the sloes that gave it its name. Local superstition named it an unchancy place, so that tenants were few and seldom stayed long, which suited its current use admirably. We would stay another few weeks, then join Geoffrey in Paris. I shook off my reverie and dressed quickly, joining Hal and Richard before the comfortable fire. The storm had blown itself out during the day, but the night was freezing cold.
“We had begun to think that you had drowned,” Hal teased, keeping his head turned to hide his ragged hair. He and Richard had disposed of a platter of beef, most of a small cheese and two loaves of bread between them, and were working manfully on the second or possibly the third flagon of wine. Supplies were brought in daily from the village, no one at the farm having the least skill with cooking. The gold that paid for these services was much appreciated in the village, and did much to assuage the local fears about the foreigners, as anyone from as far away as the next county was called, while the size of the two serving-men and the occasional sight of large wolfish dogs discouraged any thought among the less honest of taking all the gold at once. We passed a pleasant evening, playing primero for pins, and talking until late. I sent Richard off to his bed, reminding him that he was still convalescent.
“It was kind of you, to let him win,” I said, smiling when he had gone.
“I find that I like that child,” Hal answered, “and the more so since I found that he is no rival to me in your bed. He is a child,” he added defensively, goaded by my expression.
“He is not much younger than were you, when you first loved a man, and a good deal older than I,” I retorted, then laughed. “In years, at any rate. Yes, though, he is still much more a child than I was. Or, I suspect, than were you. Now, you should seek your own bed.”
“I would far rather seek yours!”
I drew a finger lightly across Hal’s bruised cheek. “Would you? Come along, then.”
There were no clean rushes available for the floor, so it had been strewn with sweet smelling straw that rustled faintly as we crossed to the bed. A fire burned brightly on the hearth, and the bed linen was scented with lavender. Shivering slightly in his shirt and hose, Hal slipped into the bed beside me. Later he sat up and stretched, turning his face away as he spoke.
“I am thinking of joining you in Paris, Kit, if I may, and if your brother would not object. There’s nothing at court for me now.” His tone was bleak, and I reached my hand to cup his chin and turn that sad proud face to my own. Hal resisted a moment, then gave in.
“I can think of nothing that would please me more, Hal. Weather permitting, we leave for Dover next week.”
Chapter 20
Hal settled into his own bed, in the room where Richard slept on the truckle, sinking at once into a pleasant dream, only to be jerked awake by a heart-wrenching cry.
“No, no! Please, NO—”
It was Richard, he realized, and reached for him. It was not long after dawn, by the look of the pale light through the chinks in the shutters. Hal fell to his knees on the truckle, scooping the boy up, shaking him awake then holding him while he cried. Richard pushed himself violently away from the earl before he had regained his senses enough to realize who held him, then mumbled an apology.
“You were dreaming, Dickon,” Hal said softly, the fond name coming easily to him. “I purposed nothing but comforting your fear. You are a very pretty boy, but I do not seduce children!” He rose from the truckle and crossed shivering to the door, calling for Jehan, who appeared almost at once and began helping the earl into his clothing.
“My lord, I—I am sorry, I was still caught in the dream,” he shuddered, sickened at the memory, but stirred by the earl’s touch. “I am not a child, my lord,” he gulped, but Hal, dressed now, merely nodded and left the room. When Richard came down later he found him folding a note and addressing it.
“You must see that your master gets this when he wakes tonight, Richard,” Hal said coolly, holding it out to him.