“Is it time now?” the boy said, looking from Mary and Valentine to the faces of the people around the hall he knew, the only people he could now trust. “Can we go find my father?” He dropped his gaze back to the falcon he still held but glanced at Adrian a final time.
Everyone’s eyes went to the man still seated at the table, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattooed arms.
“Soon, Christian,” Adrian promised with a nod. “Soon.”
Chapter 15
Dori awoke the next morning with a decidedly strange feeling of warmth about her person; her toes weren’t numb, her chest didn’t hurt, there was no ache in the pit of her stomach nor ringing in her ears. The absence of them all was so startling that for a moment she simply lay on the bench staring at the wall, wondering that she had become so used to the discomforts that the deficiency of them was akin to being reborn into a different body.
The oratory was warm, but she had nearly gotten used to that since Constantine Gerard’s arrival and so she attributed her returning health to the fortifying food they’d eaten the night before, and the strong, piney tea she’d drunk. The heavy, ornate altar cloth slid from her shoulder soundlessly as she pushed herself upright and turned to face the room.
Lord Gerard was sitting before the hearth, the small fire crackling cheerily. His right leg was stretched out before him on the stool and he was stirring the contents of the pot the two of them had nearly consumed in its entirety the night before. She hadn’t yet made a sound and so she thought she should greet him to let him know that she was awake rather than suddenly intrude on his grim pensiveness. But in the perpetual evening of the windowless oratory, his outline was black against the glow of the fire, the silhouette of his face strong and peaceful, and she couldn’t help but take the opportunity to study him. His lashes were darker than his brows or his beard or his long, tawny braid; his eyes reflected the dancing sparks before him. His upper lip was deeply bowed in the center.
Dori felt a stirring in her middle, looking at him at her leisure while he was unaware. He was a very handsome man, older than her, true, but no one could accuse her of childish fancies any longer. She was a woman now, and as she looked at him through a woman’s eyes her mind turned to Patrice Gerard and the horrid rumors that had been the favorite fodder for the gossips before the woman died.
What wife in possession of her right mind would even consider straying in her fidelity to a husband such as Constantine Gerard? And then, in the very next instant, indignation rose up in her chest and Dori wanted to defend the woman; Lady Patrice could have been prompted by any manner of secrets in their marriage, Dori supposed. Perhaps Lord Gerard had beaten her or had had lovers himself.
Perhaps he didn’t even prefer women.
Heaven knew Theodora Rosemont had kept secrets no one would ever guess. Didn’t people likely think her worse than Patrice Gerard? If Dori had felt the choices she’d made were unavoidable, what corner had the countess of Chase been pressed to inhabit?
Dori indulged herself a moment longer by imagining that it had been this man she’d married, his child she’d borne, and her heart beat faster in her chest. What would her life be like now? What boundless opportunities would await her son with a man like Constantine Gerard to bring him up to manhood?
But he’d rarely been in residence at Benningsgate, had he? The sudden thought cooled her enthusiasm for the fantasy she’d been constructing in her mind.
“Good morn, Dori,” he said without turning, and his low, gravelly voice surprised her so that she blinked the last of her musings from her imagination and sat up straight.
He’d somehow known she’d been awake and watching him the entire time.
And he’d used the name she’d bade him call her.
“Good morn,” she said briskly and swung her feet to the floor. “How fares your leg this day?”
He answered with a sigh and glanced at her as she gained her feet and began to fold the cloth into a neat square. “I’d hoped to return to the keep, but it’s doubtful I could climb the ladder for either entry or exit. I’d be in little danger if forced to shelter in the place overnight, but—”
“It would be foolish to attempt it and then have no choice but to stay there because of an injury,” she interjected sharply—more sharply than she’d intended, but the idea of him sleeping alone in that damned place, at the mercy of the spirits of those he loved free to torment his dreams all the night, caused Dori’s stomach to flutter. What memories would they share?
She placed the cover neatly on the bench and then walked to the table to pour herself a cup of water. “You’d likely only make it worse,” she said stiffly, but at least her tone wasn’t so panicked.
“This is still warm,” he said, and when she turned her head to look at him, he was holding the metal cup toward her. “You slept so well last night, I assumed the brew suited you.”
Dori set down the wooden tankard and was struck dumb for a moment. She stepped toward him and took the cup.
“Thank you,” she said hesitantly.
He nodded and looked back to the fire.
“I assume you did not sleep well?” she said, and then blew on the surface of the fragrant tea before raising it to her lips and sipping, watching him closely over the rim.
He stirred the fire with a long poker. “I’ve much on my mind after yesterday,” he said. “And my knee pained me so as to make finding a comfortable position a trial.”
Dori was certain that sleeping on the floor hadn’t helped, even if he’d made his pallet before the small hearth. The stones were still damp and sucked the warmth from anything that touched them. And yet he hadn’t complained about the location of his bed.
“Lord Gerard—” she began.
“You called me Constantine yesterday,” he interrupted, and the idea that he’d noticed her use of his given name shocked her so greatly that she fell back into silence.
Could he perhaps begin to see her as someone who was not at odds with his goal? Not Glayer Felsteppe’s wife, not detestable Theodora Rosemont, but as she saw herself—Dori, someone he could trust?
