Della furrowed her brows in concern. Who would be visiting the manor now? Had they not just gotten rid of a bunch of guests?
“Have you told Lord Blackwell?”
“Nay, m’lady.” Rab gave her a guilty look. “I’m frightened of him.”
Della tried not to smile at the boy’s earnest answer. She felt relief that the lad still came to her. She’d feared that in locking herself away to grieve, the people’s judgment of her authority might have wavered. Impishly, she could not help but encourage the lad’s observations. “Yea, he is frightening, is he not?”
Rab chuckled. Della hid her guilty pleasure at the taunt.
“Shall we go tell him together?” She ignored the fact she’d been telling herself all day that she was not going to seek Brant out. “I believe he’s in the exercise yard with the men. Mayhap they will let you watch.”
Rab nodded.
“Keep working,” Della ordered the maids, who’d stopped to watch them with interest. She moved her hand to the back of the lad’s head and led him out the arch of the side door. When they were away from the listening ears of the servants, Della said, “I’m sorry that we have not had time for our lessons, Rab.”
“Yea, m’lady.” Rab gave a halfhearted smile. Della knew the boy was fond of her. Since she had taken an interest in him, none of the other children in the keep seemed to tease him as much. “I’m sorry about yer sire. We all knew you were abovestairs mourning fer the ealdorman. I would have visited you, but Isa caught me and said it was not fitting fer me to do so.”
Della nodded as an unsuspected wave of grief overcame her at the boy’s candid confession. Blinking fast so no one would see her tears, she sniffed and nodded.
“I want to see you tonight in the usual place after dinner. I hope you have practiced what I taught you last time. If you are going to be a clerk here, you need to know how to read.” Della smiled fondly at Rab’s overgrown hair. “And you are in need of a haircut.”
“Nay, I do not want to be a clerk,” Rab grumbled. The boy picked a stick off the ground and wielded it like a sword. “I want to grow me hair out like Lord Blackwell and his men. So I can be a warrior!”
“My hair,” corrected Della. She gave him a stern look as she struggled not to smile. “And surely, Rab, you don’t want to be a knight. You’d have to carry a sword and mayhap you would have a horse.”
“Nay, a war steed!”
Della gave him a wry look as she thought about it. Nodding, she consented, “Yea, a war steed.”
“I would have me own battalion of knights to command!” The boy’s green eyes lit up with delight as he imagined his grand future as a noble knight. “And I—”
“Wait,” Della interrupted with a serious look. She studied the boy for a moment. The smile faded from Rab’s lips as he awaited her words. The stick sword fell to his side unattended. “Would you be a good knight or a bad, black-hearted knight?”
“I would be a black knight,” Rab said with little deliberation. “In the stories, the good knight always has to kiss the lady he saved. I would be the bad knight and scare all the ladies and make them tremble with terror, so none of ‘em would e’er want to kiss me.”
It took all of Della’s willpower not to laugh. She rounded her eyes with pretend terror as she clutched her hands to her heart. “But would you storm my keep, black-hearted knight?”
“Yea!” Rab lifted his play sword high into the air. With a little show of thrusts, he hollered at Della, “Surrender yer castle, m’lady!”
“Oh, nay, it is the dreaded barbarian knight. Come to slay me and mine.” Della put her hand to her cheek before reaching down to grab a small stick. “Hold, m’lord, lest you have me sword embedded in yer belly. I will not relinquish what is mine!”
Rab thrust his stick toward her. “I will not call back me men, m’lady, ‘til yer keep be mine. No one can save you now.”
“Nay, you will ne’er have my keep.” Della screamed and ran several yards toward the exercise yard. Rab charged after her. With a swish of her skirts, she whirled back to him and moved to a fighting stance. She gave him a daring display of swordplay before yelling, “Help! Help! If no one will save me, I will fight to the death.”
Rab brandished his stick sword above his head and let out a heathen scream. He charged at her, drawing the further attention of the servants milling about the yard.
Della planted her shoes firmly in the dirt and gritted her teeth. Snarling, she hunched her shoulders and got ready to fight off his advance. The attack never came. Suddenly, Rab skidded to a stop, his eyes wide. Her face fell in confusion and she started for the lad, intent on shielding him from whatever terrible thing frightened him. Before she had taken a step a strong arm wrapped around her waist from behind. Her captor jerked her off the ground keeping her from ever reaching the boy.