“Who are you? Where is the child the old woman was caring for?”
Dori recognized Constantine’s voice, but she could not look away from the big, slate-blue eyes staring up at her from the folds of the coverlet. William frowned at her, his little face solemn even with his rounded, flushed cheeks, frosted with pale down.
“Get out or I’ll scream,” Eirene threatened in a shrill voice.
“It’s all right, Eirene,” Dori said, still transfixed by the little face before her. His mouth was like a knot of red ribbon, his ears like flower petals. “He’s a . . . friend. I think.” She looked up then, but Constantine’s form was blurry. She blinked, felt the wetness on her cheeks, and could see him at last.
“I found him, Constantine,” she whispered. “And Eseld’s gone. I sent her away.”
Constantine nodded and Dori noticed he carried a parchment. But she didn’t care that he did, or what it said, as she turned around to ease into a seat at the side of the bed, looking back down into her son’s face.
“I saw her. She’s unwell, Dori. And I think she means to return to Thurston Hold.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dori said, bringing up a trembling hand to tentatively touch the silky strands of hair across William’s forehead. His shallow breaths were fast and sweet in his perfect nostrils as he looked around himself, as if seeking the source of the deep voice he’d heard. “I’m not going back there.”
“Dori.”
“Yes?” She trailed her finger down the side of his impossibly soft cheek.
“I have the decree Henry signed, granting Glayer Felsteppe Benningsgate.”
“I’m sorry, Constantine,” she said distractedly.
“I’m not,” he said, and his answer, along with the tone in which he spoke caused her to look up reluctantly. “It’s an assignment of inheritance, Dori. It bequeaths Benningsgate to Glayer Felsteppe in the event of my death without an heir.”
Dori blinked. “But . . . you didn’t die. The king knows that—we just had an audience with him.”
Constantine nodded. “Benningsgate still legally belongs to me, with all rights and privileges.”
“Which means that the moment Glayer Felsteppe trespasses upon it with the intention of claiming it for himself or harming anyone who belongs there . . .”
“I can defend my home.”
Dori felt the breath go out of her and she pulled William even closer. He gave a little squawk so that she started and looked down. “Oh, sorry, sorry.” Her gaze found Constantine’s again. “You must go.”
“Come with me?”
Dori looked at him for a long moment and then her eyes went to the rapt Eirene, who seemed to be enjoying watching Constantine. Dori couldn’t blame her; he was breathtaking.
“Could I trouble you for yet another favor?” she asked the young woman.
Eirene gave her sly smile. “If I have liberty to later speak of it. My companions will be beside themselves at my daring.”
“I’m in need of a proper costume,” she said and glanced down at the baby in her arms, still watching her with his great, blue owl eyes. “I can’t have William’s mother looking like a beggar. I shall compensate you for it after I return to my home.”
“And send up one of the king’s servants to me, if you would, my lady,” Constantine added. “I have a message for Henry, and a small request I think he will be all too eager to grant.”
Once Eirene of Glencovent had all but skipped from the chamber, Dori looked back at Constantine.
“You want me to return with you now because I never was Felsteppe’s wife and William is not his son.”
“No,” he said. “I want you to return in spite of those things.” His expression went hard. “Why didn’t you tell me, Dori?”
“Because I didn’t think you’d care if you knew he wasn’t Felsteppe’s child, if he had no legal claim to Benningsgate. It would have been easy for you to just . . . leave me there to die. Leave William in Felsteppe’s hands, and then in whoever’s hands the king placed him.”
“You think that’s the man I am?”
“I did when first we met,” she admitted.
