“Sir George Gobhann!” the call went around the room. No one at Thomas’s table raised a glass.
“You’re working at the forge in the mornings?” Patrick said.
“Aye,” said George, a very dangerous edge in his voice. “So?”
“With all we’re putting you through? Where do you get the energy?”
George stared for a moment in disbelief, then laughed, his voice echoing in the silent hall and bringing frowns to the faces of the young lords. Some of the angry red faded from George’s complexion. He nodded towards Lord Cormac. “What should I do about that?”
“Very little,” said Patrick. “Words are words. Let them bring it to blows so you will be in the right when you squash him.”
“Lord Steven is rising.”
“Best fencer of the lot,” said Patrick.
“Of course he is,” said Thomas. “Any guess who he’ll be in
