Gregory had used the time I was doing so to speak to a young boy who was scooping up grain and pouring it into a metal bucket. The lad disappeared into the stable and returned with a blond woman with cropped hair.
“I’m Clarence, the chief groom.”
“Clarice?” Gregory asked.
She studied him. “Do I look like a Clarice?”
“Well—”
“My name is Clarence. Just Clarence. You are the spy Lord Aaron told me about?”
“Thief. I’m a thief, not a spy.”
She made a “same difference” sort of gesture and snapped an order at the bucket boy. “I’m to give you and your woman horses. How well do you ride?”
Gregory hesitated. “I’ve been on a horse,” he said slowly.
“Tch. I’ll give you Old Mabel. You’d have to be an imbecile to disturb her. And you?”
“When I was growing up, I attended all the local hunt meet
