shoulder, by which she guessed that he had taken some
hurt there as well as losing his horse.
“Aye, and you
pulled me out of the cathedral at Durham, a month after,” Eadulf grumbled. “So
I call us quits. But Russell! Have ye no more sense than this?”
“Not often,” he
agreed. “Want a slice of bacon? I reckon it’s just about cooked.”
“Give that
here,” the Scotsman said. “I’ve had the benefit o’your cooking before, major,
on the run home from Durham, if you recall, and ye're not known for the
thoroughness of it. T'was touch and go if it was going to be the fever that got
me first, or your food. Aye, well, if you don’t mind breakfasting on raw meat,
mistress, you go right ahead and eat it.” He made a disgusted noise, brushing
crumbs from the top of the box that was presently serving as a table top. “As
if the place wasn’t sufficient of a mess already, with those daubers dragging
their splatters all over the house. I’ll sit and visit with you, mistress, in
common civility, and then I mun start looking out some likely staff for this
place, or the pair of you will starve. Like children, the pair o' ye. Like
children, wi' no more sense.” He bit into his bacon with every sign of evident
relish, though, with a crackle of only slightly-blackened rind, making a little
noise of satisfaction deep in his throat as he hunched closer to the flames.
She wondered if
all Scotsmen growled like dogs, and were as fierce as mastiffs, because she had
little knowledge of any man north of Lancashire. And even her Lancastrian
father had lived in Essex for so long that his North Country burr was only
distinctive in some words. She couldn’t help peering at Eadulf surreptitiously,
over her own wedge of bread and bacon. He looked no different – an ordinary,
dark-haired, sturdy-built man, with strongly-marked dark brows, and a
highwayman’s mask of silvered black stubble on his cheeks and jaws. Broad,
strong hands, with a dusting of dark hair on their backs. Broad shoulders,
broader yet in the shabby coat he’d clearly thrown on to confront the intruders
at Four Ashes. He settled himself more comfortably on the box, and the wood
creaked under him as he stretched his booted feet out to the fire. “If ye’d had
the forethought to put a jug of ale to warm, we’d be almost comfortable,” he
grumbled, and Thankful gave his almost-silent laugh and put his arm about
Thomazine’s shoulders.
“I’m
comfortable,” he said. “Right where I am.”
14
"Aye," Eadulf said, looking
around the kitchen as if he did not often step inside, "it's a
well-appointed house, mistress. The labourers have worked hard. When," he
looked, sharply, at Russell, "when we can get them. D'ye want to have a
look round, then?"
Which was both
transparent and mendacious, and with a hint of gentle malice, she said, "I
believed the greater part of the house to be unsafe, sir? So my husband tells
me?"
"Only the
west wing," he said, perfectly unabashed. "And if you're careful, and
mind where ye step."
She had a
red-headed temper, they said, and perhaps a year ago, two years ago, she might
have turned on the Scotsman and called him a liar to his face. Six months ago,
even, when things were yet unsettled between her and Thankful, she might have
resented being treated as a child, being ordered from his company as if she
were a silly maiden.
Now, though, she
was a respectable matron of a week’s seniority, and she had learned guile. And
she did not have to tolerate insolence from her household servants. She twisted
her wedding ring innocently, and looked at her husband. "Do you have an
office, then, to repair to, dear? Assuming, of course, that it's safe."
And to her
absolute astonishment, the Scot gave a bark of laughter. Spoke like a growling
dog, and barked like one. "Aye, mistress, touché. Well, I'll be honest,
then, me and your good man have dull matters to discuss."
"That you
need not trouble your pretty head with,"
hurt there as well as losing his horse.
“Aye, and you
pulled me out of the cathedral at Durham, a month after,” Eadulf grumbled. “So
I call us quits. But Russell! Have ye no more sense than this?”
“Not often,” he
agreed. “Want a slice of bacon? I reckon it’s just about cooked.”
“Give that
here,” the Scotsman said. “I’ve had the benefit o’your cooking before, major,
on the run home from Durham, if you recall, and ye're not known for the
thoroughness of it. T'was touch and go if it was going to be the fever that got
me first, or your food. Aye, well, if you don’t mind breakfasting on raw meat,
mistress, you go right ahead and eat it.” He made a disgusted noise, brushing
crumbs from the top of the box that was presently serving as a table top. “As
if the place wasn’t sufficient of a mess already, with those daubers dragging
their splatters all over the house. I’ll sit and visit with you, mistress, in
common civility, and then I mun start looking out some likely staff for this
place, or the pair of you will starve. Like children, the pair o' ye. Like
children, wi' no more sense.” He bit into his bacon with every sign of evident
relish, though, with a crackle of only slightly-blackened rind, making a little
noise of satisfaction deep in his throat as he hunched closer to the flames.
She wondered if
all Scotsmen growled like dogs, and were as fierce as mastiffs, because she had
little knowledge of any man north of Lancashire. And even her Lancastrian
father had lived in Essex for so long that his North Country burr was only
distinctive in some words. She couldn’t help peering at Eadulf surreptitiously,
over her own wedge of bread and bacon. He looked no different – an ordinary,
dark-haired, sturdy-built man, with strongly-marked dark brows, and a
highwayman’s mask of silvered black stubble on his cheeks and jaws. Broad,
strong hands, with a dusting of dark hair on their backs. Broad shoulders,
broader yet in the shabby coat he’d clearly thrown on to confront the intruders
at Four Ashes. He settled himself more comfortably on the box, and the wood
creaked under him as he stretched his booted feet out to the fire. “If ye’d had
the forethought to put a jug of ale to warm, we’d be almost comfortable,” he
grumbled, and Thankful gave his almost-silent laugh and put his arm about
Thomazine’s shoulders.
“I’m
comfortable,” he said. “Right where I am.”
14
"Aye," Eadulf said, looking
around the kitchen as if he did not often step inside, "it's a
well-appointed house, mistress. The labourers have worked hard. When," he
looked, sharply, at Russell, "when we can get them. D'ye want to have a
look round, then?"
Which was both
transparent and mendacious, and with a hint of gentle malice, she said, "I
believed the greater part of the house to be unsafe, sir? So my husband tells
me?"
"Only the
west wing," he said, perfectly unabashed. "And if you're careful, and
mind where ye step."
She had a
red-headed temper, they said, and perhaps a year ago, two years ago, she might
have turned on the Scotsman and called him a liar to his face. Six months ago,
even, when things were yet unsettled between her and Thankful, she might have
resented being treated as a child, being ordered from his company as if she
were a silly maiden.
Now, though, she
was a respectable matron of a week’s seniority, and she had learned guile. And
she did not have to tolerate insolence from her household servants. She twisted
her wedding ring innocently, and looked at her husband. "Do you have an
office, then, to repair to, dear? Assuming, of course, that it's safe."
And to her
absolute astonishment, the Scot gave a bark of laughter. Spoke like a growling
dog, and barked like one. "Aye, mistress, touché. Well, I'll be honest,
then, me and your good man have dull matters to discuss."
"That you
need not trouble your pretty head with,"
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