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Ré and Aodh
looked at each other and grinned.
A cool rush moved through Aodh, the one that generally preceded the culmination of maneuverings aristocratic or militaristic. It was a familiar feeling, and welcome, and he’d come to rely on it for sustenance, a surrogate for deeper emotions, but he knew the truth: it had no staying power. It was a cool dab on a fevered brow.
But Katarina… What he felt with her reached all the way to his bones. It would last. If only she would turn to him.
*
KATARINA HEARD a shuffle at the tower door and spun.
“My lady?” said a small whispered voice. Not Walter, then.
She hurried to the door, touched the seam where door met frame. “Dickon?”
She heard an outbreath of relief from the other side. “Aye, my lady. Are you…have you…?” His voice faded away. Beyond his station and, depending upon her reply, beyond any remedy within his means, the questions were entirely out of his realm. He let them fade away.
“I am fine, Dickon, fine,” she assured him, affection warming her heart. “Do not fear for me. Be strong for me.”
“I will, my lady. For you.”
“So they did not lock you up?”
She heard a dismissive, snorting sound. “Oh, they tried.”
Amid all the trials pressing upon her at the moment, a smile lifted her mouth. “Did they?”
“Oh, aye.” A pause. “They’re so big.” Yes, they were. “’Twas a simple matter to get away.”
“And have you been eating?”
“Oh, I pinch some bread on and off, and I found some eggs sittin’ in a bowl by the kitchen door.” A pause. “I s’pse I’m a bit hungry.”
She pressed her fingertips to the door, as if by this, she could feed him.
“Do you…do you need anything, my lady?”
She laid her cheek against the cool wood. “Yes, Dickon. I need you to be caught.”
“What?” Confusion and outrage spiked his voice.
“And then I need you to ingratiate yourself. Be nice.”
A disapproving silence flowed through the crack, then on its heels, an equally disapproving “My lady.”
“Dickon, heed me. You will eventually be caught, and it will not be pleasant. And you need food. And I need to know you’re safe, not wandering and starving.”
“Not starvin’,” he muttered.
“Go to him, turn yourself in, apologize, be docile and subtle…”
“As you are, my lady?”
She frowned at the door. “If you mean to gainsay me, then do so right off and I shall find myself another champion.”
“Champion” seemed to do the deed. She could almost feel him straightening on the other side of the door. “No, my lady, I can do it. Is there anything else?” he asked grudgingly, no doubt worried she might ask for even more outrageous acts, perhaps washing his face, with soap, or some other such indignity.
“Yes, Dickon, one small thing.” She leaned her mouth close to the door. “I need you to bring me my sword.”
