“What are you doing?” Tate looked away from the window. “I can hear scraping from where I am standing.”
She smiled up at him, sheepishly. “Drawing.”
He moved in her direction and took a knee beside her, his mail grating as he moved. He grinned at the half-erased bees and flowers. “You draw delightfully,” he said. “I am sorry I do not have paint or parchment to offer you to stave off this boredom.”
She leaned her head against his, resting the side of her head against his cheek. “I am not bored so long as you are near,” she said. “I am sorry if my drawing bothers you.”
He kissed her forehead and stood up. “It does not,” he said, his mailed hand on her back affectionately. “’Tis I who am sorrythat I cannot offer you a fire. But we cannot chance that the smoke will be seen.”
She shook her head. “You need not apologize. I am quite warm in my cloak.”
He touched her hair, her cheek gently, before returning to the window. Outside, the storm was lashing the sides of the keep and Toby rose from her chair, making her way to Tate as he stood next to the window. She pressed up against his back and he turned slightly, lifting an armored arm and putting it around her. Together, they stood and watched the driving snow.
“Do you really think we are being watched?” she asked softly.
He was standing to the side of the window so that he could not be easily seen by prying eyes. “More than likely.”
“By the same men who burned Forestburn?”
He turned to look at her, reading her fear. “Some of the same,” he turned her back towards the chair. “Sit down, sweetheart, and away from the snow. You shall be in it soon enough when we make our move.”
She let him put her in the chair, watching him as he went back towards the window. “May I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“When all of this is over with, where shall we live?”
He leaned against the wall, his gaze moving outside the window again. “Carlisle Castle, I suppose. Why? Where do you want to live?”
She shrugged, collecting her stick and resuming her drawing. “I have only lived at Forestburn. I never thought I would ever leave.”
“And so you have,” he winked at her when she turned to look at him. “I think you shall like Carlisle Castle. It is a big place and quite comfortable.”
“Do you have other castles?”
He nodded. “Aside from Harbottle and Carlisle, I hold Grayson Castle, Whitehaven Castle and Kendal Castle, all of them in Cumbria.”
“Are they beautiful?”
He shrugged. “Kendal is small, but Grayson and Whitehaven are large and prosperous. Whitehaven is particularly nice because it sits right on the sea. On a clear day, you can see all the way to Ireland.”
She pursed her lips in disbelief. “You cannot.”
His eyes twinkled. “I have been told that by the locals.”
She shook her head to let him know what she thought of that tale and looked back to her drawings. “Do you think that Edward will let you rebuild Forestburn?”
His gaze lingered on her. “Is that where you wish to live?”
She shrugged, still drawing flowers. “Forestburn supports Cartingdon parish. I do not wish to see it left to rot. I would like to rebuild it.”
He watched her lowered head. “Then we shall rebuild it,” he said softly. “If that is your wish, I will move heaven and earth to grant it.”
She looked up at him, a timid smile on her lips. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“And when all of this madness is finished, may we go to Paris and Rome?”
