saura's woman?" Theobald hooted. "You brave soul. We can do better for you than old Maud."
Lord Peter turned his head to his host once more, smiling thinly. "I prefer my meat well seasoned."
"Aye, it covers the rank smell, doesn't it?" Theobald grinned at his young wife, shrinking beside him, and Lord Peter felt sorry for the girl who would share her lord's bed tonight.
"Maud?" Lord Peter stepped out of the alcove and examined the woman his squire had brought him. Her gray braids hung down her back, her round face was wrinkled with middle age, and she stood tall. Remembering how the retainer had towered over the blind girl, he realized he had found whom he sought. He waved his man away. "You're Maud? You're the woman who serves Saura of Roger?"
Bright blue eyes combed his figure, seeking his credentials in the cut of his clothes and the condition of his body. "I am Maud. Saura's my mistress. I served her mother and I'll serve her until the last breath is left in my body, and if that ass Theobald has offered her to ye-"
"No!" Lord Peter roared, infuriated by her assumption. "No. She's young enough to be my granddaughter."
Maud peered at him quizzically, amazed at his vehemence, and Lord Peter explained with a sheepish shrug, "My lady wife would slice my gizzard on a platter."
"A good woman," Maud said. "Come, walk with me. We're too conspicuous standing in this drafty hall. Why do ye want m'lady?"
Lord Peter fell in step with the woman. "I will speak to her."
"Why?"
"That is between me and the lady."
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