“That,” Fenice said, looking meaningfully at Vandal as he straightened a rack of pauldrons, “is the new lord and master.”
“Ah.” His shoulders twitched as he tugged down his shirt, and he marched out of the stable with purpose in every stride. Fenice and I exchanged glances, and hurried after him.
“You must be the new Lord Baskerville,” Vandal said, stopping in front of Alden. “I’m Vandal. My sister, Fenice, tells me you have said some harsh things to her about our medieval training camp.”
“I’m not Lord Baskerville. There is no Lord Baskerville. The previous owner was a baronet, and thus was Sir James Baskerville. Nor did I say harsh things to anyone, unless you consider the things I muttered under my breath as rude, and I was careful that no one should overhear those.”
I smiled at Alde
