Blood of Quartz

Chapter 10

Abigail was still absorbing the statement her grand-aunt had snapped out as she sat down to supper with the Duke and several other important local landowners and nobles, hours later.

Jewels on the women spread across the other side of the table winked in the lamp and candle-light, throwing off sparks of privilege and status. It seemed they all wanted to outdo one another in their appearances with the Duke visiting. They would nod and bow their heads at one another, sneak furtive glances as they talked quietly with whomever was beside them.

Abigail was paired with an older, handsome man, his greying, close-cropped hair providing an aura of wisdom and grace. His simple Kingsmen leathers and white linen shirt with polished riding boots were a complete opposite of the gold and silver surrounding them. He had been polite, even warm when they were introduced, and his smile had put her at ease, his ability to keep to simple conversation relieving.

According to Cerla, who had pointed him out when he arrived to the main hall, he was the commander in the King's Guard in Bethune, the Capital. He had arrived this afternoon separate from the Duke, to be in charge of the troops moving back towards the coast as quickly as possible. The reason for this show of force was running rampant through the entire keep that the Duke was quite serious in replenishing troops across the Hundred Mile sea, as well as the Kingsmen ranks.

The grey-haired man's eyes were glittering with amused intelligence as he quietly watched the people around them. His looks belied that he was not too old, just very used to living out of doors. His hands were roughened, but well manicured. A man used to taking orders, but also deciding on them.

"I'll admit I am not used to the show of privilege in front of us," he whispered to her. "It amuses me to no end to watch them, though. You yourself seem much more discrete in your dress, my dear. "

"I—" she started, embarrassed to be caught looking. "I suppose I do not have anyone to impress here this evening."

The man laughed and bit into an apple that was on a tray in front of their spot at the table. "But you are far more beautiful for your simplicity. You outshine all these women."

She turned to him, catching his eye, and blushed. "My thanks, my Lord."

"Oh my dear, do not call me 'My Lord'. It will go straight to my head."

"Then what shall I call you?" Abigail asked, also reaching for an apple. The first course was yet to start and she was beyond hungry. The juice of the apple was sweet, and she relished it. Fall was such an abundant time of year, and she looked forward to the squash dishes, which would be flavoured, according to the staff, by some spices that the Duke had brought with him as a gift for her uncle.

"You may call me Orrick, my dear."

Abigail had heard that name recently, but couldn't remember where. She tilted her head and thought on it a moment. "Orrick. I have heard your name in connection with something. From where though?"

He chuckled. "I don't know, my dear, but hopefully it came with goodness."

She liked him immensely. He was grounded, not puffed and important. As she turned to speak further with him, their first course came, and he turned to the man on his left to talk with them about the coming days. She was left to herself to enjoy the soup, dipping her wide flat spoon in, the broth a perfect mix of herbs and pork flavours, the potatoes and carrots bobbing about. Normally, this would be soup she would drink from a clay bowl while rocking Mouse to sleep. It was her favourite on the cold mornings for breakfast with buttered hot bread. Praise her uncle for serving it, and she looked up at him, his elbows on the table, in a deep discussion with the Duke. He sensed her looking and winked at her, then resumed his attention to the conversation.