Sherwood Rogue

Chapter Twenty

"Kay," said Much. "It seems to me you were lucky enough to get off with just a knife in the leg. I just don't give a rat's tail about some girl. You're the one I care about."

Much's words settled me more, and I realized I'd been acting like an ass. "I know. Thank you, Much."

I considered how he and Will would have felt if the door had taken me in Cardiff. It had been close . . . too close. Dodging it was what had gotten me wounded.

Just then, we heard someone approaching without a torch. John cursed loudly when the new arrival tripped over him, sprawling on the grass between the benches.

"Who's that?" John asked, irritated.

"It's Andrew, sir. I'm sorry, sir." The page picked himself up. "I'm to see if you wanted any lights out here, or if you were coming in soon, sir."

"God's breath, boy. Why didn't you bring a torch?" John loomed over the boy now, a shadow rooted in the darkness.

The boy appeared not to mind, though having John standing over you was not an easy experience. "Didn't think of it, sir. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Well, you certainly didn't do that, Andrew," said Much, reaching out to ruffle the boy's hair.

Andrew giggled. "No, sir." He pulled at his clothes, trying to straighten them.

John grunted, swallowing his laughter. "Go in and tell Mother Irene we'll be in shortly and she's to ready a guest room. The good one." With a swat on the shoulder, he sent the rascally boy back toward the hall. "That boy's lucky he's a page here. I don't think he'd get away with as much anywhere else."

I was surprised to see John smiling as he took a seat on a bench.

"Come, Kay. Tell us about Caerleon," Much said eagerly.

I smiled, willingly changing to this memory from the other.

"Caerleon's is a ghost story," I said in a calculated whisper. "Listen while I tell you what I learned there." I paused, looking at each of my listeners—for effect, and for time to make up my story. I had the idea already, but I hadn't tried to organize it.

"If you come to see Caerleon, come in the night when the moon is out and shining brightly. Come with an open mind, so you can see what is before your eyes.

"At midnight, the towers shine golden in the moonlight. If you walk among them, you can hear the pennants snapping in the wind. And you'll find you're not alone. Caerleon is haunted by a host of gray souls crowding the streets. You can sense their waiting. Through the still air, you can hear the army approaching, the clatter of armor and jingle of harness. A cheer rises in the throats of the crowd. 'The king! Hail! The king is victorious! Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!' And you can see that wonderful man. He's shadowy gray, but brighter than the other wraiths. Then he turns—and looks at you. When the moon runs behind a cloud, the images vanish. The cheers become the moan of wood owls as they hunt for mice in deserted streets." I stopped, looking around at the others.

"Lovely, just lovely," said Much. "Where did you hear that story?"

"Nowhere," I answered. "I just now made it up."

"Ah, Kay, you're lying."

"Me? Lie?" I said innocently. "Occasionally, but not on this one, and never to my friends."

"She's good at that, you know." Will chuckled. "She has a tongue of silver in a tight spot. I think she could talk the moon out of the sky if given a chance."

"Aw, get off," I said indelicately. "You're a pretty liar."

"Well, then, you're simply pretty."

I snorted. "I've heard better than that."