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She retrieved the book and turned to the first scene of the first act, tracing down the printed lines until she read aloud.
“‘For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north, and thus it did import:
On Holy-rood Day the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met, where they did spend
A sad and bloody hour—’”
She looked at him. “Holmedon is another name for Humbleton Hill, which is not five miles from here.”
“Really?” He leaned forward, eyes brighter than before.
“Really.” She turned back to the book, pointed out lines a little further down. “Again, we see it here—
‘Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours,
And he hath brought us smooth and welcomes news.
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;
Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,
Balked in their own blood, did Sir Walter see
On Holmedon’s plains.’”
His gaze was locked on her, but his expression was unchanged.
Perhaps this held no interest for him. “I’m sorry if this is dull. I thought it might prove of interest—”
“It’s most interesting. Forgive me. I was enjoying listening to you speak.”
“Ah, but I do not need to read Shakespeare for you to hear me speak.”
“That is true, but you read so well. I confess I have not studied the Bard overly, but I vaguely knew something of this story and that it was set in the north.”
“One day before you leave, you may wish to see the stone that commemorates the battle.”
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Miss Stapleton.”
She dipped her head as pleasure swelled within.
“I wonder … but I’m sure that you are busy.”
“I can make time.”
He rubbed his jaw, speckled with dark bristles. “Would you be so kind as to read some more to me?”
“Read more Shakespeare?”
“More ofHenry IV. I should like to know more, especially if I am to see this commemoration stone one day.”
