Owen winced in pain. He was brushing down his mare, Happy, after an especially nasty tilting session with Lord Wyldon and to Owen, itwas quite plain what - and who - had put his knight master in such a foul mood.He was mentally cursing Nealan (no point cursing a knight who had the great Mother Goddess on her side and was the King's Champion to boot) when Lady Teresa appeared in the stables.
"Would you like some help?" she asked.
Owen shook his head, etiquette ever-present, even as he felt ready to crawl into his grave. "No thank you, Lady Teresa."
Teresa ignored Owen's answer and picked up a brush.
"Your dress," stated Owen, by way of protest. In contrast to his dirt stained riding clothes, Wyldon's daughter was wearing the same gown she'd worn to tea earlier in the day. Impeccable, as always.
Teresa gave the squire a look and started brushing Happy's other side. Owen 'hmph'-ed but was too tired to protest and besides, his mare was enjoying the much deserved attention. Owen and Teresa fell into an amicable silence as they worked.
"Sorry," offered Teresa once Happy had been returned to her stall, fully pampered.
"For what?" asked Owen, sincerely confused. Not only was it the first time he'd heard the girl apologize for anything, he had no idea for what she was asking forgiveness.
"Father pounding you ten feet into the ground."
Owen winced, so she'd seen that? He'd never hear the end of it now. "It's hardly your fault, my Lady."
She wrinkled her nose. "All the same."
Owen shrugged, his shoulders screaming in protest as he did so. "It was almost worth it; did you see the look on My Lord's face when they suggested he marry Lady Alanna?"
Teresa giggled. "That was entirely amusing."
"Can you imagine-"
"No."
Owen smiled and eyed a haystack. It looked entirely too inviting- his body was aching to lie down. So he did.
Teresa stared.
"What?" he asked. "It's comfortable, my Lady."
"And extremely un-hygienic."
Owen rolled his eyes. "Is Lady Teresa afraid of the little spiders?"
"Of course not," and she moved to sit in the hay, settling herself daintily.
Owen grinned at her. "How do you do that?"
"How do I do what, Squire?"
"Make everything- even sitting in a stack of hay- look so dignified."
Teresa sniffed haughtily. "It's an art."
"Oh."
"Evidently one that you lack."
Owen pouted. "So what did you mean?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Squire."
The said squire gestured vaguely, "You know, when you were talking about Neal."
Teresa coloured, and raised her chin. "I was, well, good looks are fine and well, but it helps if the person in question has an ounce of intelligence."
"Neal has intelligence," protested Owen loyally.
"And I'm the Queen of Maren."
"Are you really?"
"You're incorrigible."
"In-corri-a-whatsis?"
"Hopeless, definitely."
"Thank you."
"Good day, Squire Owen."
A/N: Aaaand it's done. (I finished a multi-chaptered fic! Will wonders never cease?) Anyways,I shall see you all at some point in the future with more Owen. It's an addiction. Really.
Fenella
