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Coen hated these formal occasions, and this one would be more uncomfortable than usual. He found himself remembering the fateful feast on the day of their arrival. Hopefully with Lithor and Erbrand gone there would be no more debacles. Coen knew he should be there to help keep his men in line, but he had an excuse for being late. And later his presence would matter more, once everyone had gotten into the drinking.
He left the stables and headed into the hall, slipping quietly toward the soldiers’ table. But on his way he caught Scyrr standing over another table, his face flushed and his eyes flashing. His anger seemed to be directed at one of the young stable hands. Coen was ready to go immediately to him and drag him back to the rest of the men, but he saw Quin had a steadying hand on his arm. Perhaps the younger man would talk him down and there was no need to embarrass Scyrr by stepping in and ordering him back to the soldiers’ table.
Coen went to the nearest wall and stood, trying to stay out of the way of servants. He watched Scyrr and Quin closely, occasionally letting his eyes wander around the hall, including to the eorl’s table, to see if anyone else had noticed the possibility of trouble. His eye’s passed over Lord Eodwine with a spark of annoyance, then rested on the Lady Saeryn for a brief moment before he looked away. And what did she think, now that her husband was back? She had been demanding from the start, even when it seemed her husband was dying.
He turned his attention back to Scyrr and Quin. He could only concern himself with what was among his duties.
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