“The Bastard?” I had never heard such outrage in Burrich’s voice. “Say ‘FitzChivalry, son of Prince Chivalry.’ “
The man gaped at him in astonishment.
“Say it now!” Burrich bellowed, and pulled steel. He suddenly seemed twice as large as he had. Anger radiated from him in waves I could feel.
“FitzChivalry, son of Prince Chivalry,” the man babbled.
He took a breath and swallowed. “But however I call him, I have my orders. He is not allowed out.”
“Not an hour ago I heard our queen command us to ride with her, or to catch up as swiftly as we might. Do you say your order is superior to hers?”
The man looked uncertain. “One moment, sir.” He stepped back into the guardhouse.
Burrich snorted. “Whoever trained him ought to be ashamed. He relies entirely on our honor to keep us from riding through.”
“Maybe he just knows you,” I suggested.
Burrich glared at me. After a moment the captain of the watch came out. He grinned at us. “Ride well, and best of luck at Neatbay.”
Burrich flung him something between a salute and a farewell, and we urged our horses through. I let Burrich choose the pace. It was dark, but once we were down the hill, the road was straight and good and there was a bit of a moon. Burrich was as reckless as I had ever seen him, for he put the horses to a canter and kept up the pace until we saw the Queen’s guard ahead of us. He slowed us just short of joining them. I saw them turn to recognize us, and one soldier raised a hand in greeting.
“A pregnant mare, in early pregnancy, does well to be exercised.” He looked over at me through the darkness. “I don’t know that much about women,” he said hesitantly.